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cherubispunk · 4 months

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NEPHILIM - Jackson-era!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: the disturbing comforts the disturbed.

a note from Lucy: I swear there is fluff! I swear, I swear, I swear! You just have to squint *reeeeaaaalllly* hard. Yes, I read the book of genesis and the book numbers along with some extensive Wikipedia deep diving for like…a paragraph of lore. But is it really ever enough?

playlist | moodboard

wc: 2498

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DARK CONTENT! no use of y/n, I tried to keep her body type as generic as possible but he might be slightly skinny coded so please let me know and I’ll change it in edits, reader is referred to as ‘Bambi’, verbally constipated Joel Miller, brief gore descriptions, heavy religious imagery and references to the bible, biblical lore, bombastic age gap!!! yahhhhh! (reader is in her 20’s/ Joel is in his late 50’s), smut, p in v sex, creampie, fingering, rough sex, possessive!joel, dom!joel/sub!reader dynamic, you know the drill with my writing, there’s probably some form of cannibalism as a metaphor, or brutal violence as a metaphor, religious imagery as a metaphor, etc. (aka, fancy word vomit)

series masterlist | m.list

Genesis 6:4 The Nephilim were in the earth in those days, and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bore children to them; the same were the mighty men that were of old, the men of renown.

The reality of it was, you and Joel were two people who lived in the same small town. Who’s paths crossed once to save your life, and the others when coincidence would grant you that small pleasure. He carried you to the care of an old man with blue eyes now milky in cataracts. Jude. Who nursed you to health in a metal framed bed of an old family home— now the town clinic. The knife that sliced open your side had been dirty, and sepsis soon spread in the bloody gash. Only with Joel finding you in the snow, and Jude delivering you antibiotics, did you recover back to health.

He wouldn’t visit you directly. He would visit Jude and glance at you through the doorway as he passed the hall to the elderly Man’s office. To distract from the man you read stories when bedridden. Parts of biblical scripture; Read the book of Genesis; Read the book of Numbers. Jude being a religious man who had the fortune of holding God in his heart, kept them among his medical journals and books. And the former was far more interesting than the later in your opinion. For in them were mentions of anthropomorphic creatures born of flesh, blood and divinity. Towering tall over common trees and temples built in the name of Lord God. You were no religious woman, but you found comfort in the fables of the Old Testament. And likened Joel to the Nephilim in all ways.

Joel Miller was something of a biblical figure to you. A small glimpse into the past of something archaic, untold, and harbouring on the dangerous. You liked to imagine him as one of the Nephilim. A son of god, offspring borne of a fallen angel and man. A giant of misunderstood nature. Who’s soul had been cast down on earth in punishment. His large hands had bloodshed on them, or so people had said. They whispered it quietly in the spaces between. The places he didn’t occupy often. But he was always on your mind…so there was no place for those whispers there. If he was all that bad…why did he save you? You saw his need to care, protect, understand. Not be understood. But just understand. You would let yourself dream of taking his rough edges to the smooth plane of a whetstone. People claimed you cannot buff brass into gold. That it will only be as such in your head. That it was a fools game, but the fool is rich in content, and poor in sorrow. For the fool has little to worry about while they live in ignorant bliss.

What wasn’t written in any of the books of the holy scripture was this; ‘The disturbing comforts the disturbed.’ But it might as well have been. It was practically the way god intended life to be. You are shaken, and you are weaned on being shaken, until stillness is a discomfort and your body begs to be rattled again. But harder.

—

You took a while to find your feet. Joel took it upon himself to wordlessly help you with any medial or manual task. You were given a house on the edge of town, up a hill in some remote street that was always quiet. It seemed the less social souls resided there. Not that you minded. It was jarring to say the least. Being cast out into the hostile wild. And then brought back into the warmth. Here you had clothes, food, a roof over your head, and community. It stung in the same way it does to run your hands under a scalding tap after labouring out in the cold. It made your fingers numb before they regained feeling. Stiff. And a trouble to flex them back and forth, closed fist, open palm; Closed fist, open palm.

It’s how you earned ‘Bambi’. A name only Joel would ever call you. Dear doe on her wobbly, spindly legs. He’d keep you upright. Despite being a good thirty year sicker than you. Dirty old man. Ditsy little girl.

Your time together was silent. And while he never said he cared, he showed it. By waiting for you each time you were in the stables. And he would walk through town with you a safe distance from his side, up to the top of the hill your house was on. The snow would crunch under his heavy boots and he wished he was lighter on his feet like you. Not a large bulk of a man with heavy feet and even heavier hand. Maybe Joel wasn't large by the world's standards, but he was still a giant to you- muscular, and broad shoulders. With hands that could engulf yours, or cradle the entire crown of your head with a single palm. His arms were strong, and large from manual labour, and tightly knotted with tendons and grizzly muscle like thick twisted ropes that held up sails. What you liked most, however, was his softer belly. Perhaps the only soft thing about him from what little you had seen, or heard, or assumed. You felt an intrinsic satisfaction in knowing he was well fed. And Joel didn't mind it either. It was a reminder to himself what he was in fact as safe as he could be. Anything to not go hungry again. He still kept his brawns either way. Kept his hands and mind busy with patrols and the odd job around town. Fixing roofs, garden sheds, building tables with spare lumber from the woodhouse, and chopping firewood for the colder months. At the beginning of winter he would spend most of his free time ensuring you had enough. He spent hours out in his backyard, swinging that axe down on log, after log of wood. Then carry it up the hill in a wheelbarrow to your front door. He did it for nothing. Nothing but the peace of mind that grew from the seed of knowing you were warm. But he was greeted with something you had baked, or sewn, or knitted, or grown in your empty hours alone. Apple and rhubarb pie, thick woollen gloves, sourdough bread with crunchy, thick crusts that crunched when he broke his bread.

“It’s nothin’.” He would say, and shrug, hands on his hips while he looked back at the finished product of whatever work he’d slaved over that entire afternoon. Be it a pile of firewood, raised garden beds, or a fixed gutter. “Just…do me a favour?” He asked.

“Yeah?”

“Keep that smile on y’face, Bambi. Don’t let anyone take it away from ya.” His face was stern. As if he was telling you, not asking you. But if you were to ever stop smiling he thought he’d keel over and die a little bit inside. Or part of him would anyway. The part of him you now had in your chest unwittingly.

You watched the mountain of a man, Big Bad Joel Miller, warm up. Day by slow day. He was on the threshold of it. Right there. But the toe of his thick winter boots never ventured onto floorboards. He stayed out in the cold. After a while you dared Joel to touch you. Tired of him only meeting halfway. He was a man of few words, but a man of so much action. And when you challenged him with your tongue, he countered with his touch. That night was hell under the guise of heaven for his restraint.

“Y’so bad for me, Bambi.” Joel grunted, his entire weight smothering you against the mattress of his bed. His cock dragging in and out of you slowly. “Old sinner like me ain’t made for you.” So slowly the anticipation ached in the joints of your toes that curled. His grip on your hips casting his handprint in a watercolour bloom. “That’s it, fuck– takin’ me so well.”

You whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, back arching in a deep curve off the bed while his hips altered their pace. Just a tad quicker as you bucked up into him. The two of you climbing in tandem to the high. “That's it,” He repeated in a hiss, followed by a growl into your neck, “Keep archin’ that back for me.” You did just that, holding onto his forearms for leverage as you curled your spine a little deeper. A word came to mind. One you’d heard once before. Only once. But I held such a comfort to be able to label it. Hiraeth. He was that. And what you felt was that. A longing for a home. He treated you like you wouldn't break. But spoke as if words would lacerate you. One punctuated thrust, aided by your own slick was all it took, a moan for him deeper. A tear slipped from your eye and you let gravity do its work, pulling it from you. It slipped from the corner of your eye, and down your temple. “Good girl, Bambi.” He crooned, splaying both of his palms over your hairline and sweeping the hair that stuck to your forehead in the sheen of sweat atop your skin. His large hands dragged over the top of your skull to the crown of your head, down the back of your neck, and gripped. That soft fleshy part at the base of your skull and the top of your still curved spine.

It hurt. It deeply hurt. His calloused fingers, textured by the trigger of a gun, or the handle of an axe, pressing into your malleable skin. But you’d let Joel drag you to hell if it meant he would hold your hand. You didn't care how he touched you– how he was inside you. He could be buried to hilt in your cunt, or knuckle deep in an open wound. As long as he was there. You'd give the heavens, and the earth, and rot in hell if it meant he stayed. Joel swore you had the space for his heart next to yours. But you didn't have the stomach.

You gripped the skin of Joel’s back. Searching for a part of him to hold that would turn off the cynic in him. Or at least try. You gave up on that idea. Because the man that fucked you— the man that loved you in action and not words— was not kind. He was not gentle. He was bold, and sharp as broken glass, and blunt all in the same being. You knew the crease of his brow. You had it memorised.

He hooked a leg over his shoulder, opened you up to his greedy eyes. They misted into dark hickory at the sight of you taking him so well inside of you. Messy little cunt for him to play with whenever he pleased. His nostrils flared as he pressed deeper. And your reaction was as he planned. A cry of his name. Your sex drenched and accommodating every inch. “A cunt made for me.” He gritted through his teeth, leaning forward to sink his teeth into your bottom lip and lick into the wet cavern of your mouth; Take the taste of you back with him when he retreated again; Righting his hips and the angle he fucked you in.

“Made for you.” You agreed in a garble and a slur. As if drunk off the last dregs of his kindness that lay at the bottom of the bottle. Licking it dry for all it was still worth.

“Say it again.” Joel grunted, demanded.

“Made for you.” You repeated.

“Good little Bambi.”

From there it was the crescendo. And it came broken in two halves of two separate waves. The first wave was one of numbing pleasure. The one that fizzled through your legs until you were nothing but a mere speck for a second. And the second was the one that broke you. Had you shattering. It tightened in your womb, behind the mouth of your cervix, and then released in slow flutter; Your walls relaxing and then contracting. And he came after with a groan and spilled inside of you.

He was no gentle lover. In fact, he wasn’t a lover at all. When he fucked you that night…it felt like he was trying to love you— but couldn’t. He was too conditioned to violence. It showed the ache he left behind. Nevertheless, you would take more than he was willing to offer. But what he dropped in your palm you stored away and hoarded like a greedy magpie with shiny little trinkets. He was warm. But not warm like a campfire. He was warm like hellflame. And you were okay with that. You would take your time with him, and slowly pry open a gap in his ribs to slip past. To love him to the marrow. Even the mangled parts. Find him at his very worst — The part humanity suffocated in. And love him there. Silently.

Joel ran a hand over the flank of your ribs and then curled around your navel to pull your back to his chest. Then kissed the crook of your neck in a silent apology to your skin for each mark or tender bruise he may have left. One that wasn't really needed, but you accepted it by reaching behind you and running your fingers through his thick greying curls. In times like these after it all, in the clot and space in between, you came to realise loving him was like loving being hungry. It felt good to want things. To feed yourself you swallowed your fear instead. You lay there, exhaustion heavy in your bones, a hand of his slipping between your legs to feel the evidence of him being there inside you. His spend sticky and thick and warm between your legs. You couldn't fight the impulsive twitch that jolted your spine when he pressed on your swollen, slick clit and drew lazy circles. “Mine now, Bambi.” He murmured into the skin of your shoulder. He didn't kiss the skin there, but rather trailed his chapped lips over your flesh in such a light touch it felt like it was hardly there. More a trick of the sex hazed, lust crazed mind. “Understand that?” And you nodded in silence with a small smile, watching out the frosted up window pane as the dawn stained the sky a burnt orange and angry red. It refracted and smeared in the crystallised ice. A thin sheet that obscured the image of the sycamore tree outside his bedroom window. The bare branches looked far more like the bones of skeletal fingers than a tree bare of leaves. Its bleach white bark only emphasised your image of it. Your vision. Nevertheless; The blackbird would sing, once again on its branch, a morning song you knew by heart.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller imagine #nephilim

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spacexseven · 1 year

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I'm going BATSHIT for ur demon au omfg imagine poor little reader with a health condition like pots which can cause fainting! I'm curious to see how they would react, I think chuuya would always send his little minions to watch you if he couldn't. Dazai on the other hand wouldn't be hidden about watching you like chuuya he would probs be trailing right be hind you like a guard dog making sure it's poor owner is alright! They're poor little darling is so fragile after all </3

you're so right!!! im just gonna generalize w darling who gets sick often

cw: yandere characters, stalking, invasion of privacy

dazai gets it in his head that you need to be constantly watched, and by him (aka the best guard dog you can ask for), so he follows you around everywhere, sits awkwardly close to you even at home, and watches you at every moment he can (it was a huge struggle to convince him you don't need watching over while showering). going out also means he'll have your hand in his in a tight grip, and never leaves your side. if you do happen to fall in, he takes to the position of nurse with shockingly natural ease. it's annoying when he's constantly coddling you, but there's no escaping nurse dazai once he starts. spoonfeeds you all his very nutritious homemade meals (just...don't ask what's inside), tucks you in before you sleep, insists on reading to you—except the book in question is your journal, and even offers to sing you to sleep. he also makes the most annoying comments about how fragile you are and how much he needs to take care of you and aren't you just grateful that you have such a reliable demon by your side?

chuuya pretends like he could care less. what's new about humans falling ill every five minutes? why should he care? you can take care of yourself; except without you knowing, he's worrying to the extreme. has his followers find him the best medicine to relieve your symptoms, does all the research he can about your illness, and ahs them watch over you when you're out and about. chuuya leaves all the things he's bought for you, including medicine and food and drinks (a giant, expensive care package, essentially) at your doorstep and refuses to admit it was from him. makes you your favorite meals if you're able to eat it and refuses to leave your side when you're resting, just in case. of course, all the while he's making some snarky comment about how you're always sick and dependent on his help :>

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thewritetofreespeech · 8 months

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Could I request brothers of Obey Me with an s/o who's a medical expert?

Obey me Brothers + medical expert s/o

Lucifer

Finds it interesting.

He doesn’t know much about human anatomy or medicine, so it’s always interesting when someone knows more about a topic than he does.

Really has no interest in the physicality of humans or healing. Just interested in their knowledge and hobby.

Provides them with as many resources as possible if they wish to learn demon medicine as well. But only if they want to.

Mammon

Probably says a lot about him that he finds it so hot….

Hearing them talk about medicine, and take authority in an emergency, gets his blood going.

He has no idea what they are talking about, as he’s pretty think with anything biology or health related, but it sounds impressive.

Makes jokes about wanting to play doctor, but gets too flustered & embarrassed if they take him up on it to follow through.

Levi

Finds it interesting, but only for fact checking games or his otome fanfic needs.

He got really into medical information when Hataraku Saibō came out. However he quickly lost interest when he had to actually learn stuff and look at pictures of blood.

Levi has a slight Hemophobia complex.

Will go ask them things like “how quickly does the human body drain of blood?” “what’s the difference between a laceration and a hematoma?” “could someone live if they were stabbed in the stomach 13 times?” For literary purposes only.

Satan

Of course loves anything to do with knowledge, and the amount of reading required to become a medical expert is just a bonus.

Satan also has an interest in medicine and medical information due to his love of mystery drama, which are his favorite type.

Forensic knowledge has a great crossover. So he spends a lot of time speculating with s/o on the cause of death or suspects in a book before it reaches the end.

Finds a lot of obscure medical books & journals to share with them, should they cross his path.

Asmo

Says he’s interested, but only to play doctor.

A lot of it really goes over his head as Asmo is only interested in figures. Not literal anatomy.

He does like to listen to them though, as they always get so passionate when they talk about some medical marvel of obscure fact. He’s always found passion to be a person’s sexiest quality.

Dresses up like a nurse a lot to surprise them. Thinks it’s helpful.

Beel

A lot of it is too technical for Beel too, but he tries to pay more attention than Asmo.

He is actually really interested in anatomy. Particularly as it relates to kinesis and physicality.

He asks a lot of questions on how to move his body better to improve his results. Or avoid injury.

Injuries do happen though, as it’s inevitable with sports or the high intensity work outs, he’s doing. Goes to s/o to have them bandage him up and take care of him. They always have to ask if he’s running a fever as well with how much he blushes.

Belphie

Belphie is a bit of the medical expert too. He had a lot of time to read when he was locked up in that attic, and anatomy was actually always an interest of his before s/o.

He plays dumb though and acts like he doesn’t understand things, so they’ll reteach him. Mostly just to hear them talk.

He also plays sick a lot so they’ll take care of him. Not necessarily a Munchausen, just needy.

It usually works. However there are sometimes when the treatments get a little….intense, and more than he bargained for. At least they haven’t tried surgery on him yet.

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mysumeow · 1 year

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My ears! Why won't you pet them? 2/2❜

PREVIOUS PART

Summary: Tighnari is used to the attention his fox features bring to him. Your apparent indifference to them makes him wonder: why's that?

Warnings: Once again, Tighnari calls reader a lummox. That's like his catchphrase. Non-graphic descriptions of violence. Pretty sfw all-over, but gets mildly suggestive towards the end with nudity.

a/n: asks and requests are open ^^

Tighnari awoke with a severe headache that prevented him from even sitting up in bed. Next to him, you were sitting on a chair as you jotted down some notes. You noticed that, despite his eyes being open, he still had a dazed expression.

"How are you feeling? You received a strong hit to your head," you closed your report journal and left it on the desk. "If I hadn’t disobeyed your request, who knows if you would’ve made it out alive,"

"Ah, right. Now I remember," once again, he attempted to sit and rest his back against the headboard. "We were…cleansing a withering zone?"

"And then a pack of rifthounds attacked us."

His hand brushed against his bandaged abdomen, the memory of how it got there coming in as fresh as the wound.

"You’re not harmed, are you?" he took a quick look at your body in search of any telltale sign that you were also hurt.

"How would I be harmed if you told me to flee as soon as those rifthounds appeared," you crossed your arms. "I did come back not even a minute later and drag your body out of there,"

"I was too reckless," he recognized, ashamed. "I had already cleansed a withering zone earlier in the morning and didn’t regard proper rest before going to the next one,"

"Don’t overthink about it," you told him before he could apologize. "We made it out of there alive; that’s all that matters,"

Despite your assurance, the need to apologize gnawed at him in the back of his mind.

"Look at you. You’re always complaining about adventurers being reckless and having to nurse them back to health," you teased.

"Very funny," he rolled his eyes.

"I know," you said as you rose from your seat. "You look thirsty. I’ll go look for a glass of water. Don’t go anywhere,"

"Do I have a choice."

Tighnari, ever the stubborn one, managed to get out of bed and scan his own appearance, just to get a better idea of the injuries on his body. You weren’t trained on how to approach these types of damages, unlike all forest rangers, so he figured Collei gave you a hand on how to treat his wounds.

His eyes fixed on the square band-aid patch at the base of his left ear and what that meant.

"I’m back—And of course you wouldn’t stay in bed," you said, leaving the glass of water on his bedside table and gathering your belongings, such as the report journal. "Because you need to rest, let's put research on hold for today... or until you feel better."

"No need. We can continue right away."

"Don't be silly; go back to bed," you said gently. "Remember to update your own journal,"

Maybe you didn’t care about it or didn’t notice, but Tighnari was too aware of your proximity. His heartbeat spiked up and didn’t calm down, even after you left his room.

Late at night was when he decided it was a good time to finish documenting recent finds.

Tighnari yawned and opened the journal to the page he recalls being the latest he wrote on.

Not only was the pencil on a different page, but the texture of the notebook was also different. With a confused frown, he checked the front cover.

You took his journal by accident.

It wouldn’t be bad if it were the one dedicated to academic endeavors.

You took his personal one.

He shivered as a cold bead of sweat ran down his neck.

He almost had a heart attack when he opened his door to run to your temporary home, and he was met with your just as startled expression. Tighnari heeded the familiar cover of his personal journal clutched against your chest.

"You read it, didn't you?" he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "…Listen, let’s pretend this didn’t happen—"

He recalled that the last paragraph he wrote was about how much he wanted you to touch his ears and how frustrated he was that you were being oblivious about his feelings for you ever since you both were students at the Akademiya.

He wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight.

"Why didn’t you tell me sooner," you interrupted and stepped closer to him. "I always thought you were the one too entranced in your work to notice my feelings,"

He gawked at you. "You can’t be serious. Tell me you’re joking,"

"I’m not."

"Your visits are work-driven, and most of the letters we exchange are focused on that too! How would I guess you feel the same for me if the idea you give me is that we’re mere workmates,"

You sighed and averted your gaze from him.

"I’m sort of familiar with your kin. They tend to pursue knowledge and appreciate educational accomplishments over anything else. I didn’t want to feel like a burden?"

"…Wow, you really are a lummox in all senses of the word."

"Gee, thanks."

"Your information regarding my kin is not wrong. However, I must address the fact that you’re overlooking that not only are you not a burden to me, but I’m also capable of still pursuing knowledge and be with you,"

"So, in other words, you mean…"

Cautiously, he reached out to you and observed your reactions for any sign of rejection. With sheer tenderness, his hand grasped yours and pulled you inside his home.

The first graze of lips was sweet, his arms circled around your waist, and you pressed your bodies together. You pulled away to relish the feeling, which Tighnari granted you a second to do, and he was pulling you again for another kiss.

Tighnari jolted when you decided it was a good moment to rub his ear, and not being able to control it, he began to purr.

"You can do that?" it was a welcomed discovery.

"I—Yes—" his cheeks flared pink with embarrassment. "Don’t exploit it!"

"Hm. You're lucky I'm exhausted," you let go of his ear and preferred to nuzzle yourself onto his neck, the vibration from his purr all too soothing. "Let's just rest, yes?"

He didn't bother to move an inch, content with holding you closer and relaxing his cheek on your head.

The chirping from the birds outside awoke you from sleep, and the embrace you both dozed in was now pretty much over. Tighnari's leg is over yours, and your arm is tucked under his back.

Your arm was so numb that the pain shot right through it when you tugged it from under Tighnari, waking him up.

"Ah, my whole body hurts."

"I might as well lose an arm because of you," you groaned. "How about your wounds? Do you think you can continue today?"

He shook his head no, viridescent eyes staring back at you.

"If you want to carry on with your duties, don't let me hold you back. I can manage on my own."

"No need. I'll stay with you. And won't receive a no for an answer," you grasped his arms and led him to the bathroom.

"You're too kind. You could just scrub my back with a rag and I'll take care of the rest."

"You don't... want to take a bath together?"

"Oh," his eyes widened and processed the information. "...Oh. Uhm—if it's okay with you...?"

"I wouldn't have offered to in the first place," you laughed as you turned on the bathtub's faucet.

You were humming to yourself as you got the bath ready.

Self-conscious now, even though he wanted to go in with you, Tighnari began disrobing himself as slowly as possible.

By the time he was moving on to undo the sash around his hip, you had already removed most of your clothes. His eyes trailed from your face to your neck, and lower...

"Need help with that?" you volunteered to give him a hand, startling him and he forced himself to look away bashfully. "Your arms must hurt, after all,"

You directed him a teasing smile. If his ears could turn red, they would do so now.

Once bare, Tighnari followed behind you and sat on the corner opposite of you. He lowered himself enough so the bubbles would hide his face up to his mouth, not sure where to focus his eyes.

You weren't helping matters by sitting on his lap and running your shampoo-slathered hands through his hair, your chest right at his eye level. Perhaps you were having too much fun with the fact that he starts purring as soon as your hands touched his ears; you spent most of the time with your fingers there.

His delight was cut short when your fingers came across the deep cut those monsters released, and pain shot up at that instant.

"It stings," he hissed, scrunching his nose.

"If someone wasn’t reckless yesterday…"

"You’re not going to forget about it, will you?"

"Never.”

#tighnari #tighnari x reader #tighnari fluff #/ᐠ - ˕ -マ .. cute cute

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neonghostlights · 1 year

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A/N: We'll Meet Again by Vera Lynn is used in this chapter. I actually love that song even though it's kind of creepy. It fits the vibes. Also, I promise we get more Eddie interactions in the next chapter.

Summary: You haven’t been the same since you woke up in the hospital with memory loss after the earthquake hit Hawkins. When strange things start happening and you feel like you’ve started losing your mind, a group of strangers offer to help. Even though you’ve never met them before, they seem to know you better than you think.

Warnings: Doctors, Weight loss/loss of appetite/food, Psychiatrist/Discussion of Readers Mental Health, Overbearing Parent, Nightmares, Blood, If I missed anything please let me know, Not proofread, 18 + only, Minors DNI

Word Count: 2.7k

Eddie Munson x Fem reader

Series Masterlist

Part Three

Monday, September 1st, 1986

The pounding on your front door matched the rhythmic pounding in your head. You hopped off your spot on the kitchen counter where you had been nursing your mug full of coffee to open the door for your mother. As the door opened you could see her standing on the doorstep with a frown etched across her face.

You followed her eyes as they trailed from your hair down to your shoes. Your mother always did this thing since the quake where she observed you, mentally making notes of what was off or changed since the last time she had seen you. You were pretty certain she probably kept a journal detailing how you looked or acted each time she saw you so she could go back and compare notes.

The soft hum of the engine came from her car still running in the driveway. The sky was cloudy and gray behind her, teasing the possibility of rain.

“Your clothes look looser,” your mom said as her eyes did another critical pass over you.

“Goodmorning, Mother. Happy to see you too on this beautiful morning,” you remarked sarcastically as you waved your arms at the cloudy world behind her. You turned to leave her at the open door as you took one last sip of your coffee and grabbed your bag off the couch.

“I’m serious,” she called after you. “Have you been eating?”

You huffed as you walked out the front door and closed it behind you. She stood over your shoulder as you locked the door. “Yes, I’ve been eating.”

It wasn’t a lie. You had been eating. But definitely not as much as you used to. It wasn’t something you had done on purpose. Food just didn’t hold much appeal after the first initial bites. Honestly, you hadn’t even thought much about your food intake or weight until you noticed the way your clothes started to fit now. Everyday you promised yourself that you would eat more just to push it off onto the next day. You should have known your mom would notice.

Your mother pursed her lips as she observed you climbing into the passenger seat of her car. The car that she has had for three years yet still had that new car smell.

“I have a good feeling about this new doctor,” she stated matter of factly as she started the car and reversed from the driveway.

You gave a half hearted hum before she continued. “I mean, he’s supposed to be the best neurologist in the Indianapolis area.”

“Do you really mean that or are you saying that because you know his parents?” you asked with an eye roll.

Your mom took a deep breath but didn’t say anything else as you reached over and turned on the radio. It was going to be a long car ride to Indianapolis.

The exam room was sterile and white. You currently sat on the exam table in the center of the room. The thin protective paper underneath you crinkled with each impatient swing of your legs.

Visiting the neurologist always made you nervous. You were always a little medical mystery that no one wanted to take the time to solve. The doctors in the hospital had made it seem like it was a cut and dry case of a head injury. But every time you’ve been to the doctor recently they seem to either not know or not care enough to dig deeper into why you weren’t getting better.

Hence why your mother had weaseled you into this new doctor's practice. She really did care and wanted to see you improve. Her way of showing it was just different than what you would expect.

“Can you please sit still and act your age?” your mother wrinkled her nose at the now ripped paper underneath your thighs.

“Sorry. I’m just nervous,” you muttered.

Her face softened at your admittance. It wasn’t often you admitted that your health worried you. You were usually the one brushing things off or always claiming that things were okay.

A loud knock sounded from the closed door before the doctor made his entrance.

Dr. Coleman was younger than you had expected. His charming smile when he walked into the room practically made your mother swoon from her chair.

You fought back the urge to gag.

“Well, hello there,” he said as he took your mother's hand.

“When Connie told me her son was a hot shot doctor I couldn’t believe it! Thank you so much for getting us in so soon!” She exclaimed.

“No problem at all,” he said before he turned to you. “And you must be my patient. Nice to meet you,” he said as he reached his hand out to you. You didn’t miss the way his tone softened greatly when he spoke to you. Like he was trying not to spook a wild animal.

You sent a quick nod as a greeting before he sat in a circular rolling chair and started to pull papers from the file he held under his arm.

“I looked over all of your records from the hospital and your previous doctor. I’m honestly very surprised with what I found,” he remarked. “But before we get into that, how are you feeling lately? What symptoms are you experiencing?”

You cleared your throat, not wanting to answer this question in front of your mom. You could only imagine the drama it would cause if you asked her to leave, plus having to deal with the interrogation on the ride home to Hawkins.

“Well, I'm still having daily headaches, memory loss, nightmares, and nosebleeds. I’ve recently noticed a lack of appetite and I think that’s made me lose some weight. Also, I think I’m having hallucinations.”

Your mothers head snapped to look at you. Dr. Coleman nodded like he wasn’t surprised.

“What kind of hallucinations?” The doctor asked as he read over your chart again.

You tried to swallow, your throat suddenly feeling very dry under your mothers glare. “Uh, well seeing things, hearing things, feeling things like I’m dreaming but I’m awake the whole time. And then I wake up and everything is normal.”

“Mhm,” he hummed as clicked off the overhead light and rolled closer in his chair and shined a bright light into your eyes, making you jump. He gave you an apologetic smile as he continued to look at your eyes and then moved on to using his cold hands to awkwardly palpate around your skull.

“Well, I think I have an idea of what might be going on,” he rolled back away from you and turned the light back on. He grabbed some prints of what looked like blurry pictures of a brain and held them in front of you and your mother so you could both see. The pictures were hard to see with the way he was holding them and you couldn’t really tell what you were looking at.

“These are some copies of your last brain scan and your first brain scan from the hospital when you first came in. I looked over the originals intensely and there’s one thing I noticed between the two of them. There’s no sign of any brain damage or injury in either of these. I’m looking at a perfectly healthy brain in both scans.”

“So what does that mean?” your mother asked as she put a hand to her own head.

“It means I think the initial diagnosis in the hospital was wrong. Looking at your records nothing indicated that you had hurt your head besides loss of consciousness, memory loss, and a headache. It’s my professional opinion that what you’re experiencing is psychiatric in nature, not physical. I have a list of great psychiatrists in the area that I think will be very beneficial for you.”

The room started to spin as you worked harder to get air in and out of your lungs. “I am not crazy,” you gritted out.

Your mother gasped at your tone. “I’m not saying you’re crazy,” the doctor said calmly. “It’s not unusual for ladies your age to feel a lot of pressure and stress, especially with some of the recent events around Hawkins. Perhaps the earthquake or some other event was a breaking point for your stress. The psychiatrists on this list should be able to find the right medication to help you.” He handed the list to your mother who was teary eyed and nodding along to every word he said.

“I am not stressed or under pressure. I hit my head in a freak accident. That’s it.” You jumped down from the table, ready to make your escape from the room.

“I know this is hard to hear. But physically the scans are telling me a different story. I wish you both the best of luck,” he said as he backed out of the room and shut the door behind him.

You didn’t spare your mom another glance as you stomped out of the office and into her car.

She stayed quiet as well for the majority of the ride home, sensing that you weren’t in the mood to talk. As you got closer to Hawkins, her need to say what was on her mind won.

“I’ll call in the morning and make you an appointment with one of the doctors on the list,” she said quietly, probably hoping you wouldn’t hear her.

“You can do that but that doesn’t mean I’ll go,” you snapped back. Your mom probably didn’t deserve your attitude, you were acting more like a fifteen year old than a twenty year old but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel bad. You knew you weren’t crazy like that stupid doctor had suggested.

Your mom took a deep breath before she spoke again. “I don’t see how it would hurt to get another perspective.”

She didn’t get it. She didn’t understand what it felt like to feel like this everyday. It was one thing to think of yourself as crazy, but to hear it from another person was too much. It made it too real. From not remembering certain things to the comments that Miss Joan had made in the grocery store that day, it felt like you were being left out of something. All of that on top of the fact that your mom had never actually told you how you ended up in the hospital made you suspicious.

“I’ll go if you tell me what happened to me during the earthquake,” you offered.

“What do you mean? We’ve talked about this before,” she said quickly.

You shook your head. “No, every time I ask any questions you change the subject. I just want to know where I was when it happened. Did you see me get hurt? How did I get to the hospital?”

She puckered her lips like she was physically stopping herself from saying anything damning. When the silence stretched for too long and it became clear that she wouldn’t be saying anything, you took matters into your own hands.

You smacked your hands against the dashboard, ignoring the sharp stinging in your palms. “God damnit, Mom! Just tell me!”

The car suddenly braked, causing you to jolt in your seat before it veered sharply to the side of the road. A passing car horn could be heard as someone honked at your mothers sudden maneuvers.

She sat staring straight ahead once the car was stopped and the flashers were on. Both her hands rested perfectly still against the wheel.

When she finally spoke it startled you. “I don’t know what happened to you. I was out of town for work and I got a call that you were in the hospital. When I asked what happened he said-“ She stopped herself abruptly, clamping her teeth together quickly.

“He who?” You demanded.

“I misspoke,” she said as she put the car back in gear and pulled out onto the road again. “Let's go get you something to eat before I take you home.”

You didn’t ask anymore questions for the rest of the day. If you were going to get any answers, you were going to have to go about it a different way.

You hesitantly walked into the office of your new psychiatrist.

The room was bleach white from the walls to the chairs, giving it a cold clinical feeling. Two chairs sat in the center of the room separated by a low coffee table. The coffee table housed a container of tissues, and oddly enough a record player.

You assumed that maybe the psychiatrist liked to use music during his sessions. You think you have heard before that music helps access certain parts of the brain. You don’t remember where you’ve learned that from.

You sit in the smaller chair that you assumed was designated for patients and place your forearms against the armrest, attempting to get comfortable as you wait for the doctor to arrive for your appointment.

You're surprised when you hear a slight crackling as the record player starts to play.

We’ll meet again

Don’t know where, don’t know when

The haunting tune unsettles you slightly as you shift in your seat, turning to face the door in hopes that it would make the doctor arrive faster.

“Well, hello there,” a man's voice said suddenly. You nearly jumped out of your seat when you realized the chair across from you was no longer empty.

In it sat a man wearing a white collared button down shirt, tucked neatly into white pants. His choice of outfit nearly made him blend in with the rest of his office. His blonde hair was styled and gelled perfectly on the top of his head.

But I know we’ll meet again

Some sunny day

He must be the doctor.

He gives you a kind smile full of bleach white teeth. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He’s soft spoken and sounds kind. You immediately feel comfortable in his presence.

“It’s okay,” you croak out. “I’ve been a little jumpy lately.”

His smile widens at that. “So I’ve heard. How else have you been feeling lately?”

You cleared your throat as you glanced back down at the record player that was still playing. You launched into the usual rundown of your symptoms. “Headaches, nosebleeds, nightmares-”

“No, no, no. Not your symptoms. Your feelings. How do you feel?”

Keep smiling through

Just like you always do

‘Til the blue skies drive the dark clouds

Far away

Your mouth was suddenly dry as you tried to think of an answer for him. “Um, tired, upset, confused, a little scared sometimes…”

“Guilty?” He interjected.

You tilted your head at him in confusion. “Why would I feel guilty?”

“He got hurt because of you. He was trying to protect you. Don’t you remember?” The psychiatrist's voice started to change. Gone was the soft spoken tone. His voice sounded deeper and distorted, making your hair stand on end.

You shook your head wildly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He let out a deep laugh. “The sooner you stop fighting then the sooner your suffering will all be over.”

Large black vines slithered out from under your chair, wrapping around your arms and pinning you into place. You thrashed against them in an attempt to get free but the more you moved the tighter they held you.

You watched in horror as the skin peeled off of his face and his hair melted away. Revealing disfigured skin of a monster. His once kind looking blue eyes were now cloudy and reptilian as he examined you like prey.

So will you, please, say hello

To the folks that I know?

Tell them I won’t be long

The walls of the office started to peel and drop away, leaving you in the middle of the world that you had only seen in your nightmares. Red flashes of lightning struck in the distance, Screeching of monsters echoed throughout the space.

You pulled against your restraints in another feeble attempt to free yourself.

The monster leaned in closer. “Don’t worry. We’ll meet again.”

You woke from your nightmare abruptly as you thrashed against the blankets. Blood dripped down your chin as it ran from your nose. You didn’t bother to wipe it away as you tried to catch your breath.

Maybe the doctor was right. Maybe you were crazy.

Taglist: (* means your tag would not work)

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@mandyjo87199 @josephquinncore @stevieharringtonswife @hazydespair @sheneedsrocknroll92 @mopeymopeymouse

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mixelation · 2 months

Text

Once again I am Posting to give you all a friendly reminder that most popular Covid-19 posts on this site contain some level of misinfo. Common types of misinfo include:

"heard from a friend of a friend" medical advice, including "twitter thread of things a nurse told me" or "opinion of a random unverified doctor on social media"-- NEVER follow this type of health advice without checking with proper sources first

anecdotal data provided as fact

misunderstandings or misrepresentations of what disease agencies like the CDC are doing, should be doing, or what it would even be possible for them to do

assigning numbers and statistics to things OP just made up. this ranges from saying something like "only 2% of people mask" to mean "anecdotally i see only a very small number of people masking in my community"* but the actual number is misleading to seem to seem like a real statistic.... leading all the way to people just making numbers up

overly dramatic language**

assigning moral values to things which have no moral weight (e.g., "I haven't gotten covid because I'm a good person who....")

misrepresenting the conclusions of current research. this one is tricky because you'd think linking a study in a high-tier medical journal would be a good source, but I frequently see the following mistakes: overly definitive language, including asserting causation when causation has not been established, or claiming a single study definitively has definitely proven something; not understanding appropriate extrapolations from a study's design (something that happens to cell in a petri dish is NOT definitive of what happens in a body); incorrect biological conclusions/assumptions, or else oversimplification that loses nuance; cherrypicking studies. Remember that Covid-19 is still a very new disease and the research is still evolving. A study that seems extremely important in one year might turn out to be bunk later, not because the study was poorly designed, but because we were missing key info. There is a lot we simply do not know and cannot know and we need to careful of our language when reporting on it.

just straight up made-up facts

Please keep this in mind if you choose to interact with a covid-19 post. Remember to click through on any sources to verify them, to be wary of a lack of verifiable information, and that a post making you feel overly emotional is a sign to double-check the facts and message.

*Clarification: assigning an estimated number to things you see is an innocent rhetorical device in terms of informal communication, which is what tumblr is for. I say things like this in casual conversation too. It only becomes an issue when whatever post is mass reblogged. I'm not saying don't post like this..... I'm saying know to recognize this in things you choose to interact with.

**Again, emotive language is fine for blogging. It's a natural part of human communication, and I do it too. I'm not criticizing that. I'm warning you to be aware of it as a potentially misleading rhetorical device before you hit reblog.

#brought to you by a post claiming measle infections are on the raise bc covid nukes your immune system #and makes you susceptible to measles again i guess?#except if you look it up the rise in measles cases is mainly driven by lower vaccination rates #which IS linked the covid-19 in that lockdown lead to people missing vaccines #ripping my hair out etc #mixed bag #covid-19 blogging

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cojnursinghealthcarecrimson · 1 year

Text

Rectal Foreign Body for to Self-Inflicted Anal Eroticism in Man: Clinical Case_ Crimson Publishers

Rectal Foreign Body for to Self-Inflicted Anal Eroticism in Man: Clinical Case by Guillermo Padrón Arredondo* in COJ Nursing & Healthcare_ Nursing Healthcare Open Access Journal

Abstract

Background: Historically, the acceptance of anorectal sexual practices has varied throughout different civilizations. While he was condemned in biblical times, anal intercourse was often practiced by the Greek and Roman civilizations. Due to the current changes in sexual behavior, the surgeon is currently facing new problems in the diagnosis and treatment of rare rectal lesions.

Clinical case: Male 37 years-old, married who presents to the emergency room complaining of pain in posterior anorectal area to the introduction of a foreign body, the patient reports attempted manual removal at home by maneuvers Valsalva unsuccessfully. Patient with stable vital signs and physical examination, normal chest and abdomen and rectal exam glass object is palpated proximal end with metal, plain abdominal radiography is requested where is evident the intraanal object.

Laboratory test normal: Manual removal is attempted in emergencies without success due to the caused pain and decided to pass to the operating room where under spinal block and position in Sevillian razor a curve clamp rings is used and removal of the foreign body is achieved without difficulty.

Discussion: Retained rectal foreign body is not an uncommon condition, but reliable epidemiological data are not available. The aim of the clinical evaluation is to identify the type, number, size, shape and location of the foreign body. Removal of retained rectal foreign bodies requires experience, with particular attention to different methods of extracting various objects. It is mandatory to perform a proctosigmoidoscopy after anorectal foreign body removal to exclude bowel injury and ensure that the patient has not inserted more than one foreign body. Patients with mucosal abrasion, tears and edema are to be admitted for a period of observation.

Conclusion: These cases are sporadic presentation in our medium one case or less for about a year and our patient quickly came to the emergency room for care, just as the size and shape of the pot perfume not allowed to advance beyond the rectum it which facilitated its removal under regional anesthesia without suffering further damage.

Crimson Publishers: https://crimsonpublishers.com/

For more articles in Nursing Healthcare Open Access Journal, Please click on below link: https://crimsonpublishers.com/cojnh/

#Crimson Publishers LLC #Crimson Publishers #COJ Nursing & Health Care Journal #Nursing & Healthcare open access journal #Crismon COJNH #Nursing open access joural

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crippleprophet · 1 year

Note

Hey Mac! Do you have any crip books or resource recs for crip sex/sexuality?

Feel free to delete if you're uncomfortable answering :]

do i ever! i actually did an essay for my master’s in disability studies on the topic of disabled people’s access to sex so a lot of these are sources from that (feel free to dm me for my paper!) & others are things i’ve collected for leisure (hah)

i’m bolding my favorites and italicizing ones i haven’t read but have been recommended / have on my list; as with everything, having read a piece + recommending it is not an uncritical endorsement, & i have various contentions with all of these pieces ranging from minor nitpicking to outright disagreement.

feel free to send an ask or dm if you want my thoughts on a particular work or need help obtaining a pdf!

books

Sex and Disability ed. Robert McRuer & Anna Mollow

The Sexual Politics of Disability: Untold Desires by Tom Shakespeare, Kath Gillespie-Sells and Dominic Davies

Unbreaking Our Hearts: Cultures of Un/Desirability and the Transformative Potential of Queercrip Porn by Loree Erickson. York University, dissertation submitted 2015.

McRuer, R. 2006. Crip theory: Cultural signs of queerness and disability. New York: New York University Press.

Kinked and Crippled: Disabled BDSM Practitioners’ Experiences and Embodiments of Pain. Emma Sheppard. Edge Hill University, dissertation submitted 2017.

Love, Sex, and Disability: The Pleasures of Care by Sarah Smith Rainey

intellectually disabled people / people with learning difficulties’ right to sex

Hamilton, C. A. 2009. ‘Now I’d like to sleep with Rachael’ – researching sexuality support in a service agency group home. Disability & Society. 24(3), pp.303-315.

Hollomotz, A. 2008. ‘May we please have sex tonight?’ – people with learning difficulties pursuing privacy in residential group settings. British Journal of Learning Disabilities. 37, pp.91–97.

Vehmas, S. 2019. Persons with profound intellectual disability and their right to sex. Disability & Society. 34(4), pp.519-539.

Significance of the attitudes of police and care staff toward sex and people who have a learning disability by A. Bailey & D. Sines. Journal of Learning Disabilities for Nursing Health and Social Care (1998), 2(3), pp.168-174.

sexual facilitation & making sex accessible

Bahner, J. 2016. Risky business? Organizing sexual facilitation in Swedish personal assistance services. Scandinavian Journal of Disability Research. 18(2), pp.164-175.

Linda R. Mona (2003) Sexual Options for People with Disabilities, Women & Therapy, 26:3-4, pp.211-221.

No Pity Fucks Please: A critique of Scarlet Road’s campaign to improve disabled people’s access to paid sex services by Tova Rozengarten and Heather Brook. Outskirts vol. 34, 2016, pp.1-21.

Julia Bahner (2013) The power of discretion and the discretion of power: personal assistants and sexual facilitation in disability services, Vulnerable Groups & Inclusion, 4:1, 20673.

BDSM, paraphilias, & alternative sex

Goldberg, C. E. 2018. Fucking with Notions of Disability (In)Justice: Exploring BDSM, Sexuality, Consent, and Canadian Law

Hollomotz, A. 2013. Exploiting the Fifty Shades of Grey craze for the disability and sexual rights agenda. Disability & Society. 28(3), pp.418-422.

Reynolds, D. 2007. Disability and BDSM: Bob Flanagan and the case for sexual rights. Sexuality Research & Social Policy. 4(1), pp.40-52.

Tellier, S. 2017. Advancing the discourse: Disability and BDSM. Sex & Disability. 35, pp.485-493.

Sheppard, E. 2018. Using pain, living with pain. Feminist Review. 120, pp.54-69.

Tyburczy, J. 2014. Leather anatomy: Cripping homonormativity at International Mr. Leather. Journal of Literary & Cultural Disability Studies. 8(3), pp.275-293.

Sheppard, E 2019, 'Chronic Pain as Fluid, BDSM as Control' Disability Studies Quarterly, vol. 39, no. 2.