#she's collecting bone marrow with the needle

[richincolor]

Reawakening Our Ancestor’s Lines and Other AIYLA Titles

When I was in the library the other day, a book cover caught my eye. Somehow I had missed out on this book that was released in 2017. I’m sure I saw the list when it was honored by The American Indian Library Association back in 2020, but I never got my hands on Reawakening Our Ancestors’ Lines: Revitalizing Inuit Traditional Tattooing until this week. It’s a gorgeous book that features Inuit women who are reviving the traditional art of tattooing. The author, Angela Hovak Johnston, learned how to tattoo herself and others and the book shares that journey with others.

For thousands of years, Inuit women practiced the traditional art of tattooing. Created with bone needles and caribou sinew soaked in seal oil or soot, these tattoos were an important tradition for many women, symbols stitched in their skin that connected them to their families and communities.But with the rise of missionaries and residential schools in the North, the tradition of tattooing was almost lost. In 2005, when Angela Hovak Johnston heard that the last Inuk woman tattooed in the traditional way had died, she set out to tattoo herself and learn how to tattoo others. What was at first a personal quest became a project to bring the art of traditional tattooing back to Inuit women across Nunavut, starting in the community of Kugluktuk. Collected in this beautiful book are moving photos and stories from more than two dozen women who participated in Johnston’s project. Together, these women are reawakening their ancestors’ lines and sharing this knowledge with future generations. [publisher summary]

This book is just one of the many that have won or been honored over the years. In case you’ve missed any of the titles, here are a few other YA books that have made the American Indian Youth Literature Award lists:

Apple Skin to the Core by Eric Gansworth (Onandoga)

The term “Apple” is a slur in Native communities across the country. It’s for someone supposedly “red on the outside, white on the inside.” Eric Gansworth is telling his story in Apple (Skin to the Core). The story of his family, of Onondaga among Tuscaroras, of Native folks everywhere. From the horrible legacy of the government boarding schools, to a boy watching his siblings leave and return and leave again, to a young man fighting to be an artist who balances multiple worlds. Eric shatters that slur and reclaims it in verse and prose and imagery that truly lives up to the word heartbreaking.

Firekeeper’s Daughter by Angeline Boulley (Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians)

As a biracial, unenrolled tribal member and the product of a scandal, Daunis Fontaine has never quite fit in—both in her hometown and on the nearby Ojibwe reservation. When her family is struck by tragedy, Daunis puts her dreams on hold to care for her fragile mother. The only bright spot is meeting Jamie, the charming new recruit on her brother’s hockey team.

After Daunis witnesses a shocking murder that thrusts her into a criminal investigation, she agrees to go undercover. But the deceptions—and deaths—keep piling up and soon the threat strikes too close to home. How far will she go to protect her community if it means tearing apart the only world she’s ever known?

Soldiers Unknown by Chag Lowry (Yurok, Maidu and Achumawi)

The graphic novel Soldiers Unknown is a historically accurate World War One story told from the perspective of Native Yurok soldiers. The novel is based on extensive military research and on oral interviews of family members of Yurok WW1 veterans from throughout Humboldt and Del Norte counties. The author Chag Lowry is of Yurok, Maidu, and Achumawi ancestry, and the illustrator Rahsan Ekedal was raised in southern Humboldt. Soldiers Unknown takes place during the battle of the Meuse-Argonne in France in 1918, which is the largest battle in American Army history.

Marrow Thieves and the sequel Hunting by Stars by Cherie Dimaline (Metis Nation of Ontario)

Marrow Thieves – Just when you think you have nothing left to lose, they come for your dreams.

Humanity has nearly destroyed its world through global warming, but now an even greater evil lurks. The Indigenous people of North America are being hunted and harvested for their bone marrow, which carries the key to recovering something the rest of the population has lost: the ability to dream. In this dark world, Frenchie and his companions struggle to survive as they make their way up north to the old lands. For now, survival means staying hidden – but what they don”t know is that one of them holds the secret to defeating the marrow thieves.

Notable Native People: 50 Indigenous Leaders, Dreamers, and Changemakers from Past and Present by Adrienne Keene (Cherokee Nation) and illustrated by Ciara Sana (Chamoru)

An accessible and educational illustrated book profiling 50 notable American Indian, Alaska Native, and Native Hawaiian people, from NBA star Kyrie Irving of the Standing Rock Lakota to Wilma Mankiller, the first female principal chief of the Cherokee Nation.

Celebrate the lives, stories, and contributions of Indigenous artists, activists, scientists, athletes, and other changemakers in this beautifully illustrated collection. From luminaries of the past, like nineteenth-century sculptor Edmonia Lewis--the first Black and Native American female artist to achieve international fame--to contemporary figures like linguist jessie little doe baird, who revived the Wampanoag language, Notable Native People highlights the vital impact Indigenous dreamers and leaders have made on the world.

Elatsoe by Darcie Little Badger (Lipan Apache Tribe)

Elatsoe—Ellie for short—lives in an alternate contemporary America shaped by the ancestral magics and knowledge of its Indigenous and immigrant groups. She can raise the spirits of dead animals—most importantly, her ghost dog Kirby. When her beloved cousin dies, all signs point to a car crash, but his ghost tells her otherwise: He was murdered. Who killed him and how did he die? With the help of her family, her best friend Jay, and the memory great, great, great, great, great, great grandmother, Elatsoe, must track down the killer and unravel the mystery of this creepy town and it’s dark past. But will the nefarious townsfolk and a mysterious Doctor stop her before she gets started? A breathtaking debut novel featuring an asexual, Apache teen protagonist, Elatsoe combines mystery, horror, noir, ancestral knowledge, haunting illustrations, fantasy elements, and is one of the most-talked about debuts of the year.

An Indigenous Peoples’ History of the United States for Young People adapted by Debbie Reese (Nambé Owingeh) and Jean Mendoza from the adult book by Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz

Spanning more than 400 years, this classic bottom-up history examines the legacy of Indigenous peoples' resistance, resilience, and steadfast fight against imperialism.

Going beyond the story of America as a country "discovered" by a few brave men in the "New World," Indigenous human rights advocate Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz reveals the roles that settler colonialism and policies of American Indian genocide played in forming our national identity.

The original academic text is fully adapted by renowned curriculum experts Debbie Reese and Jean Mendoza, for middle-grade and young adult readers to include discussion topics, archival images, original maps, recommendations for further reading, and other materials to encourage students, teachers, and general readers to think critically about their own place in history.

Surviving the City written by Tasha Spillet (Nehiyaw-Trinidadian) and illustrated by Natasha Donovan (Métis Nation of British Columbia)

Tasha Spillett's graphic novel debut, Surviving the City, is a story about womanhood, friendship, colonialism, and the anguish of a missing loved one. Miikwan and Dez are best friends. Miikwan is Anishinaabe; Dez is Inninew. Together, the teens navigate the challenges of growing up in an urban landscape - they're so close, they even completed their Berry Fast together. However, when Dez's grandmother becomes too sick, Dez is told she can't stay with her anymore. With the threat of a group home looming, Dez can't bring herself to go home and disappears. Miikwan is devastated, and the wound of her missing mother resurfaces. Will Dez's community find her before it's too late? Will Miikwan be able to cope if they don't?

To learn about even more books that have received this award, be sure to check out the AILA page.

#indigenous literature #young adult

[brutal-nemesis]

E&T Atonement AU-Sample Collection

Aight I return to y’all with this sexi lil bitch. Medical accuracy? Never heard of her 

←Previous - Erebus & Terror Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: giant needle hours, lab whump, fingernail whump

That was, without a doubt, the largest needle he had ever seen. It was freakishly long and impossibly thick, and he couldn’t imagine it was for drawing blood.

He whined in terrified anticipation as Neteri sterilized part of his upper right arm, and did his best to keep himself from crying out into the gag as she cut out a small chunk of his skin and muscle. Then came the needle, sliding through the opening in his flesh. A shiver went up his spine as he felt it tap against bone, but oh, it didn’t stop there, it kept pushing, pressure building up against his bone until it punched through with a sickening crack. He screamed as a bolt of pain shot up his arm, shuddering as he felt the needle slide deeper inside his bone.

The needle stayed in there for a few minutes, drawing out whatever it was she wanted from in there. He kept his gaze focused on the now-blank ceiling, tears watering out his vision every few moments. He can never seem to stop crying nowadays, and today is no exception. When she slid the needle back out he couldn’t help but whine, escalating into a scream as her healing magic closed up the hole she’d made in his arm.

Something cold touched an equivalent spot on his left arm, and his heart sank. She was going to do the same thing again, wasn’t she? Yes, yes, once again his flesh was cut out and collected, once again the huge needle punctured his bone, once again everything was painfully healed up like nothing had ever even happened.

Next, she gripped his right thumb tightly, keeping his hand still, and he didn’t understand why until he felt something grab onto his fingernail and start to pull. He screamed but she kept pulling despite his muffled pleas of no no wait stop please I won’t ever try to run please- The pitch-black nail wrenched free, choking an inhuman cry out of him as raw agony raced up his entire arm. The pain almost doubled as she started healing it, forcing the fingernail to grow back unnaturally fast, wrenching out all manner of wails.

Even when the healing and the pain finally stopped, it was still too much. He sobbed, what was even the point of this if she was just going to heal everything back up? But he knew why, he knew all too well she was just taking away pieces of him so she could study them. It was all he was good for now, being sliced up and studied and put on display-

Her hand wrapped around his left thumb, pliers gripping the nail.

He screamed before she even started pulling.

Next→

Tags: @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @galaxywhump @as-a-matter-of-whump @mnmlover2002 @tears-and-lilies @yet-another-heathen @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @starnight-whump @unicornscotty @thebewilderer @kixngiggles @itallstartedwithharry

#i wrote something #erebus & terror #atonement au #erebus #neteri #lab whump #needles #fingernail pulling #fingernail whump #the saddest thing in this entire au is the removal of rat zander #he has been scrubbed from the ceiling but not from our hearts #like ill fuckin slice this mans open and be all whatever but what gets me is rat zander being gone like nooooo ; __ ; #he will never die in canon he will live on forever as best ceiling boy dont worry #this snippet is just: erebus cries and screams for 20 min (little fuckin bitch) #neteri is just gettin some samples to compare his two arms #she's collecting bone marrow with the needle #a lil chunk of flesh and skin #and a fingernail from each hand #it's on the list of ''things she would like to investigate but wouldnt normally do to him because that would be cruel'' #because really if he behaves she doesnt want to be mean to him #but now is the time to completely destroy any resistance he might have so no holding back for her #me: i dont have the mental energy to do shit rn #also me: writes this bullshit #seriously 2 of these au pieces were written during my breaktime hours #but i couldnt even post them right away because posting writing is too anxiety inducing to do unmedicated so it was just sitting there #waiting #but maybe it was like ''i feel like shite time to pull off erebus's fingernails about it'' #i love nothing more than hurting my little toy :) he deserves it

[finishinglinepress]

FLP POETRY BOOK OF THE DAY: Song of the Overcast by Beverly Voigt

TO ORDER GO TO: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/song-of-the-overcast-by-beverly-voigt/

RESERVE YOUR COPY TODAY

Beverly Voigt is a native Pittsburgher, currently living in Los Angeles. Her poems have been published in Crab Creek Review, Sonora Review, Friends of Acadia Journal, and elsewhere. Her chapbook Woman of Salt was published in 2018 by Seven Kitchens Press.

ADVANCE PRAISE FOR Song of the Overcast by Beverly Voigt

Song of the Overcast is Beverly Voigt’s second chapbook. It is a stunning collection of fully realized, well-wrought poetry that gives the reader a sense that the poet is speaking with us. Many of her poems feel like discoveries and mysteries unfolding. Voigt’s keen and lucid attention to the natural world is remarkable and, pairing that with her narratives about family, makes for a surprising and wonderous mix of the lyric narrative. In her poem “The Unfinished Nest: “And we were a clutch of nine small worlds / sky-blue, dappled little things with feathers.” Voigt’s writing is serene and wise and profoundly personal, consistently light, delivered oftentimes in couplets, which gives the reader time to breathe, to appreciate these poems filled with joy and sorrow, longing and letting go: “The puncture wounds where love leeches out / The possible holes in my future. Though I fear these spaces, / they have allowed in light….” Voigt’s voice is intentional and uncomplicated. Tenderness is the adjective I refer to when reading her work, but she’s always in command. Each line can stand on its own. One of my favorite poems in this collection is “That Autumn in Pennsylvania.” From the first line this speaker pulls us in with the discovery: “Little has given me so much joy / as to walk quietly into that field of horses….” And truly reminiscent of James Wright’s poem, “A Blessing,” Voigt ends this poem with the gorgeous: “I feel the weight of her. Such large love / so late in the year.” After reading this collection I was struck by Voigt’s adoration of the natural world, and its sounds: “I sing / the mourning dove’s song of the overcast. / Soft bleat, mild wail. There is no heaven / like that song.” To quote Mark Doty: “… everything here has been transformed into feeling….” There’s a benevolence about Voigt’s work. Read it. Enjoy the world through her eyes.

–Carine Topal, author of In Order of Disappearance

The lyric poems in Beverly Voigt’s Song of the Overcast invite us to pause our frenzied actions and breathe in the world—“the goldenrods” like “smoldering gods”; “the moon’s dream of itself in a nightdress”; “grasses beginning to lie down.” The voice is deceptively gentle, but proves to be stringent in its observations, its quiet demand that we really look through Voigt’s astute and singular gaze. In their careful and unflinching seeing, these poems remake the world.

–Terry Wolverton, Ruin Porn

Beverly Voigt is a West Coast Rilke or Hopkins, a contemplative of nature and the remembered landscapes of the past. Song of the Overcast is a chaplet of textured poems that seek hope within lament and elegy like marrow within bone. Here, tenderness and stark truth coexist in a balance that yields “words written in a needle’s eye, poems / on a fishhook, curved to the metal.” To be a mourning dove, to sing the mourning dove’s “song of the overcast,” proves to be a worthy aspiration in this fine collection of poems.

Please share/please repost [PROMO]#flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #poetry

#poetry #preorder #flp authors #flp #chapbook #poets on tumblr #american poets #leah maines #women poets #chapbooks

[scribbling-stiks]

Puppets - XXII - Recoup and Rearm

The sun is beginning to disappear over the trees by the time Massachusetts returns to the center of camp. Ute creates a firepit with a circle of stones and dry leaves and plant matter thrown into the center.

"What do you think we should do now?" Russia asks.

"We shouldn't travel after sunset. You should stay here for the night. We can find the road tomorrow after sunrise," Ute says, retrieving two stones and striking them together. Sparks flew, and the leaves ignited.

Canada throws some small twigs into the fire, and Ute looks up. "Russia, can you take one of the states and collect some larger pieces of wood. I have an extra ax in my Tepee that you can use," Ute says to Russia, gesturing briefly to the Tepee that was the most separate from the group of tents. Russia nods.

"I'll go," Louisiana volunteers.

Russia agrees, and after some careful snooping, he locates the ax and pulls it out. The tomahawk is small, with a handle around the size of Russia's forearm, but the blade is sharp enough to draw blood.

Popping out of the tent, he raises the tool in the air and calls, "this?"

"Yes, that works. Try not to scuff it," Ute responds.

"Thank you," Russia says before turning to Louisiana with a nod.

"Wait," Massachusetts calls, causing Russia to pause and turning back to the fire, "don't go too far. The protection spell I cast isn't very large, so try to stay close to us."

"You got it, Massy," Lousiana says.

Russia starts toward the treeline, Louisiana, walking next to him, keeping pace. Russia begins scanning his surroundings for any large, dead trees that would supply them with wood. After walking out a short ways, he turns, and he and Louisiana circle around the camp. They aren't able to see the fire but can both still hear Texas' booming laughter.

Dusk lights up the trees in shades of orange and pink, and the sky begins to grow darker.

Finally, Russia sees a large, bare tree surrounded by brown pine needles near the cliff edge. He points to it with the tomahawk. "That will work," he comments to Louisiana, who hums in agreement. Russia gets to work, cutting out a wedge from the trunk that reaches to about the middle of the tree. Then, he circles the tree and begins chopping away, separating it from the roots.

Once the tree falls, he chops off the branches to collect manageable logs to take back with them and hands them to Louisiana to hold. Then, he spots a branch that catches his eye. It's a straight branch, with a uniform diameter, that would make a good baton. He hacks at the base and chops off the other extending branches. The remaining stick is around six centimeters in diameter and just short of a meter long.

Placing the staff aside, he chops enough wood to sustain the fire for at least a few hours. He grabs the staff and some of the larger logs, the tomahawk tucked under an arm. Louisiana and Russia walk back to the camp.

A few minutes into their journey, Russia heard Louisiana fall, and he spins around to see what had happened. She has tripped on the skeleton of a large animal. Most bones had been broken for the marrow, but a few of them still seem intact. Louisiana stands and collects herself before examining the carcass. She hums to herself before picking up the largest of the bones, steadying it in her hand.

She swings it through the air, grinning. "This would make a good bat. What do you think, Russ?"

Russia chuckles. "I think we should get back to the camp before it gets too dark. You can take it with you if you like."

Louisiana nods happily and collects the wood she'd dropped along with the bone. Walking quickly, they made it back to the campsite before dark. Louisiana dumps the timber she was holding onto the small pile next to Ute, and she plucks the bone from the heap. She turns around with a smile and hands it to Texas.

"Here ya go, Tazzy. I know you loved your bat, but this would be a good substitute," she says.

"Really!?" Texas exclaims happily. He hops up from his spot, taking it from Louisiana. He swung it experimentally before pulling her into a brief hug.

"Yup. It's all yours, little bro," Louisiana says once Texas releases her.

"Thank you!" Texas says, happily swinging it around.

Massachusetts ducks. "Will you watch where you're swinging that thing?!"

"Oh. Sorry Massy," Texas apologizes, lowering the bone to his side. Massachusetts rolls his eyes at the nickname.

"Anyway, I tried to fix your crowbar, but it too busted to be fixed," Massachusetts says apologetically, kicking at a mangled bar of metal toward Russia.

Russia shrugs, but he internally wishes that he had some weapon as a replacement. He hands the tomahawk to Ute and drops the wood into the pile. He then takes the shaft he found and looks at it contemplatively.

"Good find," Ute comments over his shoulder. Russia jumps, and he turns to look at Ute curiously. Ute holds out a hand. "Here. Give it to me," Ute says, and Russia complies, a little confused. Ute takes it and disappears into his Tepee for a few moments before reappearing with a knife, strands of what looked like string, the stick, and what seemed to Russia like an arrowhead.

"That's a great idea!" Canada says excitedly.

"Do you want to do it?" Ute asks, walking over to the fire.

"Only if I get to keep it," Canada says. Ute shrugs and hands the supplies to Canada.

"Just return the knife when you're done," Ute says before taking his seat by the firewood.

Canada begins carving into one end and makes a spear with a sharp, metal tip. Russia would admit, it makes him feel a little jealous at his own lack of a weapon, but he bites his tongue. It must have still shown on his face because Ute hands Russia the hatchet he had used earlier.

"Isn't this yours?"

"I have another. This is the right size for you," Ute says, insisting Russia to take it.

"How do you know it is the right size?"

"It is the size of your forearm. It was always too large for me," Ute comments.

"Thank you."

Eventually, Massachusetts tells the others that he would keep watch. Russia falls into a fitful sleep. He wakes up a few hours later and walks out to the fire. Massachusetts is sitting in the firelight, reading a large, beaten book, using a small ball of light in his hand to read. Russia sits down next to him.

"Why are you up?" Massachusetts asks, not looking up.

"Couldn't sleep," Russia answers.

Massachusetts hums and sets his book aside, dismissing the ball of light. Massachusetts looks up at Russia, and Russia feels startled by how lost the teen looks.

"Do you think my Dad is okay?" Massachusetts asks.

Russia is quiet for a moment. "Your father is stubborn. He is also very strong. He will be alright."

"I hope so," Massachusetts says before leaning against Russia's arm. "I miss him. I know I'm one of the older kids. I got to be stable for the youngsters, you know? But I'm really f***ing scared. We've already almost died, and we found nothing. F***ing nothing! Sorry. I shouldn't be screaming. I just want to find Dad and make sure he's okay."

Russia wasn't sure what to do, but he felt the need to comfort the state. He wraps an arm around Massachusetts, and Massachusetts turns to hug him back. After a few moments, Massachusetts lets go, and Russia pulls his arm back.

"Thanks," Massachusetts mumbles.

"I will take the rest of the shift. You should sleep," Russia says. Massachusetts stays for a few more minutes before grabbing his book and retreating into the tent.

"Good night," Massachusetts says with a wave before disappearing into his Tepee. Russia sits up for the rest of the night, simply waiting for the sun to rise.

~

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Table of Contents

#rusame #countryhumans #statehumans #ch russia #ch america

[absentlyabbie]

caught me by the collar at the graveside

a tommy merlyn/oliver queen fic for the “it should have been me” collection

special thanks to @obscure-sentimentalist for this one, without whom it would have been much shorter and very... different

(reminder: i eternally reject all canon after season 2 so safely assume we’re all the way au or riffing during or after those two seasons)

------

Oliver knelt before the grave, brushing away dead leaves with a sigh. He let his fingers linger on the carved letters in the marble, the rough-cut snagging at his skin as it did the still-bleeding wound in his heart.

“I miss you, Mom.”

He held a pair of long-stemmed roses in his other hand, tied together by a slender white ribbon. His fingers shook as he laid the flowers on the short grass against the headstone, wishing as he did every time he visited these last four months that, with everyone in his life who seemed to come back from the dead, maybe for once it could happen and be good, maybe someone could come back and not be wrong, more scar tissue than ghost.

But the wish was never granted. Not his mother. Not his father, never even in the grave beside hers, moved from the manor before it sold to rest in Starling Memorial beside Moira. Not Shado. Not Tommy.

Certainly not himself.

Sara was the only gift, and she was as full of pain and darkness as Oliver was.

How he wished… how he wished that life would deal him a kinder turn. Just once.

Swallowing a bitter knot in his throat, Oliver blinked away a sheen of tears and stood, brushing the dirt from his knees and hands.

With one last longing glance, he turned from his parents’ graves and put his back to the lowering sun, threading the rows of markers further into the cemetery, away from the gates. The deeper in he walked, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket despite mid-September’s evening warmth, the older and more elaborate the grave markers became, spaced less evenly and more particularly clustered.

It was the old-money part of the cemetery, and it was where, of course, the Merlyn family plot was found.

He hadn’t visited in too long. Only once since his visit immediately after returning to Starling. Everything had gone straight to hell at such an accelerated pace, but even without staring at all that was left of Tommy in this world, he was in Oliver’s thoughts and heart always.

He was the beat beneath the sorrow and the courage, his memory both pain and promise. Tommy was never not with him, in every breath, the missing him in every one of Oliver’s molecules, the vibration on which he moved through the world.

They had been inseparable from birth. From birth until… until the Gambit.

And after, the world never let them truly reunite. Whether others held literal guns to their heads, or they were separated by oceans, or the gulf of Oliver’s lies and secrets and the things he couldn’t say without drowning in his own blood…

He had missed Tommy for so long he wouldn’t have thought death could make it hurt more, but he had, of course, been wrong.

As he should have known, should have learned by now, he could always hurt more.

He was staring at his feet as he walked, ruminating on loss, and raised his head as he at last approached the Merlyn plot.

His feet stumbled.

Stopped.

He wasn’t alone.

Oliver’s entire body tensed one muscle at a time, his eyes blowing wide and then narrowing to dangerous slits at the broad-shouldered silhouette standing in front of the grave of Tommy Merlyn.

More than once over the last year, Oliver had received a call from the Starling Memorial caretaker with the bad news that the Merlyn graves had been graffitied or vandalized. He had had to pay to have Rebecca’s headstone replaced after a chunk of it had been broken off, and it had felt like swallowing broken glass to imagine if Tommy had had to live to see his mother’s marker defaced.

If the stranger he approached now had any intention of directing misplaced anger at the memorial of his best friend or his mother, Oliver was ready to settle coldly and far too comfortably into the thrum of violence rising under his skin.

He softened his steps as he moved closer, hands slipping carefully free of his jacket pockets. He approached sideways, trying to keep the setting sun out of his eyes as he angled to catch sight of the stranger’s face.

The light and the hour were against him as he closed in on the figure from the side, their profile too much shadow to resolve into identity.

As if to answer his thought—though more likely, to answer a preset timer—a discreet electric lamppost flickered to life yards away beneath the branches of an elderly oak. The faintly blue light cast new angles of illumination on the stranger—

Oliver stumbled, stopped, for the second time.

The anger, the violence snuffed out in him like a candle, and he was left hollowed but for the echoing shock. His eyes rounded under brows tugged into a knot of agony, his mouth falling open but no air coming in.

He couldn’t breathe. His heart seized tight as a fist, and his vision darkened, swooped.

The stranger—stranger stranger stranger shadow dream lie—sighed, and it was like a trigger, or a bowstring twanged with release, and Oliver’s lungs flooded on a gasp. The inhalation wrenched his entire body back to sensation, to presence, with a violence more knives and needles than awakening prickles.

For a moment, his lips, his limbs, were numb but too alive, clumsy and painful with awareness as he staggered a step forward, and then another.

The next was surer.

The one after fell like thunder.

Oliver covered the last, short distance like it was eternity and his chest heaved from the marathon of those few strides. His hands rose, shaking, and he all but caught himself on snatching that coat collar, steadying himself as much as pulling the stranger around to face him.

“Hi, Ollie.”

Tommy Merlyn stared far too calmly into Oliver’s face, looking unruffled, unsurprised, even as the ground under Oliver’s feet threatened to crumble and reform as something new and unfamiliar.

He looked…

Alive.

Changed.

Like more than a memory.

Sideburns shorter, the shadow on his jaw a carefully trimmed almost-beard, rather than the unshaven jaw of a man too betrayed and heartbroken to pretend to vanity. Oliver’s fist shook on the lapel of a long brown coat knotted in his fingers with the front of a soft navy sweater.

It wasn’t the pale blue shirt Tommy had died in.

Or the painfully stark white of the one he’d been buried in.

“You’re not real.” The protest was heavy on his tongue, sticky on lips that felt too thick to form the words properly. “I’ve dreamed you before, this, you’re… you’re not real.”

The stranger that was Tommy Merlyn didn’t argue, only tipped his head to the side on an angle that matched the cut of his wry smirk, the quirk of that one eyebrow. The look was more answer, more counterpunch, than anything he might have said.

His hands raised, slow and carefully open, to settle on Oliver’s wrists. He squeezed, and his skin was warm, the pressure of his grip too solid against Oliver’s bones to be a projection of longing.

Something infinitely fragile trembled in the chambers of his heart.

“You’re dead.” It came out choked, almost a sob.

For a moment, he wanted to be angry, wanted to doubt and embrace suspicion and dread, to brace himself to be disappointed.

But it was Tommy, and the truth, the knowing of it was too rooted in his marrow to deny or question.

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed, sounding sorry, sounding resigned. “Technically, I am. For a while, I even was.”

Shaking in every inch, Oliver loosed his grip on Tommy’s collar, but only to transfer his hands to his neck, fingers curling around either side. Under his skin, Tommy’s pulse raced steadily on. Oliver stared at his hands, the furrow between his brows deep from pain, the tears spilling off his lashes hot from hope.

Tommy laughed, a soft breath of a sound, and Oliver felt it under his palms, the rumble in his throat.

Swallowing something barbed and deadly and beautiful, Oliver skimmed his hands up to fit Tommy’s jaw in the cradle of them, and he let his eyes follow the trace, and past, cataloging every feature he’d known so long he could recall this face better than his own. “How? How? What… where have you been?”

Smiling sadly, Tommy’s head shook back and forth in Oliver’s loose hold. His fingers were still circled around Oliver’s wrists, anchorpoint, tether. “I’m here now.”

Oliver’s legs almost buckled, the toes of his shoes bumping against Tommy’s as he let gravity only tug him closer. “You’re here.” Close enough now to feel the living heat of Tommy’s breath, he dropped his forehead against Tommy’s. All he could see was Tommy’s clear blue eyes, living, bright, vivid enough to at least temporarily overwrite the memory of them sightless and dull. “You’re here.”

Tommy took his hands from Oliver’s wrists and curled one around the back of Oliver’s neck. Oliver let his eyes fall shut, let the tears fall again, pressed his forehead more firmly against Tommy’s, like he could tie them by touch so they could never be separated again.

“I’m here,” Tommy breathed, and his nose shifted against Oliver’s.

The first brush of Tommy’s mouth was a shock, electric. Oliver gasped, but didn’t pull away from the second brush, lips grazing lips.

This was a memory older than either of their deaths, and it fluttered in Oliver’s chest, startled, nervous. The hand on the back of his neck squeezed, and Oliver tilted his head just to the left for a press, a kiss that was here and now, neither memory nor ghost.

It wasn’t chaste, but it wasn’t on fire with passion or need. It was something like confirmation, even tasting of the salt of Oliver’s tears.

And then it broke.

Tommy pulled back only far enough to breathe, to look Oliver in the eye. Oliver didn’t understand how he could look so calm when Oliver felt like he was shaking apart from too much hope and too much heartbreak, two gravities pulling him with equal strength in opposite directions.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy murmured, and Oliver didn’t know why he sounded so sad.

“Don’t say that,” he insisted heatedly, tightening his hold on Tommy’s face, unwilling to let him move any further away from him than this. Those words clanged in his ears like a car crash, dissonant echoes of Tommy’s dying goodbye. “Don’t ever say that again.”

Tommy sighed and briefly closed his eyes, looking resigned. Oliver stroked his thumb along the arch of his cheekbone, both to feel him real against his skin and to try to erase whatever made Tommy look like that.

There was no warning before the knife caught him between the ribs.

Tommy’s eyes opened again, the hand at the back of Oliver’s neck still anchor-firm. “But I am sorry, Ollie.”

“Wh…” Oliver’s shaking only intensified as he looked down in confusion, reality twisted out of joint too many times in too short a span.

But there was Tommy’s hand around the hilt of a knife, the blade sunk deeply in Oliver’s side and blood spreading quick and dark on the muted umber of his sweater.

The blade jerked free at the same time as Tommy’s hand snatched from the back of Oliver’s neck, and his fingers slipped nerveless from Tommy’s face. Oliver stumbled back, feeling colder from the loss of the touch than the pull of the blade.

He covered the wound in his side with his hand, and the blood made no sense to him. His vision swam, sudden and sickening, and one leg buckled beneath him, taking him down to one knee.

Poison.

The scuff of a sole against the dirt. A light touch on Oliver’s shoulder, than a heavier press of a hand.

Oliver looked up and had to blink to find Tommy’s face. He stood above him and just looked… sorrowful.

“I don’t understand.” The words slurred in Oliver’s mouth, dissolving, slipping away from him.

A wave of agony crashed over him, bringing him down to both knees, and he almost fell over as it ebbed to an overwhelming weakness.

Tommy caught him, kneeling with him now, one hand on Oliver’s chest, the other covering Oliver’s over the wound. Oliver stared down at their hands pressed together, pressed together and staining slowly red.

Tommy sighed.

Oliver raised his head, his skull feeling too loose on his neck as he sought and found Tommy’s eyes. “Not supposed to be like this,” he mumbled, even his thoughts slippery and fading now. “Just… just got you back. Wasn’t s’posed… to lose you again.”

“I’m here, Ollie.” Tommy lifted the hand on Oliver’s chest to wipe away the tear that dropped down Oliver’s cheek. “You’re not losing me. It’s me losing you.”

“‘S not fair,” Oliver exhaled, feeling now like even the breath in his lungs was slipping away from him. His head lolled on his neck, cheek pressing into Tommy’s palm. “Why?”

“If you find out,” Tommy said, slow and ponderous, eyes searching Oliver’s, “let me know.”

Oliver’s eyelids were too heavy now to keep open. Tommy’s voice was the last thing he lost his grip on, spiraling slowly away into the dark.

“Maybe next time we can make it be different.”

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@klaus-hargreeves-katz @princesssarcastia @ayotofu @adeusminhacolombina @sovvannight @storiesofimagination @obscure-sentimentalist @franklyineedcoffee 

#oliver queen #tommy merlyn #toliver #arrow #arrow fic #collection: it should have been me #character death #(sort of) #like sorry i did this to y'all on the first outing for this collection #but tbh i don't know what you expected you know who i am by now

[momo-de-avis]

Wordtober Day 3: Bait

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The Wunderwelt Tribune -- Daily News and Special Events.

Paranormal, the Weird and Unexplained News Column.

Excerpts recovered from a series of unpublished articles.

Latest Topic: Body of Lighthouse Keeper, Asim Rawlings, 43, found mauled in his bed.

Keep Reading?

Thursday, August 23rd, 2019

On August 20th, body of Lighthouse Keeper Asim Rawlings was found in his bed in St. Bartholomew Island. His body appeared to have been mauled, and his death has been placed shortly around the time the body was found. The lighthouse was still in full operation when the body was discovered by a local postman at 7:45 AM, and his every belonging in place, as though nothing had been moved nor touched. Investigators claim some claw marks found on the headboard and wooden walls of Rawling’s home strongly indicate the attack was made by a wild animal, possibly a wolf. Rawling’s body was slashed across the abdomen and stomach, and there were bite marks on his legs. One arm was also cut off, apparently bitten by large fangs.

Investigators have not divulged on the details, but residents of St. Bartholomew are shocked by this event. Most claim to have never seen a wolf on the island, and such an event has never happened.

An ongoing investigation is being led.

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Tuesday, August 27th, 2019. 

Police has recently released new information regarding Mr. Rawling’s death, claiming a person was sighted at the lighthouse minutes before his body was found, possibly a woman. Postman Toby Acevedo claimed a figure in ragged jeans and oversized blue sweater stood at the doorway just minutes before he went inside. Mr. Acevedo, who paid no attention to the figure, leaned over to the passenger’s seat, where his bag with mail rested, but turning his head back, he claimed the figure was not there anymore. According to Mr. Acevedo, the figure had ‘long, black hair and a curvy body I’d say resembles more a woman than a man’, but police remain unsure on the identity of this person.

No further evidence has been found. Mr. Rawling’s belongings were untouched, his house clean, and there were no signs of forced entry.

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Saturday, August 30th, 2019.

Further examination on Mr. Rawling’s body brings forth new evidence. Police claim there was saliva found on his wound and hair was collected from his torn clothes, but have added no further comment on the matter.

Rumours, however, have begun to surface regarding these findings. Locals believe the saliva is not animal, but human, and the hair found on Mr. Rawling’s clothes does not belong to a wolf, but rather a single strand of long black hair resembling that of possibly a woman’s.

Residents of St. Bartholomew Island refuse to further comment on the situation, but remain bent on one thing: that the attack was led by a human and not an animal, something the police has thoroughly dismissed.

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Monday, September 2nd, 2019.

Last Saturday, Police released a sketch of a possible suspect, according to Mr. Acevedo’s account on the woman found at Mr. Asim’s doorstep shortly before finding his body. Sketch shows a woman with long black hairs and an oversized blue sweater, and... and... there were eyes, weren’t there? I think there were. I remember seeing eyes. 

Residents of St. Bartholomew Island, however, have claimed the sketch is false. They say the mouth is not quite like that, because it is missing its fangs.

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Tuesday, September 10th, 2019.

She had eyed. She had eyes, once. But none of us can remember the eyes. They aired the image on TV and we all saw it, but the screen flickered and it just vanished from all our minds. We published the sketch, but now it’s all blurry and fuzzy, and all there is to her sockets is just... two engulfing black holes.

But she must have had eyes.

Can you see the eyes? Can you see her eyes?

All we can remember is... the mouth.

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Sunday, September 14th, 2019.

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖊𝖗’𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖆 𝖜𝖆𝖑𝖐 𝖇𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖊𝖆

𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝖚𝖕 𝖔𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖔𝖈𝖐 𝖆 𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖘𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖎𝖉 𝖘𝖊𝖊

𝕾𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖋𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖊

𝕭𝖚𝖙 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖜𝖎𝖋𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊?

𝕳𝖎𝖘 𝖊𝖞𝖊𝖘 𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖇𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖆𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙,

𝕭𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖆𝖚𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝖓𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖆 𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙

𝕾𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖜𝖆𝖑𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖘𝖚𝖈𝖍 𝖒𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝖆 𝖘𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙---

𝕭𝖚𝖙 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖓 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖜𝖊𝖉𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙?

𝕳𝖎𝖘 𝖒𝖔𝖚𝖙𝖍 𝖜𝖆𝖘 𝖆𝖌𝖆𝖕𝖊, 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖙𝖍 𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖗𝖊𝖉

𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝖓𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖞𝖆𝖑 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖉

𝖂𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖑𝖎𝖕𝖘, 𝕵𝖊𝖟𝖊𝖇𝖊𝖑 𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖉:

𝕭𝖚𝖙 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖑𝖎𝖊 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖚𝖘𝖇𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝖇𝖊𝖉?

ᶜᵒⁿᵗⁱⁿᵘᵉ ʳᵉᵃᵈⁱⁿᵍ?

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Tuesday, September 17th, 2019.

In recent developments regarding the case of Mr. Rawling’s death, Toby Acevedo was recently arrested on accounts of cannibalism. The postman was seen wandering the island of St. Bartholomew with bloodied clothes and jaw, and a piece of torn skin held in his hand, until he seemingly stopped at a gas station where witness Anaya Haines called the police. Mr. Acevedo was apprehended shortly after.

Ms Haines, as well as other eyewitnesses, claims Mr. Acevedo appeared to be in ‘a catatonic state’ and unable to properly convey a cohesive phrase. In fact, for the fifteen minutes between the call and the arrival of the police, all Mr. Acevedo muttered was a strange rhyme belonging to the island’s folklore. None of the eyewitnesses were willing to comment on it.

Strangest of all, according to lead investigators, every time Mr. Acevedo spoke the rhyme, those around him covered their ears or screamed in order not to listen to his words. One bystander claimed ‘Do not listen, that is how the angler’s wife will get you.’ Police has dismissed this as superstition.

A search conducted in Mr. Acevedo’s home within the same night revealed the mauled body of Mr. Acevedo’s wife. Her left arm had been chopped off below the elbow, and her left leg as well below the knee. There was no evidence of an attempt at cooking the meat, but rather, that Mr. Acevedo ate his wife’s flesh raw.

Stranger still is the fact that Mr. Acevedo had set the table for two.

None of us still remember the eyes, however. Or what she looked like at all.

Continue reading?

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Sunday, September 21st, 2019.

Blood tests on Mr. Acevedo’s wife have revealed she was not drugged or incapacitated in any form. In fact, coroner’s examination seems to lead to the belief that Mrs. Acevedo was alive when her limbs were cut off, however there seems to be no evidence of a fight or any signs of resistance. It appears Mrs. Acevedo willingly allowed her husband to eat her flesh while alive. She died of bloodloss. 

Police has questioned Mr. Acevedo, but the postman remains in a catatonic state. What little sanity there is to Mr. Acevedo, as well as what little he has revealed, comes in the form of the strange rhyme muttered by him on the night of the killing, as well as something else:

ᴵᵗ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉʸᵉˢ, ⁱᵗ'ˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰ

No further evidence has been released.

...

Do you feel that? Do you feel that... itch beneath your skin? Do you feel that soft tingle beneath the fingernail? Like someone is poking a needle.

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Wednesday, September 25th, 2019.

‘ℑ𝔱’𝔰 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔞 𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔢’ 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔩𝔢𝔯’𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔡 𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔥 𝔰𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔮𝔲𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔥𝔯𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔚𝔥𝔬 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔩𝔢𝔯’𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔡?

𝔍𝔢𝔷𝔢𝔟𝔢𝔩’𝔰 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰 𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔪𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔫𝔬 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 ℌ𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔬𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔱𝔰 𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔣𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔢 ℌ𝔬𝔴 𝔰𝔞𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔢𝔣𝔱 𝔞 𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔚𝔥𝔬 𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔬 𝔞𝔡𝔬𝔯𝔢

...do you smell that? What sweet, consuming smell that is. Bubbling red and deliciously sweet, though you think: it is supposed to be salty. But it’s sweet. Oh, how sweet. Can you feel it? Can you see her eyes?

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Monday, September 30th, 2019

Ｔｈｅ ａｎｇｌｅｒ’ｓ ｗｉｆｅ ａｎｄ ｔｈｅ ａｎｇｌｅｒ ａｎｄ ｔｈｅ ｂｅｄ ａｎｄ ｔｈｅ ｒｈｙｍｅ ａｎｄ ｔｈｅ ｆｌｅｓｈ， ｔｈｅ ｆｌｅｓｈ. ｔｈｅ ｆｌｅｓｈ. ｔｈｅ ｆｌｅｓｈ. ｔｈｅ ｆｌｅｓｈ. ｔｈｅ ｆｌｅｓｈ. ｔｈｅ ｆｌｅｓｈ. ｔｈｅ ｆｌｅｓｈ. ｔｈｅ ｆｌｅｓｈ. 

ｄｋｄｄｄｄｄｍｄｍｄｍｃｍｃｃｃ ｃ ｄｊｓｋｓｋ... ｓｈｅ ｗｈｉｓｐｅｒｅｄ ...ａｎｄ ｓａｎｇ... ａｎｄ ｏｕｒ ｅａｒｓ ｂｌｅｄ. ａｎｄ ｔｈｅ ｆｌｅｓｈ. ｔｈｅ ｆｌｅｓ. ｔｈｅ ｆｌｅｓｈ ｔａｓｔｅｄ ｏｆ ｐｏｒｋ ａｎｄ ｏｆ ｍｅａｔ ｌｏａｆ， ｄｅｌｉｃｉｏｕｓ ａｓ ｓｈｅ ｐｒｏｍｉｓｅｄ ｏｈ ａｈ ｏｈ ａｈ

𝔻𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣?

𝔻𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣?

There is a knock on your door.

Be careful, reader.

She was not married to the angler, but to the fish with the sharp teeth.

Are you sure you want to keep reading?

Well, you’ve already heard read her siren’s song. 

Keep.

Keep.

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Knock knock.

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Thursday, October 3rd, 2019.

‘Knock knock’, she says. You can’t but invite her inside. You cannot see her eyes, they are not there, they were never there, just two black holes waiting to be filled. ‘I was once an angler,’ she says, ‘and his wife, and his fish, and his son, and his flesh, and his voice.’

Look at your arm. It has gone missing. Your stomach is growing and growling. How hungry you are. See the bulbing flesh beneath your skin and the pulsating red slithering down the white bone and the yellowish marrow---are you hungry?

Oh, she is.

ʜᴇʟʟᴏ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ.

ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴɢʟᴇʀ’ꜱ ᴡɪꜰᴇ.

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Past challenges:

Wordtober Day 1: Ring

Wordtober Day 2: Mindless

#wordtober #writing #my writing #creative writing #fiction #my wordtober

[0idril0]

Clint/Nico 7.5

Ok, this part was almost impossible to write. No idea why. Definitely wouldn’t have happened without @whumpywhumper or @captivity-whump. Seriously, like 6 drafts of it. This starts right after Nico’s perspective fades out in the car at the end of part 5 and kind of explores what’s going on with Nico during that time. The main reason this part was written was to explore the growing bond between Clint and Nico.  If anyone is confused about what’s going on you can always send me an ask! 

Catch the rest of the series here 

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Nico fell through emptiness as he let Kristy’s magic suppress the agony of his quaking joints.The magic invaded his muscles, making him shudder with dread at the foreign feeling. He waited for it to strike, to rend and tear, destroying the relief it had given him. He knew it would. It pulled you in before ripping you apart to the marrow. Nico tensed as the magic flickered, allowing the pain to claw at him.

He heard a rough sob as his heart stuttered in his chest.

Please. Please Kristy...be good, quiet, he swears…..didn’t mean to be scared of it. He begged mindlessly for the power to return, regardless of his fear. The agony pulled him deeper, back into his tormenter’s cell. “You could never be good enough for them, mutt.” The Reedyman’s laughter echoed, making his skin crawl. “You deserve this.”

His body rocked against the seat of the vehicle, reality shuddering as Kristy’s magic returned. Kristy’s voice warbled in his mind as it took hold of him. It’s okay, Nico, you’re safe. You’re with me and Clint. He could feel hands on him, smoothing his hair, bracing him as Kristy’s consciousness tried to speak to him, to soothe. Fear engulfed him again, was she real? Was any of this real?

He slipped through the magic, fever and pain cracking his consciousness. Nico felt every breath as it scraped at his throat, every fight for air was an epic battle. He was so tired. Delirium fogged his mind, pulling at him, warping him. He couldn’t fight it.

“Almost there, sugar.” A voice murmured through the chaos. Clint. He longed for him, he was safe with Clint. He knew it in his soul.

In some of his dreams, Clint’s wolf had been there protecting him. He treasured those few dreams where the wolf had found him. Though the wolf had always been out of reach, it’s presence allowed him to rest. He’d wanted to cling to it and make sure it couldn’t leave him. He had begged brokenly to join it, to just stop.

His heart stuttered in his chest, drowning out the rumble of Clint’s voice.

The car rocked and Kristy’s power was ripped away as his body was thrown against the seat, knocking what little air he had from his chest.

Hands clutched at him in the darkness and he was able to choke out a mewl as more pain engulfed him, tearing him to pieces as he was lifted out of the vehicle. ....Help.....

His body rocked, the blanket rough against his skin as he was carried. Everything moved too quickly, confusion eating at him. Hot air blew against his face, against his lacerated feet, before the cool dampness of a cellar stole the warmth. Fervent howling grated at his sensitive ears, rousing him further. Echoing against metal and stone. Nonono..... she’d promised.... they were going to Evan's... right?? He wrestled with his heavy eyes, unable to make out his ominous surroundings.

He remembered the pits his captor had controlled. They’d thrown him in with creatures too hungry or ravaged to think. Beings that tore his body to pieces, beings that fed on his mind, or played crueler games. The sickeningly green power pushing life back into him and stitching him back together inch by inch, piece by piece. No... let him die.... please let him die..don’t take him back there... Nico wanted to beg, betrayal overwhelming him. He twitched in his loose restraints, suppressing the urge to fight. To hide.

Cold metal pressed against his back, through the fragile warmth created by the blanket encasing him. The cold metal was inescapable, feeding the chill of fever eating his bones. Like the metal cage... please no.... let him out....

A new voice joined Clint’s baritone, igniting a low fear. The voices rumbled above him, anger and fear lashing against him, making him shudder with terror. Strong hands pulling at his arms, restraining him. Murmured voices floated through the darkness around him, grief in the cadence, the voices familiar.

They took him back......But Clint had promised.

He pulled weakly against the hands, shuddering. Clint. Please. Warm hands gripped his face and he shook his head. Please. Please no more.

“It’s okay, Sugar. It’s okay.... shhhh...”

Clint... His presence sparked against his. Almost drowning out the sharp prick at his neck. Something seeped into his veins, burning cold like ice water. Nico twitched into Clint’s hand, leaning against it.

“It’s okay, Darlin’, you’ll feel much better soon.” Please stay. Please. Make it stop. He’ll try harder. Be better.

The pain didn’t stop. He bit his cheek, trying in vain to stifle his sobs. Pets are quiet, let them do what they want. Fingers and rough cloth pushed against his skin, scraping at the weeping wounds. Nico sobbed, unable to control it as fingers maliciously pushed at his shoulders, pain ricocheted through him as they pulled against the damaged ligaments.

Blood roared in his ears until a new pain ignited in his flank. Nico gasped weakly, fear of that particular mutilation breaking him. “‘Lease....nnn...nnn...” Be good.... promise.... please... Clint please come back......Hands pushed against his hips and he screamed, the world searing his vision before winking out. “M’orry.....’lease.... be’ood....s’op....’lease...” He struggled to stifle his begging as a voice shushed him, the smaller pains continuing, easier to bear. Try harder....be better.... please....not again…..

He grunted in surprise as fire invaded his veins, replacing the ice that had been flowing into him like a river. It oozed like lava through him, thawing the ice in his bones. It was too much.

—-

Clint clawed at the seat Evan had pressed him back into, focusing on the way his nails whittled at the soft wood. The sharp pain of the needle in his arm. They were his only distractions.

The smell of blood and infection hung heavy in the air and he could hear Brian heaving behind his clenched lips. He kept his gaze focused on the dribble of blood drying on his arm from where he’d pulled the original needle. The blood was thick in the dark hair.

He fixated on his own blood, burning the sight into his memory. Clint fought the urge to stare at Nico. When he looked up, he could see the way Nico’s skin didn’t fit together right, revealing the muscle underneath. It made sick anger boil in his belly. This should never have happened.

Nico’s scream had nearly undone him, his wolf going feral as it had tried to claw its way to the surface. Evan had never had to use his power on him before; he was both resentful and grateful. Without the order, he would have torn the man to shreds.

There was a tremulous exhale from the table and Clint tensed, debating on whether to look. A low moan forced his head up, heart clenching. Evan had rolled Nico to his side, Brian’s hands supporting his lax frame. Horror suffused him, without the blanket to shield him he could see the scars and wounds that covered Nico’s back.

Tears instantly blurred his vision and he pressed his fist against his mouth to stifle a grunt of horror. Fuck. I’m sorry, Baby. I’m sorry. Clint had felt as if something was wrong for months, unable to get ahold of the shy man. Night terrors had plagued him, furthering his fears. He had shrugged it off. He should have listened. His wolf had been telling him something was wrong and he hadn’t listened.

Tears fell down his cheeks and he scrubbed at them roughly, careful not to dislodge the needle collecting his blood. It was the only thing he could do now. He felt dizzy as Evan came to collect the third bag, swaying when the man tapped his shoulder in reassurance.

A cold pressure pulled at his heart and his wolf startled, instantly making him alert. A desolate howl pulled at him, ringing eerily through his head. He shuddered, whining as the bleak sound made his bones shudder. Nico.

Evan spoke to him but he didn’t comprehend as he stumbled from his seat to Nico's side. Clint fumbled at Nico gently, carding a hand through wet hair. He stroked a thick thumb against Nico’s limp knuckles, pressing a kiss to the bruised flesh.

Hi Baby, it’s okay. I’m right here....

Clint could feel his mouth moving as he stroked Nico’s hair. He focused on the feeling deep in his chest, burying his nose in the damp locks. Got you now, Darlin’...

—

His soul howled. Nico could feel his body shuddering, besieged by the onslaught. The fire helped shield him from the torment. He felt a resounding thump in his chest, igniting his soul like a bonfire.

Nico heard the pop of a wood fire and jumped, eyes fluttering. What? Light sparked in his vision before disappearing. Something laved against his face, rough and cold. A deep whine rumbling against his soul, pushing at him. A comforting warmth settled against his heart, before nudging against his cheek. The sensation was strange but comfortingly familiar.

He knew this.

He knew this like he knew himself. Like he’d been waiting for it, longing for it. There was a high whine in his ear, impossible to ignore. Nico wanted to acknowledge it. A foreign reassurance settled him, pushing shattered pieces of himself back together. Something warm chuffed against his face, heaving panting breaths onto his cheek before licking at his eyes.

Emotions that weren’t his battered against his consciousness and fear made him fight against it, unwilling to leave the warmth he’d found. He felt safe. He could almost smell the smoke from the fire, the cigarette he and Clint had shared. When was that? There was another sharp nudge against his face before a growling whine startled him.

The weight resettled against him and at the same time he felt the push of emotion on his consciousness. He didn’t fight this time, allowing it to flow through the cracks in his psyche, in his heart. Nico could feel the magic in the presence and a small fear thrummed before the presence backed away easily, waiting patiently.

The patience was unsettling. When was the last time he had been met with that? The being nudged against his fingers, slathering them with cold fluid. What?

His eyes opened slowly, a soft blue light illuminating his surroundings. Where-? A blue campfire crackled in front of him. There was a chuff of air against his fingers, and a warm weight resettled against his hip. He tensed, expecting pain. The weight was soothing, bringing tears of relief to his eyes. It didn’t hurt.

Warm yellow eyes met his.

Tears scorched his eyes at the sight and recognition surged through him. Clint? There was a happy whine as the wolf inched his way up his chest. A tail thumped against his leg, making the large body wiggle. He didn’t question the sight of the large animal, sobs of relief shaking him.

Nico curled towards the wolf, tentatively dipping his hands into the thick fur. A relieved moan slipped from between his lips as he gripped the soft fur tightly for the first time. Please don’t leave me. The wolf put more of his weight onto him, settling a large paw over his chest. The wolf snuffled at his cheek before licking at his tears; it’s intentions were clear. Mine. Exhaustion pulled at him as he took in the thick scent of the wolf and the campfire. He buried his head against the thick neck, hiding, before sleep finally overwhelmed him.

#Nico Series #nico #clint #near death #wounds #alternate view #soul bond

[dragonfics]

What’s in a name?

Chapter 1: Patient twenty-two

Ship: Spicyhoney

Tags: Doctor Rus, patient Edge, LV issues, discrimination, dehumanisation, asylum-style setting, institutional captivity, forced institutionalisation, needles, minor medical procedures, unethical medical practice, angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: Rus's work is... delicate. He wants to help his patients. He truly does. But at what point does being a doctor of LoVe-afflicted patients become unethical? How far is he willing to push his morals? Perhaps further than normal, depending on who he's pushing them for.

Notes: Another WIP to add to my collection! Please read the tags (particularly note the forced institutionalisation one, it’s a pretty strong theme through the fic). If you’re down for some angsty Spicyhoney with eventual hurt/comfort though, then please enjoy!

Read on AO3

OR

Below the cut

The facility was a good hour’s drive from the city, so Rus was grateful when the large concrete building finally emerged on the desert horizon. The sky was still red, the sun just peeking over the rocky mountains to the east. Dust swirled up around his car as he pulled to a stop at the tall metal gates. The fence that bordered the facility was at least ten feet high, with barbed wire curling over the top. Rus rolled down his window to greet the security guard stationed outside the gate. She put down her coffee mug and nodded at him. “New around here?” she asked as Rus handed over his ID card.

“i was just transferred from the training facility.”

She punched a few numbers into her computer and lifted a brow. “Doctor, huh? Good luck.”

“uh… thanks.”

“Give me your thumb, we just need to do a mana test to ID you.” She pricked Rus’s thumb, drawing a small bead of marrow, which she dripped onto a thin square of tissue. Rus waited, turning up the air conditioning in the car as her computer processed his mana. She gave a satisfied nod, shooting him a smile. “All clear. Have a good day, Doctor.”

The gates swung open with a groan and Rus drove into the facility. It was little more than a big block of concrete, the windows all barred. Rus parked in the area labelled ‘staff’ and climbed out. He pulled on his coat and crossed the parking lot to the entrance, his white sneakers quickly turning red with dust. The smell of baking dirt was already hot in the air.

The sign outside the lobby read ‘SANCTUARY FOR AFFLICTED MONSTERS’ in big black letters. Rus scanned his ID card and the doors slid open. The lobby was sharp with disinfectant—stronger than what he was accustomed to from the training ward, and it burned his nasal cavity. There was a lizard monster sitting at the reception desk, her horn-rimmed glasses balanced on her long nose. She didn’t look up when he approached, and he cleared his throat. “hi there. uh, i’m a new transfer. i was told i’d be starting on ward d?”

“ID card?” the woman said, her eyes still fixed on whatever she was writing. “And sign this timesheet for me, please.” She pushed a clipboard and pen across the counter. Rus scribbled his details onto the sheet, then fished his ID out of his pocket and handed it over. She scanned it and glanced at her computer screen. “Ward D. Down to your left at the end of the hall. Then make a right. You’ll need to check in with security there.”

“security?”

The woman looked up at him over the top of her glasses and smiled. “Extra precaution for the ones with higher LV.”

Rus swallowed, tucking his satchel under his arm. “right... of course. thank you.” He turned and walked down the hall, scanning his card again to get through a set of double doors. The air was cooler inside the ward, almost too cold, and the lights were stark white. Nurses and doctors passed him as he walked, pushing med carts and carrying clipboards. The curtains were drawn over every door, so Rus couldn’t see inside, but on the patient sheets outside was written their species and LV.

In the first hallway, there was nothing over three. But when Rus reached the next one, the numbers started to creep up. He passed an empty room with the door cracked open, and dared a glance inside. There were cuffs chained to the wall, which had scratch marks gouged into it.

When he reached the hallway pointing towards ward D, he came to a halt. The sign directed him towards a set of sealed metal doors with a keypad and various other electronic locks. Two guards were stationed outside. Well. The receptionist had mentioned security. They looked up as Rus approached. “ward d?” he asked, almost hoping they’d tell him he was in the wrong place. To no avail. They nodded and scanned his ID card again, then patted him down and checked his satchel. One of them clipped a small red button to his coat lapel.

“Any trouble and you press this, got it?” Rus nodded, swallowing thickly. They told him to collect extra tranquilisers from the storage cupboard inside. “Look for Sonya. She’ll sort you out.” They punched a series of digits into the keypad and the doors rumbled open. Rus walked through and they sealed shut behind him. The air suddenly felt a lot heavier.

This ward had a very different atmosphere to the others. The hallway was messy, med carts pushed haphazardly against the walls to make room for the nurses and doctors scurrying between rooms. Rus stepped aside quickly, narrowly avoiding a nurse who was dabbing at a dark ichor on her scrubs. For all the mess in the hallway, there were very few staff around. The eerie quiet was stirred by distant whimpering and a faint muttering Rus couldn’t make sense of. He realised it was coming from one of the rooms, and didn’t linger long enough to try and figure out what the strangled voice was saying.

More than anything, the air reeked of LV. Static prickles across Rus’s bones which made his mana tingle. It was heavy and oppressive, and Rus’s soul pulsed erratically. They’d attempted to emulate the effects of LV on the training ward, but it had been nothing like this. The highest LV patients they’d allowed them to work with in training had been five. It didn’t take a trained doctor to realise that the patients here were well beyond that.

Rus sagged with relief when he found the ward’s reception. The ward clerk was rummaging through a box of folders, her feathery green tail poking out from behind the desk. “sonya?” Rus asked. She turned around, assessing him with small black eyes.

“Ah, new guy, right?”

“rus.”

“Yep. Gimme a second.” She scanned the shelf behind her and pulled out a yellow file. “Okay, okay… we’ve got you starting on room twenty-two, but you’ll be covering at least four patients once we know you’re competent.” She lifted her wing in a sweeping gesture. “As you can tell, we’re a little understaffed.” She flipped over the page of her folder. “You’ll be with Jackie. I’ll go find her, wait here.” She hurried off down the hall, her tail feathers fluttering.

Curiously, Rus peered at the folder she’d left open on the desk. A patient was listed. ‘Patient twenty-two’. There was no name, only a small photo of a gaunt looking skeleton with dark sockets and red eye-lights, and a deep crack down one side of his face. The photograph was faded, and folding in at the corners. Underneath, it listed his details.

Patient twenty-two

Species: Skeleton

LV: 13

Rus’s chest seized and he stopped, rereading the number to make sure he hadn’t made a mistake. It glared back at him aggressively.

There was a crash behind him as one of the doors flew open. He spun sharply, pressing back into the desk. Three nurses were dragging a muzzled and chained wolf out of one of the rooms. The monster was snarling and struggling, saliva spilling from behind his muzzle, his yellow eyes bloodshot. “Give him another shot of tranq,” one of the nurses said, shockingly calm. Another nurse jabbed a needle into the wolf’s arm and he gradually went limp. They pulled him down the hall and through a set of double doors.

“You’ll get used to that.” Rus jumped, spinning to see Sonya returning with a nurse in tow. She was a rabbit monster, her long ears flattened beneath a medical cap. “This is Jackie. She’s been on patient twenty-two for the past few weeks.”

Jackie waved a soft grey paw. “Hiya.”

“We don’t like to switch our staff between patients too often on this ward,” Sonya said, sitting back in her chair and arranging the folders on her desk. “It can unsettle them. So you’ll just be with twenty-two for now, and then—”

“i’m sorry, but—” Rus cleared his throat as she looked down her beak at him. “i think there may have been some mistake.”

She crossed her arms. “Mistake?”

“i—i’m fresh from training, so i’m only meant to be working with patients under ten lv. this one is listed as thirteen.” He tapped the folder on her desk.

“Darling, this ward is ten and up only. Why do you think we have all this security?”

There was a sick feeling in Rus’s chest. “ward d?”

“D for danger,” Jackie muttered, receiving a sharp look from Sonya.

“Look,” Sonya sighed. “To tell you the truth, you were probably sent here because we’re understaffed. We need every extra set of hands we can get.” She frowned. “If you really want out, I can probably see if they can transfer you to a different ward. But we could really use another doctor here.”

Rus glanced around at the messy hallway. A tired nurse was leading a vacant looking monster into one of the rooms, guiding him gently. He thought of his training, why he’d taken this job… “i—” He shook his head. “no, no it’s alright.”

“Good. Jackie, show him to room twenty-two. Just a check-up, a few samples, same routine.” She handed Rus a copy of the patient’s medical transcript. “Enjoy.”

After depositing his bag in the break room and collecting a few needles of tranquiliser from storage, Rus followed Jackie through the hallway, reading over the patient’s medical sheet. “he’s on a very high dosage of suppressants,” he said, trying not to flinch when a shriek rang out from one of the rooms. Jackie kept walking, as if oblivious.

“Yep. He’s got high LV.”

“high enough for a max dosage?”

Jackie shrugged, hopping over a set of cuffs abandoned outside one of the rooms. “It’s the same with most of the monsters here. Once you get past ten LV it gets kinda hard to calculate how much they need. So docs just give them the max. Or thereabouts.”

Rus frowned, flipping over to the next page. “high risk of violent outbursts?”

Jackie laughed. “They write that on everyone’s sheet in this ward. Wait until you meet him.”

They came to a quieter end of the ward and stopped outside a door labelled ‘22’. The patient sheet on the door was the same as the one Rus had glimpsed in the clerk’s file. Jackie knocked firmly. “Hey twenty-two, it’s Jackie.” Her use of the number struck Rus unexpectedly, and he glanced at her, waiting for her to reveal it as a joke. She didn’t. He followed her inside after she scanned her ID card.

The room was plain, white walls, white sheets on the bed. No cuffs on the wall, but the bolts remained. There was a bookshelf tucked in the far corner beside the window, though the collection was sparse.

The patient was sitting in a shabby green armchair in front of the window, with a book in his lap. He was wearing the same white and grey striped jumpsuit Rus had seen on the other patients, though it looked too loose on his bony frame. The shadow of the bars crossed his gaunt face as he looked up. In the photograph he’d looked fierce, but here he was almost vacant, his bright eyes dim and washed out, his bone discoloured. His gaze wandered over Rus briefly before he returned to his book.

“hello,” Rus said, approaching cautiously. “my name is rus. i’ve been assigned to you, so i’ll be your doctor from now, if things go well.” Jackie wheeled in the med cart and Rus glanced at his patient’s sheet. “we’re just going to start by doing a routine check-up. is that okay?”

The patient glanced at him, his mouth twitching with faint amusement. “If I have a choice, then no.”

Rus swallowed and looked uneasily at Jackie, who rolled her eyes. “Well, you don’t. Come on, twenty-two, he only just finished his training. It’s his first day. Go easy.” Rus almost wanted to point out that telling a patient it was his first day probably wasn’t encouraging—especially a potentially unstable patient. But the patient—twenty-two—only smirked.

“First day, huh? I thought you looked a little young to be a doctor.”

Rus smiled pleasantly, pulling on his gloves. “i’m not.” Jackie handed him a mouth mirror and he crouched in front of the—in front of patient twenty-two. Mana rushed through his ear canals but he breathed evenly. “open up, please.”

“We’ve only just met,” twenty-two said, but he followed the instruction. Rus surveyed the inside of his mouth.

“teeth slightly discoloured.” Jackie scribbled on her clipboard. “magic inside the mouth is faded, but otherwise normal.” He withdrew, placing the mirror on the tray. “thank you,” he said, smiling at twenty-two, who didn’t return it. He took his temperature next and told Jackie the reading. “high above average, but normal for his lv. i’m going to do a swab of your mouth now,” he told twenty-two, taking a cotton tip from Jackie. The patient kept his mouth open, sitting still. The swab came away a translucent red, the colour of his magic. “now we’re going to take a blood sample. is that okay?”

Twenty-two’s gaze was deadpan as he offered Rus his arm. There was an array of small puncture wounds in the bone, some shallow and mostly healed, others deep. Jackie handed Rus a needle and he felt his way over the bone until he found a hum of mana. The bone made a faint crack as he punctured it with the tip of the needle.

As a skeleton monster, Rus had never liked needles. Administering them to fleshy monsters was easier. Scales could be tricky, but bone was the worst, from personal experience. But patient twenty-two didn’t flinch, only watched Rus impassively. Rus extracted a small vial of mana and detached it from the needle. “healing balm?” he said to Jackie, reaching out.

“We don’t have any.”

Rus looked up and frowned. “can you find some?”

She shrugged. “We don’t stock it in this ward.”

Rus stared at her. “then what do you use?”

“Nothing. LV usually heals them on its own.”

“that’s only if it’s freshly gained,” Rus said, a touch irritated.

“Well, if you bring me someone who’s been misbehaving, I’m sure we can work on getting this pinprick healed,” twenty-two said with a smile.

Rus ignored him. “antiseptic then,” he said to Jackie. She dabbed a cotton ball in it and handed it to Rus, who wiped it carefully over the fresh puncture wound in the patient’s radius. “aloe vera?” Jackie gave him a dubious look but handed over the tub. It looked new. Or at least, unused. Rus dabbed a small dollop onto the patient’s arm. “okay, we’re going to look at your soul now—”

Jackie tapped his shoulder, shaking her head. “Uh, uh. We don’t do that here.” He frowned, but the look she was giving him was firm. Rus glanced at twenty-two, who still looked vaguely amused. “Too risky,” Jackie murmured, as if trying to keep it a secret from the patient.

Rus hesitated before nodding. “okay then, if that’s the case, your physical check-up for the morning is all done.”

Twenty-two dipped his head. “Pleasure doing business with you, doc.”

Rus glanced over his sheet. “before we finish up, just a few routine questions. please answer them as honestly as you can. have you been feeling drowsy recently?”

“Define recently.”

“last three weeks.”

“Yes. Though no more or less than I have these past ten years.”

Rus heard Jackie sighing loudly, but he pressed on, jotting down the patient’s answer. “headaches?”

“Yes.”

“how bad? one to ten.”

“It varies.” He tipped his hand in a vague gesture. “Fluctuates between a four and a nine.”

“right now?”

He shrugged. “A five.”

“and have you been given anything to remedy your pain?”

Patient twenty-two’s laugh was humourless. “No.” Rus scribbled down ‘pain medication req.’ on his sheet.

“any other sort of pain you’re experiencing? cramps or aches?”

“Yes.”

“can you elaborate?”

The patient leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “My whole body feels like it’s been wrung out through a vacuum.” He considered. “Or crushed in a hydraulic press. Take your pick.” Nodding, Rus circled ‘pain medication’ three times.

“okay, that’s all. thank you—” He scrambled for a name, then swallowed and fell silent, handing the clipboard back to Jackie. “i’m going to reduce your suppressant dosage. i’ll have to process the request, but my decision should outrank theirs.”

“Doctor, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Jackie muttered.

“it’s too high,” Rus said. “he’s experiencing symptoms of an overdose. his lv is probably all that’s fighting off the more serious consequences.”

Jackie tugged on his arm, coaxing him to lean down. “No offence Doctor, but you do realise he’s probably lying about his symptoms, right?” She glanced over Rus’s shoulder. “They always do it.”

Rus stared at her in disbelief. “we have to give our patients the benefit of the doubt.”

“I dunno, doc…”

“it’s my call,” he said firmly. “he’s my patient. bring him down to forty milligrams.”

Jackie sighed, scribbling it on his sheet. “Alright, your call.”

Patient twenty-two was watching Rus, the corner of his mouth turned up. “You aren’t worried I’m going to go on a rampage and kill everyone, doctor?”

“i’m not,” Rus said flatly, and the patient smirked. Rus scribbled a few more notes on his clipboard before tucking it under his arm. “press the button if you need anything. i’m sure you know the drill.”

“Too well. I don’t suppose you could swing me some better food, doc?”

Rus studied him before following Jackie through the door. “i’ll see you this evening.”

  By evening, Rus was caught between exhaustion and adrenaline overdose. The day had followed a routine of check-ups and sample examinations. Every minute he spent in the same room as a patient was like electricity through his mana. He idly wondered if being in the presence of so much LV was bad for his health.

When he scanned his card and entered room twenty-two at the end of the day, the patient was sitting in the same spot by the window, this time watching the sun dip below the horizon. The sky was painted red and pink, wisps of cloud glowing the same colour as twenty-two’s eyes. “jackie has gone home for the evening so you just have me now,” Rus said.

Patient twenty-two turned around slowly and smiled. “Doctor. Come to watch the sunset with me?”

Rus pulled his gloves on, glancing out the window. “it’s nice. how are you feeling? any better?” Twenty-two turned away from the window and watched Rus without a word. “i’m going to administer your medication. do you want it with your food? or do you prefer to swallow?”

Twenty-two grinned. “A bit soon to be asking me that, doc. We haven’t even been on our first date.”

Rus’s cheekbones warmed and he dropped his gaze to the bowl of soup on the tray. “i’ll grind it into your food.”

“Actually, I’ll swallow, thank you. I prefer being able to see what’s going into my body—innuendo not intended.” Rus resisted the urge to roll his eyes—until he had his back turned, that was. He poured twenty-two a cup of water from the sink and watched him swallow the pills. Magic suffused the joints of his neck, hot red like the sky outside.

Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed hold of Rus’s wrists. Rus tried to step back on instinct but twenty-two’s hold was firm. He was grinning and Rus’s soul leapt into his throat. He was too stunned even to scream. “You know doc, you really shouldn’t have come in here by yourself.” Rus squirmed, trying to reach for the panic button on his collar, but the patient’s grip was like concrete.

“let me go,” he hissed.

“I could snap your neck before you even had the chance to scream for help,” twenty-two said, gazing at him. “It would be easy. Too easy.”

“don’t—”

“And your HP is so fragile, you’d barely put a dent in my EXP. I wonder if I could clean up your dust before they grew suspicious. Maybe.”

Rus could feel tears burning in the backs of his sockets, panic bubbling in his chest. “don’t,” he whispered. “please—”

Twenty-two let him go. He laughed as Rus staggered back, putting the medical cart between himself and the patient, for all the good it would do. “I won’t.” Calmly, twenty-two got up from his chair and picked up his tray from the cart. Rus stood stock still, watching him until he sat down. “Cold,” he said, sipping on a spoonful of soup. “I suppose it could be worse, though.” He glanced at Rus and smiled. “I would never hurt you, doctor. I don’t want to.” Putting the spoon aside, he tipped the bowl back and drained it. “I can’t say the same for everyone else here.” He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Don’t take stupid risks. Never go into a room alone. You’re lucky it was me.”

Rus’s breaths were still coming in soft, sharp pants. Magic prickled at his fingertips, and he tracked the patient’s every movement, flinching when he laughed. “You know, you’re not very good at hiding your fear.”

Rus swallowed, steeling himself and taking a step closer. “what’s your name?”

For a second, the patient’s smile faltered. “My name?”

“well it isn’t twenty-two. i’m not calling you that. i want to know your real name.”

The patient leaned back, crossing his arms. “I don’t think you’ve earned it.” He spoke lightly, but there was a warning in his eyes.

“and how do i earn it?” Rus pressed, daring another step forward. He stopped when the patient cast him a dark look, all traces of amusement gone.

“You don’t. It’s mine.” His voice was low, dangerous. Rus’s courage waned, and he took a step back.

“i’m sorry—”

“You know how you can earn it? By getting me out of this fucking place. Think you can manage that?”

Rus shook his head, a tremble running through his bones. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry, i wasn’t trying to—”

“You can go, doctor. I’m sure you have work to do.” Twenty-two returned to his food tray, picking at the bowl of nuts and dried fruit. Rus backed away to the door, tugging the med cart along with him. He scanned his keycard and hurried out of the room, locking the door behind him. The ‘22’ printed on the door glared back at him.

#spicyhoney #papcest #my writing #us papyrus #uf papyrus #doctor rus #patient edge #hospital setting #asylum #forced institutionalisation #dehumanisation

[intubatedangel]

Dead Drop - part 4

There wasn’t enough of them actively engaged to allow Anna to climb on the gurney to perform compressions. There were plenty of on-lookers, but they had already settled into that slack-jawed paralysis known as the bystander effect. So instead, she went to the head of the gurney to give Linh oxygen with the bag, while Carl used his longer arms to provide one handed compressions from the side of the gurney.

 They didn’t have the time to waste taking the gurney around to the dedicated entrance to the resus-suite, so instead they charged towards the main entrance of the trauma centre. Thankfully a couple of people had the presence of mind to hold open the sliding doors, allowing them team to head straight inside.

 The reception area was thankfully quiet. Less than a dozen heads turned to look at them as they raced across the room, the gurney rattling loudly. Anna noticed a mother covering her child’s eyes and ears as they charged on through. Anna understood the reaction, but this was a clean resuscitation by all accounts. No blood or gore, all the young woman’s vomit had ended up in her own lungs, then the suction device. And the gurney was high enough that anyone sat down would be unable to see the track marks in her arms, the pattern of bruises from the beating, or her exposed genitalia.

 “Hold the door!” Carl shouted at a nurse that was coming out of the central triage room. His voice carried such a thick current of command that she didn’t even hesitate, it boomed loud enough that a porter on the other side of the doors grabbed the other half and pulled it out of the way quick enough that they didn’t even have to slow down.

 They swung to the right as they passed through, lining the gurney up with the black panelled double doors that led to the resus suite. Roger and Trish appeared from the staff lounge, still straightening their uniforms, and bolted through the doors, holding them open for the gurney. “2.” Was all Roger said as they passed, but they all knew what he meant and targeted the 2nd Resus suite. Almost like performing a three-point turn, they moved slightly beyond the door, then pulled back, Anna leading the way into the room so that everything was the correct way around.

 “Let’s get ready to move her.” Carl said, halting his compressions and moving from between the gurney and the trauma table. Roger dived in to take over from the other side as people grabbed the ends of the backboard. “1..2..3.” They moved her over smoothly, Trish already in position on the step of the trauma table, keeping the cpr mostly un-interrupted. “Zee, what’s the play?”

 The Junior Doctor suddenly looked up, like a deer in the headlights. “Errr…” Her mouth opened and closed like a feeding goldfish. She jumped slightly as the suite’s door opened, Kirstie and Sara rushing in. Anna nodded Kirstie over and handed off the Ambu-bag, knowing that she’d have to do some of the more complex work. She quickly checked Linh’s pupils.

 “Pupils are pinpointed.” Anna announced.

 Carl nodded his thanks, then returned his attention to the Junior Doctor. “Doctor Patel! What is the next move?” He stared hard at her, the nurses all averting their gaze slightly. It was Carl’s strategy, one that had taken some time for the nursing team to get on board with. He would throw the Junior doctors in at the deep end, while also making it as one-to-one as possible, almost like an exam. The student response would kick in, but then nurses would actually follow the orders. It worked surprisingly well, giving them confidence that they knew what to do and they were in charge, exactly the qualities needed in emergency medicine.

 Anna knew without looking that Zainab had taken a deep, steadying breath, “We need to hook her up to the monitors.” She said.

 “Who?” Carl pressed.

 Zainab glanced around, trying to decide. “Sara.” She blurted out.

 “Ok, What next?”

 “Pupil constriction and respiratory depression suggests an opiate overdose, so let’s go with a nasal dose of Narcan while we get access.” She nodded to Jess who acknowledged the order. “Is there a good vein on that arm?” She asked Anna, who swung around the bed to get a closer look.

 “Veins are all shot here.” She replied.

 “Ok, let’s go with a tibial IO, we can put a central line in after trauma assessment.” Anna complied, pulling the nasty looking IO gun from a drawer and loading it up with a needle. Carl was nodding along as Zainab’s voice lost the edge of nervousness. It wasn’t quite the authoritative tone he managed, but it was the tone of a doctor. She stepped forward and palpated Linh’s abdomen “I want epi in there immediately. Get me the FAST scanner, abdomen isn’t firm, but I want to rule out a bleed.”

 Carl grabbed the ultrasound, bringing it over and readying the device as Anna swabbed the area just below Linh’s left knee with iodine, then positioned the IO gun on the bone. She’d never liked the device, as useful as it was, and cringed slightly as it forced the wide bore needle through the bone and into the marrow. She removed the gun, attached a syringe, and pulled a sample of blood. “Good placement.” Anna stated.

 “Good, get the sample to the lab. I want the full set of tests, including tox.” Zainab told the porter, turning to study the monitor as Sara finished attaching the various devices. “Still asystolic, or near enough, BP’s low.” She continued as Carl handed her the ultrasound probe. “Ok, hold compressions.” She probed Linh’s abdomen, getting a good look at her organs. Anna inserted the Epi, Zainab murmuring an acknowledgement as she studied the display. “I’m not seeing any free fluid; spleen looks a little swollen but there’s no rupture.” She looked up, nodding at Trish to resume cpr, then looked at Carl. “Could be the infection,” she indicated the angry red rash on Linh’s arm, “either way, she’s not bleeding out, so we don’t need surgical down here.”

 “How do you want to proceed?” Carl asked, looking down at Linh, her bruised belly bulging with each of Rogers hard compressions. Zainab considered for a moment.

 “We should assess the neck and head, establish a central line in if it’s suitable, then get saline and broad-spectrum anti-biotics going, secure her airway, and continue cpr while the epi circulates.” She says. Carl nodded, not taking his eyes off the young woman in front of them. “Did I miss something?” Zainab asked, the nervous student peeking out once more.

 “Huh,” Carl looked up, shaking his head slightly. “Sorry, no, you’re doing fine. I would add a vasopressor though, should bring her pressure up and help perfusion.” Zainab nodded at his recommendations, biting her lip and clenching her fists at her minor mistake. “Keep your head in the game Zee, you’re doing great so far.” Carl’s reassurance seemed to have the right effect, the junior doctor relaxing slightly.

 “Anna, can you get the pressor in?” Anna nodded to Zainab, taking the drugs from the crash cart. Roger, who had taken on his usual role of recorder, flashed the chart at her. Anna quickly double checked everything, nodding her approval.

 “Vasopressor in.” Anna announced.

 “Neck seems fine, I think you’re good to go for the central line.” Carl said to his Junior colleague, who had the kit in hand. He stood back enough to not be looming, but close enough to have a good view, and watched as Zainab got the IV catheter into the vein on Linh’s neck. “Good. Let’s do a pulse and rhythm check.”

 The doctors and nurses all probed the various pulse points as Trish stepped away. Nobody felt anything, most of them turning to the monitor. Anna, down by Linh’s feet, instead took a moment to get a good look at the young woman. The silk smock was still looped over her arms, half pinned beneath her. The straps of the backboard still restricted her arms and legs. Anna felt a pang of sympathy for the woman. It was clear she’d been terribly abused. She was covered in bruises, her crotch was scarred, and the track marks in her arms took months to get to such a stage. She hoped someone could find a way to help her if they successfully saved her life.

 “That’s VF!” Zainab’s excited shout snapped Anna’s attention up. The monitor showed the coarsely bouncing line. “Let’s get ready to shock her at 200.”

***

Part 1: https://intubatedangel.tumblr.com/post/183971918377/dead-drop-part-1

Part 2: https://intubatedangel.tumblr.com/post/184106937832/dead-drop-part-2-version-2

Part 3: https://intubatedangel.tumblr.com/post/184162594552/deap-drop-part-3

*

Barista’s Bad Heart: https://intubatedangel.tumblr.com/post/183863814312/baristas-bad-heart-collected-links

Intermission 1: https://intubatedangel.tumblr.com/post/183900250412/the-doctor-and-his-patient-nurse-intermission-1

#resus #cpr #medical drama #dark cardiophilia #resus writing

[justinsdaysinthedark]

Post #2 - Thank You

What an overwhelming 36 hours it's been. An endless amount of phone calls & messages of support got me through what was an agonising day of waiting yesterday. This blog was started to keep my family and close friends informed about my journey but it's grown into so much more.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you to each and every single one of you that took the time to reach out and wish me the best of luck. A simple message of support may not seem like much to you, but when you're in a situation like mine it means so much. Thank you.

Monday night provided the worst sleep I've had in weeks. Keep in mind, i've had some terrible sleeps in that time! Why? It was nerves. Simple as that. I was nervous for the gastroscopy and biopsy. It wasn't the procedure itself but the anaesthetic side to the operation. I haven't been under since I was five and the unknown had my measure. What if they didn't put me under fully? What if I could feel the procedure? What if I woke up early? What if I didn't wake up at all?

In retrospect, I lost sleep over nothing.

With the little sleep I did have, I woke up Tuesday morning earlier than normal. I was expecting the gastroscopy between 8:30am - 11:30am and knew I was booked in for a Radionuclide Ventriculography (RVG) scan of my heart later that afternoon.

Since being in hospital, 9am has been my regular time to get up, shower, brush the chompers - y'know, get ready for the day of sitting in my little 3x3 room and watching the world go past. Tuesday however, I was up and about at 7:30 - showered and ready. I hate feeling dirty, so if my procedure was at 8:30, I'd be ready to go.

Breakfast rolled around at 8:00 and I had to politely decline it as I was required to fast from 12am for the procedure.

This is about the time when my previous blog post took off and messages started coming in for the remainder of the morning. Before I knew it, it was 11am and nobody had been to get me for my procedure yet. I called the nurse and enquired to which I was told to hand tight, it shouldn't be much longer. Whilst she was around, she did my daily observations and it was no surprise to see my heart rate up to 100+BPM (regularly around 65BPM resting) and a slightly higher blood pressure. I guarantee this was due to the nerves.

Lunch comes around at 12:30 and once again had to politely decline. 12 hours fasting thus far - lucky I don't have an appetite still and honestly didn't care! It was around this time the doctor comes around with the results of my Lumbar Puncture. This fortunately came back negative as there was no major changes to the one I had three weeks ago. White blood cells still present with a marginally higher protein count than normal. I once again mentioned about my gastroscopy or there lack of and the doctor assumed I'd already had it. He said he'd follow it up and get back to me.

Mentally, I'm okay. Still incredibly nervous and a little frustrated I prepared myself for a procedure between 8:30 - 11:30 and still nothing. Your messages of support continue to light up my phone, which certainly kept me pre-occupied and made the time fly by.

Finally! 2:43pm and somebody comes to my bed to pick me up. "Justin Smith for a procedure? Let's go." I mentally build myself up as they take me. With my heart beating the quickest it had all day, we get going. Minutes later, we get into quite a dark room with a single scanner to my left and a glass wall. The radiographer, Liv meets me and goes through the basic questions. Name? Date of birth? Address? What are you here for? "A gastroscopy and biopsy" I reply. A few seconds of awkward silence follows so I split it with an "I think..." hoping to relieve the slight tension.

Liv replies with "not quite. We're here to do your Radionuclide Ventriculography scan of your heart."

My heart dropped. I spent the past fifteen minutes mentally preparing to go under and it's not even for the right procedure; I almost feel robbed!

To give you a brief understanding, the RVG scan involves injecting a small amount of radioactive material into your blood stream where they then track it until it passes through the heart, ensuring the heart is healthy and working as it should to a level that it should. Why am I having this scan? Good question. The doctors wanted to get ahead of the game essentially. Providing the biopsy comes back positive for lymphoma, I will need chemotherapy. The level of that chemo will depend, however if I do happen to require a strong dose, it can have negative effects to the heart. This scan is to ensure they have a baseline reading of my heart and ensure it will be able to handle a high dose of chemo.

This scan took 40 minutes from start to finish and before I knew it, I was up in my ward again. By this time, dad had arrived so at least I had somebody to talk to and reassure me when the time comes to get my gastroscopy.

4:00pm and the time finally came. 16 hours of fasting, I was slightly hungry but by this stage, I just wanted to get the procedure over and done with. I was still nervous, but more relieved the time had come. Having dad there for the hour or so beforehand made me feel a lot better about the whole thing.

The operation itself involved a gastroscopy (camera down my throat into my stomach) and if they could see lymphnodes, get a biopsy to test.

Cutting to the chase, was it worth worrying for 16+ hours? Not at all. All I remember is them checking my blood pressure, putting something in my cannula and asking me to count to 10. I got to 12 and next thing I know, I woke up coughing my lungs up in recovery with a nurse next to me. Luckily, the coughing only lasted for about fifteen minutes and that was just a result of irritating my throat.

Apparently, the gastroscopy went well and they were able to get a couple of good tissues from the lymphnodes to biopsy. Additionally, they also took the following photos whilst they were inside - I have no idea what they're of or even if anything is okay, but I thought they were cool!

For the first 45 minutes after the procedure, I felt fine. I was great! I felt incredibly thirsty and hungry but I assume that was simply due to the fact I hadn't eaten. Things from here turned pretty quickly once I had some dinner and a glass of water. I started to go downhill pretty quickly - feeling incredibly fatigued and tired....essentially dopey. It was from here I knew I just needed to have some rest and I'd wake up better in the morning. Needless to say, I was asleep by 9pm and basically slept through the night...except for when the nurses woke me up at 11pm, 12pm. 3am and 5am.

Waking up this morning (Wednesday July 17th), I instantly felt a lot better than I had last night. Admittedly, I had a bit more of a sleep in than I generally would've - it was great. I use the term 'sleep in' lightly though - it's nothing like a sleep in at home! What was the plan of attack for today? Well to be honest I wasn't too sure. A doctor yesterday mentioned briefly about a bone marrow test however the nurses and doctors on had no idea about one and couldn't see one booked in. I hadn't eaten since the night prior however the nurses got me to fast once again whilst they investigated. As a result, breakfast was staring me right in the face and I couldn't even touch my beloved weetbix, milk and sugar!

The clock ticks over to 10:37 and a Young, lanky doctor comes by. "Hi Justin, I'm Alex and I'll be doing your bone marrow procedure today..." Alex went on to explain the procedure, risks and what to expect. As he finished and started to walk away I had one last burning question. "When are we doing it? Later this afternoon?" "Now" Alex replied.

Woah. Wait. What? Hang on two seconds. I'm not prepared for this. You mean now...as in like, once Alex had finished preparing? You betcha....

Now I was under the assumption I'd be getting knocked out as I had done the night before however Alex proceeded to explain they'll put some medication in my cannula that "makes you feel like you've had four or five beers" as well as some local anaesthetic. No point being worried or scared about it - if it's getting done bedside, it couldn't be near as bad as the lumbar puncture, right? Once again, like I have been for the past few weeks I was completely and utterly wrong.

First though, what's this procedure involve? Basically, blood, white blood cells and platelets are produced in your bone marrow. This can be accessed via key areas of your body depending on your age...for me it was my hipbone - left side to be exact. The aim of the procedure is to get these fresh samples of blood, white blood cells and platelets as well as get a sample of my bone marrow - generally one small sample of the bone.

Alex got me curled up in the fetal position, lying on my right and basically began straight away. A few local anaesthetic needles numbed the surface before he inserted a needle in to collect the blood samples. This part was similar to a lumbar puncture, but I couldn't feel as much internally.

Alex then stated he was starting the bone marrow collection, which was without fail the worst part of this whole experience so far. He used the large needle with a blue handle, which can be seen below.

Alex hit the bone and advised me the next part was only going to tickle a little bit. What's he do? He starts to screw into my bone. Whilst I couldn't see, it felt very similar to uncorking a bottle of wine. Whilst he went in no deeper than 1mm, christ it hurt. The worst part was yet to come. Much like the pressure behind uncorking a bottle of wine, this happened too. Alex yanked the sample out and the pressure and pain was immense! Done. It's all done. Thank goodness. Then Alex said the words I didn't want to hear next. "Y'know what Justin? We want to make sure we only have to do this once, so let's get another sample, eh?"

Oh my lord. Are you kidding me? Whatever. Lets do it. I want to get it over and done with. I don't even think I replied, just mumbled something along the lines of whatever. And thus, the process happens again. I've attached photos of the two samples below, which I thought were pretty cool!

I must admit, Alex was incredible during the procedure. I asked at the start to keep me informed throughout the whole process. I'm quite an inquisitive character when things are happening that I don't know what the process is and this was no different. Alex not only kept me informed, he did as much as he could to keep me as comfortable as I could be during such a procedure. One thing I was incredibly surprised at was how much blood was on his hands!

Not much happened throughout the rest of today to be honest. Courtney, dad and mum came to visit but that was it. The doctors advised they are expecting the result of the biopsy tomorrow afternoon (hopefully) however they said it could take anywhere up to 72 hours from the procedure - which puts it at Friday night or Monday. Where does that put me? Same boat as I have been throughout this entire process - just waiting for answers.

I was advised that the results could come back either negative or inconclusive. Whilst this wouldn't be ideal, it's unfortunately just going to be another roadblock in this venture. In preparation the results don't come back the way we probably expect the, too, I'm booked in for an ultrasound of my gall bladder tomorrow. That will be their next avenue to answers. I suspect this is because my PET scan showed up significant areas in my gall bladder and I suppose that's not exactly a vital cog of the human body...so I suspect they'll just remove it, cut it open and see what's inside. But that's nowhere near a medical analysis of what's going to happen.

Before I finish for tonight, I'll leave you with how I am mentally. How am I going despite all this? Y'know what? I'm actually the opposite to what you probably think I am. I'm in the best mental state I have been over the past six weeks. Why? I think it's because we're close to (hopefully) getting an answer or at least following a more solid path to answers.

I end tonight with a final thank you. Thank you for all the messages and endless love. It's helping - trust me, it is.

Juzz xx

[honestsycrets]

Eddic [Mythology of All Races] Loki

A/N: Happier things. All content is from Mythology of All Races Vol. 2. These are simply my notes of what I want to remember from this chapter.. Obviously things within this can be debated.

Names

Evil companion and bench mate of Odin by Snorri. Mit-othin (?) Father of Fenris-wolf Utgard-Loki (?) The bound god The Cunning Loki The Sky god Lodur (Voluspa) The Firebringer

Birth

Son of giants Farbauti ‘dangerous striker’ and mother Laufey ‘leafy isle’/Nal. Mother was thin: Nal means needle. Brothers are Byleist and Helbindi. Combination of parents name— friction to start fire?

Maybe fire god or demon.

Stole Brisinga-men ‘fire.’ Relation of Norse custom to Loki: “A Norse saying when the fire crackles is ‘Loki is beating his children’ and the skin of milk is thrown into the fire as a dole.” Little children toss baby teeth in fire “Lokke Lokke bring me a bone tooth: Here is a Gold tooth.”

Appearance and Disposition

Beautiful and comely but evil disposition and fickle. Tends to get the gods into trouble and save them later. Foulmouthed and slanderous— Lokasenna. Has shoes to run through air and over water.

Dwarf association

Conduct is elfish to the dwarves. Associated with making Menglod’s hall and forged Lævateinn sword in underworld.

Transforms a lot!

A mare A seal A fly A flea A milkmaid A woman A giantess A salmon Bird by Freyja’s feather dress.

Witty

Excelled in sleight and strategy. Evaded the gods paying the giant rebuilding Asgard. Brings goddess Idunn power by way of another giant Thjazi.

Silly and Mischevious

Causes Thjazi’s daughter Skadi to laugh and reconcile after the Æsir slated her father, who pursued Loki to Jötunheim to bring back Idunn as a nut. Cuts Sif’s hair out of mischief but promises Thor (who would have broken his bones) to get Black Elves to make Sif’s hair gold to grow like any other hair.

Thief

Thief of Brisinga-men and Idunn and her apples. Dislikes it when others are praised such as Fimafeng, who he slew, at Ægir’s banquet.

Chaos

Caused fight with Geirrod and daughters. Was starved in and tortured there at one point. Ransoms his life promising to bring Thor without hammer or girdle of strength. Gerriod was overtaken by Thor.

Children and Lovers

Sigyn

Nari or Narfi.

Birthed Sleipnir.

Told the giant artificer who rebuilt Asgard to demand Freyja, the moon and the sun. The gods demanded he avoid the command or be killed. Loki shifted into a mare and was chased by the giant’s stallion Svadifari, suspending the work on Asgard until it was done outside of the prearranged amount of time. Thor slays the giant and Loki gives birth.

Angrboda Jormundandr, Fenrir and Hel nourished in Jötunheim. Odin sent gods to bring them to him. Casts Jormungandr into the sea and lies about the land. Hel thrown into Niflheim. Fenrir was bound.

Woman of Embers Ate a cooked heart of a woman he found in embers. Milked cows for months.   Became pregnant and gave birth to a monster. This regards him as subterranean fire (female).   Cows he milks are warm springs

Thor

Visited Utgard-Loki and the giant Thyrm. Thrymskvitha- aids Thor in recovering the hammer from Thyrm.

Odin

Friend of Odin. Servingman of Odin. Staunch friend of Hœnir by Thjodolf of Hvin. Chosen as Odin’s wish-son.

Given heavy tasks by Odin and was spoken well of. Knew almost everything that happened and relayed it to Odin.

Joined with Odin and Hœnir; creating first pair (related to Andvari’s treasure) and the story of Idunn. Odin and Loki mixed their blood in blood-brotherhood. Odin promises to spill no blood unless it was for both.

Balder

Punishment of Loki His in mountains with a house with four doors so that he could see in all ways. Hid as a salmon during day in Franang’s waterfall. At night he made a net and abandons it when the Æsir were near. Odin saw where he was hiding from Hlidskjalf. Hid as a salmon once more but Ksavir realized it was a fishing net. Thor catches him. Bound in the bowels of his son Vali which turned to iron. His son Narfi was turned into a wolf. Skadi fastened a Snake over his face so that poison would drop on his face. Sigyn (a Asynjur) held a tiny shell under the poison to collect it but some would fall on his face when she pulled it away. Earthquakes caused by his struggling.

Ragnarok

There he waits for Ragnarok where he breaks free and stands at the helm of a ship with those in Hel. Loki, Hrym and frost giants fight with heroes of Hel against Heimdall and they slay one another.

Insults

A man bearing children as a woman and a man taking a woman’s form we’re not uncommon but considered the most deadly insults

Hreidmarr

Odin Hœnir and Loki brought into power after he slays his son in the form of an Otter. (Hreidmarr’s). Odin sends Loki to Svartalfheim to capture the dwarf Andvari (as a fish) and make him give up his treasure. Loki takes all of the things, ring included that the dwarf wanted to keep as a sole item. Given to Odin who covers it with a fur without the ring. The nose of the ring was uncovered and Hreidmarr insisted on it being covered. Odin gives up ring. Ring and treasure becomes a curse.

Fimafeng

Ægir invited elves and gods to a feast. Fimafeng was praised and Loki slew him. Gods shook their shields, howled and ran him out of the forest. Returns to the hall to ask Eldir what is going on. Weapons, war and no nice word for him. Loki goes in to mix venom with their ale and bring hatred. Asks for a drink after a long journey but gods are silently claiming there is no place for Loki there. Loki appeals to Odin in their brotherhood pact. Odin asks Vidar to find a place for him. Shit happens: Bragi is accused of being a coward. Idunn begs him to weigh Loki’s kinship with Odin but is turned on by Loki. Loki accuses her of having love with her brother’s killer. Idunn tried to calm Bragi. Gefjun calls Loki a slanderer and that he hates everyone. Loki accuses her this time of sexual misconduct with a boy who gave her a necklace. Odin tells him that he’s crazy to piss her off as she knows the destinies of man— and Loki turns on Odin accusing him of giving victory to those who don’t deserve it. Odin pops off that Loki has been milking cows as a woman and giving birth to children. Loki says that Odin made magic spells in the shape of a witch while in Samsey. Accuses Frigg of misconduct with Odin’s brothers Vili and Ve. Frigg says that Balder would kill him if he were alive. Loki boasts that he killed him. Freyja is accused of sharing favour with all the gods and being her brother’s loved. Njord taunts him by calling him a womanly god and asks why he is here. Loki taunts Njord with being only a hostage from the Vanir and having had a son (Frey) with his sister. Tyr claims Frey is the best of heroes. Loki tells him to shut up as he has lost his wolf by the Fenris-Wolf and Loki knocked up his wife AND didn’t have to pay a crime. Frey tells him that the wolf is bound until Ragnarok and he can be too. Loki says Frey bought Gerd with gold and sword, and now must await Muspell’s sons when they ride through Myrkwood. Byggvir (Frey’s servant) intervenes and says if he were like Frey, he would crush him to bone marrow. Loki calls him a coward. Heimdall: you drunk Loki go home. Skadi claims that they will bind Loki with his sons bowels Loki tells her he was among those who killed her father and reminds her of their love. Sid hasn’t done anything wrong! She pours his ale but is reminded of their history. Beyla claims Thor is coming by the shaking of the mountains. Thor was slaying trolls. Enter Thor. Thor threatens to close Loki’s mouth with his hammer. Loki claims he doesn’t need to threaten. He’ll be less fierce when he fights the Fenris-wolf. Three more times he is threatened and Loki taunts him with hiding in a giants glove and having trouble in opening Skrymir’s wallet. Finally he goes but warns Ægir to have no more parties because fire will consume here.

Source Credit

MacCulloch, John Arnott. The Mythology of All Races: Eddic. Vol. 2, Cooper Square Publ., 1964.

#sy's reference

[stemcelltherapyindelhi]

Turn For Stem Cell Therapy

Damaged tissue can be repaired or replaced using stem cells. This is why scientists and doctors are so enthusiastic about stem cells' rising role in treating disease, injury, and tissue degradation caused by aging. Surprisingly, we retain a stockpile of these stem cells in some places of our bodies beyond birth and into adulthood.

Dr. Geetika Mittal Gupta is a well-known neurosurgeon, neuroscientist, and professor around the world. She has devoted his life to studying the use of cells in the treatment of incurable neurological diseases. She has treated the world's biggest number of patients using cell therapy at ISAAC Luxe!

During stem cell therapy in Delhi, your doctor will extract bone marrow from your lower back using a needle, centrifuge the solution, and inject it into a wounded area of your body. The stem cells will transform into and act like the cells found in that region at their new site. Bone, cartilage, and ligaments, for example.

Beta cells in the pancreas produce insulin to keep blood glucose levels at a safe level. Islet cells are the name for these cells. When a person develops Type 1 diabetes, however, their own immune system destroys the beta cells. Those with Type 1 diabetes, on the other hand, must keep track of their own insulin levels and inject insulin as needed to break down glucose.

For the treatment of this condition, stem cell therapy has never been documented. On November 4, 2006, the first patient with PPH had stem cell infusion in the pulmonary artery. Her progress was remarkable. She was weaned off oxygen after a few days, and her PA pressure dropped to 65 mmHg. She was released from the hospital five days following the treatment and is now ready to go about her daily routine.

Transplanting stem cells is a fascinating field of medicine. For the past few decades, it has been used to treat a variety of malignancies and blood illnesses. The first successful "Autologous Stem Cell Transplant for Acute Myeloid Leukemia" in Delhi was performed by Dr. Geetika Mittal Gupta of ISAAC Luxe Hospital.

Obtaining PRP is a straightforward process. A sample of the patient's blood is obtained and centrifuged for 20 minutes. With the use of a special syringe, the isolated PRP residue is collected and administered. Within half an hour of the surgery, the patient is discharged. Because it is an outpatient treatment, the cost of a hospital stay is reduced.

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Fallen Valkyrie, pt7

Word Count: 2532 Tags: @outside-the-government @distinguishedqueenofbooks, @anyakinamidala @dirajunara @anotherotter @youdonebeengarthed @auduna-druitt @samaxraph99 @rayleyanns @sistasarah-sallysaidso @feelmyroarrrr@kitchenwitchsuperwhovian @little-study-bug @graysonmalfoy @rampant-salamander

The twelve Valkyries were washing up in the lake when a messenger rode toward them, kicking up dust. He was enveloped in a cloud of it and brought it to the women. Some of the girls who were sunning themselves on the shore dashed back into the water to avoid being soiled again, and others ran back to protect their modesty. When the rider reigned in his mount and dropped to the ground, all the Valkyries were back in the water, save Brynhildr, who was wrapped in a cloak and glaring defiantly at the man.

“Why come you here?” She demanded. “You break the solitude of our ritual.”

“It is emergent, Brynhildr,” he said and bowed deeply, holding a message in the air. Brynhildr took it and broke the seal. She read it quickly and turned to the water.

“Eira, you are needed at court. You are excused from your duties in Valhalla tonight. Stop at your home and collect what you would need to staunch bleeding, but hurry. Fandral was badly wounded today,” Brynhildr ordered her. Eira dashed from the water without thinking of the messenger.

“I did not see him on the field!” She exclaimed, throwing on her dirty shift and pants, and rushing to Fleygur. She pulled on her boots quickly and mounted Fleygur. She reeled him around to depart, but stopped to look to Brynhildr for direction.

“Go Eira! Worry not of this duty, today you must shine as a goddess,” Bryn spoke ominously and waved her away. Eira kicked the sides of Fleygur urgently and headed toward home. The message had obviously already reached her mother, who was standing in the drive holding saddlebags. She barely slowed as she rode past and grabbed the bags from her mother, tossing them across her lap and urging Fleygur on toward the palace.

The golden spires of the palace loomed larger until Eira was riding through the massive gates, still at full speed. She reigned in Fleygur and was leaping from his back before he had even started to slow. She tossed her bags at a servant standing nearby and handed the reigns to another. They both looked surprised and seemed rooted to the floor.

“Take me to Fandral,” she demanded. The servant with her bags came to life, heading toward the end of the main hall.

“He is in the throne room. You can run faster than me, my lady.” The servant gestured in the direction she needed to go. She reached in her bag for the yarrow she’d received from the Midgardian healer.

“Follow as fast as you can, but do not overtax yourself, or I will have to treat you second,” she smiled kindly at him and ran down the hall. The soldiers guarding the throne room saw her coming and opened the doors just as she was running through them. She headed to the dais, where she saw Odin kneeling over a prone body. Volstagg, Hogun, Sif, Thor and Loki all stood at the bottom of the dais. One of Odin’s ravens shrieked and he looked up. The relief that washed over his face reached deep into his good eye. The other warriors followed his gaze and Eira saw relief flood their faces as well.

“Eira, you are here! He was slashed through the leg, it is deep and he has lost much blood. Neither Frigga nor Loki have been able to heal him. The blade must have been cursed,” Odin called as she ran the final feet toward Fandral. He had the look of death on him. His breathing was laboured and shallow and his colour was grey. He barely stirred when she skidded across the floor on her knees to him. Eira cursed.

“Allfather, look for me and tell me this death is not predestined,” she begged as she laid the yarrow across the gaping wound in Fandral’s upper thigh. She pressed down, and Fandral cried out weakly.

“I know, sætur einn. I am sorry. The pressure helps to slow the blood, so I can see what needs to be mended.” Eira spoke softly and smoothed Fandral’s sweaty hair from his brow. She laid one hand on his forehead, and another at the wound and pushed her mind into his body. She could clearly see the long bone in the leg was fractured and the marrow was leaking out.

“The Norns have more work for him. Today is not his day to ride to Valhalla,” Odin spoke as Eira rocked back on her heels, visualizing the injuries. The first thing she needed to repair was the leaking marrow. She concentrated and worked it back into the bone, willing the bone to knit closed. She felt around with her mind and saw that the large blood vessel in his leg was not torn, but was badly bruised, and pulled the bruising away. She kept the pressure on the yarrow dressing and willed the muscle in his leg to heal. As she felt the muscle pulling together, she pulled back the yarrow, out of the path of the healing flesh. She had just to knit the skin together, and then manage his blood loss and he would be saved. She took a long breath and focused on the cut in the skin, but it would not meet and grow together. The wound continued to ooze blood, more blood than it should have.

“The blade was cursed, Eira. You need to lift the curse.” Loki’s voice interupted her thoughts.

“I need a needle, and clean silk. In my bags. I will sew together the wound until I can lift the curse. And the rest of the yarrow too, I need that.” Eira pointed to the bag in question, and Sif quickly pulled the needle and thread out, and handed them to her.

“This will hurt, fallegur strákur, you must be strong for me.” She smoothed his brow again and turned to the wound. Fandral screamed as the needle pierced his skin, and tried to pull away. Volstagg and Hogun settled in beside him to hold him down. She made quick work of the stitches, and covered the injury with the remaining yarrow, tying it in place with a strip of linen. She laid both her hands on the wound and tried to feel the curse. She could feel it there, like a snake poised to strike, but couldn’t tease it away from the wound. She looked up at Loki and held her hand out to him.

“Your magic is different than mine. Help me,” she asked. He knelt and took her hand in his, and laid his other hand over hers on the wound.

“I can see the curse, it’s coiled around the edges of the skin,” Loki breathed. “Is this what you always see when you look inside people?”

“It is. Can you see a way to pull it out of the skin?” She asked. Loki took a deep breath in and forced it out, closing his eyes in concentration.

“You focus on healing the wound. I will focus on drawing out the curse. If we put as much magic as we have into it, I think it will break the bond the the curse has,” he nodded. Eira redoubled her efforts to force the skin to heal. She could feel her magic flowing through her into Loki, and felt a different magic completely flowing back into her. It wrapped around her heart, and into her stomach before finding its way back out her other hand and into Fandral’s wound. A bright spark shot out from under their hands and pushed them both onto their backs. Eira scrambled back to her knees and leaned over Fandral’s form, pulling off the dressing and checking the wound. As she watched, the gash healed together, leaving a thin red scar. She pressed her hand against it to worry the redness away, but it wouldn’t leave.

“The curse is broken, and the wound is healed. But he had lost a great deal of blood. I need a soft soup of meat. Rare as is safe,” Eira spoke to no one in particular. “We need to get him comfortable in a bed. I will stay to watch over him and tend his needs.”

Eira rose and wiped her bloody hands on her pants. Thor gestured to the palace guards and issued some orders. The guards placed their weapons against a pillar and carried Fandral out of the hall.

“A word, Eira,” Sif asked. Eira turned toward her, hesitantly. She still remembered the words Sif had said about her when she first met Thor and Loki. Sif took a few steps away from the dais and the other people still standing there. Eira followed.

“You have concerns, Sif?” Eira asked. Sif nodded.

“You are a remarkable healer. I have heard of your ability, but also have seen its result. So I am not trying to be disrespectful of your talent, but how are we to know you broke the curse from that blade?” Her words were quick and low.

“The wound fought against healing until the curse broke, and then closed together with ease,” Eira explained.

“And you were able to do that with Loki?” Sif asked. Eira nodded.

“Yes, our magics flowed together and worked in tandem,” Eira agreed.

“You are well-suited to him.” Sif’s words were direct. “Much better suited than to Thor, I think.”

Eira stiffened at the dig and narrowed her eyes.

“Your talent lies in your shield, Sif, not your ability as a matchmaker.” Eira forced a light laugh at the end of her response.

“Does it matter which prince you have? Is it not a prince you seek?” Sif accused. Eira reeled back as if slapped. And in response, slapped Sif hard, across the face.

“You are a brilliant warrior, Sif. But you are utterly stupid if you think that all I care about is a prince to warm my bed. Do not project your own desires on to me.” Eira stalked back to her saddlebags and collected them before turning and heading out of the throne room to Fandral.

Fandral took a fever in the night, and no amount of coaxing would break it. Eira exhausted her magic trying to make it leave his body. She rummaged through her bags to see if there was anything that would help. She pulled out the herbs her mother had packed and tried to recall what they were all for. She heard a clinking in the bottom of the bag and pulled out a vial. The tag on the side read “Midgard: Yarrow, St. John’s Wort”. Eira sighed in relief and stopped herself from kissing the bottle. It was an all-purpose tincture her mother had compounded. She had told Eira it could be used for almost anything and had run through the uses, and Eira was sure one of them was fever. She mixed a few drops into the broth at the bedside.

“Fandral, you must drink.” Eira held his head up and dribbled some broth into his mouth. He swallowed weakly and coughed. They repeated the process painstakingly until the broth was gone. She waited a short while and felt his forehead again. He was cooler. She leaned back in her chair and sighed, closing her eyes.

Someone cleared their throat from the door. Eira looked up. It was Thor. He stepped in and sat on a stool beside her.

“How is he?” Thor’s voice was low, and gravelly.

“He has a fever. He has not wakened yet, but I can see no reason that he will not. Perhaps in the morning.”

“You sound unsure.” He was surprised.

“Surely you do not believe me an unfailing goddess too?” She laughed bitterly. “I am not all knowing, Your Highness. Not all my remedies work.”

Thor took her hand in his, and sat quietly.

“I think you no more a goddess than I am a god. But I have seen you heal men so much worse than Fandral,” he finally said. Eira sighed.

“Never who had been cursed,” she whispered.

“But you and Loki broke the curse.” Thor was confused.

“The damage may have already been done. We must wait. I am sorry, Highness. I have no reassurance to offer you.”

“I have faith in your ability to heal my shieldbrother, Lady Eira.”

“You should go get some rest, Highness.” Eira squeezed his hand. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

“First tell me why you slapped Sif.” His mouth quirked into a half grin. Eira rolled her eyes.

“Because she has the manners of a boar,” Eira complained.

“Oh?” Thor clearly expected her to elaborate.

“She cast aspersions on my character. I feel no further need to illustrate, you must just trust that I was justified, Highness.” Eira’s words were pinched and defensive. Thor looked at her fondly and smiled.

“Why do you never call me by name?” He change of subject surprised Eira and she laughed in a soft burst.

“You have never given me leave to, Highness.” Her smile was without guile and Thor was taken in.

“I have tasted a strawberry from your lips, my lady. You may use my name familiarly.” He leaned close until their heads were touching at the temples.

“I will relish it, Thor,” she sighed. He took her chin gently and kissed her mouth.

“I will see you on the morrow, Eira.” He stood and slipped from the room silently. Eira checked Fandral again and sat back on her stool. With the surge of excitement from her ride to the palace finally wearing off, she was tired, and cold, and felt so exposed in just the shift and pants she usually wore under her armour. Fandral reached out and laid his hand on her knee.

“Eira.” His voice was a rasp.

“I am here, Fandral. What need you?” She leaned forward.

“I saw you on the war field today.”

“I heal the wounded after battle,” she admitted.

“How long have you been a Valkyrie?” He asked.

“Fandral, the wound. The fever has addled your brain.” She spoke in a soothing tone.

“Eira, I saw you taking the dead to Valhalla. I watched as you looked on me and saw life in me yet and carried on the to next man.” Every word was an effort, but he stared into her eyes as he spoke.

“You hallucinate, Fandral,” she argued helplessly.

“Why is this such a secret?”

“No one is to know the names of the chosen, Fandral.” Eira was a little desperate, and couldn’t think of how to keep Fandral from sharing her secret with everyone. He was a worse gossip than most of the women at court.

“In my fevered dreams, I saw a red-haired Valkyrie. We all have seen her. I must have seen you tending the wounded and become confused.” He squeezed her knee and closed his eyes again.

“Thank you, Fandral,” Eira breathed a sigh of relief.

“You stink, Eira. You should borrow a dress,” he mumbled as he fell back to sleep. Eira looked down at her filthy arming shift and pants. And then wondered how Thor hadn’t noticed she was in arming clothes.

#avengers fanfic #avengers fanfic with OFC