#pediatric foot care

[drrajputorthocentre]

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Book an appointment with Dr. Rajput and take the first step towards a pain-free life!

[sayruq]

Dr. Tanya Haj-Hassan, a pediatric intensive care physician who works with Médecins Sans Frontières and co-founded @GazaMedicVoices, has emerged as one of the most prominent voices raising the alarm about the hell Israel has created for Gaza’s healthcare workers. Mary Turfah: Yesterday, I came across a report of a third mass grave unearthed at Al-Shifa Hospital. One month ago, as the first mass graves there were being uncovered, you were interviewed by Sky News. The anchor cited Israeli military sources saying that they had detained “hundreds of Hamas militants” within the complex, then asked you what you thought of that. Could you speak to your response to him, and to this persistent obsession with “militants at Al-Shifa,” when not a single hospital in Gaza has been spared, and when there have been mass graves [seven in total to date] uncovered at multiple hospitals in Gaza? Tanya Haj-Hassan: Yeah. I think my response was something to the effect of, I can’t believe we’re still having this conversation. Everybody from a medical or humanitarian background is so sick of having to respond to these atrocious, preposterous justifications that are being provided for things that are never justifiable. I thought the Hamas and Al-Shifa question was buried a long time ago. There were several weeks where that’s all we were asked about in interviews. There were multiple investigations done that concluded no credible evidence existed to justify the attacks on Al-Shifa. And then, Al-Shifa was targeted again, besieged again. Then, eventually, Al-Shifa started functioning again. The staff were so proud of the fact that they got it functioning again. That second time, the hospital was again besieged and targeted. A lot of the staff were taken out into the courtyard of the hospital, where the male staff were stripped. Israeli soldiers beat several of the healthcare providers. A very, very senior person at Al Shifa, an older doctor, was eventually released and came on foot to Al-Aqsa Hospital. And immediately, he went back to work. I was at Al-Aqsa Hospital when he turned up disheveled, beard down to here, exhausted, having lost I don’t know how many kilos, hadn’t seen his family for five months, didn’t have a phone, didn’t have proper shoes, didn’t have proper clothes. They fled with basically nothing. And many of the other healthcare providers who were taken outside with him were abducted. I think his testimonies of what happened and the amount of work they had put into getting Al-Shifa functioning again made the question of the Sky News anchor even more infuriating. Because that’s the reality I had just come out of, and to hear him then ask a health professional who had spent the last few weeks resuscitating dead and dying children that have been maimed to an extent that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget—even though I think for my own well-being, it would probably be good if I would forget some of those images—I found it so insulting. Insulting to me, to the healthcare providers who had risked their lives to stay at Al-Shifa, who had lost 25 percent of their body weight, who were exhausted. Insulting to the health care providers who had been killed at Al-Shifa, fleeing from Al-Shifa, to the civilians who were executed there. It’s insulting to our intellect. It’s insulting to humanity

MT: Last week, it was revealed that Dr. Adnan Al-Bursh, a renowned orthopedic surgeon in Gaza, was tortured to death inside of Israeli prisons, according to eyewitness testimony, after he had been abducted from the hospital where he was providing life-saving care, back in December. Hundreds of medical workers have been killed to date, and many more injured. You said in one interview that doctors and healthcare workers are changing out of their scrubs before leaving the hospital so that they’re not targeted. On top of this, the doctors in Gaza have been working basically nonstop for 215 days. As someone who has worked in Gaza, I was wondering if you could say a bit about what your colleagues are facing day-to-day. THH: I want to start with the abduction of healthcare workers, because it’s so underreported, to the point where myself and my colleagues, medical providers working our own jobs, are doing the investigative work. They’re systematic. There have been at least 240 abductions documented by our group— MT: 240?! THH: At least 240, and I’m not talking about what’s reported by the Ministry of Health, which I believe is an even higher number. We documented that at least 240 healthcare workers have been abducted and detained by Israeli forces, the majority of whom have not been released. And the ones who have been released are providing testimonies of torture, of themselves but also the torture that they’ve witnessed. I’ve taken testimonies. One, a three-hour-long testimony about the torture inflicted on [my friend,] a nurse, for 53 days in custody, accusing him of being part of Hamas, of his family being part of Hamas, even though the fact that he was released tells you he wasn’t part of Hamas. Given the extent to which he was tortured, I’m surprised that he survived. And he has not survived with his physical and mental health intact. He has scars, he has nightmares. He had hematuria, so bleeding when he urinated, for weeks after he was released.

Please read this interview as it sheds light on the horrors doctors, nurses, and other medical workers in Gaza have endured

[totalfapseosydney07]

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[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 353: That was Then, This is Now, p5

Melissa was crouched down alongside me, excited about giving me this virtual tour of the new office spaces using her laptop. She was positively beaming, and her size made me feel like a child with his pretty teacher as I sat like a kid at my oversized desk that Monday morning. I’d normally struggle with keeping my eyes from drifting down into the neckline of her low-cut white dress, but I was rapt in awe, and more than a little apprehension as I stared at the screen. I struggled to grasp at the sheer scale and enormity of this thing. I hadn’t seen anything about this before, believe it or not. The girls hadn’t let me even step foot on the construction site for the past few weeks - ‘it’s a surprise!’ they’d said, but I suspect there was more to it than that - so all I’d seen were the early blueprints before things really got started. Even those were ridiculously extravagant, and impossibly adventurous, but this…this looked even more incredible.  Did she say it was almost finished??

She'd just shown me the interactive, digital replica with the soaring, Roman-temple inspired atrium with its jaw-droppingly huge statue of M-…of, uh, ‘Female Health’ towering over a new, opulently modern reception desk. The glass ceiling left the whole space awash with sunlight. Then she showed me the humble new entrance to our old practice here. It was left virtually unchanged as if they had simply built around it. Melissa assured me that this was so things would stay nice and familiar for my geriatric patients, but I couldn't help but notice how small it looked. It was completely dwarfed by the grand entrances and size of whatever the hell was going to be going on in those two new wings of the building.

Turning the camera around, Melissa ‘walked’ us by the desk and over to face the entrance to the ‘Evolution Wing’. She explained to me that this area of the walkthrough wasn’t populated with imagery yet, so its onscreen doors remained locked. 

Huh. Apparently that area would be for continuing pharm studies, etc. I guess I wasn’t clear on why they need a whole wing for that, but whatever. How much research did they really need us for? Well, it’s their money. Theirs…and my ex-wife Sheryl’s. Who, with her enormous wealth, technically owned this entire building.

Speaking of which, how this whole thing got funded was beyond me; this company’s pockets seemed limitless. But, I reminded myself, I’d decided to stop worrying about it weeks ago. There’s nothing wrong with growing the practice, is there? Growth is good, bigger is better…

I suddenly noticed my eyes had, as if on instinct, finally drifted down Melissa’s top. 

“Let’s check out the ‘Women’s Health’ wing!” she sang, bringing my attention back to the screen. Our camera made its way towards the rear of the atrium, under the imposing presence of the giant statue, and into a well-lit suite of separate clinics. Each one had their own separate entrance from the main wing. Down this impressive hallway I saw signs for ‘Internal Medicine’, a ‘Fertility Clinic’, even an ‘Aesthetics Center’, where Melissa told me Karen, the new APRN, would run a squad of cosmetic nurses and plastic surgeons. And… “We’ll have an ‘Adolescent Care’ department’?” I asked, baffled at the scope of what this place was soon to be.

“Sure yes of course!” Melissa lauded, excited, “Even the youngest women will need a place to come where they can be encouraged to, like, grow into everything they can be!” She sounded like she was reciting something that had been told to her, for sure, but whatever it was it was clearly something she believed.

“But, pediatrics?” I pressed, incredulously.  Frankly, I was afraid of how far away things were getting from geriatrics, the specialty of my practice. Far Horizons was drifting, and soon I was going to lose even more of the little control that I still had.. 

“Oh, you’ll see, this won’t be just kiddies and boo-boos,” Melissa continued, “this’ll be where girls are taught and trained and, like, developed into what this new, changing world is going to need. Strong and confident female leaders, scientists and athletes, young women that can take care of things. It's important that they become healthy, empowered women who can lead us into the future.” Again, it sounded like a marketing angle, but one that had obviously already worked.

The camera passed through the doors into the ‘Adolescent Care’ unit, and I was shown a small, but beautiful new waiting room, a modest gym, and several well-appointed, modernly elegant exam rooms. Further in I spotted a procedure room along with  what looked like several offices for new providers. This was obviously concerning, but before I could really think about it my attention was pulled away by something in the air, away from the screen and settling, once again, down into Melissa’s cleavage. Her big lungs swelled her breasts up with every breath, and a new wave of perfume had drifted up from her flawless, velvety skin. Breathing her in felt…good. It helped me relax and forget my worries.

Melissa was, no doubt, enthusiastic from the start to show me this virtual tour, and she seemed to be getting more and more excited as we went along. I could tell she really wanted to show me something, but all I could think was: You smell really good. 

“Thank you,” she said, and continued talking. “But speaking of what the new world’s going to need, let me show you this!” she twittered, quickly now backing the camera out and away from the adolescent unit. A new door came into view, further down the main hallway of the new wing. “We even have a small clinic for men, too, a little place for them inside us,” she said, “And here it is!”

I squinted at the door, not really comprehending what I was reading on the small sign aside it. 

“‘R-regression Clinic’??” I asked, my radar suddenly up, “What’s that?”

“Oh, Jay, I can’t wait!” Melissa beamed, bouncing a bit on her haunches and sending new jiggles through her upper chest, “Haven’t you heard? It’s the newest thing, a new movement in therapy to help couples really bond, get them closer, open up, like, new pathways of communication, break down barriers.” Our camera stepped right up to the doorway but Melissa stopped us there. “Katerina and Shanette have done such a good job setting it up. The counseling rooms and procedure areas are really nice but, y’know what?” she continued, smiling with giddy anticipation, “I'm going to save showing those to you ‘til we can do it in person. I already booked an appointment for us!”

She what??

“In fact, we can save the rest of the clinics for when I show them to you for real,” she said, “In the meantime, why don't we check out the basement.”

“The basement?” Couldn’t be too much down there, right? At the time the basement of the building had been used for some storage.

“Yeah, it’s incredible what they’ve been able to do. Expanding it I mean. You must have heard the blasting, all hours of the night? They’ve added in two…or, wait, is it three?…new sub-basements. Like whole new floors.”

I watched as the camera quickly sped down a hall and up to an elevator. Even in this mock-up walkthrough, we had to wait a moment for the elevator in the hall to bring us down to another floor. Whoever designed this must have been a real stickler for details I thought as we waited for the doors. Melissa, I noticed, could barely keep herself still. When the doors finally slid open and we stepped in, she took us down past the first basement levels down to the very bottom before mentioning that the virtual walkthrough didn’t have images for the pool yet. 

“Wait…There’s a pool?!?” I asked, in disbelief.

“Yes, of course silly,” she giggled, “on the first basement level. I’ve told you about that! You’re so cute, so scatterbrained. I love that! But, yes - pool! For trainings and exercise, and there’s a nice hot tub that I think the Regression Clinic is going to use until theirs is finished."

I felt a chill rise up my spine as I thought about the last time I was in a pool.

"Don't worry, sweetie, you’ll be safe,” she assured me, “Men aren't even allowed onto that level unless there’s a lifeguard on duty. That reminds me - we have to hire a lifeguard!” Melissa giggled, maybe picturing exactly what I was, a hot young thing in a red swimsuit. “Now, The other levels aren’t for patients, it’s like cubicles and computers and stuff, and they’re supposed to be for girls-eyes only. But I’ll show you the bottom one anyway. It’s so cool!”

“What’s down there?” I queried, as the elevator hit the bottom floor and the virtual doors slid open. 

“So far it’s a place for the construction workers, a whole floor,” she began. In front of us was a big, simple, starkly lit room that looked like something of a community space, a common area with large tables and benches. Like what someone might see in a school or church basement. Or a prison. 

“A lot of them…well, all of them really…have stopped going home at night. Like, when their shifts are done they just keep working. They’ve just started camping out among all the construction when they need to sleep, and just wake up to work. They feel better here than they do…out there.” Along with the weirdness of what she was describing, Melissa giggled strangely. “I guess they just like it here so much! Even the ones with homes still would rather stay here now.”

“For real?” I asked, incredulously, but suddenly I was reminded of the queasy feelings I got when I stepped outside for too long, and a looming sense of dread began to  slowly creep over me. There was something terrifyingly wrong about all of this, but at that same time it was all darkly thrilling. I watched the screen as the camera slowly came out of the elevator into the big, open common room. Unlike the upper level, the ceilings here were low, and though the area was likely the footprint of a small gymnasium, it felt strangely claustrophobic. 

“Yeah. But, the construction’s almost done,” she continued, as we drifted in among the plain plastic chairs around a simple round table, “and some of them are homeless now, and the rest don’t want to leave. So, we decided to make a place for them, and any other men we hire. If they need a place to stay."

That surprised me. “Hiring men?”

“Oh, for sure! I mean, we’ve been interviewing and hiring for so many new positions. Girls, of course, for the clinics, the administration and blah blah. But Evolution wants to do some community outreach, help out the less fortunate,” Melissa continued, “So many men are unemployed now, and we figure we can use them for maintenance, cleaning, laundry, landscaping, right? Maybe even some basic data entry in one of the lower levels.” 

“I…I guess?” I answered, still disbelieving what I was seeing and hearing. 

“…and some of these construction workers are pretty cute,” she giggled, as the camera brought us to one of several doorways at the back of the room, “the girls kinda want to keep them.” This entry led to a low hallway off of which came a number of hostel-type rooms. Each room had multiple iron bunk beds, allowing each to sleep a dozen, maybe more. “Just look at these cages I’ve made for them…”

“C-cages?” I blurted, suddenly noticing now that, yes, the doors to the rooms were barred, like a jail’s might be. 

“Well, haha, not cages!” she quickly corrected, “We just…want it to be secure, and safe, right? If there’ll be men living here, underground, we don't want them getting into trouble do we?”

“O-okay…” I hesitated, trying to come to the logic of it all.

“They're more like living areas…” she added.

…than, like… some sort of pen? Yikes. But… there was some charity in it I guess. If these men were homeless, and without work, weren't we just doing them a favor? They seemed to like it here. 

The camera looked further down the dark hallway. There were lots and lots of these rooms. “How many of these people will be living down here?”

“Well, right now we think there’s about twenty surviv-…A-about twenty of them. Plus we have plans to bring in about a dozen right away.” she answered, a strange tilt to her voice, some heavier breathing as she turned the camera around to go back to the common area, “But we have plenty of room for a lot more once we need it.” She was excited for this, for sure, and trying to hide it.

“It…it  looks nice,” I tried, just imagining what the real thing would look like in person as I did  and doing my best to ignore the lingering sense of foreboding, which continued to breath chills onto the back of my neck. Something about this wasn't quite right.

“It will be pretty nice for them,” Melissa continued, as she breezed the camera past what looked like a small cafeteria. “It’ll be our own little far-...our own little community of men. We’ve included a few more feeding areas, back that way, all sorts of…uh, like, games and places for them to explore and hang out when they’re not working.” The camera was sailing through a labyrinth of smaller spaces, now, little halls. A room of video games. “They seem to like looking at pictures but they won’t have phones or computers…”

Because they can’t afford them? Or because you won’t permit it? I didn’t dare ask.

“...and haha we noticed that now that we have the statue up in the atrium, they spend a lot of their free time at night hanging around, sometimes even kneeling in front of it,” she explained, “but we can’t have that anymore so haha we made a little room with a smaller version of the statue that they can go to.”

“Another statue of you?!?” I asked, totally flabbergasted at what I was seeing. The camera had glanced into a small, dark chamber, lit by flickering, computer-generated candles. Indeed a smaller, maybe eight-foot tall copy of ‘Female Health’, stood inside. Made of a similar white stone amalgam perhaps, this one was placed in more heroic of a pose. It stood on a raised platform at the far end of the room, to look down at its admirers. “For them to….what??” Jerk off to you?!? “Down here?!”

“Remember, it’s not me!” Melissa giggled, as the camera backed out of the room, “You don’t have to be jealous!” 

Is that a sign above the door? They call that ‘The Chapel’ ?!?

I looked to my right, to Melissa, still squatting aside me. If I hadn’t noticed it before, I did now. Her dress today was toga-inspired, for sure. She looked like a Roman goddess, unsettlingly too much like the statue even now, here. 

“And, don’t worry, I’ll make sure they behave,” she continued, as our point of view on-screen shifted, “I have cameras everywhere, so I can watch over them. I'll make sure they’re nice and safe.”

…and not doing anything you don’t allow, I gather?

“Okay well speaking of staying safe, I can’t wait to show you where you’ll be living!” Melissa said ebulliently. She was moving the camera around a bit through the men’s chambers again, and I was suddenly afraid that she’d had a cell set aside for me down there, in the depths. “But the upstairs isn’t done yet. We’re still working on finishing the design and moving the walls around. Especially the third floor.”

“I’ll be u-upstairs?” I asked, feeling a sense of immediate relief. Had I known I’d be moving? 

And the building has three floors now?

She sensed the change in my voice and giggled. “Yes of course, silly! You’ll be living upstairs, cutie, with me and the girls,” she said, as she moved to click a few keys and the animation of the virtual walkthrough closed off her screen. “There’s a big suite planned for me, and you’ll have your own ca-...your own little room inside it.” Crouching alongside me, she shifted a bit. “It’ll be so nice, when…when I can take you back to my new nest, I can make it all so comfy for you,” she said, and I heard the first hint of the throaty growl that signaled her arousal. “We’ll move all your stuff in, or just get rid of it all,” she said, making herself even more excited with the thought of it, “I’m going to have everything you need, get you anything you want. Mmmm….rrrrr….”

Oh…oh crap…   

Jesus I was getting so hard.

“Oooo just the thought of it is getting me all kinky haha,” she laughed, “Mama’ll take good care of youuu….”

Oh god.

I saw Melissa glance up at the camera, which Gianna had been using earlier in our video chat and had since stood forgotten attached to my desktop’s monitor. She’d clicked off power to the screen, but the camera’s red light still blinked. Melissa smirked.

“Mama and her girls, her huge, huge hive of girls,” she continued, in a tone that had started to sound like gloating as she settled her hand on my iron-hard cock, though my thin, ripped scrub pants. “We’re getting so big, here, our little home. And we’re going to be…nnngh…hiring. Hiring more. Hiring so…many…more…girls…”

“Oh jesus Melissa,” I moaned, as she began to squeeze me.

“Picture it, baby, picture all the girls,” she purred, her eyes gleaming as she glanced up again at the camera. And then, with her large smile pointed at its blinking red light, she slipped her hand though the tear Morgan had left, up the front of my pants. “There are going to be so many of us, your swarm of girls growing and growing and growing. Will you like that? Having that many more of us?”

“Oh g-god yes,” I admitted, already picturing a crushing throng of them and then gasping as I felt her palm and fingers slip below me, to cup my chicken-egg sized balls.

Feeling how swollen I was, she purred her approval. ”It’s good that he’s all nice and full now,” she said, massaging my sac gently and making my eyes cross, “all ready for a productive day.”

With her free hand she tore away, like tissue paper, the remaining portion of my scrub pants from my hips leaving me fully exposed and helpless to do anything about it. She took my shaft in hand and began speaking right to it, right to my cock. ”This weekend I got used to being with you every moment, baby,” she cooed, “And I started to miss you already.” One hand still played with my balls while the other slowly began to stroke me. She cooed and clucked down to it, treating my penis like it was directly her lover. “Now, I want to suck you until there’s nothing left inside.”

In an instant she had turned me in my chair, on her knees got between my legs, and reached up to - for some reason - adjust the position of the monitor and camera. 

“M-Melissa!” I exclaimed, trying to figure out what was happening. 

You wanted to frame the shot perfectly, so she could see you do this. I didn’t realize it right then but I do now. You wanted her to watch. And seethe.

“Shhh shh shh…I know we have work to do,” Melissa said, trying to control herself and keep the growl out of her voice as she continued to talk directly to my cock. “We have to make sure Gianna knows you’re a good worker, she has to know you can get to work on time, that you can finish your paperwork…” She took a moment to put her hair up into a loose bun. “But I also want her to see how good an Office Manager I am. How good I am at taking care of you….”

“Oh god…” I moaned, letting myself submit to the moment, feeling the eyes of both Melissa and Gianna on me as I collapsed.

“Good boy,” Melissa lauded, and suddenly I was in her mouth. Stars exploded in my vision, even as my eyes clamped shut. She had me fully in, down to the base, and the muscles of her throat vibrated around me. Girls, girls all around me, through these thin office walls, they all stood suddenly at attention. 

They knew what was happening. They could feel it. Could they…see me, too? 

I could picture them, all about the office, trying to keep from groaning or smiling too broadly, knowing what was coming. Melissa in the meantime purred and moaned, and barely had to move or caress my testicles at all because with just two deliberate passes up and down my length, her mouth had me exploding, my hips bucking up into her as she laughed with gurgling glee around my manhood.

“uuungh…unnngh…unnghh…” I mewled, just trying to stay focused, stay conscious as - yes - she seemed to be sucking everything I had right up out of me. She was draining me, unburdening me, granting me my morning relief. She let me come, come completely, come completely down into her throat until I was fully spent and flaccid. We both knew I’d need it again, but for now-

“How’s that?” she smiled, finally pulling herself back up and taking me again in her hands, so she could gently caress my softened length as she laid me back down again along my thigh. She wiped the corner of her lip with a finger, and swallowed demonstrably. “All better?”

I released one last shuddering breath, and let my head nod forwards. 

I passed out.

===============================================

thank you muchly to RiF for his help in editing

check out my Patreon for lots more GITJ:

[nonobadcat]

For @oklolnoty

With special thanks to @krystalwithakay for writing an entire, working Javascript program just to make a joke in a fanfiction. May 2D murderers ever throw themselves at your illustrious feet.

Down the Rabbit Hole - Five Chapters - 20k words - Yandere Shigaraki Tomura x Rabbit Quirk Female Reader

Chapter Navigation: 1|2|3|4|5 🐇 Ao3 Mirror

Rating: 18+ readers only - Minors DNI

Final Chapter : Accessory - 6.1k words

TW: Noncon, yandere with kidnapping, canon typical threats of violence (reader directed), canon typical death (nonreader directed), oral (receive), PnV (doggie), breeding, and expensive designer clothing everywhere.

“Honey-chan! Come here! Come here!”

From the far side of the bar, Nyanko waved you over. Pochi and Nyanko sat scattered between a group of three middle-aged men and one woman. The short, squat one on the right had to be the Kiba, if the amorous attention he lavished on Pochi was anything to go by. You knew he’d been the one to introduce Oshida to the club, but the rest of the party didn’t look much like heroes or marketing managers. Beside Kiba, a tall, chiseled man with rumpled salt and pepper hair wore hideous seafoam green scrubs. Next to him, a thick necked work-out-aholic still had his hospital badge on his pocket clip. The only woman was a few years older than Mama-san with a small, oval face, Cupid’s bow lips and glossy chestnut hair. While she easily could have passed for a former hostess, the long, white lab coat draped over her seat revealed her real profession.

You pushed away an exhausted frown and very bitter “I haven’t even put down my bag, ho!” in favor of a cheery grin and bouncy step. Sliding onto the couch next to them, you clicked your tongue.

“Meh, what’s up, Docs?”

Green scrubs belted out a hearty laugh. “You were right, Nyanko-chan, she is very witty.”

Nyanko scratched the air. “Remember your paw-mise, Yamamoto-sensei. You’re nya-t allowed to fall for anyone but me-ow-kay?

“O-okay,” he murmured, pushing up his glasses.

Nyanko giggled.

“Honey Bunny, this is Kiba-san from the Buster Hero Agency,” Pochi explained, gesturing to each guest in order. “Yamamoto-sensei, Hora-san and Sawa-sensei all work in the Pediatric Trauma Unit at Metropolitan Hospital. Hora-san is the director. Yamamoto-sensei and Sawa-sensei are his top surgeons.”

“Oh wow! How amazing!” you gushed. “So when kids get injured in a villain attack, you’re the people that save them?”

“Yes. They’re the real heroes,” Kiba proclaimed proudly, sloshing his Old Fashioned.

“We’re negotiating a collaboration with the Buster agency,” Hora explained. “We’re going to feature them in our literature and they’ll be doing daily hospital appearances for the kids.”

“Now, now—” Kiba wagged his finger “—I never promised daily visits. Our heroes are very busy and I need to be respectful of their time.”

Hora slapped him on the back with a loud laugh. “If you can still say that, I need to buy you another drink, my friend.”

“Careful what you offer.” Pochi’s fanged grin pricked her rosy lips as she draped herself around her prey’s arm. “My Kiba can really hold his liquor. You better watch yourself, Hora-san.”

Kiba roared with laughter. “You tell them Pochi-chan!”

You giggled into your palm to hide the snide smirk. Billed for her mature sensuality and elegance, Pochi was Animal Instinct's number one Hostess for a reason. Notorious for her ability to smooth over even the most heated contract negotiations with her wit and grace, her clients included some of the largest corporate big wigs in the city. Drinking with her would do to your budget what trying to put out a fire with gasoline would, but if you could bankroll her tastes, her companionship paid literal dividends. 

The only question was, which party suggested the hostess club for negotiations?

You studied the faces of each guest in turn. Kiba, being the regular, seemed like the likely candidate, but Hora’s comment about the drinks implied he was footing the bill. Nyanko’s “here, kitty, kitty” act left Yamamoto too spellbound. While he would probably be back again, this was clearly his first run in with her cattitude. When your eyes rolled to the last person at the table, you caught a calculating grin on a botoxed smile. 

Like a boss, Sawa-sensei. Like a boss.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Nyanko gasped. “Honey-chan, show Sawa-sensei your new purse, paw-eeze?”

Sawa-sensei’s gaze drifted to the crook of your elbow where the bag hung like the white elephant in the room. You hoisted it up, setting it on the table for her inspection. Tiny palladium feet clinked on the glass top.

“Well now,” she turned it this way and that. “I think I still like the Retoupe better than the Sellier, but the size looks perfect and that color is so...”

“It goes with everything, right?” Nyanko agreed.

Sawa-sensei nodded. “Everybody gushes over the bubblegum pink but I think the Etain/Etoupe color lines are the perfect neutral.” She passed the bag back to you. “Very classic. Do you shop at Hermés often?”

“Oh! No, no!” you explained, with a cheery laugh. “A client bought it for me a few days ago.”

Sawa raised a painted brow. “She must be well connected.” 

“He,” Nyanko corrected. “His son comes in to learn how to talk to women. Of all of us, Honey-chan was the first to really bring him out of his shell.”

You cringed, glancing at Kiba. Hopefully that little comment didn’t make it back to Oshida. Logically, the man had to know you had other clients, but when it came to you, he could be more territorial than a bull elephant seal. Still, it made for good tips and a girl had to eat.

Thumbing her chin, she studied your purse like a general analyzing enemy troop movements. “Your sponsor seems to understand women well and have exquisite taste.” She winked at you. “Lucky girl.”

“Huh.” Hora inspected the bag. “That looks like a nice laptop bag. Maybe I should get one for my wife.”

“I’m sure she’d like it,” Sawa replied coolly, sipping her martini. “That’s the 35 cm. They start at about 2 million yen.”  

His face paled. 

“Of course, that doesn’t include the money you have to spend to even be offered the chance to buy,” she continued. “Hermés boutiques only get a limited delivery twice a year and only their top clients are considered. I think I owned fifteen of their scarves, two pairs of shoes, and the entire collection of their perfumes before I got the option. Even then, it was mostly because my mother buys their saddles for her Gypsy Vanners.”

WHAT THE HECK HIGH SPEC FAMILY DID THIS WOMAN COME FROM?!

“Their scarves are so lovely,” Pochi cooed. “Kiba got me the Grise Nacré colorway of Chorus Stellarum last week. It’s a must have for any pastel goth.”

“How much did that set you back?” Hora asked.

Kiba coughed into his glass. “56,000.”

“He’s a doll, right?” Pochi gushed, patting him on the cheek.

Considering Pochi had to talk him out of buying his wife an unsolicited vacuum cleaner for her birthday, you really wondered about that. 

“Maybe a scarf then,” Hora agreed, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Oh,” Pochi turned to Kiba. “What about little scarves or bandanas as favors for the kids? They wouldn’t be too expensive to print if you outsource and they’d look like little capes! Super on brand, right?”

“Pochi-chan! You’re a genius!” 

Her tail wagged so hard the seat swayed. “Oh, Kiba-san. Stop it! ”

Sawa-sensei smirked at the exchange and elbowed Hora. He nodded at her before turning to you. “Could you get us some champagne, Honey-chan?”

With a sparkling grin and an under the table fist pump, you replied: “Of course!”

“Pochi-sama!” Nyanko whined, her flushed face buried in the other Hostess’s arm. “I bow before you and beg for your continued protection.”

You clapped your hands together like a woman in prayer. “High holy Pochi-sama, Goddess of the Golden Tip. We offer you our eternal devotion.”

Pochi twirled her hair and loosed a cartoon villainess’s laugh. “Fear not, my darlings. True believers shall always receive my blessing.”

“We are unworthy,” the two of you repeated in synchrony.

“Thank you, thank yo—oooop!

Nyanko’s drunken cackles rang into the night as Pochi tripped into the back alley. “So graceful!”

“Elegance in her every step,” you agreed.

“Silence, mortals,” Pochi commanded, steadying herself on the dumpster. She thumbed her chest. “I have the skills that pay the -hic- bills.”

You giggled.

“Hey, Honey-chan?”

“Hmmm?”

Nyanko pointed to your empty arms. “Forgetting something?”

You slapped your forehead. “Oh. Duh. It’s still on the table.” Black heels wedged themselves into the self-locking fire door before it snapped shut. “Last train leaves soon. You guys go ahead without me.”

“You sure?”

Pochi swallowed, clapping a hand over her mouth.

“I’m fine!” you insisted, shooing them off. “Get her holiness back to the temple before she has to worship the porcelain god.”

“Whoops! No worries, Pochi-sama! I got your back!” Nyanko replied, wiping out a scrunchie. She scooped up Pochi’s dangling ears and tied them in a bow. Then, your friend turned back to you. “Careful going home with all that cash, kay, bunny girl?”

You nodded. “Thanks, Nyanko. You’re a queen.”

She purred before wrapping Pochi’s arm over one shoulder. Swaying together, they stumbled out onto the main drag before making a right towards the station.

Finding the bag took no time at all. You checked your wallet, only to see a fat stack of untouched 5000 yen notes. Basking in the glory of financial security, you whistled the item get theme from Legend of Zelda before strutting back to the door. The 1812 Overture blared from Mama-san’s office, drowning out the world. You bowed to her. Waving like an empress greeting the great unwashed, she returned to tallying the daily total.

Snickering, you ducked out the exit. 

When the fire door clanged shut, your hackles stood on end. The smell of sweat and woody citrus wafted on the breeze. A tall silhouette blocked the entrance to the alley. Panting like a dog, Oshida, clad in his spandex leotard, leaned against the brickwork. Dark shadows from his furrowed brow turned his brown eyes a bottomless jet black.

“O-Oshida-san?” you stammered, taking one step back. “What are you doing here?!”

“Nice bag.” He stalked down the alleyway, his hard stare never leaving the offending object. “Some other guy bought that for you, huh?”

You swallowed, unsure what to say to the hard bite in his tone.

He drew up in front of you, rolling his broad shoulders back to accentuate his full height. Wordlessly, he snatched up your wrist and inspected the leather craftsmanship. “Grey?” he scoffed. “How generic. That moron doesn’t know you at all does he?”

Out of seemingly nowhere, he produced a small, black leather box with a push button latch. Lowering himself to one knee, he snapped open the lid. A gaudy round-cut diamond, solitaire set in a rose gold band with pink sapphire trimmings, stared up at you like the eye of some great beast. Even in the dim, orange glow of hazy streetlamps, all three carats sparkled with near flawless clarity.

“Baby pink suits my baby girl much better then some ugly grey purse,” he cooed, slipping the ring onto your left hand.

Frozen in shock, you gapped at the garish, glittering stones.

Oh…

Oh no.

Oh no no no no no no no no no no no no!

“So… will you tell me your name now?”

Rigid tension shook your entire body. Sharp nails curled into tightly balled fists. “Oshida-san…”

He cupped your hand, stroking his thumb up and down yours. “Call me Hideki,” he purred.

Your head snapped up, wide eyes bulging. “Oshida-san, this is very sudden.”

He laughed. “Well, when Kiba told me everything that happened, I figured there was no time like the present.”

Heavy stones left the loose band sagging on your finger. Your heart sank along with it. Alarm bells blared as every part of your brain scrambled for an excuse that wouldn’t cost you a meal ticket. They clawed their way through pliant pacifications, tossing out line after line.

“But marrying a hostess would be terrible for your reputation. What would the press say?”

“Kiba will handle it.” A paparazzi worthy smile twinkled at you. “He’s great at his job.”

Screaming internally, you toed the ground and looked away. “Your parents would never approve. I don’t want to be the person who comes between a man and his family.”

He squeezed your hand. “Once they see how sweet you are, they’ll fall as deeply in love with you as I have.”

“I-I’m no good at anything housey though! I burn everything I cook, I always mix up the white and the colors, and I’m awful at cleaning!” You sniffled, pretending to cry into your hands. “You’d be so ashamed of a wife like me.”

“So I’ll hire a maid and a chef.” He chuckled, patting your hand. “Don’t worry your pretty little head over it, Princess. There are all kinds of wifely duties you can do for me.”

Oh my gosh. You were going to barf.

“Can you just not, you chauvinistic troglodyte?”

“What?”

Um... Girl. You just said the quiet part out loud.

You blinked. “What?”

Oshida blankly stared at you. “What did you just call me?”

Welp… guess the bunny was out of the burrow now. Better just roll with it.

Yanking off the ring, you ripped open his hand and dropped it into his palm. “I have precious little interest in marrying a callow narcissist who thinks I can be bought by the highest bidder, so you should march yourself on over to the first fangirl with a nice rack and toss your baggage her way.”

He stared at you. “Huh?”

“Are you for real?!” You threw your hands into the air. “No, you boorish sac of sexual harassment!” A manicured finger stabbed at the end of the alleyway. “I’m not the brainless bunny bimbo you think I am, so take a hint and take a hike!”

Slowly, the well rusted gears in Oshida-san’s head began to grind through your words. Head low, he rose to his feet and hovered in silence like a spandex coated scarecrow. As the blood in your ears slipped from a violent roar to a muted rumble, the man before you lifted his chin. Dark, bottomless eyes and a hard snarl were your only warning. Thick fingers clamped down on your wrist with bruising force.

“I ASKED YOU WHAT YOU JUST CALLED ME YOU LITTLE SLUT!” he roared.

A sallow hand shot out, grabbing Oshida's head with four fingers.

“Come on now, it’s not her fault that you can’t take a hint,” a grating voice rasped in your ear.

“W-wait!” Oshida’s face turned snow white. “Aren’t you—?”

Croaking laughter filled the alley. “I mean seriously, she had to spam the Clue-by-Four just to get it through your thick skull.” Tomura’s eerie smile seemed to glow in the dark. “Tell me hero, how do you live with yourself when you’re that stupid?”

Your heart stopped as his pointer pressed against Oshida’s cheek. Crumbling grey ash scattered in the breeze.

Tomura sneered. “Guess you don’t have to now.”

Shaking hands clutched your face. “T-Tomura, what have you done?” you whispered.

“Rekt the n00b?”

“You just killed a hero, Tomura!” you yelled. “What the heck were you thinking?!”

Cocking his head, he stared at you. “Why are you upset? Do I need to save scum or something?”

“You can’t save scum IRL!”

Tomura scratched his neck. “Reality is lame.”

You crumpled to the ground. Terrified words tumbled from your lips. “Now I’m out a client and an accessory to murder!”

“So… I picked the wrong option?”

You glared up at him with bloodshot, watery eyes. “I’m a pro-hostess! Handling angry drunks and sexual harassment is my rice and miso!” you snarled. 

Tomura puzzled over your words, weighing your complaints carefully. After a few, slow blinks he smacked his fist into his palm. “Oh. You think I was trying to be heroic like that bad choice in your game, don’t you?”

“Yeah, good on you for remembering now.” You moaned, burying your face in your hands. “Screwed! I'm so screwed!”

A firm, four fingered grip dragged you to your feet. You fell flat against a lean chest.

“Come on then, let’s go,” he stated, tugging you toward the end of the alley.

“Oh no. No. Absolutely not! I’m not a princess and I don’t need to be saved!” you insisted, pulling hard against his hold. “My fluffy butt is gonna stay right here, remain silent, and Google a good defense attorney.”

A cold chuckle set your hair on end. You looked up, only to see red eyes bulging out of his skull. Primordial terror sent your heart flailing against your ribs.

“You don’t understand, do you?”

A hard arm caught you in the stomach. You gasped. The world spun. Peeling lips curled in delight as Tomura swept you over his boney shoulder. 

“I’m no hero,” he rasped. “I’m the villain and I just didn’t want some moron touching what’s mine.”

You thrashed against him, hammering his black hoodie with your fists. “TOMURA! PUT ME DOWN!”

Cold fingers dug into your bare, inner thigh. “I don’t have an amputee fetish but I wouldn’t find you less attractive without your legs.”

You froze solid.

“Smart move.” The hold on your thigh receded. He reached into his hoodie pocket and extracted his phone. “By the way, settle a bet.” Painfully bright blue light spilled into the dark alley as he swiped through the contact list. “I know you were lying about the lemon sours and champagne. Tell me your real favorite.”

Your eyes darted this way and that looking for a weapon. There was nothing within reach. Looks like you’d only survive by your wits alone which, given being witty put you in this position, didn’t seem all that promising. 

“S-sake bomb,” you stammered out.

“What are you, a salaryman or something?” he teased.

Your face burned hot. “Shut up, Orange Cassis!”

He lifted the microphone to smirking lips. “Hey, Kurogiri. I’m bringing my girlfriend back. Do we have the stuff for sake bombs?”

Girlfriend?! 

When a low voice burbled through the line, you snapped back to reality.

“Oh. Yeah. Hold on.” Tomura’s gaze swept the alley until he spotted the bag, lying forgotten on the pavement. “My hands are full. Grab it for me when you open the portal. It’s by my left shoe.”

“Portal? What are you—?”

Before you could finish, purple smoke engulfed the alley, swallowing your startled scream.

When the thick smoke cleared, you found yourself in a dank, beige room. The only light came from the hazy glow of dual OLED monitors atop a minimalist brown desk. Above this, tacked to the wall with enough dossiers to please even the most obsessive conspiracy theorist, was a well worn world map pockmarked with pin holes. Overcrowded shelves, packed with precariously leaning books and muscle-bound action figures hung above a squat, overflowing garbage can. To your right, a thin, stained carpet and well scratched chabudai sat on the floor. Ripe with the smell of stale cup ramen and sweaty bed sheets, the room howled “man child”.

Tomura kicked off his red sneakers, letting them thunk against one of the many overstuffed trash bags. It flopped to its side, knocking over empty two liters like a line of bowling pins. He shuffled past the clutter and set you on a rumpled pile of bedsheets. The mattress groaned. He crossed his arms.

“Don’t whine about the mess. That hero idiot forced me to speed run. I didn’t exactly have time to clean up.”

You stared at him. “Speed run?”

Ratty nails raked his neck. “I was going to follow you for a while. You know. Get a feel for what you liked before I brought you home.” He pointed to a shopping bag laying near the bed. “That was all I managed.”

“It’s… for me?”

The scratching intensified. “No, I just like cross dressing,” he snapped, jabbing his hand at the package again. “Yes, they’re for you. I had to talk Sensei out of some expensive silk crap, so be grateful.”

Holding your breath, you tore the plastic open and upended the contents into your lap. Crafted from super soft, fluffy polyester, a fuzzy pajama set spilled into your lap. The V neck crop tank and high waisted shorts looked like something an e-girl would use to cosplay a kawaii teddy bear. A matching thigh-length robe, complete with oversized hood and baggy sleeves, took the look from “my furry fantasy” to “comfy cozy”.

…this actually looked like something you would wear.

You held the tank against your chest. The fit was alarmingly correct. When you glanced up, Tomura’s excited smile wrinkled his nose.

“You casual-up cute.”

Steam poured from your ears

He leaned forward, reaching for the zipper of your dress. You scooted back, colliding with the wall. With an eye roll, Tomura kneeled on the bed, crawling toward you. One hand caught your shoulder. The other grabbed for the tab.

“So you can touch me but not the other way around? Did you honestly expect me to be okay with that?”

“That’s normal for a hostess and client!” you protested.

He sneered, his husky voice rasping in your ear. “You went pretty far out of your way to lose me as a client, remember ?”

Tooth by tooth, the zipper crawled down to your hemline. Tomura peeled open the slinky outfit. Red eyes roamed over your flesh toned satin bra and simple, smooth seamed panties. He sniggered, his fingers trailing down your waist.

“Wow… talk about low effort.”

You glared at him.

“Oh come on. I’m not mad or anything. Pretty obvious you never meant for any of those guys to see these. Makes me feel pretty special.” He hooked his thumbs under the waistline of your panties and began to shuffle them down. “Besides, it’s not like you’ll be needing them anyways.”

A shaking hand caught his shoulder. "W-what are you doing?!"

He glared at you. “I want to see,” he demanded, yanking harder.

"Then look at hentai or something!”

“You got to see mine,” he deadpanned.

“You got a blow job out of it!”

Tomura clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “...and you left me with blue balls.”

“You got more than I did!”

He broke into an eerie grin. “Oh? Did you want more?”

You froze.

Five fingers clamped down on the stretchy fabric. Powder ash tickled across your thighs.

Shadows filled his wrinkled smile. “I can do that," he declared, pointing to his nose.

"Hey! Hold on!" You shoved his shoulder. It was like pushing on a brick wall.

Tomura leaned in, reaching for your bra. Your leg jerked. He bucked up and caught your knee just below his crotch. He growled, squeezing hard in the divots on both sides of the joint.

"Did you forget what happens if you jump around too much?"

Panicked eyes flashed to long, calloused fingers before jumping to his face. The predatory, blood red stare pinned you like a bear trap. Burning breath caught in your chest. Numb lips opened, closed and opened again. With no air to carry the words, you squeezed your eyes shut. Tears welled in your lashes.

“Hey… come on now.” His thumb hooked under your chin, lifting your head. “I wouldn’t make you my girlfriend if I wanted to kill you.” He patted your cheek. “You can move all you want in a minute. Just let me check something first.”

“Check what?” you whispered.

He snorted. “You’re the one that told me to Google it.”

Grabbing your other knee, Tomura pried your legs centimeter by centimeter. Scratchy hands scraped down your bare, inner thighs. Goosebumps prickled across your arms. By the time he’d butterflied you open to his hungry gaze, you felt the tickle and torn nails on sensitive skin. With a crooked finger on either side, he parted your lower lips, staring deep inside. He paused, shifting his body until the pale light of the dual monitors drove away the shadows. You stiffened when one pointer tapped the tacky tissue.

“Should have known,” he muttered, sitting back on his haunches. “The color isn’t right and you’re not wet.”

Your face caught fire. “You actually Googled the receptive period signs?! Seriously?!”

Shigaraki ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. “Guess it was too much to ask for a high spec target like you to give me beginner mode, huh?”

High spec, huh? Okay.... Bonus points for that, crusty boy.

“Beginner… mode?” You puzzled over the word for a moment before a startling conclusion slammed into your brain. Sweat beaded down your neck. Your words stumbled out. “Wait… I knew you were bad with girls but… are you… are you really a…?”

Tomura scowled at you, scratching his neck. “So what? You gonna look down on me or something?”

Oh… so… you let touch starved, crazy, virgin stick his dick in you? Your mind whirled, quickly calculating what fresh hell you had brought upon yourself.

public static void calculateChanceOfEscape(int levelOfCrazy, boolean isFirstLove, int qualityOfPreviousBlowjob){int abilityToEscape =0;  if (isFirstLove==true){  int touchStarvedFactor = qualityOfPreviousBlowjob*2; abilityToEscape= levelOfCrazy*touchStarvedFactor; }  Else{ abilityToEscape = levelOfCrazy*10;  } int chanceOfEscape = 100 - abilityToEscape;  System.out.println("Your chance of escape is "+chanceOfEscape+ "%");  }  public static void main(String[] args) { calculateChanceOfEscape(10, true, 10); } CalculateChanceOfEscape(levelOfCrazy 10, isFirstLove: true, qualityOfPreviousBlowjob 10);

…

…

…

Output - Chance Of Escape = -100%

Sweat beaded down your brow. Slowly, softly, you started to speak. “Hey… Tomura. I swear, I didn’t mean to—”

A hard hand slammed into the wall beside you. Crumbling paint dusted your shoulder. Bulging, bloodshot eyes stared into your soul. “Didn’t mean to what ?!”

Craaaaaaaappppppppppppp!

As you whimpered, his dead stare softened to a confused head tilt. “Oh. Wait. Of course you didn’t. It’s not like you can control what time of the month it is.” He broke into an eerie grin. “Ah… so that’s why you put me through that tutorial, right?”

…tutorial? What was he—?

“If I just do the things you had the player do in game, you should be able to warm up without any problems.” He cackled, ruffling your hair. “Geeze. Next time, just say something if you need me to grind first.”

In one sweep, Tomura slammed you down onto the mattress. Old springs squealed in protest as grey swirls over took your vision. Fighting through the ringing in your ears, you squinted up at him.

“Ooops. I’m used to going PvP with Tanks, but your build is more of a Glass Cannon, huh?” [8]

You groped for a hold on old, pilling sheets. Tomura shuffled between your legs. Five fingers plucked your bra strap. Warm breath fanned across your ribs. Dust tumbled from your body.

“You’re lucky I read a lot of walk-throughs.”

Pinky up, Tomura grabbed your breasts with both hands, squeezing the soft tissue with excessive force. When you whined, he lifted his head and raised an eyebrow.

“Still too hard, huh?” he muttered, shifting himself against your bare core. “Right. I’ll lower the input then.”

Loosing his boney grip, he rolled his hands over your breast before raising them a few milliliters. Back and forth, his palm tickled across your skin. As your nipples began to harden, well chewed thumbs circled their tips. Pinching the nub between thumb and forefinger, he teased both sides of you into puckered peaks. 

Electric pleasure clamped tight into already tense muscles. Your back arched. An airy gasp escaped.

“Oh? Like that, huh?”

Waves of pale blue tickled your skin. Sour breath wrinkled your nose. You tried to scoot out of his grasp. It was no use. One hand pulled away from your chest before clamping on your thigh.

“Kinda hot when you squirm for me,” he groaned. “Just no sudden movements, all right?”

Before you could reply, Tomura’s mouth engulfed the tip of your breast. Slow suction teased raw skin between his teeth. As sharp teeth trapped the taunt nipple, nimble fingers continued their relentless assault on the other side. 

“Tomura—!” you yelped. “Time out! Time out!”

The man above you shivered. “You really expect me to stop when you say my name like that?”

“Seriously Tomu-AH!” 

Frantic protests melted into an embarrassing moan when a moist tongue flicked over hot flesh. Your hands balled into the sheets. His head bobbed with each erotic suckle, leaving you writhing into musky bedding. His flat pillow felt crusty under your cheek. Like he was trying to eat you alive, Tomura nipped a bruising trail down your body. 

“Tomura. Please,” you begged. “Please listen to me.”

He paused, resting his cheek against your inner thigh. Scratchy hairs from his five o’clock shadow scraped delicate skin. You shuddered. Whiney words slipped from dry lips as you stared up at him through tear -eyes. 

“Not like this. This is too fast.”

Tomura scowled. “You need me to slow it down more?” He grumbled to himself, hitching your hips higher. “Fine. I guess you did it for me after all.”

His slick tongue dove between your lower lips. A needy gasp torn from your throat. Your hips bucked. Pinkies still raised, Tomura clamped down on your body, leaving deep dents in your thighs. His wide, flat tongue stroked from bottom to top in languid laps. When he reached the tender nub at the top, you jolted again. He paused and swirled over the area a second time. One whimper from you and a naughty grin slipped onto his face.

“Well, that wasn’t that hard to find.”

Electric pleasure shot up your nerves as cracking lips encircled your swollen clit. Every wet suck dragged the air from your lungs. Trembling legs clenched around his shoulders, burning him in a vice grip of quivering thighs. A moment's reprieve gave you just enough time to watch him flatten his tongue before redoubling his efforts. Time blurred. Errant thoughts caught in a cloud of lewd indulgence. By the time he pulled away, your drool stained his pillow.

Slowly staggering from the fog, your hazy focus drifted down to the man between your legs. Stray curses accompanied violent efforts to shed skin tight jeans. A vicious tug tore the tab off his zipper. With a feral snarl he slapped a hand to his newfound enemy, decaying the denim into a pile of ash. Ratty cotton briefs landed in a pile on the floor. 

Tomura’s swollen cock bobbed against your mound, leaving a pool of sticky precum on your skin. He pumped himself twice, licking his dry lips. As the slick tip prodded your twitching entrance, a wave of panic slammed you back to reality.

“NO!”

Tomura caught your wrists. You clawed the air mere centimeters from his face.

“Condom!” you demanded breathlessly. “You have to use a condom!”

“Huh?” He wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

“Rabbits are induced ovulators, remember?” you stressed, pulling against him. “It’s the act that causes the egg to drop, not the time of the month!”

Tomura froze. Red eyes stared through you. “You… don’t… have safe days?”

“Yes! Exactly!” You sighed with relief, flopping back into the mattress. “Geeze. Don’t scare me like that. I thought I’d never get through to you.”

Wait. Why did your hands feel numb?

All at once, a bone chilling cold blanketed your body. You turned your head. Tomura’s fingers dug hard into your wrists. You tried to wiggle your fingers. The bones creaked against his ruthless grip. As you strained against him, his body started to tremble.

“Hey… Tomura? A-are you okay?” you whispered. 

Glowing red eyes locked onto yours. Horrified, you watched as a hideous grin split his face from ear to ear. With a savage yank, he dragged your mouth to his. The ravenous kiss split your lip. You yelped. He lapped at the blood with a low moan. More biting than caressing, his embrace left your skin burning. Panting, he finally pulled away. Hot, sour breath fanned your cheek. 

In an instant, the world turned upside down. Forced face first into crusty cotton, his filthy sheets stifled your startled squeak. You climbed to your elbows, only to be yanked backwards into his boney lap. Tomura hurriedly shoved his shabby pillow underneath your body. As soon as you were properly propped, he grabbed your hips with bruising force. He leaned over your body, pinning you with his weight.

“So,” he rasped in your ear. “If I knock you up, you’d have to stay with me right?”

Your heart screeched to a halt. 

“Wait. No.” Dark chuckles poured from his chest. “You’d want to stay with me, so I can take care of you.” He buried his head against your spine, grinning madly into your back. “I don’t dislike that idea.”

“Wait a second! That’s not what I—”

His moist cock prodded your entrance. “Doesn’t matter what you meant. You put the idea in my head.” Sinister giggling shook both of you. “You better take responsibi~lity. ❤”

With a hiss, Tomura sunk himself inside you. Traitorous folds, soft and pliable from his earlier attentions, parted easily with each stilted thrust. Terrified to struggle one finger too far, you went limp in his hold. It did you little good. Clamped down tight on the wings of your hips, Tomura dragged your listless body further and further along his shaft. Slimy drool spilled from cracking lips, weaving a cold, tickling trail down the side of your ribs.

“You feel so good,” he moaned.

Cheek pressed into the mattress, every pop of your spine left you gritting your teeth. His blankets balled in your fists. Tender nipples grazed the bedding, back and forth until the unmistakable tingle of pleasure rippled across your skin. The coarse cotton cover of his musty pillow clipped your clit. Raw friction burned your nerves.

When Tomura rutted against your deepest wall, you barely muffled your breathy shriek.

He reached down, turning your jaw. “Oh come on. Don’t be like that.” With a husky purr, he untagged the stray strands caught in the corner of your mouth. “I wanna hear them. The little noises you make just for me.”

You whimpered, twisting into the mattress.

With a snarl, he wrapped his arms around your chest and dragged you up onto your elbows.

“I said, I want to hear you,” he growled, grinding into your body.

You gasped.

“See? Not so hard, was it?”

Tomura slowed himself, taking long drags instead of bouncing beats. He pulled out to the tip. A crooked finger stretched your entrance open. His spongey head circled for a second, painting your skin with the mix of your fluids. The cold air battered your exposed core, sending shivers up your spine. He paused, trailing the digit down your cunt like an artist, admiring his work. Then, he plunged back in, stretching you over his length.

Slow thrusts pushed you back into the scraggly pillow. Tears rolled down your cheeks. With each deep dive, your aching clit grated against scratchy fabric. Crawling need clawed its way up your body, merging with the tingling at your breasts. Tense teeth parted as a strained whine slipped from your lips.

“Oh?”

He shifted forward, pressing you harder against the bedding. The next plunge strained against your walls, leaving you trapped between twin pleasures. Shaking knees buckled into the foam. Back arching, your cunt clenched tight around him.

Tomura sneered, bringing his full weight to bare on your back. “That’s it. Don’t think. Just focus on how good it feels to be full of my cock.”

Tangled in his vice grip, there was nothing you could do but accept his pace. Languid teasing turned into firm friction. Tomura groped for your breast. Boney fingers rubbed hard circles into your sensitive nub. Wet, erotic clicks from between your legs laid the backbeat of a blissful melody. The world slipped away until only desperate need filled your every thought. 

“T-Tomura.” You squirmed under him, toes curled in the air. “Ah— So close... I…”

“Do it. Come on my cock.” He panted in your ear. Teeth gnashing, he clutched you tight.  “Wanna feel you milking me. Hah… Taking my cum so deep.”

Ice flooded your veins. “Stop!” you begged, shoving against him with all your strength. “Please, stop!”

He grunted, his movements speeding inside you. “Couldn’t—ha! Even if I w-wanted to.”

“No! ” you shrieked, clawing at the blankets. “Pull out! Take it out, Tomura!”

Locking himself cheek to cheek, he canted his pelvis to a steeper angle. Shallow, sharp pulses reverberated through your body, sending shockwaves of pleasure twitching through your flesh. His swollen head bore down on your front wall, dragging your puffy clit against his pillow. Swirling vision speckled as tipped over the edge.

“Ah… Gonna breed you.” He pounded into your hips. “Fill your cunt with my cum.”

With one last groan, Tomura’s cock pulsed, painting your insides with his release.

Quivering in his arms, salty tears dribbled down your jaw. You buried your face in the blankets. Wretched sobbing shook your frame.

“Hey now,” he purred, petting your rumpled hair. “It’s okay.” He rolled onto his side, yanking you into his chest. He squeezed you once before letting his hand wander to your belly. “I told you I’d take care of you and I meant it.” 

You sniffled and loosed a bitter whine.

“It’ll be fine.” He shushed you like a child, tracing delicate circles across your belly. “We'll raise the kid, and then we can raze this whole society, together. After all, I want to give my girlfriend what she really wants.”

You stiffened in his grasp.

He pressed a scratchy kiss to your raw cheek before muttering: “Way more you than some tacky pink rock.”

🐇 ~Fin~ 🐇

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Maid For Your Master by Afipia Felis

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@beeandtrees@justineangelrococo@aaangeliii

[erin-bo-berin]

Here’s a prompt for you. Steve gets an extra job during the holiday season as one of Santa’s elves at the mall. He doesn’t tell the reader, but they are out shopping and spot him talking to a little kid who is nervous to meet Santa. To with it what you please my friend.

I love this 😭

Holiday Helper

Steve Harrington x Reader

Christmastime was a magical time filled with magic, kindness and warmth. Sometimes though, it seemed to be filled with secrets as you tried your best to keep from others what their gifts under the tree might be.

This certainly seemed to be the case for your boyfriend, Steve. He was never one to be secretive, but at some point after Thanksgiving to the beginning of December, your boyfriend had become tight lipped. You tried not to bug him too much, but the questions were killing you. He would disappear for hours at a time and you never knew where he was.

He’d claimed to be Christmas shopping—granted he did have quite the long list of people to shop for—but the fact that half the time he came back without any bags in sight was definitely curious.

Another day of Steve sneaking off secretly and you decided to stop worrying about things. You trusted Steve and whatever he was doing, you were sure there was a good reason for his secrecy.

You had a rare day off from your work as a pediatric nurse. You loved children and your job, but it made your heart heavy seeing so many sick children at Christmas. If you had your way, they’d all be better with a snap of your fingers.

Deciding to do some Christmas shopping yourself, you’d just exited the last store you’d done some damage in, arms already loaded with bags from previous shops.

You were so excited to give Steve the soft cashmere sweater you’d picked out just for him. You’d gotten it in a slate blue color as he surprisingly looked so incredibly good in the hue. You were equally pleased with the gifts for the kids you’d found—a makeup kit that El had been eyeing for months, some new skate gear for Max, a book about D&D for Mike. You still had a ways to go in your shopping, but you were happy with your progress.

You’d only gotten mere feet from the store when you saw the annual Santa Claus set up in the designated area of the mall. There were velvet ropes arranged in a pattern to enforce a neat line of kids who waited to see Santa.

The jolly man was in his big chair, set up in the center of the attraction. His merry “Ho, Ho, Ho!” could be heard from even where you stood, a few feet away from the attraction. The little boy on his knee grinned big at him, right as a helper elf snapped a picture. After one last whispered exchanged between the young boy and Father Christmas, the boy hopped off his lap and ran to his parents who were smiling and gathering the pictures of their son and Santa. With a wave from the three, they were off and the next child was up.

Something at the corner of your eye caught your attention and you realized the green flash was another elf. The elf pulled aside a crying girl, whispering softly to her. She was still towards the back of the line of eager children and less than a foot away. You smiled at the caring gesture and hoped this worker got recognized for their tremendous effort with the children.

It was only when the dulcet tones of a deep, kind voice floated to you that your breath caught in your throat.

“Why are you scared sweetie?”

The little girl just shrugged, sniffling softly.

“Is it your first time seeing Santa?”

The little girl, hair in pigtails nodded, her hair bouncing with the movement of her head. She couldn’t be more than three or four and she had to crane her neck even to look up in the face of your boyfriend.

You boyfriend.

Steve was the kind employee in the elf’s costume, consoling the nervous little girl. He hasn’t turned around yet, but you couldn’t miss the familiar tones of his voice.

If he hadn’t ever given you butterflies before, he sure did now.

You stayed back, but listened quietly to his words of reassurance.

He knelt before her until he was eye level with her.

“Well I have it on good authority that Santa absolutely loves meeting children. Especially meeting ones he’s never met before,” Steve said, gently wiping the little girls’ cheeks.

“Really?” she asked, sounding skeptical.

“Of course. If he wasn’t so busy this time of year, he’d sit here all day and long just so he could talk to every little girl and boy who came in this mall. He’s a very nice man. Making children happy makes his heart happy,” Steve went on.

The little girl looked from Steve to where at the front of the line, two siblings sat on each of Santa’s knees laughing joyfully at the excited chatter of the kids.

“I don’t know,” she responded shyly, “Could I just tell you what I want for Christmas and you can tell Santa?”

Steve pretended to think for a moment, scrunching his nose up in thought as the little girl watched him, hopefully.

“Say, I don’t think you’ve told me your name,” Steve replied.

“Kelly,” she replied, eyes now dry.

“Kelly,” he began, “If I tell Santa what you want then that ruins all your fun, don’t you think? You’ll miss out on sitting on Santa’s lap and talking to him and asking him whatever you want! I’m sure you’re a smart little girl filled with questions for him.”

She seemed to think over his words.

“I have always wanted to ask him how Rudolph’s nose glows so bright,” she giggled.

“See? Santa would be delighted to answer your questions. What if I hold your hand while we wait and I’ll take you to Santa myself? I promise I’ll be there the entire time while you talk to him.”

Kelly smiled big and nodded, slipping her small hand into his much larger, adult one and they stepped back into line.

You stepped back into the crowd of waiting parents, watching your boyfriend with a warm heart. True to his word, he stayed with Kelly until she got to the front of the line. He whispered a few words to Saint Nick and with a smile and a wink, he nodded at Steve.

Santa greeted Kelly with joy, just like the other children, but seemed to be just a tad bit more gentle with her. After a few seconds of apprehension in which Kelly looked over her shoulder to make sure Steve was still there—of course he was—she seemed to loosen up and excitedly chatter with Santa.

Steve grinned as he watched his new little friend tell Santa all her Christmas wishes. He even managed to overhear Kelly ask Santa about Rudolph’s nose which caused him to laugh with a boisterous “Ho Ho!”, his belly truly shaking like a bowl full of jelly.

“Well my dear, it’s because Rudolph has so much love in his heart. He loves his parents and his reindeer friends, me and Mrs. Claus and all the little boys and girls in the world. The glow in his heart just couldn’t be contained so he was born with the ability for his nose to glow,” Steve heard Santa tell Kelly.

If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d think the man was the real Santa, he’d been so wonderful with the kids in the few short weeks he’d been working as an elf.

“That makes sense!” Kelly grinned, causing Santa to chuckle again.

When it was time for her to leave, she hopped off of Santa’s lap, but turned around at the last moment.

“Wait! One more thing.”

She leaned close, her hand clasped around her mouth as she whispered in Santa’s ear. He looked over at Steve and gave him a wink and a smile causing Steve’s brows to raise.

What was she possibly saying?

When she pulled back, Santa patted her sides after giving her a final hug.

“Ho, Ho, I think I could pull that off, but I’ll see what I can do,” he smiled, “You continue to be a good girl okay Kelly?”

“I will, Santa,” she smiled, then turned, running off towards to Steve.

He was standing with a candy cane, something the elves gave each child when they’re done. He once again knelt to her level to hand her the red and white striped cane.

“For being such a brave girl,” he smiled, handing it to her.

“Thank you,” she smiled, taking it before throwing her arms around him, “Thank you for helping me be brave Mr. Elf.”

Steve chuckled, arms still around the girl as he hugged her back.

“I also hope you get your Christmas wish!” she grinned when she pulled back.

“Oh is that what you were asking Santa there at the end?” he asked, curiously.

She nodded.

“I asked Santa to bring you a pretty girl because no elf should be alone at Christmas.”

He couldn’t help his laugh as he thanked her and bid her farewell. He loved the minds and spirits and never ending hope children possessed.

He wouldn’t have thought anything of the wish if he hadn’t heard his name being called from behind him. He stood and turned around, expecting it to be another elf but stopped when he saw you, a huge smile on your face and was that tears in your eyes?

“Y/N,” he breathed, bewildered, shocked and mighty glad to see you, “What are you doing here?”

“Shopping?” you chuckled, motioning to the bags you sat at your feet after you walked closer to him, “I didn’t expect to run into you, working.”

Your lips twitched as you tried to suppress a smile.

“Please don’t be mad. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Steve said wincing.

Your eyes took in his elf costume, all the way to his pointy elf hat and you smiled. He made the most adorable elf.

“I’m not mad,” you said genuinely, “But you could’ve told me, you know.”

“I thought you might laugh,” he chuckled.

“Well I have to admit, no one makes an elf costume look adorable like you do,” you smiled, “I wouldn’t have though. I overheard what you did for that little girl. That was so sweet of you.”

He shrugged bashfully, his cheeks turning a dusty pink.

“It was really nothing. She was super sweet.”

“And you did amazing with her,” you grinned up at him.

Your eyes cast upwards to the archway of the “Santa’s Workshop” you two had migrated to, to keep from being in the way. At the top of the booth, right in the middle of you both was a bundle of mistletoe.

“Do elves believe in kissing under the mistletoe?” you asked him slyly.

He glanced up with a chuckle and looked back down at you.

“If they haven’t before, they do now.”

He pulled your face close to his, connecting his lips to yours.

It looked like Kelly’s Christmas wish for him had come true after all.

[zuzsenpai]

I'm honestly so furious right now. I work in a video and photography department for a large healthcare organization. We're a department of 9, plus an intern. We're under the "marketing" umbrella, though we do a lot more than marketing for the network (for example we also make patient and employee education videos/photos/animations).

Yesterday the social media department (also part of marketing. We supply photos and videos for them to post) posted an AI generated image on our company's instagram page. It was a photorealistic AI image of a baby, used to promote our pediatric cardiology service line. The image is so ridiculously obviously AI, it makes me want to puke. It's uncanny, too smooth with zero skin texture, the eyes are messed up, and the "baby" literally has full eyelashes on one eye and none on the other.

I'm livid because it's like... what the fuck do they need OUR department for if they're going to be using AI now?

To our knowledge, this is the first time they've done this. I get that there's an "argument" to be made that it's incredibly difficult and time consuming to set up a photoshoot with a real baby, and they wanted something fast and easy because the marketing service line directors are constantly on social media's ass to push out abhorrent amounts of marketing content on social media. This culture will never change. We've tried to explain that people don't like seeing constant mediocre ads for healthcare service lines when they are on social media. But the higher ups won't listen to that AT ALL. So... AI generated gross ass baby it is (I cannot stress enough how creepy this "baby" looks).

But it's a slippery slope. Because first it's a baby. Next it'll be a fake orthopedic surgery patient because who has time to find a real patient for our photographers to shoot? Never mind that people on social media actually DO like seeing real patient stories. Next it'll be a billboard on the highway with AI generated doctors because who cares to know what their real doctor looks like, right? This is making me so mad for the photographers in my department who work so fucking hard to shoot and edit stunning, quality images. Their jobs will be relegated to event photography until someday an unmanned robot can set up their own camera and do that too (they probably already can?).

Recently one of the service line directors in marketing asked me to use an AI voice for an animation I'm making. I had to put my foot down and say that we have three fantastic local voiceover artists who we use for these kinds of projects. One of them is a retired gentleman who went to school with my dad and is always extremely happy to get work from us. Sometimes I think these marketing people just want to use AI because it's trendy.

I understand that there are other industries and individuals who are already being massively affected by AI to a much larger and much more detrimental degree. And that my problems are largely me spinning out of control. I figured AI would hit us eventually, and there's really nothing I can do except continue to put my foot down about the voiceover thing. I can't do much for the photographers, sadly. I'm too nervous to get mad at social media, though I really wish I could at least point out how disgusting that baby looks. But I'm worried that I'm going to be some sort of pariah if I voice my opinion on it. I already get paid peanuts and there's really no way for me to advance my career here. So being the "person who shits on social media for using AI" might be detrimental to me in the long run. I really DO want to advocate for our photographers, but is it my place? Idk, it's complicated.

[arctic-hands]

Long ass post about being a sick and disabled child with pediatric imposter syndrome and inattentive and flat out ableist adults ahead. It got ahead of me but there's nothing I want to cut. No I'm not putting it under a read more. Look at my post, boy.

I wonder if my childhood fascination with wheelchairs was based in the chronic pain and exhaustion I was feeling even by the age of seven.

In second grade we had a "disability week" (tho I wouldn't be surprised if they had called it "differently abled" but I can't remember for certain) where we had disabled adults come to speak to our (allegedly) able-bodied class and the school as a whole. The ones i remember were just explaining the disability and a simplified ways to treat it and things like it's rude to stare and such. Not too too glurgy in that out of context...

...but the memories about it are def tainted by the fact that any kid who was sick or disabled was forced to give presentations on their medical conditions to "educate and de-stigmatize" the students.

This wasn't part of Differently Abled Week, we were just forced to present when we just got diagnosed or whenever the condition got noticed by anyone. The first one i saw was in first grade as a fifth grader gave all the individual classes a presentation on her diabetes. I was forced to give one in third grade after I came back from being dramatically rushed to the hospital after my heart started beating so fast and hard that you could see it thru my shirt, and after about a week out of school in another hospital in the bigger city two hours away because my hometown hospital wasn't equipped to treat pediatric cardiac problems. My third grade presentation on supraventricular tachycardia was well-received, and the school was sympathetic because all my classmates and teachers were like omg this angelic little child has a heart condition and everyone was scared that I might die 😢

... Next year's fourth grade presentation on I Shit Too Much Disease was less well-received, even as I tried to self-censor the inherently disgusting details. To add to that, my SVT had been corrected (for a few decades, it appears to be coming back after 2) by an ablation in late third grade, so the Scary Heart Explodey (not really) Disease had been tied up neatly and I was free to live as a Normal Child. But Crohn's disease was something else, something relatively new to the lexicon in the early millennium and I constantly had to explain my health to strangers as the unwilling IBD Ambassador of the town. This would be and still is life-long and particularly hard to treat (my Crohn's was once compared to brittle diabetes in the way it never did and still doesn't respond to treatment), and the sympathy of the ableds is fickle and short lasting. Even just a year after my Diagnosis, my teachers stopped caring WHY I was missing school and sleeping all the time and in the bathroom too long and only saw these as delinquent behaviors to be punished, and my classmates no longer had sympathy for the perceived special treatment I barely got and were convinced I was faking it all for attention

Anyway I'm digressing, but I did need to feel the need to give context to my school's attitude towards sick kids. Back to Disability/Differently Abled Week

...We were allowed to play with mobility aids. Yeeeah. To de-stigmatize of course, totes not to keep us occupied. At one point we played with wooden beads of different shapes to make "hearing aids" and microphones in the style of the day, and each class was allowed one wheelchair, two sets of crutches, and a few arm slings for kids to be assigned to use for half the day.

I had seen these before. There were only a few sick kids in my school and none in mobility aids, but 7 year olds do have some life experience in being in the outer world, and my hometown was a city and not insular, so I had been exposed to disabled people before. My grandmother's best friend was an old lady with a basic prosthetic foot and used a cane, and she was patient and i daresay a little proud to show it off when i was really little and we'd go to have tea/hot chocolate with her and i stared in fascination and asked innocently offensive questions. At seven I hadn't been diagnosed with SVT or Crohn's yet and my intense and agonizing leg pains had been dismissed by my pediatrician as a hysteric and melodramatic little girl's response to "growing pains" (I've stopped growing but still feel them, I'm just used to them enough after thirty years that I barely notice them unless my legs are touched). I knew about broken bones and as someone who still had potent memories of toddler ear infections that were bad enough to send me to the E.R, I had even taken a few rides in wheelchairs.

But being in a wheelchair constantly was a new experience for me, especially as this was a manual wheelchair that you pushed yourself with the big wheels in, not the hospital kind that nurses push for you. The thought of never having to use my legs was an intoxicating thought, and I had childhood delusions of being strong and muscley enough to be able to handle maneuvering it with my scarily emaciated noodle arms.

Aides were assigned by last name down the list, and the teacher just arbitrarily decided which one you'd get. My last name is fairly down the list, so I waited the better part of a week to get assigned, all the while eyeballing the wheelchair enviously as my classmates assigned to it got to play disabled in it. I wondered how to pop a wheelie in it (for the record, my immediate reaction to being given roller skates on my fourth birthday was to immediately try to do a trick jump off the porch and landed hard on my ass with miraculously intact bones and face). But mostly I was fascinated by the thought of never having to use my legs for an entire half a day. I kept my composure at school so not to be labeled a crybaby, but by the time I got home I sometimes couldn't even focus on Pokémon because my legs were too agonizing and I'd be crying. My parents were sympathetic enough to my leg pains that they bought me hot water bottles to sooth my knees and tried to get me to take my mind off it by meditating the pain away (I'm too bipolar to focus in meditation even then but everyone's reaction to my bipolar is another long ass post in the making). But they didn't care enough to advocate for me against my pediatrician, even as he ignored all my other dramatic symptoms that were beginning to become un-ignorable. It took until my heart emergency for any adult (ily Dr. Stein, my pediatric cardiologist who immediately realized I needed more help than just for SVT) to notice the misery I was in and get me the right help (ily Dr. Maizle, my first pediatric gastroenterologist and the only one who actually listened to me when i said some of the meds felt worse than the disease).

Anyway I was assigned crutches when my name was called and i nearly did finally snap and cry at school. Nearly. And the crutches (basic under armpit ones, not forearm crutches) sucked. They were painful in my armpits, they weren't adjusted to my height properly, and I fell a few times because I was trying to swing both my legs at the same time because BOTH my legs were in constant agony and I was trying to alleviate my body's pressure on them both. I had a miserable time "pretending" to be disabled, but I was the only one who complained about the crutches and so I went ignored, setting up the theme for my childhood.

This fascination with wheelchairs stuck with me and as I became a bigger kid and my body just piled on more illness and pain, but despite all that my legs were technically functional so I kept my yearning for a chair quiet for fear of being offensive (didn't know what appropriation meant back then but that was the feeling) and an actual attention seeker like my classmates accused me off. Sure, I was sick and constantly in pain, but at least I wasn't actually "stuck in a wheelchair". Could be worse. At least it's not cancer, after all.

It got to the point that by middle school i was having idle fantasies about being grievously and dramatically injured to the point I lose my aching leg(s) and thus was finally granted a wheelchair. In my darkest moments I wondered how much pain doing it myself would be in the moment, but the thing that snapped me out of crippling (I use that word deliberately) myself was that I genuinely love the feeling of sand beneath my feet and the way beach sand (I wouldn't see the ocean until my twenties, but the artifical lake we went to had sand) felt in between your toes and how my feet didn't ache so much as the hot sand conformed around them. I still kept this quiet because I knew it was crazy and was beginning to realize that I as a whole being was crazy, but I didn't want to be treated as crazy so I kept my fantasies secret.

I've lost the point I was trying to make as I ramble on about these physically painful memories but I'm going to end by saying lmfao I've been using a cane for my pain (to not great success tbh) and have been told I'll prolly need a wheelchair in the next few years. My trepidation about this is totally devoid of any "be careful what you wish for!" karma and everything to do with how infamously inaccessible the Atlantic Coast of the United States is for mobility access. The buildings are all old and pretty and no one wants to ruin the aesthetics of the rowhomes and the shops (except the liquor stores, make of that as you will) don't want to put in the money to add or replace the stairs getting up to the shops with ramps.

This is really dumb even before I started using aides, because EVERYONE can use a ramp while only SOME people can use stairs. And that's not even the end of it, if you manage to get into the shops the aisles are too small to get even a folding chair in between, and no one wants to put in the extra work to rearrange the store to cater to those seeking "special treatment". For years I thought the A.D.A had a grandfather clause that said historical buildings didn't have to adapt unless they renovate and that's why the older cities on the East Coast are the way they are. Nope, that clause doesn't exist. But no one is willing to enforce the A.D.A except SOMETIMES for federal buildings. Even some medical facilities are on stairs with no ramp. Baltimore IS in the middle of a years-long A.D.A lawsuit, but it's only for the absolutely abysmal sidewalks that prevent wheelchairs from going over them at all and makes it treacherous for canes and crutches. I see people in wheelchairs on the road more than I see them on sidewalks because it's the only way to get a wheelchair to move. Baltimore drivers are legitimately and legendarily terrifying. I wouldn't even want to ride a bike (were I still able) in the bike lanes, let alone wheel myself IN a major road. This is going to be a terrifying experience here, unless something very much changes and soon. But will the abled leaders care enough even if they're under lawsuit? I don't feel optimistic. But what choice do/will I have? It doesn't HAVE to be hard, but it WILL be because ableds don't care enough to make even the slightest change to make it easier for EVERYONE if it takes even the slightest bit of effort. See: their collective response to covid

[largesunglasses]

Last week Patrick's knee was hurting him. Jim(brother in law) took him to the doctor and they said he had an extra bone in his knee and then the orthopedic doctor followed up thinking he had a sprained knee as well. The other day his toe/foot hurts. He went to urgent care last night and said it was infected and gave him an antibiotic. This morning he woke up with a fever and rash so Jim took him to the hospital my sister works at while she's working. They don't have pediatrics there so refer him to a hospital in Providence. He has cellulitis and will be there at least until after midnight if not longer. The kid can't catch a break.

[istherewifiinhell]

https://archive.is/M2UW1

Children Born During the War in Gaza Will Never Truly Escape It

Jan. 9, 2024, 5:01 a.m. ET

By Alice Rothchild

Dr. Rothchild is a retired obstetrician and gynecologist, an author, a filmmaker and a former assistant professor at Harvard Medical School.

After Israel began its invasion of Gaza shortly after Hamas’s attack on Oct. 7, Aya Khrais — a pregnant 26-year-old dentist, wife of a doctor and mother of a 2-year-old girl living in Gaza City — lost contact with the doctors and health services she needed for prenatal care and for managing her diabetes.

She and her family were forced to leave home and move five times to flee the constant bombings, sometimes trekking several miles on foot. When we spoke in early December, she was staying at her sister-in-law’s home in southern Gaza. Dr. Khrais was 32 weeks pregnant and sleeping on a thin mattress directly on the ground, sharing a house with 74 people from 11 families. They lacked water, adequate food, medications, electricity and the tools for basic hygiene.

For the past two months she has had no prenatal care and no vitamins and has not gained any weight. She found a private obstetrician on Dec. 10 who informed her that she had excess amniotic fluid and needed an immediate C-section. She found a private hospital with an opening on Jan. 16. The estimated cost will be $4,000; the family has lost all of its savings as well as its bombed-out home. She has no baby clothes, diapers or formula and no proper place for postpartum recovery. “I am really frightened,” she told me over WhatsApp.

Dr. Khrais’s account is far from uncommon. There are approximately 50,000 pregnant women in Gaza, all struggling with a lack of stable shelter, inadequate nutrition and polluted, salty water. Prenatal, postnatal and pediatric care are difficult to obtain. U.N. agencies have dispatched lifesaving medicines and equipment to Gaza but it’s not enough to meet the needs of the population. Extreme shortages of pain medications, antibiotics, seizure and diabetic medications and blood are common. According to the World Health Organization, of the more than 180 women delivering babies each day, 15 percent are likely to encounter complications and be unable to obtain appropriate obstetric and pediatric emergency services. All the while, the threat of injury or death from bombings and military action looms, as does unimaginable emotional trauma.

If these mothers and their children manage to survive the war, they will grapple with its effects for the rest of their lives. Health research into multiple areas of armed conflict (such as Syria, Afghanistan, Somalia and Kosovo) reveals that these kinds of conditions are linked to an increase in miscarriages, congenital abnormalities, stillbirths, preterm labor and maternal mortality. Other studies of armed conflict from 1945 to 2017 show that children exposed to war are more likely to suffer from poor living conditions and sanitation, and multigenerational poverty caused by the loss of educational and economic infrastructure...

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

(To Mikan) How do you feel about the fact that Kuripa has CIPA, given that his medical records has been updated after the mission?

Well, it came as quite a shock, but it also explained a lot of things that I didn't know before.

Kuripa Kurafto has always been an uncooperative patient. And annoyingly, every time he tells me he's fine, he usually is, and I never figured out how he could walk around so effortlessly in his condition. Now I know, and it's far more tragic than I imagined.

But even as far as CIPA's goes, his case is above and beyond anything I've ever encountered before. It's like he specifically has a genetic mutation of the disease that alters his body and makes him stronger, and he's weaponized this illness to turn himself into an unstoppable beast of a man, though I'll need to do a few more tests to verify that, assuming he'll let me.

However, one important thing to note is that just because Kuripa can't FEEL the pain that he endures, it doesn't mean that his body isn't suffering injury after injury. The fact that he's survived this long is pure luck more than anything, and I suppose a lot of necessary caution.

CIPA is an uncommon illness that has a brief prognosis. Although it is a genetic condition, symptoms may appear occasionally. Even to this day, there's no proper way to treat the illness; not even Seiko's managed to make that sort of breakthrough.

However, injury prevention requires appropriate training. CIPA patients typically present with a high temperature when they enter the pediatrics department. However, if their foot and hand wounds fail to heal, they might also need to see a plastic surgeon. The patient's life expectancy could be increased with appropriate therapy if they're aware of their own condition.

Kuripa doesn't expect that he'll live past 25, and that means he's just got under a year to live at least. However, while a CIPA patient above 25 is rare, it's not impossible. I just hope he cares about himself enough so that he doesn't let his life go.

[chronicbeans]

Can i get Derek and Maya information? I wouldn't mind if you went a little bit into how they interact:)

YIPPEE! I love getting asks about my characters. OwO

Derek and Maya Info/Interactions:

TW: Small mention of Age Regression and Stereotyping

🍓Derek follows Aluminum around like a little lost puppy. It isn't because he is too shy to really talk to other people, mind you, it is because Aluminum is too scared to do so. While Derek can go up to people, get their attention, explain how his mutism makes him have to write down his words, then start a random conversation... Aluminum just can't really do that. So, Derek stands by, as one of the few people Aluminum is comfortable with, in case Aluminum wants to talk to someone. Plus, Aluminum is just an interesting fellow to Derek. He is so emotional, willing to snap at people and such without thinking, but unlike most snippy and snappy people, he will very quickly apologize for his words once he realizes he is wrong.

🦈Maya is very quiet and still, at first, but once she gets to know someone, she will turn into an energetic goofball. She will also play the most random of games, such as "slinky hunting", where she makes a slinky go down the stairs, before pouncing on it at random. Not many people like to play games with her, so she learned to play alone. Johnny likes playing her odd games, but tends to forget the rules.

🍓 Derek would probably meet Maya when Aluminum goes to the Playplace. The doctors try to keep the pediatric (child) patients separate from the adults, but the Playplace is open to everyone. Mainly kids go there, but Aluminum does visit from time to time when he age regresses, with Derek keeping a close eye so he doesn't hurt himself. Since Maya likes to play games, she often visits to calm down after doctor's appointments.

🦈 Maya would most likely be in awe of Derek, because she has never seen anyone so tall before. She had heard of the cow people, after her Mama mentioned one falling out of the sky, but never seen one. With her being a bit more comfortable in the hospital, as well as her watching Derek care for Aluminum, she would most likely end up climbing him like a tree.

🍓 That is, apparently, how friendships are made. Within the day, Derek has become a sort of big brother figure to Maya. She would say Father figure, but Baxter has already taken that role, so she said he would have to settle for brother. One of the main things that occur is Derek protecting Maya from people who are rude or causing her stress. Since many see Landsharks as "bloodthirsty, like any normal shark", people tend to make fun of her. Now, although Derek doesn't have horns, the sight of an 8 foot tall, hulking figure of a cow man is bound to at least cause aggressors to hesitate.

🦈 Maya is a bit more perceptive of small things about Derek, mostly how he seems uncomfortable with people drinking strawberry milk. So, although she likes strawberry milk, if she and Derek are eating lunch together, she'd end up choosing chocolate milk. She'd also end up introducing him and Aluminum to her uncle, Baxter, and Johnny the moth boy. Baxter would probably end up "adopting" him, much like he did Johnny and Maya.

🍓 Due to Derek being 8 feet tall and a little on the heavier side, he doesn't fit into any of the patient gown s that the hospital has. There are a few other patients in the same situation. So, because he doesn't fit into any gowns, they gave him scrubs to wear, instead. There is talk that the reason they don't have big enough gowns, even though they have scrubs that fit, is because the hospital assumes that every sick patient will, naturally, be skinnier. Either way, due to Maya's trauma regarding healthcare workers, it was a large part of why she had to observe Derek before greeting him. She thought, due to his scrubs and him following around a patient (Aluminum), that he was a nurse, doctor, or another type of worker at the hospital. Once she realized he was a patient, she gave him a little, handmade strawberry pin to wear so she doesn't lose him in crowds of workers.

🦈 Maya is so tiny that Derek sometimes picks her up when they get in a crowd. He thinks that, if he doesn't, she'll get crushed. There was one time where Baxter lost Maya in a crowd at the lunchroom, causing him to scream "Where's my baby?!" In response, Derek stood up, put Maya on his head, and had Aluminum shout "There she is!" Due to him being the tallest in the room, Baxter quickly saw her and calmed down.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Ilya Shapiro, Leor Sapir and John Ketcham

Published: Mar 23, 2023

An emerging issue in public education is school officials’ secret “social transitioning” of children into alternate gender identities. A case currently before the U.S. Court of Appeals for the First Circuit, Foote v. Ludlow School Committee, presents the clearest opportunity yet to uphold parents’ rights and protect kids from serious risks associated with social transitioning.

During the 2020–21 school year in the Ludlow, Massachusetts, district, teachers and staff actively promoted children’s social transitioning—calling them by new names and pronouns, while hiding these changes from parents. One counselor had secret discussions with students, including over online chat, suggesting that they weren’t safe with their parents. The parents of two children complained to school administrators. The superintendent called the parents’ concerns “thinly-veiled intolerance” and claimed that the school officials’ actions were required by state educational guidelines and antidiscrimination laws. The parents sued in federal court, alleging a violation of their constitutional rights to direct the upbringing of their children, make medical and mental-health decisions for them, and enjoy familial privacy.

Last December, the district court granted the school’s motion to dismiss. The court reasoned that plaintiffs had not “explained how referring to a person by their preferred name and pronouns, which requires no special training or skill, has clinical significance when there is no treatment plan or diagnosis in place.” In other words, social transitioning, standing alone, was not medically relevant and thus fell outside of the parents’ right to make health-care decisions for their kids. Plaintiffs appealed to the First Circuit, where the case is pending.

We recently filed an amicus brief supporting the parents that corrects the district court’s understanding. It presents medical research showing that, far from a neutral act or polite convention, social transition is an active mental-health intervention that poses serious risks to children and adolescents. Consequently, its use in schools infringes on parents’ constitutionally protected rights.

Decades of medical research have found that at least 70 percent of gender-dysphoric children desist by adulthood; that is, most will eventually grow to feel comfortable with their natal sex. Given this natural remission, the Dutch clinicians who pioneered pediatric gender transition have recognized that early social transition carries serious risks. They warned that some children transitioned early “barely realize that they are of the other natal sex” and develop a sense of reality unrooted in their biological sex and loaded with unrealistic expectations. The Dutch team therefore recommended postponing social transition until adolescence—and then only after a diagnosis of gender dysphoria.

Researchers and clinicians treating gender-distressed youths have similarly expressed concern that social transition can lock in a temporary phase of identity development and unnecessarily make accepting one’s sex and coming to terms with one’s body more difficult. A 2013 study found that social transition was associated with the persistence of gender dysphoria—but the authors could not state with confidence whether transition perpetuated these feelings, or whether those who would not have desisted naturally were more likely to have socially transitioned. A 2022 study by researchers who intended to show that “trans kids know who they are” and rarely change their minds inadvertently supported the first hypothesis. The social transitioning of children interferes with the natural process of desistence and increases the chances of unnecessary, harmful medicalization.

There’s also good reason to believe that transgender identity isn’t stable in adolescents—or even adults. In recent years, a cohort of adolescents suddenly experiencing gender-dysphoric feelings has rapidly emerged, suggesting that cross-gender feelings are neither innate nor immutable. Clinicians have no consistent and reliable way to distinguish between “true transgender” youths—those in whom cross-gender feelings are indicative of a lifelong struggle with accepting one’s body and sex and a related desire to live socially as a member of the opposite sex—and those who are merely, and in some cases temporarily, “gender-nonconforming.” Claims about minuscule rates of regret are based on studies done almost exclusively on adults. The handful of adolescents in these studies were transitioned under the Dutch protocol, a more conservative approach rarely, if ever, practiced in American clinics. Recent studies have acknowledged rates of regret and retransition from 10 percent to 30 percent.

Moreover, U.S. medical groups are increasingly out of step with their European counterparts on the use and value of social transition. Whereas American associations have mischaracterized the desistence/persistence literature and called for automatic “gender affirmation” of children, regardless of age, health authorities in Finland and the U.K. have recognized that social transition is an active psychological intervention, rebuffing the idea that children’s self-perception should be “affirmed” reflexively.

Finally, when transgender-identified plaintiffs and their advocates in court argued that they were legally entitled to use opposite-sex bathrooms, they claimed that social transition was a “critical” part of the medical treatment for gender dysphoria.

Given all this evidence, the question of whether to pursue social transition of students falls squarely within fit parents’ constitutionally protected discretion to make their children’s health-care decisions. Ludlow school officials acted unconstitutionally by socially transitioning students against their parents’ wishes and in secret. Even worse, they put the mental and physical health of minors at risk. The First Circuit should reverse the district court and protect students from harm at the hands of ideologically motivated government employees who believe they know best.

[ Via: https://archive.ph/CaxbC ]

==

https://cass.independent-review.uk/wp-content/uploads/2022/03/Cass-Review-Interim-Report-Final-Web-Accessible.pdf#page=62

Social transition – this may not be thought of as an intervention or treatment, because it is not something that happens within health services. However, it is important to view it as an active intervention because it may have significant effects on the child or young person in terms of their psychological functioning. There are different views on the benefits versus the harms of early social transition. Whatever position one takes, it is important to acknowledge that it is not a neutral act, and better information is needed about outcomes.

[randomfoggytiger]

X-Files Fics: Skyland Mountain (AU) by JenAndrews

This fic should not work. It has so many elements to balance-- S2 Mulder, depressed and driven to drugs because he had no Scully in his life; Scully, a pediatric doctor pregnant with Daniel Waterston's baby who carries the guilt of losing her father while trying to save face about her nonfunctional relationship; a car accident off the road that derails Mulder's Skyland Mountain suicide attempt; forgiveness of their own actions while forging a deep connection through swift understanding and friendship; romance within a day; and a baby that comes swiftly and with complications-- all while keeping the story's tone light despite all of the potential dour or depressing elements that it has to juggle.

ALL of these can't work in one fic, right? Right??

WRONG.

It's a masterpiece-- every action and reaction builds on top of each other logically: self-loathing turning to regret, remorse, shame, terror, forgiveness, and optimistic hope; wounds opening in friendship while two sad hearts find common ground that turn to chemistry explored on an isolated mountain ledge; and a "found family" dynamic blossoming from two complete strangers (and a third) within a couple hours. Scully is a capable and skilled survivalist, patching Mulder back up and keeping him off his (very broken) foot most of the time; and he is finally able to bear his soul about his trauma while empathizing and reaching out to Scully's personal struggles because of his experiences.

This concept is hard to do; but all the pieces work excellently.

Quote:

""Scully tried not to be impressed, but she surely was. That a person would go to such lengths to save a stranger, at so much cost to themselves. It denoted either a remarkable care for others or total abandonment of any care for oneself. In Mulder’s case she suspected it was a combination of both.

Her interest in this man, his behaviour, motivations, thoughts and feelings were piqued.

“How long ago did you first start using?” Scully asked, pulling some gauze pads out of her bag and applying saline to one of them.

Mulder wished she wouldn’t have asked. He didn’t want to talk about himself, and the mess that was his life. But he would be in prison or dead soon, so he couldn’t see any reason it would matter. He doubted she could possibly think any less of him, after what he’d done.

“About seven or eight months ago.” Mulder answered, staring down at his beaten hands.

“What was it that lead to that first time?” Scully began stroking the soft pad against one of the cuts on his arm, cleaning away the dried blood.

“I had a bad day.” Mulder chuckled.

“We all have those. There must have been something significant for you to risk your career.”

“Well it was more like a bad decade. Or two.” Mulder turned to her and gave her a grave smile.

She could see the pain in his eyes.

“Tell me about it.” The warmth in her voice sounded so genuine, it was remarkably compelling. Mulder felt he could lay his entire miserable life out in front of her, and she’d probably try to wash the pain away with saline and gentle hands.

“I guess I just, slowly lost my faith.” He said, earnestly.""

Skyland Mountain (AU) here

JenAndrews here

[emma8895eb]

I work at a pediatric urgent care, today I checked in a kid that hurt his foot playing dogfight football. I asked him if he was going to be a fighter pilot like Maverick he told me no and said he wanted to play basketball. He came out with a cast on and I saluted him and told him to get better Maverick. He laughed and saluted me back that kid was definitely going places, especially if he was excited he got hurt over dogfight football 🥰

[unhingedselfships]

Yakkid - Kiryu Tamae

The younger Kiryu child, and number six in the poly-verses. Was the youngest until the twins oops-ed their way into existence.

Quiet and gentle, both in nature and need. Tamae is rather shy, soft spoken, and often seemingly fragile. Her delicacy belies a fiercely loving, generous nature and surety in her beliefs. She is fierce in her stances and refuses to bend.

She's the sort to give until there is nothing left, and keep giving even then. Unfortunately she inherited her father's self sacrificing streak, and her mother does her best to teach her to temper that, and take care of herself as well.

Gets into more fights than any of her siblings, and rarely loses. If anyone were going to inherit her father's "Dragon of Dojima" title, it would be her. She's a tiny wisp of a girl, but fierce and very technically talented. She isn't afraid to use her environment to her advantage, and her opponents strength and personalities against them.

She has taken classes but still could not cook if her life depended on it. Despite her best efforts the cooking/cleaning aspects of domestic life are beyond her.

December 12th, 11:11am, birthday

An emotional upheaval results in early labor, 32 weeks. In Kiryu-exclusive timelines, this is Kiryu's choices at the end of Y6. In poly timelines, I haven't fully decided on the cause.

Wild curls, and wide eyes. She barely beats out her mother, at five foot flat, and might break 110lbs during the holidays. She's very slight in build, and often compared to a bird.

She goes into nursing with a focus on pediatrics. She has a soft spot for children and enjoys taking care of people.

Trauma for Flavor : Tamae was born a preemie and has had to handle various assorted side effects. She's otherwise been largely untraumatized. In poly timelines her birth is moved forward by several years, making her a 'quarantine baby' which may have some effect on her in the future.