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okay very short mini rant time but -
not having emotions isn’t a thing. or at the very very least, it’s not a thing for soulless!sam. the writers hand-waved “soulless doesn’t feel” but that makes no sense and they’re wrong and it falls apart if we so much as poke it with a twig, let alone a proper stick.
emotions are information that act as input into decision-making. the very limited cases of human beings lacking the ability to feel fear or any other particular emotion, or lacking emotional input into their decisions? yeah, it’s not good. either wander into danger they can’t handle because there is no input into the decision-making process that says No, Don’t Do That, or at the extreme end, they can’t make decisions because they have no insight into what they might prefer or want or desire, or even not prefer or not want or not desire, so each minor choice is paralyzing because the part of the brain dedicated to do the choosing doesn’t exist.
if soulless really didn’t have emotions, he wouldn’t be doing much at all.
you can say “he’s making choices based on physiological stimulus” and that desire (like a desire for sex, or a desire to get a hunt completed and kill the monster) isn’t a feeling, but i promise you that it is, and that we can’t fully or truly disentangle physiology from emotion either.
in fact soulless!sam seems to have no issue whatsoever experiencing positive emotions like desire, enjoyment, contentment, satisfaction, pride, etc. He seems capable of vexation and irritation too. We don’t really see him angry in the same way sam would be, but he does sort of go into a violent rage and beat someone with his bare fists in a flashback, right? i promise that without emotion, exerting that kind of energy on a task just... wouldn’t happen. because you’re incapable of caring about the outcome of the task, no matter how ‘rational’ or ‘logical’ that outcome may seem (because what’s rational and logical depend on what we care about and what goals we have selected, which again, occurs in the context of having emotions to guide us toward what those desired end states might look like).
soulless!sam seems, as far as i can tell, to lack two things: 1) the ability to experience bonds with others, and 2) the ability to intuit or experience conscious insight into his own emotions.
on the first, his lack of connection to dean despite understanding he prefers to have him around, his willingness to kill bobby, his complete and utter lack of care for lisa and ben despite knowing on some level that he should care about them, or would if he were his usual self, even if only as an extension of who and what dean cares about. soulless just... doesn’t experience that deeply human need for social connection nor the automatic way it manifests nor any bonding toward others. some failure of oxytocin going on there (the soul is stored in the oxytocin receptor site?).
on the second, sam doesn’t know what he’s feeling when he hasn’t got a soul. he equates that with not really feeling anything, or at least that what we’re told as shorthand pretty quickly, because what he actually says when asked what he’s feeling is “i don’t know”. because - he doesn’t. but that doesn’t mean he’s not actually feeling anything, it means he has no conscious insight into it.
his feelings are just feelings to him, just information. they are understood in terms of how they impact his end state aims (i want to finish this hunt, i want to have sex with this hippie chick, i don’t want to put up with this fairy lady, i don’t want to suffer by having my soul put back in) but are not understood in and of themselves (i don’t know if i feel angry or sad or happy in response to setbacks or steps forward toward these desired ends. at most i know i experience a sense of satisfaction when my aims are accomplished, but this is understood mostly through checking that aim off the list and being able to direct my attention and resources toward new goals. i don’t know why i do this, i just do).
the lack of bonding means he doesn’t feel interpersonal guilt or remorse for hurt and harm he has caused, nor a sense of loss or grief based on his connections (or lack thereof) with others, nor an anticipatory sense of guilt, remorse, grief, or regret at pursuing interpersonal harm, so long as the harm is deemed as needed or even just helpful in furthering one of his desired end goals. this increases our perception that he doesn’t have feelings at all, when what he’s really missing are mostly a subset of social emotions, and that’s not even unique to soulless people! (and look, i don’t want to go down the rabbit hole of how fucked up i think it is that the writers, intentionally or not (but i suspect intentionally) more or less equated sam’s soullessness with some clinical features of psychopathy.)
anyway that’s more or less my rant. the concept of soullessness and how it manifests bothers the shit out of me, the explanations for it in-universe are misleading (though understandable in-universe even if i’d expect cas to provide a clearer explanation tbh), soulless!sam feels a lot, and i still haven’t managed to do a proper/full s6 rewatch as a result of my vexation.
#canon critical#wank for ts#phyn rants#negativity for ts#sorry my ted talk is a ted rant#i both adore soulless!sam an cannot stand the soulless!sam storyline#the duality of the gamble era for me in a nutshell
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PMDD AND AUTISM: SENSORY OVERLOAD BY LAURA MULLEN
From SeeHerThrive
October 01, 2018
I’m Laura, a 34 year old, neurodiverse mother of two beautiful neurodiverse girls and wife to a wonderful neurodiverse man. I have struggled with PMDD, Post-partum Depression and Psychosis, and Menstrual Psychosis in my life. I’m passionate about learning and advocating for others who are suffering menstrual related disorders and advocating for the autistic/neurodiverse population. I talk openly about my own experiences through out my life, including my suicide attempts due to my menstrual related disorders.
I have two passions in life, which both relate to myself and my kids: autism and menstrual mood disorders.
I’ve been part of the Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder scene longer than I have been part of the autism scene, but both felt like home immediately. We talk about finding our tribes, our homes, with people who immediately understand us without questioning what we are going through, without invalidating our thoughts and feelings. Imagine my surprise when upon finding my autism crowd that many struggled with PMDD or other menstrual/hormone related disorders too. See, in the neurotypical world, PMDD is little known and talked about. However, in my autism support group, it’s not uncommon to see it in discussions.
I’m not formally diagnosed autistic. I self-identify and after a few years of research (which started because of my daughter’s diagnosis) quickly became a special interest of my own when I started to relate so much myself.
Women and AFAB individuals often experience autism differently than male/AMAB counterparts. We are often discounted or ignored because we are more social, and we tend to mask our struggles.
Women as a whole are expected to mask their struggles in life, neurodiverse or not.
Classic theories of emotion posit that awareness of one's internal bodily states (interoception) is a key component of emotional experience (Jamil Zaki, 2012).There is talk in some autistic groups I participate in of PMDD or hormonal mood disorders being more prevalent in those that are autistic. This leads me to believe that this sensitivity to hormone fluctuation may be part of the interoceptive sense. When a person has a sensory disorder, we think most commonly of touch, auditory, taste, sight, and smells. Sometimes vestibular and proprioceptive sense is included.
What is rarely discussed in sensory disorders is interoception sensory issues/processing and just how it can affect a person and what it can actually mean for mental/emotional health when its processing is disordered. Yes, for a sensory avoidant person such as myself who shies away from bright light because it hurts or loud noisy areas because those too are painful and overwhelming, my interoception sense is also avoidant and extra sensitive to overwhelm.
But what is interoceptive sense and why in the world would there be a connection to PMDD?
For a long, medical definition of interoception you can read more here. For a simpler definition I am borrowing a passage from www.inspiredtreehouse.com:
Interoception refers to our perception of what is going on inside our bodies and is responsible for feelings of hunger, thirst, sickness, pain, having to go to the bathroom, tiredness, temperature, itch, and other internal sensations. What’s even more interesting about interoception is that it goes deeper than physical sensations because – as with all of our sensory systems – when our brains receive these internal signals, we interpret, attend to, and analyze them. So interoception is also associated with our sense of well-being, mood, and emotional regulation. (Heffron, 2017)
We know that the interoception sense is often part of a sensory processing disorder. We also know that under stress or overwhelm that our interoception is affected, often greatly. Think of our heart rate increasing during a panic attack or irritable bowel issues due to anxiety. And these also affect our emotions, maybe our heart rate is faster than normal, so we become anxious, creating a more rapid heart rate.
”Influential theories suggest emotional feeling states arise from physiological changes from within the body.” (Hugo D Critchley, 2017). Now, we know that PMDD has a physiological response system. The rise and fall of hormones within the body triggers a physical response from several systems in our body, not just ovaries and uterus, but deep within our gut, adrenergic systems, our cardiovascular system, and our brain.
Compare the response of a sudden surge of progesterone in the late luteal phase to that of an individual with sensory processing disorder being overwhelmed by a sudden shove into a noisy gymnasium, with bright lights, many bodies, smells and a cacophony of sounds. Said individual would likely go into either shutdown or meltdown mode, as they were unprepared for such an assault on their system and may even have difficulty regulating their emotions; in fact their temper may become frayed quickly, they may find themselves having a panic attacks, anxiety may overwhelm them, their body may start producing pain signals to the overloaded senses, they may even collapse under the weight of it all.
A person without the sensory issue may find this environment exhilarating. I would certainly be huddled in a corner until I felt that I could safely slip away unnoticed. Or, I would start to snap at those around me because of a desperate need to get away.
During the monthly cycle, my sensory system would be overwhelmed by the rise and fall of hormones and I felt completely out of control, emotionally.
Because I was out of control. My sensory processing could not keep up with both the physical and emotional toll of what my body was going through. I see so many sad stories of young girls starting menses and the emotional outbursts and meltdowns make absolute sense if you think of hormones as overwhelming a sensory system that just cannot handle it. Any homeostasis change in our environment is difficult to cope with, especially drastic hormone fluctuations during the menstrual cycle.
It’s not that there is anything abnormal about the menstrual cycle itself, but rather how our body processes the sensations and systems that cause a rise and fall outside of the comfort zone.
I believe that this can explain why women are affected by PMDD and how it all works. We found out in the last couple of years that there is a genetic link to PMDD. We also know that it is a sensitivity to hormone fluctuations, not the hormones themselves. Putting two and two together is what led me to this thought process, that it is part of the sensory systems and a processing disorder that causes a severe response, or meltdown, to our hormonal cycle. Obviously, not every woman who experiences PMDD or PME or other menstrual related disorders is autistic or has a sensory processing disorder; however, many are highly sensitive, both physically and emotionally.
Sources
Heffron, C. (2017, February 27). What is Interoception. Retrieved from The Inspired Treehouse: https://theinspiredtreehouse.com/what-is-interoception/
Hugo D Critchley, S. N. (2017, October). Interoception and emotion. Retrieved from Science Direct: https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2352250X17300106
Jamil Zaki, J. I. (2012, 05 12). Overlapping activity in anterior insula during interoception and emotional experience. Retrieved from Science Direct: https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S1053811912005009
#autism#mental health#periods#queeriods#menstrual cycle#menstruation#sex education#neurodivergent#neurodiverse#neurodiversity#sex ed#queer sex ed#anatomy#physiology#women#nb#trans#gender#queer sex education
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19 with TenSimm for the cuddle prompts, if you please 😁
19. While someone's sick. Ten/Simm
In which the Master reluctantly plays doctor. Please excuse his questionable methods of care, he's never had to work at making someone feel better before...
So this got massively longer than I intended, but I hope it's the sickfic you were thinking of! 😄❤
~
They don't notice the Doctor's apparently caught something from their latest travel destination until they're two galaxies and half a millennia away. It's not the kind of thing Time Lords are particularly wary of, picking up illnesses. They have an immune system that fights off most things, and failing that the TARDIS has a sterile field built in which scans and eliminates contaminants.
Neither of them are sure how exactly the Doctor manages to avoid all failsafes, only that, somehow, as he stretches up to adjust the temporal settings on their flight path, there appears to be the beginnings of an angry red rash on the inside of his wrist.
"What the hell is that?" the Master demands when he first sees it, jerking his own hand back from the control panel and safely out of reach.
The Doctor blinks in equal surprise, pushing his sleeve back to examine the marks. "Oh. Not sure. Huh."
The Master wrinkles his nose in distaste at how genuinely interested the other man sounds at the development. He really will do anything for novelty.
"What did you touch?" he snaps accusingly. "...Or should that be 'who'?"
The Doctor shoots him a scathing look, and doesn't bother to address the latter. "I don't know, nothing that's jumping to mind." He runs one finger carefully over the little red lumps. "It doesn't hurt. Not even that itchy."
The Master feels like he's having a stronger vicarious aversion to the whole thing than the Doctor. He can't help looking down at his own hands and wrists, turning them over quickly in search of spots, mercifully finding nothing. Even so, his skin suddenly feels like it's crawling, and he rolls his shoulders unhappily as he imagines half a dozen vicious itches spring up across his back and chest.
"It's probably just a reaction to something," the Doctor dismisses absently, tugging his sleeve back down with a shrug. "Must have an allergy in this regeneration. Can you grab the -?"
But the Master is already striding for the door. "Absolutely not, keep your scabby hands to yourself. Talk to me when you're back to normal." He's going to go shower, thoroughly, and check in the mirror just to be sure that no suspicious blemishes have materialised anywhere on him.
Behind him, the Doctor scoffs. "Thanks for your heartfelt sympathy," he mutters, and then the door closes on whatever further whinging comes next.
~
"It's freezing in here."
The Master arches a sceptical eyebrow over the top of the computer tablet he's working on. It most certainly is not. In fact he rather suspects the other Time Lord has already been messing with the ambient temperature settings of the ship to crank it up a few notches.
It's been a few peaceful hours since he left the Doctor tinkering in the control room. He's sprawled across one of the couches in the library, tablet propped up on his chest, so he has to push himself up enough to peer over the back of the cushions, mouth already open to offer the sarcastic response he's got in mind.
But he stops, and blinks wordlessly at the sight he's met with.
The Doctor's discarded his suit jacket and tie, despite his protestations about being cold, and the reason is fairly obvious as the Master flicks a glance down over him. He's sweating visibly, an unhealthy sheen across his forehead and his shirt damp with it. His skin looks flushed, eyes far too bright as his gaze trails disinterestedly around the library
The Master sits up slowly, vaguely incredulous frown in place.
"Are you... actually sick?"
The other man gives him a slightly blank look, and then wanders closer. The Master almost flinches, because he can catch the faint sour wrongness of it now, and can only watch in amazement as the Doctor slumps tiredly onto the other end of the couch like his strings have been cut. This close, he can see through the open collar of his shirt that the rash has spread to his chest.
Frankly, the Master has no idea what he's supposed to do with the development.
It really isn't often that Time Lords get sick, not like this. He can't even remember being around it before. He has a distant memory that there'd been an opulent, cathedralesque hospice on Gallifrey, for aging Time Lords beyond their final regenerations, but he'd never gone near. And his own brushes with illness and injury have been very different experiences to this.
He stretches out a hand, pausing momentarily in the air, and then hesitantly presses the inside of his wrist against the Doctor's forehead with a little bump. That's what people do, isn't it? He's definitely seen it done. It's an unpleasant sensation, if he's honest, clammy and startlingly hot.
He snatches his hand back in surprise, gingerly wiping it off on his suit trousers.
"You've got a fever," he says, uselessly, like the Doctor might not have noticed.
The other man gives him a half-smile, looking stupidly charmed by his clumsy attempt at diagnostics.
"Yeah. Sorry."
~
It gets worse quickly after that.
The fever keeps rising, along with the Master's mounting horror as he realises he's going to have to do something to help, and has precisely no idea what. Irritably, he goes scrounging through the TARDIS medical ward and comes back with ice packs, painkillers, and various medicines that might in some way be useful, dumping the collection in front of the other man.
"Come on, you're the Doctor here - which of these are you prescribing yourself?"
"S'metaphor," the Doctor slurs slightly, from where he's slumped back against the headboard of his bed. He stares listlessly at the offerings, then lifts a shoulder. "Not medical."
The Master sighs tightly. "Yes, whoever imagined that particular pretension might come back to bite us, hm...?" He shoves one of the ice packs none too gently over the other man's forehead, ordering him to keep it there, and perches on the edge of the bed with his tablet to search through the TARDIS’s database for what else he's supposed to do.
He can't figure out exactly what it is the Doctor's picked up from the planet, although that doesn't surprise him much. They tend to react differently than other species anyway, so there's every chance the same illness presents completely differently, or like nothing at all, in the humans he caught it from.
He is, however, more than a little concerned that whatever's wrong could be contagious. If the Master gets sick as well, it doesn't bode well for either one of them, but he's not sure what other option he has but to take the risk. Leaving any Time Lord in the care of some alien medical facility is out of the question, as far as he's concerned; even the best of them have no understanding of the complex physiology they're dealing with, and the worst aren't always above taking advantage of the chance to study them, which the Master won't tolerate.
But nor can he afford to just... keep his distance, because within the day the Doctor is in no state to look after himself.
The fever makes him lethargic and slow to respond, sulkier than usual in his discomfort. He keeps falling into restless sleep, and when he is awake he's nauseous and dizzy and won't stop scratching at his stupid rash until the Master threatens irritably to restrain him if he keeps going.
For his part, the Master resigns himself to setting up on the couch in the Doctor's bedroom. He brings a book. It turns out to be somewhat optimistic, sadly, because what he actually ends up doing is listening to the Doctor's increasingly pathetic complaints like he's proclaiming dying wishes.
"Nggh. Everything hurts. I can feel my organs hurting. I can feel organs I didn't know I had hurting."
"Take another painkiller," the Master suggests blandly, flipping a page.
"Fine." There's a pause. "...Can you get me a drink?"
With ill grace the Master fetches water, and begrudgingly even sorts food (soup, because it's easier to pin him down and force him to drink it, if he has to, than endure pleading with the uncooperative prat to feed himself). He adjusts the ship temperature to the recommended settings (taking great joy in overriding the Tardis's safeguards against him) and diligently picks through the eclectic mix of mostly alien medications he found earlier, trying to determine which ones will safely treat a fever in a Time Lord by cross referencing against the medical sites he pulls up on his tablet.
He's not what anyone would call a natural caregiver, he suspects, more impatient with the whole process than anything. But he is precise, and capable, and thankfully the Doctor is not unaccustomed to doing as he's told these days.
It's not until he can't get a sensible answer out of the other man that he really starts to worry.
"Go to sleep."
"No, I need to get the... the thing. The thing, you know. With the magnets."
The Master closes his eyes in tired exasperation, and when the Doctor starts pushing off the covers like he's going to get up, he shuts his book with a snap and goes to stop him. A quick, efficient shove puts him flat on his back without issue, and the Master insistently puts the ice pack in place again.
"Stay." It's not unlike having a particularly hapless pet, he thinks, ungenerously, and wonders again how long this is likely to go on for.
Rolling his eyes, he turns for the door. "I'll be back in a minute, I need to -"
"Don’t."
The Master glances at him curiously, surprised to find himself met with a strangely fervent expression.
"Don't go." The Doctor says it with such sudden desperation that the Master is immediately sure he's not talking about him just stepping out of the room for a minute. "Don't leave."
"You're delirious," he informs the other Time Lord flatly, prodding at him to try and get him to lie back down. "Go to sleep."
The Doctor makes an uncoordinated grab for him, catching at his sleeve. "No, stay. Please. Stay with me."
The Master shakes him off with a frown, a little unnerved. They don't ask each other things like that. They just don't. It's understood.
But then they don't usually get sick, either.
He deliberates silently, unsure of himself, as the Doctor continues to look up at him with a faintly pleading expression.
Finally he sighs, supposing it's as good a way to keep him pliant as any. Reluctantly, he takes off his tie and waistcoat and lays them aside. Then rolls up his shirtsleeves and unbuttons his collar, because the unnatural heat that's pouring off the other Time Lord can be felt even from where he stands at the edge of the bed, and he can only imagine it's going to be worse the nearer he gets. He moves one of the pillows back and sits stiffly on the edge of the bed.
Agitatedly propped up on one elbow, the Doctor watches him with glazed, too-bright eyes, brows pitched up hopefully. His hand sneaks out across the sheets, already plucking at the edges of the Master's shirt before he's even settled. The Master ignores him for the moment, bringing his legs up on the bed to cross atop the covers, adjusting the cushion behind himself so he can sit propped against the headboard. He remembers he's forgotten his book a second too late - because by then the Doctor is already tipping into his lap, cheek resting heavy against his thigh, one arm thrown awkwardly around his waist.
The Master blinks down at him in bemusement, hands hovering a few inches away from touching. Everything he's done today has been beyond the realm of his typical experience, but this...
He's not sure he's ever been anyone's source of comfort before now.
Warily, he lets one hand settle on the Doctor's shoulder, resigning himself to staying put for a while. There's not much else he can do anyway, in terms of pragmatics; there's water on the sidetable, and he's already plied the other man with what food and medications he can keep down. So he tips his head back against the headboard, gaze drifting upwards, and tries to make himself comfortable.
~
The Master wakes up disoriented. At some point in the night he's slipped down to lie properly on the bed, finds himself curled on his side half-tangled in the mess of sheets. He squints, looking round himself in confusion - and then experiences a moment of senseless panic as he realises he's alone.
He isn't sure what he thinks, in that brief second. That the Doctor's wandered off, that he's gotten worse, that he'll make himself worse. That - he couldn't possibly, it wasn't that bad, surely? - that he might even have regenerated while the Master slept.
He doesn't have time to fully sit up in alarm before the bathroom door opens, and the Doctor steps out. He looks worse for wear still, bumping tiredly into the doorframe on his way through, but far more aware of himself than he'd seemed last night. And in the same regeneration.
The Master relaxes gradually, embarrassed by his own irrational reaction as he lets himself rest back onto the pillow, rubbing the gritty sleep from his eyes. There's a crick in his neck and his shirt's twisted uncomfortably round him and he's never wanted a shower more in his lives.
The Doctor shuffles toward the end of the bed and manages to crawl onto it, but doesn't quite make it all the way back up to the pillows. He gets far enough to collapse with his face pressed against the Master's stomach, one arm draped loosely over his hip, and clearly calls it good enough.
The Master snorts at the attempt, but deigns to place his hand on the back of the Doctor's head, fingers working through the mess of his hair. It's somewhat unpleasant, the strands still damp with sickly sweat, but the other man is in no position to notice his look of distaste as he continues the motion. The feverish temperature has finally dropped, the Master notes absently.
They're quiet for a few minutes, dozing like that. At length, the Doctor stirs against him, fingers curling loosely on his waist.
"You stayed," he murmurs, words distorted as they're spoken right against his midriff.
The Master frowns, keeping his eyes closed. He feels oddly self-conscious, firstly for having done as asked, and now having it commented on. A list of excuses drift automatically through his head. He hadn't had a choice. He'd been being manipulative. Something... sarcastic.
"Shut up," is all he say, though, in the end.
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Harry Wells x Reader Crisis of Infinite Wells (Part 4 of 5)
**A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to @moonymartell and @countlesswells
** *Insert angel face emoji*
Word Count: 7267
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5
‘Systems Online,’ a pop-up signal had indicated on the tablet you held with flashing red and white lettered lights. But the adrenaline in your veins would not subside. Taking in a breath of rushed air, you walked towards the monitors on jittery feet with the notion of checking on Nash. Looking back up at him, his eyes were shut, and his lithe body was reclined in the chair with machinery hooked up to him. You dread ball up in the pit of your stomach as silence hung in the air.
“Did it work?” Ralph questioned, glancing to everyone then back to you; confusion written on his face.
“Is there something that should have happened?” Barry followed up beside Ralph.
“Well if there was a big bang sound, followed by multiple spontaneous sparks flying everywhere and the room’s electricity short-circuiting along with small fires combusting from the machinery then we’d be in trouble.” You watched Nash’s neurological and physiological vitals rise and fall within homeostatic values on the monitors. Normal. Stable. “I- According to my theoretical calculations- yes, I’m getting science-y right now-,” you exhaled while you gestured with your hands as you spoke, “each psyche that had manifested itself into Nash’s being should have effectively split from his psyche and returned to their respective bodies in each dimension harboring a Harrison Wells doppelganger. Harry and the others hypothesized that their bodies must be unconscious, but alive in order for their psyches to remain intact within Nash’s mind.” The others looked unsure. You rubbed your exhausted eyes. “It’s just like how when you and Iris used the Mindscape Machine to enter into Nora’s mindscape when she went into Grace’s mind. Sherloque said you both would enter with your psyche’s and they had to be intact in Nora’s head in order to ensure you’d be able to return to your bodies unharmed. If the psyche is harmed and killed in any way, then the body essentially dies,” You took a step towards them away from the monitors with the tablet held close to you. “The reverse should be correct as well. If the psyche is absent from the body, the body must be preserved at stable levels in order for the psyche to return and realign itself in its proper body. That’s what we’re relying on. Hopefully they all made it back to their respective bodies.”
“In this case, it’s the multidimension of Wells,” Chester interjected, lowering his voice to a whisper. “So freaking cool.” Allegra rolled her eyes as she continued to cross her arms.
“Nash would have felt the absence of a Wells in his psyche if another doppelganger’s psyche had deteriorated due to its unconscious body not surviving. Wolfgang would be able to pinpoint who it is because he has a neurological roster of the Council of Wells that he had implemented into his own mind, therefore his own psyche.”
Iris spoke up after you finished, running a hand over her forearm as she resisted the urge to itch the patch of skin. Side effects from remaining in the Mirrorverse for too long. “So, they get back to their bodies. Then what? How are they going to get here?”
“Each Wells should be able to use their intelligence as well as tapping into their own resources on their Earth and use the dimensional coordinates they have to get relay their dimensional coordinates and the states of their Earth’s back to Earth-Prime,” You answered in a heartbeat with a snap of a finger. “Sherloque, Harry, and Wolfgang should be coming as soon as they wake up. They work fast and everything.”
“Ugh,” Cisco groaned in irritation, throwing his head back, “not Herr ‘off-you-go’ Wells.” The rest of us giggled at impending misery. “I swear if he makes one snide remark.”
“Wait, how do you know if we’ve got all the Wells and their dimensions? Is there some sort of algorithm the satellites are tracking?” Kamila added from beside Cisco. You watched his eyes melt a bit at the fact that she takes interest in understanding his areas of expertise like how he does to her photography and artistic nature.
You gave Cisco the honors of explaining that one. He turned to his lovely girlfriend. “My babies up in the heavens, god bless my mechanical genius, are calibrated with the finest technology to identify any molecular or subatomic shifts produced by any wave of dark matter or antimatter.” Kamila grinned at him as he continued. “But we won’t know for certain until Grumpy Cat, Tea Leaves, and Herr Prim-Posh Pants summon themselves through to correctly calibrate the DCP (Dimensional Communications Projector) to the actual dimensional values. You know, the Wells touch and all. God, but I swear if they break anything-”
“-They’re not,” you giggled as you cut off your annoyed friend, “I already told Harry that this area would be a ‘No Throw’ zone. The guys know better than to throw things that aren’t theirs too.”
“What about Nash?” Cecile pointed at the unconscious man.
Right, this part. “I will stay here to monitor any changes to his vitals until he wakes up. I already have a universal blood sample from our very own speedster in case Nash’s body were to start entering a state of flux. Barry’s cells should be able to repair any damage in Nash’s body if that were to happen. Just like he did to Ralph.”
“But Ralph’s body is pure elastic. It can bend and readjust itself to anything. Nash’s human.” You make a very excellent point, Cecile.
“Don’t worry, I’ve already run tests on myself and Cisco in order to ensure that the small blood transfusion would work on non-metas.” You fist-bumped your bro, who nodded approvingly. “Tiny increments should be able to do the trick.” Cecile nodded at you, giving you a motherly proud look before it contorted into a pointed one. You knew what she was going to say, but before she had a chance to say it the meta alarm went off.
“I guess that’s our cue to leave things to you,” Barry smiled at you, before nodding everyone to the direction of the door.
“Don’t die out there,” you teasingly yelled at their retreating figure.
“We’ll try not to.”
“And Barry, you need to do a prognosis physiological and biochemical report on your body from using the artificial Speed-force. Can’t have you losing your speed halfway through the day.”
“Yes, mother, I’ll be home before dinner to do homework,” Barry snickered, as he waved you off as he left with the others.
You rolled your eyes playfully at your antics with him and the others. Taking a seat in front of the monitors, you gave Nash another look. No matter how many times I can joke around with the others, I still feel the weight of their lives on my shoulder. You chewed on the inside of your cheek as your eyes flickered onto the screens. You need to wake up soon Nash. Running a hand through your hair as you set your head against your arm which leaned on the metal table. I need to know I didn’t kill you.
***
An hour had passed, and you felt your head was down to its last brain cell. You blinked slowly as you laid it against the cool metal. Nash was still unconscious, and you were starting to get worried. His vitals were still substantially at equilibrium. You shut your eyes for a moment. Allegra strode in with an annoyed look on her face as her eyes landed on Nash then to you.
“I don’t get why you care about him,” her rushed voice caused you to lift your head up. She continued while you quirked an eyebrow at her. “Why you’re wasting time watching over him. I mean after everything he’s done to me and the rest of us. Hell, he took your boyfriend away from you for some shit myth-busting. How is it that you still try to make yourself available to help someone like him?” It pisses me off and so does his existence!
“Allegra, Nash’s a human being too.”
“Ugh, whatever.” The young adult padded over to where some tech lied in attempts to obtain the thing that Cisco had described he needed.
“Ok, no. I can’t do this today.”
“Excuse me?” she narrowed her eyes at your change in tone. What’s got her panties all in a sudden twist?
“I’m am so tired of your bullshit attitude towards him,” You threw out, standing up from your chair with flared nostrils. “Your incessant whining when we don’t tell you every little detail about us, and how you treated the rest of us like dirt as if we haven’t been trying to stay by your side.”
“I haven’t-”
“Do you honestly not remember the way you treated Joe and Cecile? With rudeness and hostility and utter venom? When they had tried to get you to trust them to keep you safe from your cousin? How you were so pissy at Iris for not telling you about Team Flash? How you sneered and lashed out at Frost for trying to help you with your boy problems? We’re just going to sweep all that under the rug and call it a day?” You rhetorically asked with utter frustration. “And Nash, what is your problem with him? That he didn’t tell you that his adopted daughter who died right in front of him is your doppelganger? That’s your reason to emotional and mentally abuse him?! Boohoo, he didn’t tell me the truth. I’m a journalist I have to know the truth.”
“I don’t know wh-”
How can one person be so selfish? “Yes, you do. I’m a family practitioner, I know the signs of abuse even if it isn’t physical. 1) The silent treatment you give him whenever he tried to approach you to see if you were alright or if you needed help. 2) Not taking any responsibility for your toxic behavior towards him. 3) Pushing him to the point where he questions himself and his sanity because of how much you openly despise him. 4) Leading him to believe almost everything that goes wrong around you is his fault when it’s not. That’s gaslighting. 5) Using shame and his guilt to make him feel worse about himself regarding problems he already deeply regrets and works every day to make up for it. 6) Appearing indifferent when he’s clearly hurt/sad/upset. That’s called lack of empathy. And 7) ignoring him when he’s trying to express his feelings or trying to explain himself to you, but obviously because of all of the above you never gave him the fucking chance.” I get that her upbringing was rough but isn’t it hypocritical of you to pry at everyone’s hidden secrets when you have some of your own. We barely know anything about you other than the CCPD records and your meta abilities.
You had taken a few steps closer to her, seething and seeing red. Allegra struggled to retaliate, “I didn’t know-“
“No, you clearly didn’t because every time he tried to talk to you, you always shot him down harshly. Nash tried to give you time and space, always hoping that you would be ready and one day just listen to him. Do you not know how hard it is to wake up every morning to see the doppelganger of your dead child? Do you not understand how hard it is for him to relive the memory of her death over and over again? How much grief he’s carried in his heart and all of a sudden, by a stroke of chance his daughter’s doppelganger is part of Team Flash on this Earth?”
“…”
“You call yourself a journalist, but only when you don’t get what you want. You used that card so many times against Iris, especially when you snooped on her computer and found out about the crisis.” You took in a breath from your heated speech to calm down. Your headed started to pound even more Never in your life have you gotten this ballistic. You counted to 10 and regained control of your breathing and your tongue. Allegra was downright speechless, stunned in her spot at your ebullient words. “I’m not sorry for everything that I’ve said. You needed to hear it to wake up from that closed off and childish world you live in. Because whether you like it or not, he’s family too. And he’s here to stay, just like you. That’s the truth. You have trust issues, even when you’re with us. All of us. You doubt yourself and hesitate. That’s another truth. And you just use him as a punching bag to let out your frustration and pent-up annoyance on someone who only wants to protect you. Penance for not being able to protect his own daughter.”
“I didn’t ask for him to protect me. I’m not helpless.”
“We don’t ask for a lot of things in life to happen, but they do so anyway. Barry got struck by lightning. Frost and Caitlin watched their father die. We’ve lost so many precious souls. But life goes on. Is Iris helpless when Barry saves her? Is it true when vice versa happens? Frost distracts the baddie in time for Cisco to work his tech magic. Is he helpless? Is Ralph helpless when Sue took down those assassins even though she knew he was Elongated Man who is more than capable of handling a few bullets?”
“I- No?”
“Having another person around isn’t a sign of weakness, but strength. Surrounding yourself with people who love you, who you can call family isn’t an exhibition of helplessness. Allegra, you have a home now. A family that will always want the best for you whether you choose to trust us or not. And no matter what happens, Nash’s resolve is to ensure your safety even though he knows you are your own person. For his dead daughter’s sake. That’s how he believes he can redeem all that he’s done. Is that wrong?”
“But he manipulated me and then basically started the crisis.”
“Then I guess you don’t know the full story about that either,” you mocked her. Some reporter, huh. “First off, Nash told you about Team Flash before Team Flash told you about Team Flash. Why? I can only assume that he wanted you to know before you found out the hard way. Meaning if something where to happen to you unexpectedly like Blackhole targeting you because of your affiliation with Iris. He wanted you to already be aware of them and to know who to go to in case things got rough. Secondly, he gave you the push you needed to not fear your powers. To trust yourself. He foresaw that you’d need your powers and so would the others. So, where in all of that does Nash win and leave you for ruin like Eobard Thawne has done to the others? Was it wrong for Nash to indirectly help you in his own awkward bargain-y kind of way?”
Allegra ran a hand through her hair as you spoke, wanting desperately to prove you wrong that Nash was just using her. “It’s just… weird. I’m her doppelganger, I’m my own person. I’m not… her. I don’t even know her name.”
“Her name is Maya and if you asked Nash, he’d be more than willing to tell you about her, and you’d see for yourself that you and she are not the same.”
Allegra nodded at your words, looking as if she would contemplate it. You hoped anyway. The man didn’t need to be broken further. “How do you know all this?”
“It’s honestly pretty simple to push his buttons a bit before he spilled his pent-up feelings to me after we exorcised Eobard out of him. And I’m pretty sure Harry’s been giving him hell for Nash’s unsuccessful attempts with talking to you.
“Who’s he again?”
“An evil murderous speedster that has a thing for ruining Barry’s life and ensuring his existence in the timeline. Not the first time that’s happened, but the crisis allowed for us to do an exorcism was very… eye-opening.” You grinned mirthlessly to yourself causing her to smile a bit. You sighed and took a seat, gesturing for her to take it. Rubbing your eyes, you spoke up, “Nash isn’t the only one.”
“I don’t understand”
“4 years ago, Zoom was terrorizing Earth-1 and Earth-2. A speedster that could breach back and forth if all 52 breach-points weren’t sealed. It was terrifying to say the least. Barry, Cisco, Harry, and I breached over to Earth-2 with a 24-hour time limit in saving Jesse. She’s Harry’s daughter. His pride and joy, his one weakness but his true.”
“You sound like she’s yours too.”
In a way, she kinda would be if- “She’s a brilliant young soul who rivaled her father in intelligence and had a high-spirited personality. Later on, she was accidentally gifted with speedster abilities when Harry and the others tried to regain Barry’s speed. Abilities that Harry still dreads to this day because he’s an overprotective grouch. You’d like Jesse if you met her. Any who, I’m going off topic-” You laughed to yourself. “We had a strict time limit to find her before Zoom and his meta-minions expunged us off the multiverse. And Barry, he went undercover after kidnapping his nerdy doppelganger- “
“-so, Barry basically kidnapped himself- “
“-Yeah. A lot of weird shit goes on with us, but those are all stories for another time.” You waved the thought off before continuing. “So, he was undercover, and he met up with Joe and Iris’ doppelgangers on Earth-2’s Jitters. Barry couldn’t help himself when it came to protecting them when Earth-2 Killer Frost and her boyfriend crashed the little party in search for Barry and us. In the name of Zoom, they were sent out to kill of the breachers. Barry got involved when we were supposed to be incognito getting in and getting out. He sped E-2 Joe to the hospital and E-2 Iris away before she could shoot at E-2 Killer Frost. Even though, Harry told him that these doppelgangers were not his Iris and Joe, that he shouldn’t get involved with the people there. Barry saw the differences and, I kid you not, yelled at Harry that even if they were doppelgangers, they were still his Joe and Iris. He had a sense to protect them, just like Nash does for you.”
“That’s…”
“It’s a lot, I know. We’ve all been through a lot in these past 6 years. Just… just think about it. Give Nash a chance to talk to you. To explain everything to you from his point of view. Because deep down, he knows you are your own person, but that you’re special just like Maya. Just as what Barry saw on Earth-2 with Joe and Iris’ doppelgangers. Lives worth risking for.”
You watched as Allegra took in a breath, really letting everything sink in before nodding at you. The gem that Nash had given her was still in her jacket pocket. It amplified her UV powers into mentally confusing the person in front of her. She fiddled with the tech in her hands. “I need to go give this to Cisco. He’s probably wondering if I drowned or not.” You nodded at her with an understanding smile as she retreated out the speed lab. Sighing harshly, you allowed the tension to leave your body as you reclined back in your seat. You shut your eyes. I hope I made the right decision to speak my mind to her.
“Didn’t think you thought that highly of me.” Your eyes fluttered open as you took a sharp intake of breath. Nash chuckled to himself at your dismay. His head felt incredibly murky as he blinked the dark spots away. He remained reclined as he rolled his head to the side, the feeling of his limbs returning to him as he urged his fingers to twitch and curl.
“Nash?! You were awake the entire time?!” Nash just smirked languidly at your embarrassed outburst, ignoring the slight throbbing sensation in his head. “Why didn’t you chime in?”
He watched you slowly sit up with worriment. Nash noted your continued exhaustion. “I was intrigued on what you had to say on my behalf.”
“Worried I’d tell her to UV your existence off the planet?”
“No, you wouldn’t do that.”
“And how do you know that? I can be pretty mean.”
And pretty bossy when you berate me for running into danger. But in either case, still pretty. “I understand. But then the question begs, why would you go to such great lengths to defend me?”
“I didn’t defend just you, Nash.”
“But almost the entirety of the conversation revolved around me and how I felt. My regrets and intentional self-punishment. You could have told her that you didn’t care and that she could continue to give me the cold shoulder… but you didn’t. Isn’t that right, little lady?” Nash coyly mocked you, causing you to roll your eyes at the Wells doppelganger. “Like you said, I’m a human being as well.”
“And a dumbass,” you muttered in a hushed voice to yourself as the taller man moved to stand up, he swayed not quite oriented yet. You were on your feet at once to steady him back into his seat. “Let’s do a couple of tests before you do any gallivanting across the city.” You checked over the monitors, noting that some vitals had dropped below normal which could be due to him waking up from the psyche-neural mental surgery.
“Do you want to take Barry’s blood?” You held up the syringe of speedster blood O-.
“Pass. I’m not a vampire.”
“I know you’re not a vampire, you idiot! This should speed up your body’s biochemical processes for you to retain homeostatic levels and for your mind to reorient itself to the psyche-neural splicing.” Nash stubbornly agreed to the blood administration. He rolled up his sleeve while you pulled out the necessary equipment to work your medical magic. You were just about finished when the geological myth-buster spoke up.
“Thank you… I owe you a favor.”
“Huh?”
“I said, thank you.”
“Sorry, just one more time. I don’t- I don’t think I… caught that correctly.”
“How does Harry even put up with you?”
“You can ask him yourself when he gets here,” you responded cheekily with a huge toothy grin on your face. You won’t lie and say that your heart didn’t jump that Harry would be coming soon. “Now what’s this about owing me a favor?”
Geez don’t smile like that at me. Nash pushed away those pesky thoughts. “I honestly really hoped you wouldn’t catch that, but,” He paused for a moment to collect his words as he sat up, now not taking for granted the silence within his own mind. “After you put the Psyche Segregator on me, I realized something. The favor you owed me, protecting Allegra, it’s… a favor without an expiration date.”
“So?”
“It wouldn’t be fair if I did not do the same.”
“I’m not following.”
“Gods! What I’m saying is, that I owe you a lifelong favor. But only one.”
He owes me a favor. A lifelong favor. A favor that’s lifelong. A favor that doesn’t expire. An expirationless favor. I get a lifelong favor. A dumbass owes me a favor. “…”
“What’s it going to be?”
“… I can’t think of anything right now.”
Nash only blinked at you. “Seriously, you can’t come up with something in that ditzy head of yours?”
“Hey, I take great offense to that!”
“Good, it’s the truth.”
You put away the medical equipment and disconnected the screens that held his vitals. While you were up, you gave him a water bottle and some food to help with the dizziness. Nash felt his strength return to him as the blood transfusion allowed his body to work faster in restoring itself. “You never told me; did it work? Are they…?” You trailed off pointing to your head as he stood up.
“No mo-”
Swouush, swooush
The crackling sounds of atoms and the fabric of this dimension cut you off. You turned around to see two breach-like holes open up in the middle of the speed lab, familiar and friendly faces exiting safely. They pocketed their newly synthesized dimensional extrapolators.
“Vhy don’t you take ein gut look, schatz?”
“Oui, we’d be more zhan ‘appy to answer zhat for Nash.”
You greeted them cheerily with a hand wave as they approached you and Nash. Wolfgang nodded at you before making a beeline to where the DCM remained. Sherloque tipped his hat to you before nodding at Nash.
“You guys made it safely.” :D
“Zhat we did, petit fluer. A few bumps on zhe way, but nozhing eizher of us could not ‘andle,” Sherloque piqued up,
“Then that means-,” You pulled out caramel vanilla flavored chap stick out of your pocket and applied it to your lips. Your heart waited in anticipation not even wanting to waste time to even fix your hair. Harry will be here soon. The boys just watched you carry on with a dumbstruck smile on your face as you stood in place and waited for a breach to open up. Wolfgang resumed working on recalibrating the DCM for the others.
“Did you just put on chap stick?” Nash asked with quirked eyebrows and an incredulous look.
“Well, yeah? When I see Harry, I’m going to wanna kiss him, duh.”
“You didn’t get enough from-”
“-Sherloque, don’t-”
“-when you were making out wizh ‘arry in Nash’s ‘ead?”
You shut your eyes and groaned, blood rushing up to your face as you covered it with your hands. “They did what?? Seriously, in my mindscape?” Nash’s flare-up caused Sherloque to snicker as he smirked at your bashfulness.
“Ja, zhey did zhat.” Wolfgang sighed, pulling up new schematics one the computer screen. He worked diligently with any piece of technology at his fingertips. “Alzhough, Sherloque vas zhe unfortunate one to valk in on zhem. Gott sei Dank bin ich es nicht.”
“Oui, zhey were getting very ‘ot and ‘eavy zhat it took Wolfgang and moi to interrupt zhem from what people on zhis Earth would say ‘rounding zhe bases like deux ‘ormonal teenagers.”
“Sherloque, stop! Please!”
Your cheeks were on fire and you know they could see the colored hues. Sherloque and Nash continued to tease you while you attempted to ignore their playful jabs. No Harry yet. It’s been… 15 minutes. Don’t panic. He’s ok. Probably held up or something at his Labs. He’s ok and he’s with Jesse. Just breathe. “I-I should probably run some small physiological diagnostics on you guys since you just crossed over and we don’t know if the dimensional travel will negatively impact you or not.”
“Great, she gets nervous and all of a sudden to distract herself, the little lady wants to run tests.” Nash facepalmed while Sherloque just gave you a look.
“Hey, I’m not nervous! How many times are you going to offend me today?”
“As many times as necessary.”
“Everyzhing zhat you’re doing right now are common gestures of being nervous. You keep playing wizh your fingers and biting on your bottom lip. You did zhat last year whenever we were discussing Cicada.” Sherloque added much to your chagrin.
You pouted with crossed arms. “I don’t do it often.”
“Yes, you do.” Both Nash and Sherloque responded simultaneously and you felt yourself shrink a bit under their combined blue gazes. Before you could say anything, Wolfgang let out low whistle. The three of you turned to him as he began to speak.
“Systems are all online und fully functional. Zhe ozhers should be sending us zheir dimensional coordinates und ve can commence vizh zhe cataloging soon.” The German man continued speaking as he finished typing up a few more algorithms on the computer. “I’ve already uploaded ein copy of zhe roster from my mind zhat vay ve could check zhe ozher Vells off Stück für Stück.
You nodded at Wolfgang’s words, but felt your stomach squeeze in your lower abdomen. “What about Harry?”
“Ve vill just have to vait until he shows up, schatz.” Wolfgang adjusted his glasses as he gave you a brief glance. You weren’t the only one to notice that since arriving on Earth-Prime that Wolfgang wouldn’t meet your eyes. “Do no vorry, Harry vill come.” Your shoulders sagged at the idea, an action Sherloque picked up on which prompted him to give his two cents.
Mh, une distraction semble être de mise. “(Y/N), Wolfgang ‘ere told me an interesting story about ‘is Earzh and a particular person ‘e ‘ad come across. Say, your doppelganger for instance.” The Frenchman took off his fedora to card his fingers through his dark locks whilst Wolfgang momentarily froze. Nash stretched fully before retreating out of the room, knowing he wouldn’t be needed and wouldn’t allow himself to be psychoanalyzed by the one and only Sherloque Wells. Sherloque smirked as Nash left and Wolfgang’s reaction. Il n’y a pas de mal à partager des histoires.
“Nein, halt- Ich-”
“-He told you or did you deduce it from him like you do to everyone else?” You questioned your friend slyly before turning your head back to the German Wells. “Wolfgang, you knew my doppelganger?”
“Ja, ve… ve used to be close in university.” His cheeks dusted pink as he fumbled about with the wiring of your Earth’s extrapolators. “She vas zhe one zhing zhat remained constant zhrough zhe years.”
“What happened to her? You’re talking as if-”
“She passed avay. Ja, she did. She vas terminally ill… Multiple Sclerozis.”
So that’s probably why he doesn’t like to look at me for too long. “I’m sorry. My brother- he died a few years ago from Multiple Sclerosis too. I guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the family tree even across the multiverse, huh?”
“Ja.”
Ok (Y/N), way to make it super awkward. “I should- leave you to your sciencing. Sorry about that.”
Wolfgang just nodded his head in thanks before sending a glare to the detective while Sherloque advised the both of you to venture out to the breakroom for to make drinks. With a smug look on his face, obviously. Qu’est ce qui retarde ‘arry? The same thought echoed hauntingly in your mind as well. You allowed the French detective to pull you down the corridor for some coffee and tea, but your mind could not for the life of it let go of Harry.
***
You waited. Patiently, if I might add. It’s been 2 days since Wolfgang and Sherloque had popped over. Obviously you had gone home to shower and change before coming back with some snacks. The cataloging was running smoothly. Wells one by one projected themselves over via the DCM and recounted their dimensional coordinates as well as establishing the state of their Earth in this new dimension. But you grew uninterested in the different variations of your boyfriend. Each second ticked away at your heart. Like a fool you’d look up at the different sounds that would come from the center of the Speed Labs only to be met with disappointment. Sherloque eyed you as you waited around like a lost puppy for the Earth-2 man, even at points getting up and pacing. The detective saw the anxiety ooze from you at the fact that Harry hadn’t arrived yet, so he did his best to distract you from your worries and thoughts. But he was running out of stories of Earth-221, interesting cases, and discussion topics to tell.
Barry had sped in a couch for you and Sherloque to sit in as you waited for Harry to make an appearance. The detective calmly sipped at his new flavored tea, one that you had provided. Wild Raspberry Hibiscus. You blinked the sleep from your eyes, willing yourself to be alert. You had already consumed 4 cups of coffee with espresso yesterday, but those sleepless nights were slowly pushing against you. The two of you sat in silence with only the hums of working electricity and noises from the DCM.
“I zhink,” Wolfgang took a step back from the computer monitor, “I should retire for zhe nacht.” The German took off his glasses and rubbing his closed eyes. Es war eine mühsame Aufgabe, aber sie musste erledigt werden. “I’ve reprogrammed zhe system in order for it to catalog incoming Vells automatically.”
“I’ll keep my eye on it,” Sherloque piqued up, gesturing with his porcelain teacup to the DCM and subtly side glancing at you. Wolfgang only nodded at his doppelganger.
“Yeah, you should go rest. Sorry if it seemed like I was keeping you here,” you stood up and stretched, walking over to the German Wells.
“Nonsense, zhink of it as a favor to Harry,” Wolfgang waved off your statement. You offered your hand to the platinum-haired Wells which he shook gently before bidding your goodbyes to each other as he strode through the dimensional breach. Which reminds me. You scrunched your face and blinked a few times over then turned back to the seated detective.
“Sherloque, you don’t have to say here. You should go back home to Renee.”
“I- Comment puis-je lui dire? … Renee and I didn’t exactly work out. Encore.” You observed him as he set his teacup down, Sherloque chuckled sadly to himself. Je ne sais même pas pourquoi j’ai voulu recommencé ca va faire 8 fois.
“You deserve better. You really do, Sherloque. Love will find you.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Hey, head up,” You found yourself sitting beside the now cynical man as you wrapped your arms around him in a comforting hug. “It could even literally run right into you one day when you least expect it. But it doesn’t mean you can run yourself ragged from sleep loss.” He sighed, shaking his head slightly and reciprocating the gesture of affection. You knew he had no problem with loving, it was the fact of having that love fully reciprocated without it becoming superficial.
“I cannot, I promised ‘arry I would not leave your side in zhe case zhat zhere would be some sort of delay on ‘is end.”
“He asked you to do that for me?”
“Oui”
“Do you think… something happened to him?”
“I wouldn’t worry. ‘e’s a capable and determined man, plus ‘e ‘as ‘is daughter wizh ‘im. Now come on, I believe zhe bozh of us deserve a change of scenery.”
“I’m feeling the need for Jitters coffee actually.”
You pulled said man off the couch and moved towards the direction of the door. Sherloque raised an eyebrow at you incredulously as he scrunched his nose in disgust at the prospect of coffee. “Coffee at zhis hour? Its 10 PM.”
“WHAT?”
“Well you’ve been on zhe Netflix entire time, peeping up every once and awhile to see if ‘arry come or not. I’m not surprised you lost track of time.”
“I guess I can drink some hot chocolate from the breakroom.”
“No need to get up,” Nash’s voice caused your head to snap up as he stepped into the Speed lab with a cup of hot chocolate in hand, “I figured you’ve had too much coffee in your clumsy existence within the past 12 hours.” In truth, Nash had made, dumped, and re-made hot chocolate 7 times in the past 2 hours because he had no idea on how you’d react when he’d make it. He had no idea why he impulsively decided to make one of your favorite drinks instead of letting you waste away at the prospect of coffee. The adventurer talked and scolded himself because you clearly don’t need him to help you out. You’re a capable, independent ditz after all with a war veteran of a boyfriend on the way. Although, Harry’s delay did ease the unsettling feeling in the pit of Nash’s stomach. Finally, the myth-buster had made a decision and added some peppermint extract to give it more flavor with some marshmallows. Fuck it, I’m going to do it anyway because… I secretly want to see her smile at me while it lasts. FuCk.
“I resent that statement, but I do thank you for the hot cocoa,” you hummed in contentment of the fresh brew. Nash saw the weight momentarily leave your shoulders and your body visibly relaxed. You saw him eye you oddly but chose to shake it off as you took another long sip. “Mm, I never got to ask, but have you met any vampires?”
“What?”
“Vampires. You said you weren’t one and I obviously know that, but I’m intrigued if you’ve encountered any on your travels through the multiverse. Cisco accidentally met one when he saved Breacher a year ago.”
“Do you always come up with bizarre questions to ask?” Nash poked your cheek as the three of you moved back to the couch. You batted his hand away. Sherloque baby blue eyes followed the banter between
“I don’t know if I should take it as a compliment or a criticism.”
“Take it as you will. I honestly don’t care.”
“Well?” You asked with furrowed eyebrows as you were seated in between Sherloque and Nash on the couch. You blinked a few times and shook your head a bit.
“Well, what?”
“Have you caused any trouble with any vampire?”
“Why is it that you think that I always cause trouble?” Nash countered your question with his own. He ignored the mockingly smug look on Sherloque’s face.
You shot Nash a look before retorting and Sherloque held in a laugh. “I’m not even going to answer that, Nash.” Nash stammered a bit before succumbing to that determined look on your face, the sparkles hidden in your eyes as they twinkled with curiosity.
“There was this one time-”
“-I knew it!-”
“-Would you let me finish before judging?” He lightly scolded you as you took another sip of your hot cocoa, your head started to throb against the hardness of your skull. “Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted,” but you did not look in the least regretful, “this was before I met Maya. I had… overheard in a tavern on a dark Earth rumors of the Alexandrite Crown or better known in the dark legends as the Queen’s Crown. A crown thistled with alexandrite gems but infused with Thallium and Platinum. Poisonous according to the naturally occurring substances on that Earth.”
Nash continued painting the pictures to his adventure and his encounter with a Vampire Clan in a clash over the Alexandrite Crown and the mystical way of obtaining Chrysolite in order to cleanse it from the noxious spirit that’s locked away within. You hung onto each word as you pushed away the blurriness in your vision and the hazy state of your mind. With each second your head got heavier, feeling like lead and your eyes threatened to droop, but you needed this distraction from worrying about Harry’s wellbeing. Taking one deep breath, you shut your eyes as your body went out of commission. The geological adventurer breathed a sigh of relief, lowering his voice to a stop as your head gently lolled to the side, resting against Sherloque’s shoulder. Both men observed your breathing pattern relax to soft puffs of air.
“Sleeping powder, impressive and you even stalled until it took effect. Maybe zhere’s hope for you just yet,” Sherloque smugly spoke up as he readjusted you to rest your head onto his lap.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nash narrowed his blue irises at the detective.
“Non, nozhing. What else did you bring?”
“Huh? What-I didn’t-”
“I’m a detective Nash, I notice zhe most miniscule of things. Bring over zhe pillow and blanket you ‘ave ‘idden in zhe vacant room beside zhe corridor.”
“How did you…?”
“Skill, mon ami. Skill. Just because I’m not in your ‘ead does not mean zhat I cannot see zhrough your pure intentions.”
Nash sighed in defeat as he pulled up the blanket and pillow. He first covered you with a fluffy blanket, ensuring that he would not meet Sherloque’s eyes. “She gets cold when she falls asleep.”
“And zhe pillow?”
Nash handed his doppelganger the pillow, who placed it on his lap before setting your head on it to sleep comfortably. “You already know so I’m not going to even say anything.”
The detective quirked a teasing, but knowing eyebrow at the explorer, “Be honest wizh yourself, what prompted you to essentially drug her?”
“Okay, with the way you’re saying it, you’re sounding as if I’m going to do vile things to her. And you know what? I’m not going to even pretend to not be offended by that.”
“Well in reality you technically did drug her, but zhat’s beside zhe point.”
“She hasn’t been sleeping well. You know it. I know it. Hell, everyone on Team Flash noticed, but no one had the will to reprimand her to take a day to rest.”
“You mean ‘zhe ‘eart’ to.”
“Whatever!-”
“-Shh!-”
“-The little lady needed to sleep. She can’t be running herself ragged while making sure everyone around her stays safe and healthy.”
“Zhat’s very noble of you, Nash. C’est ironique, non? Elle ne peut pas être tienne mais tu ne peux pas t’empêcher de désirer quelque chose que tu ne peux pas avoir.” Ta logique t’a réprimandé pour avoir préféré profiter d’un instant avec tes amis. Tu vas devoir apprendre à t’en contenter.
“What did you just say?”
“Nozhing!” Sherloque just gave the other man a mysterious smile as he took off his fedora and tossed it onto a spare and vacant table on the side. “You know it’s nozhing to be ashamed of, right? Caring about ‘er and ‘er safety, zhat’s what zhis team does to a person. It doesn’t make you weak. You should know zhat by now.”
“…”
“You just need to know not to tip over zhe line.” Sherloque knew his doppelganger didn’t like being deduced, didn’t like his actions thoroughly analyzed to told what and how he was feeling. But sometimes, he needed a little push in the right direction by the detective in order to fully face the intentions behind his actions. That was one of Nash’s flaws. The ability to push aside all the pain and emotions behind current actions in a little box and thrown out the window in order to press on with the adventures that he lived on. Sherloque had discretely gone through some of his recent memories and noticed it occur with not just you and Allegra, but with the members of Team Flash as well.
“I know what I’m doing,”
“Zhen I believe you have some… patching up to do wizh a certain teenager.”
“She’s not a teenager, she’s a young adult.”
“All in zhe same wizh ‘ow she was acting.”
Nash left with a slight huff as he had every intention of turning in for the night, mentally contemplating a few things. Rubbing his eyes, the explorer took one glance back from where he stood in the corridor. He dismissed the skilled detective’s words, but yours had echoed in his mind. The detective reclined back on the couch, his own mind wandering in the depths of his own nightmares and regrets. He took one look at you before shaking his head. Sherloque smirked as his ears perked up to familiar sounds causing the detective to tilt his head back.
“Eh bien il était temps”
German and French Translation:
Deux - Two
Mh, une distraction semble être de mise - Hm, a distraction seems to be necessary right now
Il n’y a pas de mal à partager des histoires – There’s no harm in sharing some stories.
Qu’est ce qui retarde Harry? - What is taking Harry so long?
Comment puis-je lui dire? – How do I say this?
Encore – Again
Je ne sais même pas pourquoi j’ai voulu recommencé ca va faire 8 fois – I don’t know why I tried an 8th time.
C’est ironique, non? Elle ne peut pas être tienne mais tu ne peux pas t’empêcher de désirer quelque chose que tu ne peux pas avoir – It is ironic, no? Even though she cannot be yours your heart can’t help but to secretly desire something dangerous
Ta logique t’a réprimandé pour avoir préféré profiter d’un instant avec tes amis. Tu vas devoir apprendre à t’en contenter. – Your logical mind scolded you to relish with your friendship instead. Something you will have to learn to become content with.
Eh bien il était temps - Well it’s about time.
Mon Ami – My friend
Stück für Stück – Bit by bit
Es war eine mühsame Aufgabe, aber sie musste erledigt warden - It was a tedious task, but it needed to be done
Gott sei Dank bin ich es nicht – Thank God I didn’t
Schatz – sweetheart
Petit Fleur – Little Flower
#harrison wells x reader#harrison wells imagine#harrison wells#harry wells x reader#harry wells imagine#harry wells#earth 2 harrison wells x reader#earth-2 Harrison Wells X reader#harrison wells fanfiction#sherloque#Sherloque Wells#Nash Wells#Wolfgang Wells#The Flash#the flash fanfiction#the flash cw#the flash imagine#the flash imagines#DCTV#dctv fanfic#dc#DC comics#team flash#team flash x reader#team flash imagine
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talk stackson to me about stiles getting a piercing (or piercings) of your choice while they’re in college and them driving jackson out of his fucking mind. bonus points if jackson goes with him to get his next one and they end up getting matching tattoos instead.
So, here's the thing. Jackson doesn’t even notice the first piercing that Stiles gets for like, a week.
After suffering through what feels like a month of insomnia and developing what feels like a crippling tolerance of NyQuil, Stiles finally breaks down and looks to alternative sources of sleep aids. He tries acupuncture, he tries massage, he tries aromatherapy. Nothing works.
He reads about the benefits of a daith piercing online, and while he has learned to take everything on the internet with a grain of salt, he’s beyond the point of desperate. He googles the nearest tattoo and piercing shop, grabs his keys, and walks in about twenty minutes before there set to close.
He looks a mess. He has rings under his eyes, his clothes are crumpled, but the artist in the shop doesn’t even bat an eye when he says he needs a “daith piercing, like, yesterday.”
He’s in and out in less than ten minutes. Apparently, after a few days without sleep, Stiles no longer has an aversion to needles. Not when the needles come with the sweet promise of getting knocked the fuck out.
He gets home after grabbing one of Kira’s cards (because she seems like a cool person in general), takes off his pants, flops onto the couch...
...and sleeps for thirty nine hours.
(Jackson, bless him, comes home from work, sees Stiles sleeping, and silently cheers. He’s two years into his pre-med program at this point, so he knows how dangerous insomnia can be—he just takes Stiles vitals every six hours and lets him sleep.)
So, no. Jackson doesn’t notice Stiles first piercing right away, and when he does, it’s with hardly a second thought (if it helps Stiles sleep, why would he be mad about it?). It’s a tiny, barely there hoop of surgical steel, almost buried in his ear—why the hell would he notice it immediately?
Stiles second piercing, though, that Jackson notices. Partially because Stiles calls Jackson drunk and crying about it.
Stiles has just finished one of the most grueling midterm seasons of his life, and he demands a party. Scott, the eternal bro that he is, agrees immediately. Stiles sends out a mass text to everyone in his phone, kisses Jackson good luck on his last midterm, and immediately heads to the liquor store.
Jackson finishes his anatomy and physiology midterm (at seven PM on a Friday, because his instructor is a sadist) in less than two hours, and takes no small comfort in the warmth radiating through his body when he turns on his phone and sees supportive text message pouring in from Stiles, even as they progressively get less coherent as Stiles undoubtedly gets more imbibed.
He’s about to call the idiot love of his life when his phone goes off, Stiles having beat him to the punch. He’s still grinning as he puts the phone to his ear.
“Hey baby, I just finished up. I can be there in fifteen—”
“JACKSON! I LOVE YOU.”
Jackson beams.
“JACKSON KIRA BROKE MY FACE.”
Jackson... beams significantly less. He has to tell himself that of course it isn’t anything even remotely close to real danger, but he has never quite been okay with the idea of any part of Stiles being remotely hurt, or as drunk Stiles would call it, “broken”.
“Stilinski, I’ll be there in ten minutes. You’d better be with all of your pieces or I’m going to kill Scott.”
Stiles gasps and must drop his phone, because his voice is higher pitched but further away as he wails.
“OH NO HE CALLED ME STILINSKI I’M GONNA BE IN TROUBLEEEEE—”
The line cuts off, and Jackson makes it to Scotts apartment in eight minutes.
When he gets there, the party is in full swing; apparently the mass text that Stiles sent out included Kira, his one-time piercing compatriot, who now had a line of people wrapped around the hallway to get a needle stuck through some part of their body. Kira was taking payment in shots. This did not bode well.
Stiles found him before he could even make sense of the situation—seriously, how did Scott and Stiles even know this many people?—and their earlier phone call must have been forgotten, because Stiles all but jumped into Jackson’s arms, somehow stumbling over himself while managing to avoid spilling a drop of his drink (which honestly smelled like gasoline. Stiles never was one to waste time mixing drinks).
“Hi baby! You look so good in your scrubs! How was your exam! Did you dish—dith—disvvhh... take apart any bodies?” he fires, speech slurred, but Jackson is too busy making sure that he’s okay to take stock of Stiles mental state. He... appears fine, which is all the more concerning.
“Stiles.”
“You’re so smart, you know that? I can’t wait for you to be some big shot doctor—”
“Stiles.”
“—and you’ll have an office! And you’ll help so many people! And—”
“Stiles, what the fuck happened with Kira?”
Jackson gets all the answer he needs as Stiles mouth snaps shut, his eyes wide and fearful, and Jackson has to bite down on his own tongue to curb his temper as he reaches to hold Stiles’ face.
“You promise you won’t be mad?”
Jackson absolutely cannot fucking promise that, not if Kira hurt Stiles, not if—
“Kira is a kitsune.”
Jackson’s mind stumbled, doing mental gymnastics trying to catch up with the turn that the conversation had taken.
“And she has magic powers. And I think Scott likes her. And she knows I love you. And... she gave me a present."
Jackson is more lost than ever before, and he pretends not to be shocked stiff when Stiles tilts his head, pulling Jackson’s thumb between his lips, lavishing the digit with his tongue, and—
and Jackson feels something... new, something that definitely wasn’t there before, and any anger, irritation, or doubt he felt in his stomach was banished when Stiles released the digit. His tongue followed soon after, and sure enough, there was a smooth, narrow bar placed dead center in Stiles pretty pink tongue.
Jackson is stunned silent, his eyes following the metal as it retreated behind Stiles’ teeth.
Stiles, who seemed a whole lot more sober as he smirked, licking his lips, giving Jackson just the slightest flash of the bar once more.
“She even healed it up for me, right away, once she replied I knew about her being... you know. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. But really, this is a gift for you.” he murmurs, and Jackson’s belly pools with lust. He was going to have to thank Kira later—but for now, he just slung Stiles over his shoulder, caveman style, and hauls him home.
—
When they first started dating, Stiles spent... a painful amount of time discovering Jackson’s erogenous zones, and repeats the process with the bar in his tongue over the next year. Jackson loves it, of course, but what he really loves it he look on Stiles face when they discover something new together—Stiles lights up like a kid on Christmas morning.
Kira becomes a staple in their friend group, inevitable once she and Scott start dating, so it becomes a regular thing that they hang out at her shop.
Which, Stiles is impressed to learn, is her shop—as in she owns it, not just works there.
They swing by late one evening, after a wonderful anniversary dinner, and really, where had five years gone? Stiles insists that he has something for Kira before they go home, and Jackson is in no hurry—they had started talking serious things over the past few months, and Stiles had left no doubt to be found about the fact that he intended to spend the rest of his life with Jackson.
He was loved, he was happy, and he would do anything for Stiles. Even if it meant waiting for what he knew would be some mind-blowing, commitment laced, anniversary sex.
Scott is there, surprising no one, and Stiles hovers around, watching in morbid curiosity as Malia, one of the artists, wipes clean the last in a series of corset piercings on one of their female customers, her hands fast but gentle as she laces the last piercing up.
Jackson, on the other hand, is drawn almost immediately to Kira. Or, more precisely, what Kira is sketching. She had a set of designs open on her tablet, two nearly identical looking rectangles detailing some of the most ornate scenes he had ever seen. He often found himself entranced in what Kira drew, on skin or on screen, and this was no exception.
They’re both monochromatic, and they look like they belong together—one with a wide forestscape, trees and earth and ark sky blending together, the other with a wolf, tall and proud. They could be standalone pieces, Jackson thought, but they looked almost cyclical, like they could be arm bands.
Well, no, not arm bands—they were too small for that, they were more like—
“Rings.” Stiles says, behind him, a small smile on his face as Kira hits Print. “They’re going to be rings, Jackson.”
Jackson turns back and tilts his head as Kira shows them the transposed stencil printouts—he can kind of see it, they’re definitely small enough to wrap around a finger, and Kira is amazing enough with her detail work that she can probably make it fit, impeccably, to fit halfway between someones hand and their first knuckle.
“I know you’re not really into the material things, and lets be honest, I would lose a ring.” Stiles starts, and Jackson turns, still clueless, but definitely picking up on Stiles nerves, picking up that there’s something that he’s missing. “But, I figured that this was a good compromise... I mean, I know I want to have something that reminds me of you always, so... what do you say, Jacks?”
He takes one of the stencils—the one of the forest—and peels it from the paper gently, getting down on one knee as he takes Jackson’s left hand, wrapping the stencil around the lowest portion of his ring finger. It’s almost a perfect fit.
“Will you marry me?”
—
By the time they tie the knot, they both have several more additions to their body. Stiles has a pair of studs in each of his ears and a second hole in his tongue, placed near the tip, so he can fit a ring through it.
Jackson had quickly discovered a love of ink—he had a thin snake, coiled around his neck, low enough to be covered by his scrub top at work (Stiles had called him macabre), a Rod of Asclepius over his heart (he was so tired of explaining the difference between it and the Staff of Caduceus), and a triskele on his shoulder blade (Derek had cried, literally cried, when Jackson showed him, their pack bond thrumming stronger than ever).
(He also might have had a wedding present for Stiles done that morning, a shining Prince Albert, courtesy of Malia [who blessedly didn’t ask questions while stabbing Jackson’s junk with a needle] and an instant heal courtesy of Kira [who really, really didn’t want to know].)
His favorite, though, by far, was the band on his finger—and as the Justice of the Peace declared them married and he dipped his husband into a filthy kiss, cheered on by all of their friends and family, he couldn’t help but admire the two bands together. They were different, but they still fit together. Beautiful. Complimentary. Permanent.
And Jackson wouldn’t have had it any other way.
#stiles stilinski#jackson whittemore#teen wolf#tattoo#piercing#stackson#I don't know why but I'm really vibing with pre med / dr jackson#prepare for a lot of that in the future#here you to bb#flospeaks#mutually assured devotion
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8 Real & Practical Advice on How to Get Through Quarantine or Lockdown Without Going Nuts
Hey friends,
Today’s Blog post was definitely not something I planned as most of my blog posts are dedicated to Tarot, Runes and Relationship Coaching.
So, what happened?
Well, the “third wave” happened.
If you are in a country where you are going through yet another lockdown, and who knows if this is the last one, you are probably reaching a point when you really need some tips on how to get through this without getting nuts.
What is happening right now has caused a spike in anxiety, depression and other mental health struggles.
The consequences of strength can be both physiological and mental. When we are talking about the impact on the body, it is sleep disturbance, food disorders and worsening of other conditions one may be predisposed to.
When we talk mental health, stress results in irritability, panic attacks, depression and addictions.
I appreciate so many wonderful ideas and advice from people to help others find some fun and meaningful activities to do, but let’s be real with each other: a good book and a warm bath don’t do the trick anymore. It’s been over a year since it all started and you probably already celebrated 365 days of bubble baths.
I am going to give you some REAL and MEANINGFUL advice on what you need to start doing now to preserve (and hopefully improve) your mental health.
Let’s jump right into it.
1. How can I separate myself from work mentally if I am working from home?
This is a MUST for your mental health. There is a reason why we GO to work. Even though now companies claim that working from home seems to work perfectly fine, it works fine for a company that no longer needs to pay for commercial lease and maintain the building.
But for YOUR mental health, it is a very big hit.
You know this feeling when you come home from work and finally feel RELAXED?
Well, you probably don’t remember what it’s like anymore because your home and work environments seemed to merge into one.
And it is SO important that you do everything to separate them.
Here are some suggestions for you:
Even if you live in a small apartment, you need to have an area designed strictly for work.
Separate this area from the rest of the room or your flat and make sure you have dedicated hours of work.
And when you are done with your work, you DO NOT go back there to check something, to read an email or to reply to a coworker that doesn’t know a definition of work hours and sends 500 emails at 10pm.
You do you.
If your job end at 5pm, wave your “workplace” a goodbye and leave the space both physically and mentally.
Interesting tip from psychologists is even to choose a certain outfit for your work hours buy I would go so far as to say, choose an outfit for your whole day regardless if you are working or no.
I’m telling you guys, it’s such a shift in a mindset when you are washed, dressed, have some make up on, nice perfume, whatever rocks your boat, as long as you are not spending all your day in pjs.
2. What can I do if I find myself overeating or drinking more alcohol than I normally would?
Let’s break it down right away: over eating, smoking excessively or drinking more alcohol than you normally would and should, is THE WORST strategy to get through the quarantine.
You MUST find other ways to cope and I know how difficult it is. You need to ACCEPT your emotions, fears and anger and I know you are at the point where you don’t want to accept anything, you just want to fall asleep and wake up thinking it was just your worst nightmare that is now over.
I know it’s easy to say that eventually it will be over.
For some of us, coping is much more difficult than for others and I know that you have reasons.
If you are really at your breaking point, you understand that you no longer can cope by yourself, you start developing addictions or worse feel aggressive towards your family members, PLEASE seek help.
Thankfully, there is MANY resources available right now. There are a lot of counselors, psychologists and workers that are offering help at low cost and even at no cost.
No one will ever judge you for seeking help.
Call you friend, your mother or cousin. Sit down with your partner and just talk. Maybe others will be able to offer some insights or advice. Maybe together you will develop a plan.
If you are with kids 24/7, make sure you put aside some time for yourself. I knoooow, it’s super cliché to talk about self-care but I am a mom myself and I know how important it is.
And you know what? Sometimes you need to turn on that cartoon for 30 minutes and just go, sit down and have your coffee with a muffin. Do NOT let anyone shame you.
Losing your shit is NORMAL, we all do, we are no Yogis here.
3. How do I stop myself from watching or reading news every day and getting angry?
This is a big one. I probably should have started with it.
My best advice is disconnecting your cable and delete the news from your phone. This is what I did, it works like a miracle.
No, there is no show on your TV you can’t live without. There is Netflix, Amazon and plenty of other platforms to watch programs and shows.
Our immune system and well-being highly depend on what is going on in our head. If you start your day or dedicate all day to the subject of pandemic, such as watching news, videos, statistics and prognosis that may or may not ever come true, this will raise your anxiety level, which in turn will affect both physical and mental health.
All this can not only lead to anxiety disorder and depression. If you are on my page, then I trust you believe in the fact that our thoughts are materialistic. And so are our fears. Make sure that you are feeding your mind with positive affirmations.
Instead, try to shift your focus on other things you are interested in. Think what else matters for you? Maybe you want to improve your health, start a new exercise routine, learn about digital marketing or knitting. Youtube is booming now more than ever. Why not dedicate your time towards something useful?
4. How do I keep myself calm when I feel like my blood is boiling? How to overcome anger and helplessness caused by the news?
When I thought about an answer to this question, I remembered a time when my Yoga instructor was teaching us meditation.
We were in the process of meditation and I kept trying to push the thoughts away but they would come back. I would try to talk myself into stillness but as a result, I would just tense up, while the thoughts were still there.
At this time, I heard my teacher saying: “If you are trying right now to be still so hard you keep on repeating “stop thinking” to yourself, you are doing it all wrong.”
I started laughing. I was really laughing at myself and at how stupid I felt. Meditation is about acceptance and release. We accept any thought that comes our way and try to simply dismiss it.
What you need to remember is that when you are trying to escape anger, panic or distress to reach that stillness that seems to be so unachievable, when you are trying to look positive or talk yourself into feeling positive or calm, you are trying to reach yet another extreme.
Mental health and well-being are not in stillness or eternal optimism. It is somewhere in the middle.
All emotions are necessary. We need to release our anger, we need to laugh till we cry and sometimes cry, so that we can laugh again.
What is important is maintaining that balance.
It’s not always easily done but it’s important to remember that you don’t have to be happy 24/7. This is NOT a definition of good health.
With that said, don’t forget that others around you may also be having a bad day. Offer help and support with a reminder that we are all here for each other, in good and in bad.
5. I do exercises and Yoga but they don’t seem to help with my stress levels. How do I not get discouraged?
It is important to understand what type of physical activity can help YOU right NOW based on your needs and your mental state.
Yoga may not be helpful to release anxiety and anger that has built up over the past months.
It may be a better idea for you to buy a boxing bag and kick the hell out of it.
Or you may need to go for a run and let the wind and fresh air really stir everything up inside.
But for those who continue to work outside of their home, you may be hustling so much during the day that what you really need is stillness. In this case, Yoga, meditation and mindfulness practices will be most helpful.
It is really important to assess your current mental health situation. If you are unsure, grab a pen and paper and write down everything you feel. Take a look at what prevails.
In any case, I want you to understand that ESPECIALLY NOW exercise and physical activity are more important than ever before. So, make sure you include in your life the following:
-Physical activity in any form that fits you (running, Yoga, Pilates, boxing)
-Breathing exercises
-Attention and Mindfulness exercises
6. Make sure to take care of the elderly at the best of your ability.
Our elderly seem to be so forgotten. And just as our children, they are the most affected by the current situation.
Even prior to these lockdown it’s been a known fact that many older people, when they retire, go through difficulties related to the lack of social life, goals and meaningful events.
Now, when most of them are completely stuck at home all the above issues have only intensified.
Because of that, they don’t really have much left to do but watch a TV all day and as we discussed above, television can negatively impact mental health of the healthiest young individuals, let alone the vulnerable population.
I know that some of you are unable to see your grandparents or parents in person, as they may be in a retirement facility with restrictions on visitors.
But as someone who lives so far away from grandparents for more than 10 years, I can give you the following suggestions:
CALL. Wow, so “new”. I know it’s not but I have noticed that today’s generation will do everything and anything to avoid calling. People are so consumed in social media, swiping, liking and texting that when it comes to actually pick up a phone and chat, they hardly know what to talk about.
If your elderly has a landline still, you can use that but if you have a chance buy them a tablet or a cellphone and either yourself or have someone show them how to use at the very least Skype or What’s App.
And really, you don’t have to have a reason for a call.
Call to ask your grandmother share her favourtire apply pie recipe, to get her opinion on your job situation, to share your baby’s first tooth finally coming through.
It all may seem like day-to-day activities for you but you have NO IDEA how much they want to be involved and have a meaningful life.
This will keep them busy and will really take their minds off the negativity that is spilling from every single television channel on them.
7. Try to have a schedule that all family members will follow.
In the conditions we are facing right now when family members are forced to be together 24/7, sometimes in quite a small space, it is inevitable that you may start to experience issues in your relationship with a partner or your children.
For this reason, divorce rates, verbal and physical abuse and alcohol intoxication are at the highest.
It is a very serious matter because people are unable to structure their day, have a schedule and follow it.
What you can do is the following:
-Have a set of rules at home everyone will follow. “Mommy is working for the next two hours, while you are doing your online learning, then we meet at 12pm for lunch”
You can establish a reward system for your children if they are following through with the schedule.
-Have a space at home where you go to take a breath if the situation heats up and you feel like you are losing your cool.
-Set up a schedule for yourself that would cover all areas of your life, not just your work. Make sure you dedicate some time to spend with your family, spouse, children and, of course, the elderly.
8. Lastly, if you want to maintain good mental health and get through this period, coming out happy & healthy, it is important to REMAIN A HUMAN BEING.
Not a human, not a person, not a man or a woman, a HUMAN BEING.
We all react to the events that are happening right now differently. One person is angry, another couldn’t care less. Someone is not leaving their house, another is at a protest, protecting the freedom they believe in.
LIVE and LET LIVE. That’s something we all seemed to talk about a lot before this all started but completely forgotten since.
This is ALL a NORMAL reaction to not so normal events.
Everyone copes the way they can. If you don’t agree or don’t approve, for yourself, do what you judge to be right.
If you continue to bark at people for not following the standards of normality you have set up for yourself, none of the above suggestions will help you.
By trying to judge, humiliate or laugh at others, you set yourself to the path of anger and misery.
I am not encouraging you to do anything in particular, to chose a camp or a side. All I am telling you is leave others alone and live your life.
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Case File 762-4
Trigger warnings: Isolation, suicidal thoughts, violence, blood, depression, animal bites, animal injury, cops, racism, homophobia, conversion therapy mention
A note before reading: I am unsure if I have tagged all potential triggers properly.
Case Begun: 2/07/20**
Case Concluded: 2/12/20**
Case Locale: [REDACTED], Washington
Marked as Closed, Payment Declined
This is one of the rare occasions where I am perfectly happy not to receive payment for a job. The value of a life always beats cash, period.
It started a bit...underwhelming, to be honest. There’s a secret message board for Eliminators. It’s not easily accessed, and there’s a rigorous vetting process to even be allowed to view the posts. I was well into my sixth year working before I received an email invite. Since then, it’s become a welcome resource.
The first post on my feed was addressed to me, personally. This wasn’t new, I’ve built up something of a name for myself. I get regular work, but I still can’t afford to get out of this shithole apartment. I mean the door doesn’t even fucking lock. And the fucking “landlord” is so strung out on cocaine that --
[Editor’s note: Personal information revealing where VT lives followed. I have removed it for her safety.]
Anyway, the post was simple enough: a werewolf gone berserk. It’s not an uncommon thing, a new werewolf can take to the wolf too much. The wolf takes over and, feeding off of the human’s anger or indignation, attacks. First, it’s everyone who hurt them. Second, they attack their family. After that...it’s a bloody free-for-all.
Let me preface by saying I hate these hunts. It’s no different than putting down a rabid dog, honestly...the human is too far gone and the wolf operates entirely off of the residual rage. Even so, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I don’t like killing anything living, even if it’s lost it’s mind.
I read the post three times before I sighed and closed my laptop. “This is why I like dealing with the dead.” I said, frowning. I’d be needing silver. Which meant spending money. The reward was good, though...so it’d cover any expenses. I packed up my gear (a wolf’s bane lotion, a femur from a dead wolf and a silver knife) and headed for my first stop: Ramona’s.
Ramona Torrez has been my best friend since...ever. She was born in the states to Mexican parents who’d settled here in the nineties. They’ve both returned to Mexico since, but they come to visit fairly often. Mama Torrez was more a mother to me than my own was, and she’s one terrifying lady. A powerful witch in her own right, she’d made her then boyfriend her familiar through a series of spells and incantations that bordered on the black. His physiology changed, as a result. Despite being in his mid sixties, the man’s barely aged. He’s stronger, faster and has more stamina than any human I’ve ever met...not to mention he’s an absolute sweetheart.
Ramona is possibly the most gifted witch I’ve ever met. If there’s a spell she can’t do, I’ll eat my boots. Her shop is a little hidden place. Right on the corner of [REDACTED], she’s very open about what she does. A small sign dangles over the door reading “Bruja” . I pulled open the door, hearing the cheerful jingle of the bell (despite there not being one in sight. Or a motion tracker.) “Welcome!” she called from the back. “I’ll be with you in a moment!” I said nothing, opting only to pick up my friend’s familiar and give her a stroke.
It always makes me laugh, honestly. A witch with a black cat as a familiar. How cliché can you get? Issy’s a sweet thing, though. Purrs like an engine if you so much as scratch her ears. “VT!” Ramona appeared with a wide grin on her freckled face. “Why didn’t you say it was you, dummy?”
I’ll preface that, despite my father being Hispanic, I never had the opportunity to learn Spanish. He was always busy on one hunt or another. Ramona’s tried to teach me, so that I could get in touch with my roots...but languages never came natural to me. Hell, I barely speak English.
Ramona rattled off her usual rapid Spanish, taking Issy from my arms. “You know I can’t understand a word.” I said as she turned to lead me into the back room. Her shoulders shook and she looked over her shoulder with a coy grin.
“Oh, I know. Payaso.”
If Ramona hadn’t been my best friend, I’d likely be trying to get under her dress. She’s a curvy thing, with a heart shaped face and big brown eyes that’d melt even the coldest of hearts. She dimples when she smiles (something I’m immediately weak to) and does this adorable thing with her nose when she’s irritated. Her hair tends toward bushiness, framing her face like moss on a tree. (To my knowledge she doesn’t dye it, it’s just...green.)
“So, darling.” she chirped, stopping next to her cauldron to let Issy dash off through the fabric drapery that led into her kitchen. “What is the illustrious VT hunting today?”
“Berserk werewolf. Probably recently turned...and probably not by a pack. I’m thinking boyfriend or girlfriend. Which means -- “ She cut me off with an uttered curse.
“Which means that you’ll have to get in touch with the local werewolf pack.” she finished with a grimace. “Where’s the contract taking you?”
“Washington state. Little town called [REDACTED].” I answered, not expecting any miracles. I was granted one, none the less.
“Ah. That’s a Native American pack. I met their um...I’m not sure what the proper vernacular is, so I’ll just call her a witch, if that’s okay?” she said, worrying with her lower lip. Ramona’s always been very big on calling people their proper titles, and felt terrible guilt when she messed it up.
“She the Alpha? Or an elder?” I asked, seizing upon the thread before Ramona fell into self-deprecation.
“Well...yes and no.” she said, pouring something into the burbling cauldron and turning it a sickly puce. “She’s something of a Seer. She led them to an old, abandoned ghost town. They asked for witches from all over the continent for assistance in warding and rebuilding. Naturally -- “ “Naturally, Bleeding Heart Torrez helped.” I cut her off, again. She frowned and nodded. “Hey, Ramona, I ain’t saying you did the wrong thing. I’d have done the same. Are they friendly to outsiders?”
“Kind of.” she said, her frown relenting for a thoughtful expression. “You’ll likely be met by an envoy before you make it to the town line. I can call ahead, if you’d like. Let them know that I trust you so they won’t be on full alert.” she smiled, slightly. “Just don’t...shoot anyone that you don’t have to. Okay?”
“I’m not in the business of killing people just trying to live their lives, Ramona.” I said, pulling a frown of my own. “I might be trigger happy, but I’ve never shot anyone who didn’t come after me, first.”
“I know, I know...they can just be a little wary with outsiders. You can hardly blame them.” she said, carefully. I agreed with her, but I didn’t like the implication that I just ran in like some idiot waving my gun around and shooting at everything that moved.
I only do that sometimes.
I stayed long enough to catch up and have some lunch. Ramona’s cooking was always amazing. Her carnitas is to die for, full stop. With my belly full and my paranoia subsiding, I made for Ellie’s. It was time to see if the corpse had any silver.
Elinor Lyktor is a lich. She “died” at some point during the eighteen hundreds. Stomach cancer. She was already a necromancer by then, so when she felt her end approaching...she made a bargain with Death. The way she speaks about the “Lady of the Void” is how some people speak about their chosen deity. But how many of them have actually spoken with their god? Or had her over for tea?
Elinor’s shop was in the dead center of town. The signboard above her shop proudly proclaimed “Ellie’s Emporium”. Her front was an antique shop (all her possessions from when she was alive litter the front of the store). When I entered, her bespectacled gaze caught mine. Even indoors, if she was minding the shop, she wore sunglasses.
“Valerica.” she greeted, pushing from her stool and smiling, marginally. “Lock the door.” I obeyed. What else do you do in the face of a being that could force your skeleton to come clawing out of your body?
“Elinor.” I responded with a nod. “I’m looking for silver ordinance. .44 if you got it.”
“I do. Got a werewolf problem?” she pulled off her sunglasses. Her eyes were pitch black. The only light in them came from the faintly glowing, multicolored runes that slid across them like leaves on a still pond.
“Not a problem.” I responded, coolly. “Ramona’s got me an in. I just don’t have the identity, yet.” I paused, thinking that maybe I should be a little warmer to my primary ordinance merchant. “How’s the lady?”
“Which lady to you speak of?” she asked, grinning cattily. “The woman I will make my wife, or the Great Lady of Dusk?”
Fuck, she loved her puffery.
“Do you just make up these titles or did Death give you a list?” I asked, grinning. It got a laugh, so I’d say that Operation Butter Up the Lich was a success.
“No, I only use them to annoy her. She’s teaching me a lot, VT. I’d love for you to come over and meet her someday. Isali is a rather sweet woman, if you can get past the fact she’s Death.” she said, earnestly. “Did you know she has a son? And he has children, too? I wasn’t even aware she could reproduce.”
That was enough to get my attention. “Death...has a kid. Okay, I’ll bite: what’s his name?”
“I don’t know. She only refers to him as “my darling boy”. The only thing I’ve figured out is there has to have been a point in history in which no one died. The only way I think she could have had a child is if she took on mortal guise and -- are you even listening?”
I was. Oh, I was. I admit that I was wrapped up in the thought of how DEATH had a SON. He must be one terrifying, austere motherfucker, that’s for damn sure. “Sorry, I was just thinking about what kind of man her son has to be. Gotta be some kind of...demigod or something. Having a mother like Death.”
Elinor shrugged “She described him as being an absolute goof. Dotes on his kids, overtly friendly. I’d like to meet him, someday. It looks like I’ll go wanting, though. He lives in a world beyond ours. An extra dimensional being.”
Now it made sense. I wanted to follow that rabbit hole down to the end. I still want to. But business beckoned and I had no choice but to end this intriguing line of thought. “As interesting as this all is, I still need bullets for something more mundane. Can you cut me a deal?”
“Depends on the volume, Valerica. If you want an armory’s worth, I can’t help you...but if you’re just looking for a few boxes, well...” she smiled. “How does fifteen bucks a box suit you?”
“It doesn’t.” I responded immediately. “I’ll give you five.”
I left her store after securing my ammunition. She drove a hard bargain, but I managed to talk her down to ten dollars a box. I had five boxes, each containing twelve bullets. If I couldn’t finish the job with that, then I was in the wrong line of work.
Now, it’s a little known fact that a werewolf and a rugaru are two separate entities. They both conjure the vision of this half-wolf, half-man meat tank that tears through the opposition like so much wet paper. That particular creature is a rugaru. Not all werewolves are rugaru, but all rugaru are werewolves. The rugaru transformation is only possible under two circumstances: complete acceptance of the wolf that dwells within, or the complete degeneration of the werewolf’s human mind due to unchecked homicidal urges. It isn’t a fine line or any of that bullshit that other people have perpetuated. It’s a simple matter of willpower. If I was dealing with a rugaru, it’d mean real trouble. I could only hope this werewolf was still on four legs.
As Ramona had promised me, I was barely five miles down the dirt road that led into our little werewolf commune before I was stopped. He was a tall, impressive specimen. Fine bone structure, inky black hair brushed neatly into two, thick braids that were decorated with beads and feathers...what really threw me was his smile. It was welcoming. Not a normal sight for me. I killed the engine and stepped out into the morning air, then man walked forward and extended a hand “You must be VT. It’s a pleasure, truly.”
I took his hand and shook it. I felt the tell tale calluses on his palm in the shape of paw pads and smiled, this was the right place. “Glad to be of help. I hear there’s a berserk wolf on the loose.” his smile faded.
“Yes.” he replied, simply. “My son’s boyfriend.”
Swish. Called it.
“That’s unfortunate.” I said, bowing my head in respect. “Is there no hope of helping him cope?”
“I’m unsure.” he responded, looking thoughtfully at the thick forest that shadowed the road. “We’ve tried, but...he’s so angry.” he paused, his gaze returning to me. “I apologize, VT. I haven’t even given you my name: folks around here call me Thunder. You’re welcome to do the same.”
I nodded and smiled “Anything you say, Thunder. If you have another name that you’d prefer to go by, I’ll do my best not to butcher it.” he’d laughed, a booming sound like his namesake.
“Thunder suits me just fine.” he said, kindly. “We can continue our discussion back at the compound. Would you mind if I rode with you? I can tell you about our lifestyle while we ride.”
I gathered that Thunder was the Alpha of this particular pack, given how he spoke about his friends and family. The pack had started on a reservation, but wanted a place of their own. The reservation was abandoned in favor of the Seer’s word there was a place of their own. They all turned in the dead of night and disappeared. No one knew where they’d gotten to, save for the SC. They were completely self sufficient. Hunting and fishing for food, growing their crops in soil blessed by their spirits and making their own clothing. Back to basics, he’d said. I could see the appeal.
“You got a free house I can post up in or...” he’d laughed at me.
“We don’t have internet, power or running water. You might get sick of it pretty fast, hm?” he’d nudged me and broke into that same booming laughter that caused my eardrums to ache.
He’d stopped me just outside of town, where two, tall totems stood on either side of the road. “Stop here. Your car will die if you cross.” he said, stepping out of the car. “I’ll introduce you to my son, VT.”
I killed the engine and stepped out, reaching behind the seat to sling my backpack over my shoulder. One of the two totems stood out. Each of them was carved with delicate care and beautiful in their own right, but the one on the left was the most interesting to me. It was Ramona’s work, I knew the feel of that anywhere. “Torrez did this, didn’t she?” I asked, brushing my fingers against the carvings. “Not the design, but the ward.”
“You’re close to Miss Torrez?” Thunder asked, pausing to look at the totem. “Yes. Spent a week solid working on it. She even refused payment, only asked for one of my wife’s blankets in return.”
“Do you...deal with cash?” I asked, feeling the slightest bit insensitive.
“Rarely.” he responded, eyes still on the totem. “Some of us have work in a town nearby, certainly...there are a few things that trading can’t get us. Gasoline. Generators.”
That threw me and I frowned “Thought you said you didn’t have power.”
“We don’t.” he responded, simply. “The generators are for the Elders who didn’t leave the reservation.”
Well, good to know I’d been here all of twenty seconds and already taken a big bite of foot pie. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think -- “ “You don’t live like us. Why would you?” he responded with a somewhat bitter smile. “No reason for me to take offense or for you to feel guilt, VT. Though your apology is...appreciated.” the last word felt forced, but I said no more.
The town was pretty enough, each house painted in accordance to the occupant’s taste. Designs swirled and jerked in eye catching beauty across the wood or brick. Thunder led me to a single-story ranch type home and beckoned me inside. He called for his son in his native tongue and a beanpole of a boy appeared. I say boy, but he was at least eighteen or nineteen. “Introduce yourself.” Thunder said, sternly. “You’re the cause of this mess.”
“Thunder.” I broke in, sensing the tension between father and son. “You know better than anyone that the change is unpredictable...it isn’t his fault.”
Thunder’s stare turned on me, and that friendly gaze was gone. If I’d been made of gentler stuff, I might’ve even backed away. “I’m not upset he changed his lover, VT. I’m upset because his lover is giving us a bad name, and he doesn’t seem to care.”
“Excuse me for caring about my boyfriend, Father.” the boy spat. Even in children, or teenagers...there’s always respect for the Alpha Wolf. To hear the vitriol in the young man’s voice told me one thing: there was going to be a power struggle here one day. “VT, I heard about you from Ramona Torrez.” he said, with much less anger in his voice. “Please...Dorian never meant to hurt anyone. He didn’t even know what I was doing and...please, don’t kill him!” tears were welling in this young man’s eyes. I couldn’t help but be sympathetic...but I still had a job to do.
“Dorian’s his name?” I asked, humming beneath my breath. “I might be able to call him out using that information. But I’ll need your name too, kid.”
Thunder’s son puffed up “I am no child! I am a man grown!” he said, indignantly.
“A grown man doesn’t make decisions for his loved ones.” I shot back. “He makes decisions with his loved ones.”
He deflated marginally. “My name is...Crow Flies. He called me Crow...” he said, no longer able to meet my eyeline. “Please, VT...I...”
“I get it, kid.” I said, softly. “I won’t kill him if I don’t have to. I promise.”
Thunder took me from his home and introduced me to the rest of the pack. They were a kindly people, if a little wary of an outsider like myself. Thunder’s presence helped with their misgivings, but only slightly. “You did well with Crow Flies.” he said, softly. “Miss Torrez had described you as a hot head, but even so...you were very patient. And there was wisdom in your speech.”
Despite myself, I flushed. “Well, ah...I’ve had good teachers.” I said, trying not to grin. “Say, Thunder. After all this unpleasantness is done, could I come back? Just to visit. I like it here.”
That seemed to surprise the Alpha, he looked at me and then smiled “I think that I would like that. I think the pack would, too. Once they see that you are here to help, of course.”
I had dinner with the pack, as they all dined together in the center of town (or the old town hall, when the weather was foul). It was a raucous affair, full of song and laughter...Crow sat off by himself. Alone. I thought it best to leave him be. The boy was going through all kinds of heartbreak. The last thing he needed was another lecture.
It was late by the time dinner wrapped up, and I’d gathered a bit more information about Dorian. He’d been cast out by his family due to his sexuality, and taken in by the pack. They’d kept their lycanthropy secret from him...that is until Crow Flies turned him. Thunder had even had a family portrait taken of the three of them. Dorian had to have been at least Crow Flies’ age, if not a bit older. He was dark skinned, his hair styled into a small afro. What struck me the most was his smile...there was such...kindness. Love. It twisted my stomach into tight knots.
I made a promise to myself then and there: there were enough gay, Black men dead. I was not going to contribute to that number.
Even if it killed me.
No one “hunts” a werewolf. You see these self-styled vampire/werewolf hunters enough these days...and they’re all absolute pricks. Worse than that, they’re murderers. I’ve had to kill a couple of them, to save an innocent life...but when you murder someone just for their differences, you’re the monster. The point is, no matter how many berserk werewolves you’ve encountered it all boils down the the same fact: they’re the hunter, you’re the prey.
I applied a thick layer of the wolfsbane lotion to my skin. It wasn’t going to stop a werewolf as much as it would overwhelm their sense of smell and taste. Silver weaponry only works because of a simple fact.
Have you ever heard of a tulpa? It’s...a sort of group hallucination made real. The basic principle is if you believe enough in something, it manifests as reality. The more people who believe, the more stable a tulpa is. Silver is a sort of pseudo-tulpa. A mass belief of silver being a weapon against lycanthropy has made it reality. That’s the power of belief.
Problem being is I didn’t know whether the mass belief here was that silver kills...or simply incapacitates or weakens. I had to be careful. I had to leave Peace behind. If I wanted to save Dorian, I couldn’t rely on firepower to do it.
[Editor’s Note: A rarity for VT. Coherent thought.]
Dorian’s hunting ground had been, as of late, his own home town. His first victims were his parents...hardly a surprise. Poor guy had to have felt betrayed, and was angry for it. Researching the case, they hadn’t been eaten. They’d only had their throats ripped out. That was a good thing and a bad thing. If Dorian wasn’t eating his victims yet, that meant there was humanity left in him...but he’d tasted blood, and he’d want more. I didn’t have time to dally, I had to act.
I drove straight to his former home.
The house had been cordoned off by police tape. As anyone sane does, I ignored the warnings put forth by the police and ventured inside. The carpets were stained with blood...it meant there was a struggle. A vicious one from the looks of things. Dorian might not have even been in wolf form when it started.
I ventured deeper into the house, searching for any kind of clue. There was Christian iconography all over the house, which explained why he was thrown out. It was getting harder and harder to feel anything but repulsion for the dead, sanctimonious pricks. Throwing their own son out just because he’s gay...I related entirely too much.
I found Dorian’s bedroom without much struggle. Posters of his favorite sports teams hung on the walls, along with musicians and actors. I felt a creak in the floorboard beneath my foot, so I crouched and tried to pull on it. It came up effortlessly.
Hidden within was a notebook, a small bag of cosmetics and a pressed flower. Probably from Crow, I thought. I didn’t read a lot of the journal, but from what I did read it was a chronicle of his self discovery. I admired him for the bravery he showed in facing who he truly was, but the thoughts were private. I closed the journal and replaced it, along with the other items. Those were his and not mine to take. If...things went badly, I’d come back and give them to Crow.
I approached the bed, and got a deep whiff of wet dog for my trouble. He’d been here. Recently. I pulled the sheets back and found what I’d expected: fur. He’d even been sleeping in his own bed. This was good. This was very, very good. If he still sought out human comfort, he was still in there.
A sudden creak and the sound of footsteps sent my heart into my throat. I had no weapon, no way of defending myself against a hungry werewolf. The air was probably thick with the scent of wolfsbane by now...I did the only thing I thought I could.
I stood and waited.
It wasn’t Dorian. It wasn’t even a werewolf. I felt my stomach drop into my shoes as a uniformed police officer appeared, flashlight in hand. “Who the fuck are you? This is a police investigation zone, bitch.”
My hackles raised, but I raised my hands, showing I was unarmed. “I’m a Private Investigator. My license is in my jacket pocket. I’m going to reach for it now.” I tried to keep my voice calm, but clearly this pig thought I was being belligerent.
“Keep your fucking hands where I can see them!” he snarled and approached, stepping forward to shove his hand into my jacket. Thankfully, he went straight for the pocket instead of feeling me up, like I’d been dreading. He looked at the fake license with his mean, piggy little eyes. “They hand these out to anyone, huh?” he said, pure malicious glee in his voice.
I said nothing, keeping my hands raised and waiting for an actual question. “So, you think you can do this job better than us?”
“No, sir.” I responded, shaking my head. “I’m only looking for their son. He has a right to know, even if he hasn’t been living here. I was hoping to find a clue and didn’t want to trouble the police department for something that’d only take a few minutes.”
He laughed, cruelly “Well, that’s earned you an arrest, Valerica Torianna.” he said, gleefully. “For interfering with a police investigation. You have the right to remain -- “
The next thing I heard from the officer was a scream. I hadn’t even heard the wolf enter. The wolf, lean and black as pitch, leapt atop the cop and dug his fangs in. Blood sprayed my face as the pig’s throat was torn from his neck. The wolf didn’t chew. Didn’t swallow. Just spat the flesh and sinew clean out. Then it turned it’s eyes on me.
“Dorian?” I asked, softly. It’s hackles raised. “Dorian, I’m a friend of Crow Flies. You know who Crow Flies is, don’t you?” it backed away, and I took a step towards it. “Dorian, I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not here to hurt you. I only want to help...Crow asked me to help you. Please.”
It snarled...and it lunged.
For anyone wondering if I’ve turned lycan: no. It’s not as...simple as just a bite. I don’t quite understand it, but it has to be an actual, conscious thought. Dorian would have had wanted to make me a werewolf. It didn’t seem he was quite accustom to the change to be able to make conscious decisions. He was only defending himself from a perceived threat.
That didn’t stop his fangs from tearing my forearm open, though.
“Fuck!”, I yelled as it’s teeth dug in deep and ripped my flesh. I had my fair number of scars, but this one would be a doozy. That’s alright. Girls dig scars...well, my type does. Not trying to generalize or anything. Anyways, I was bleeding. A lot.
“Dorian, let go!” I yelled, feeling my bones practically screaming in his jaws. “You’re gonna break my fuckin’ arm!” I balled my fist and started to hammer on his nose with all my might. Nothing. “Dorian, brother, I’m real fuckin’ sorry about this!” I grabbed onto his throat with three fingers and squeezed. He started to choke.
I released him the second his jaws released me. “Sorry.” I croaked, holding my arm against my chest as the wolf wheezed. “Will you -- “ he was gone. I’d blinked and looked at my arm for a half second and he’d up and bolted...leaving me with a dead cop, and his blood all over my face. It wouldn’t matter that he had lupine saliva in his wound, it’d mattered that his corpse would be discovered next to me. So, I bolted.
I returned to the pack’s commune and staggered past the totems. Blood loss was already making my head spin, and I needed medical assistance. Problem was I still had cop blood all over me...so a hospital was out.
I passed out before I could even get to Thunder’s door.
When I woke up it was still night...or night, again. Ramona’s heart-shaped face, her hair sticking up all over the place was looking down at me. “Ah. An angel.” I wheezed. “So, I’m dead.”
Ramona flushed and slapped my chest “Idiota!” she squeaked. I laughed weakly. “You scared me! Thunder called and said Crow Flies found you half-dead! Your veins were torn to shit, VT! You could have died!”
“So just another day at the office then?” I sat up and my head immediately began to swim. “Shit.”
“Lie down, VT. I did what I could, but you still lost a lot of blood. I’ve dealt with your clothes, and Issy brought back your fake PI license. Sloppy, Valerica. Very sloppy. You would’ve been caught if not for us.” she said, standing from my bedside and straightening her dress. “You owe me.”
“Add it to the tab.” I said, pushing to my feet, doing my best to ignore just how sick I felt. “Dorian’s still out there. I can’t let him succumb, I can’t. The world has enough murdered Black men...let alone gay Black men.” my conviction was strong, but my body...
I was wrecked. I could barely stand, let alone run or fight.
“The pack is dealing with him, now. He’s...becoming unstable. I’m sorry, VT, but there’s nothing left for you to do.” Ramona said, hanging her head. “He’ll be killed before sunup.”
Like. Hell. I knew where he was nesting, now. I knew what I had to do. I had to go back. I had to beat them to Dorian’s old home. “Ramona. Think you can drive really, really fast?”
“VT...”
“I’m not taking an L on this one, Ramona. I won’t. I know how Dorian feels, I’ve lived his life. I won’t let it end like this.” Ramona looked at me, tears in her eyes. “What? What is it?”
She smiled and wiped her eyes on her forearm “Who’s the bleeding heart, now?”
Ramona broke just about every traffic law in existence getting me back to Dorian’s home. I’d been unconscious for two days. During that time the pack had met and decided that the only way they could stop Dorian was to kill him. He’d gotten more violent, more reckless. His kills were happening in broad daylight, now. Three cops, a high school teacher and a pastor. None were eaten, but all were killed, viciously.
“He’s attacking those that wronged him.” Ramona said, softly. “He has the power to fight back...he’s losing himself in it. I’m afraid the pack might be right...if he keeps going like this...”
“He won’t.” I snapped shut the cylinder on my weapon. “Crow will never be able to look his father in the eye, let alone forgive him, if the pack kills Dorian. If there’s going to blood spilt...I’d rather be the one hated.” I said, softly. “But I’m going to try, one last time, to get through to him.”
I didn’t go beneath the cordon tape, this time. I went through it. Thunder didn’t know where Dorian lived, thankfully, only the town he lived in. Ramona had agreed to go and ask them to give me my last chance. I had to make it count.
“Dorian!” I bellowed, the instant I rammed through the tape “Dorian! My name is Valerica Torianna! I’m like you! My mother cast me out on my own when I came out to her!” I shouted as I sprinted towards his bedroom. “I know you’re angry! You deserve to be! You deserve your revenge, but you’re going to be killed if you don’t -- “
There he was. Eight feet tall, jaws dripping with blood. He’d lost the plot. He’d lost his humanity. He was a berserk rugaru, now.
“Shit.” I cursed as lupine eyes met mine “Dorian? Dorian, please...I can’t fight you. I won’t fight you. Please.”
I was thrown, bodily, through the drywall. Luckily, I didn’t hit a stud or wiring...but I could feel shards of something embedded in my back. Peace was still in her holster, so I pulled her free as I struggled to my knees. The rugaru kool-aid’d through the wall after me, eyes full of bloodlust and rage. I aimed my weapon and pulled the hammer back.
A second rugaru exploded through a window and slammed Dorian bodily to the floor. The pair rolled, biting and snarling and clawing across the floor. More than once I had to scurry out of the way of the battle to avoid catching a flying claw or misplaced bite.
Who the fuck was the second rugaru!? Was he a friendly? Was *he* enraged? Fuck me sideways, I had no idea what was going on anymore! All I knew is I was suffering from blood loss and losing energy by the second.
CRRRRRRRACK.
I turned, just in time to see the second rugaru, deep brown fur covered in blood and wounds, ripping Dorian’s jaws apart and ripping his heart from his chest. “NO!” I screamed, feeling tears streaking my face. “Goddammit, no! Fuck!”
When a werewolf dies in lupine form, it’s body shrinks. The wolf leaves its body, free to roam the great hereafter, while the human husk remains. All that was left of Dorian was a pale skinned...wait. Dorian was(?) Black...this mutilated corpse was white.
What the fuck.
The second rugaru threw it’s head back and howled in victory...and turned on me. “Who the fuck are you?” I said, voice trembling. “And who the fuck did you just kill?”
The rugaru was shrinking, but collapsed before the change was through. I tore my jacket off and draped it over him. When you lose mass that rapidly, you lose body heat, too. If a werewolf doesn’t have something to warm them after a rugaru transformation, they could easily suffer from hypothermia. I rubbed the dark skin that was rapidly loosing fur. “Dorian? Dorian, is that you?”
“Yeah.” came the soft rasp. “Yeah...my name’s Dorian. Who the fuck are you?”
“My name’s VT. I was hired to -- “
“Kill me?” he cut me off and glowered at me with hate filled eyes. “Just like my parents wanted?”
“No! Fuck, no! I was thrown out by my mother after coming out. Like hell I’d kill someone suffering from my same pain.” I said, quickly. “I was hired to try to help you. By Crow Flies’ dad.”
Dorian stared at me, untrusting...but soon looked back to the corpse. There was such hatred in his eyes...it made the glare he aimed at me look positively tame in comparison. “That thing was a pastor. A pastor at one of those...those...” he wretched.
“Conversion therapy...” I hissed beneath my breath. Suddenly, I was hoping the corpse would get up, again. Just so I could have the pleasure of killing him, myself. “You gave him what he deserved.”
I successfully returned Dorian to the pack. He wasn’t ostracized, but welcomed. He had gone berserk, just as the job posting had claimed. He’d killed his parents and their pastor, but no one else. After he’d had his vengeance, he regained himself. He hid, feeling such guilt in his heart that he never wanted to see anyone again.
Poor kid.
His reunion with Crow was a sweet one, they’d wept and kissed and held each other so tightly I was sure I could hear joints cracking. I couldn’t help but feel accomplished for what I’d done. The rugaru he’d killed, one Peter Edwards, had been a werewolf for years. Hiding in plain sight...and killing those that couldn’t be “saved”. He couldn’t nail down Dorian, so he tried to frame him. He’d be martyred...if not for one, little thing.
“Oh, I burned his corpse with the rest of the house.” Ramona said, forcing a cup of coffee into my hands. “What went on there was no one’s business, anyway. No one’s but the pack’s. And yours, I guess.” she’d said, cheerfully. “Thanks.” I sipped the coffee. Possibly the best tasting coffee I’d ever had. “Dorian saved my life. I don’t think I can accept payment for this one.” I said, smiling. “I’m happy it turned out the way it did...still...it’s impressive that a new werewolf found the rugaru so easy to control.”
Dorian broke away from Crow and approached me. “Miss VT?” he said, timidly. “I just...I wanted to say thank you. Crow said that...that you wouldn’t kill me. That you were against it from the outset.” he stuck out his hand “I...thank you.”
I took his hand, feeling those same calluses I’d felt on Thunder’s. “I should be thanking you, Dorian. You saved my ass.” I grinned and squeezed his hand. “You have a family now, brother. You’ll never have to feel alone again.” he smiled that same smile, so full of kindness and love, that was in the portrait. “Take care of yourself, Dorian.”
Thunder caught me as I was climbing into my car. “You forgot your payment, VT.” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “Ramona said you wouldn’t accept, but...” “But nothing. All I did was run around in circles. Dorian’s the hero here, Thunder.” I said, pushing my sunglasses onto my face. “But hey...if you really wanna give me something...this job ruined my jacket.”
I received a gorgeous, handmade jacket in the mail a few weeks after. My initials emblazoned on the back in golden thread. I wouldn’t be wearing this thing on jobs, but...maybe I can get it framed.
Yeah. That’d be pretty killer.
Case closed.
#tw: isolation#tw: suicidal thoughts#tw: violence#tw: blood#tw: depression#tw: animal bite#tw: animal bites#tw: animal injury#tw: cops#tw: racism#tw: homophobia#tw: conversion therapy mention#VTverse#OC#writing#horror
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For Want of a Woodwright (Parts 1-3)
[I DON’T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED; DON’T ASK ME; JUST ROLL WITH IT]
i come bearing gifts - here are some snippets inspired by the web of “will comes to camelot” AU ideas spawned by this lovely anon ask, which i cannot appreciate enough :) thank you very much to the anon who sent those messages, and to everybody else who jumped in the sandbox - i had fun with this, and i hope you do too!
(also, anon - if this is an idea you are ever planning on writing yourself, the title is all yours. feel free to take it back anytime! i am using it here just to pay tribute to your idea and to the original title you sent me, but it belongs to you for life, and i will change this post header in a heartbeat if you need it for your own purposes! :D )
author’s note: these are VERY rough, not meticulously edited, and not even remotely close to final drafts. they are hardly even first drafts, in fact. they are not necessarily connected to each other, or in order, or part of any actual coherent plot, and they do not directly adhere to the plan laid out in the original post, either; they are just snapshots of fragmentary scenes that popped out of me yesterday when i wasn’t paying attention. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
and now, everybody can have a little AU, as a treat!
1. divine providence
“I can’t see anything wrong with him, Merlin.”
Gaius rinsed his hands in a basin of water, his wide sleeves pushed back to the elbows. Will, perched on a stool, pulled his shirt back over his head, looking starkly out of place in the center of Gaius’s spacious circular chambers.
“It looks to be healing quite well,” Gaius continued. “I don’t see anything to worry about.”
“But on the inside, though,” Merlin said, attempting to drag Will’s tunic up again. “What if - there could be something wrong underneath, couldn’t there?”
“The man can’t look at my insides, Merlin,” hissed Will, wresting his shirt out of Merlin’s grip. “Get out of it.”
“I’m only saying - ”
Gaius interrupted Merlin’s nervous rant with a precisely-cocked eyebrow. “Merlin, if you do not trust my medical opinion, then I am afraid I am going to have to refer you out, though I think you may have a difficult time explaining the facts of this case to Ephram or Hildegard, considering the circumstances.” He looked at Will. “Would you like someone else to examine you, young man?”
“No, sir,” Will said, with a pointed look at Merlin. “I’ve done without physicians my entire life. I think I’ll manage.”
“I only mean - ” Merlin was vibrating in place, a bundle of frustrated energy; he looked like his fingers itched to make another grab for Will’s shirt. “I’m not sure what I did. It might not have mended properly, Gaius. What if I did something wrong?”
Gaius replaced the cover to his medicine bag. “I’m not entirely sure you did anything at all, Merlin.”
Merlin exchanged a glance with Will, then looked uncomprehendingly back to Gaius. “But I must have done. He - well, he - ” Merlin fumbled over this deceptively simple explanation as if attempting to climb an extremely slippery slope whose peak he did not want to reach in the first place. “He was - well. You know.”
“I was dying,” Will said, ignoring the way this made Merlin look like he was going to be sick all over the floor. “Definitely. I mean, I could tell.”
“I believe you,” Gaius agreed, frowning at Will’s chest. “That’s not a very good spot for a penetrating wound, young man.”
Will turned a little bit red. “Yeah, well,” he muttered. “It’s not as if I planned it that way or anything.”
“Gaius,” Merlin interrupted, as if he were clinging to the very last thread of his patience. “What did you mean, I didn’t do anything?”
Gaius just shook his head and dried his hands on a clean piece of cloth. “A mortal wound could not have been healed by magic or conventional means, Merlin. And it certainly could not have been healed by you.”
This appeared to jar Merlin out of his jittery state, as his mouth popped open in an offended ‘o.’ “Why not by me?”
Gaius sighed. “Merlin, the healing arts are not simply a matter of willing a patient well again. If you took any interest in my work at all, you would know - ”
“I am interested in your work. I’m just - ” Merlin gestured helplessly with his hands. “You know. Busy.”
“With what?” Will scoffed. “His Majesty’s royal washing?”
Merlin turned a ferocious glare on Will, but Gaius interceded before the two of them could start bickering. “Busy you may be, Merlin, but even someone as busy as you ought to know by now that any attempt at magical healing requires an exact understanding of anatomy and physiology. How can you possibly expect to mend something when you don’t know what it is supposed to look like, or how it is supposed to work?”
Will gave Merlin a sage look and nodded like this was the most sensible thing in the world. Merlin wanted to thump him over the head.
“I don’t see why I couldn’t have helped,” Merlin said stubbornly. “I felt something.”
“Oh, did you, now?” Gaius gestured at Merlin’s own chest. “Very well, then, Merlin. What can you tell us about the heart?”
“It’s - ” Merlin cast a glance around the room, as if hoping to see a helpful diagram pasted up on the walls somewhere. “It circulates the blood.”
“And how exactly does it accomplish this vital function?”
“It - well, it sort of...squeezes, like.”
“Would you care to elaborate on that?”
“Erm. No. I don’t think so.”
Gaius did not look impressed. “And can you perhaps tell us what the healthy human heart is meant to look like?”
“It’s - you know. It’s got sort of...different bits to it.”
Gaius raised his eyebrows.
Will rubbed at his chest, frowning. “Maybe I ought to have some other bloke look me over after all.”
Merlin did thump him that time, a single solid smack across the back of the head.
Gaius folded his arms, the picture of long-suffering exasperation. “I am simply saying, Merlin, that you do not possess the requisite knowledge to mend anyone in any such way that would result in the living, breathing human being seated here before me.”
“Cheers,” Will said.
Merlin looked vaguely ill. He watched Will out the corner of his eye as if expecting him to drop dead at any moment.
“Then what?” Merlin asked. “I did something, Gaius. I felt it.”
“Perhaps,” Gaius conceded. “But certain death cannot be averted by any magic known to men. Only through the intercession of powerful, external forces are such things accomplished.”
That got Merlin and Will’s attentions. “Come again?” Will said dubiously.
Gaius put a thoughtful hand to his chin, considering the perfectly healthy human being sitting on his stool. “Does it pain you at all?”
“No.”
“He’s lying,” Merlin said immediately. “He’s always grimacing when he uses that arm - ”
“I’m always grimacing when I use any of my arms, because you’re always talking rubbish at me while I’m trying to work - ”
Gaius crossed between the two of them, cutting off another potential argument. “I’ll compound something for the inflammation. I expect any lingering soreness will pass, in time.” He opened the various cupboards on the other side of the room and began rooting through them. “Perhaps you two might like to take a walk,” he suggested, pulling out a vial to inspect its yellowing label, “unless, of course, you’d like to stay and help me, which I can’t imagine would be the case - Merlin, you can take an herb sack, I’ll be low on arnica once I’ve finished with this - ”
“Gaius - ”
“And if you’re going down through the market, you can stop by Benegar and Beata’s. I’ve ordered an ounce of black bryony through them twice now, and not heard a blessed thing about whether it’s arrived or not - ”
“Gaius,” Merlin repeated. “I don’t understand. What did I do?”
Gaius finally turned to look at him, a clear vial clasped in one hand and a bundle of dried leaves in the other. “I’ve no idea, Merlin,” he said frankly. “But whatever it was, I am certain you did not do it on your own.” He eyed Will, a curious look on his face. “Perhaps you simply asked for the right favor at the right time.”
Gaius hung there for another moment, considering, then laid his ingredients down on the table and crossed to the supply closet, opening the door and stepping inside. Will and Merlin, unable to think of anything else to ask him, watched Gaius’s back as he rummaged, Will with a deeply skeptical look on his face, and Merlin looking pale.
“Will you get a grip?” Will muttered out the corner of his mouth. “You look like you’re the one he ought to be examining.”
Merlin said nothing, but lifted his fingers and brushed them against the place he had made Gaius check too many times, the place Gaius had said was so bad for penetrating wounds, the place where Will hated being poked and prodded. There was a heart under there, one that circulated blood, one that had different bits to it, one that squeezed. Merlin could not have sketched its anatomy, or described its functionality, but he knew exactly what it was supposed to feel like under his fingers.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Merlin murmured, feeling for the steady beat, beat, beat.
2. blackmail
“I ought to have the man hanged!”
Arthur’s padded aketon went flying across the room, snagging on a weapons rack beside the fireplace and rattling the upright row of spears. Merlin ignored the mess-in-the-making, instead continuing to do up Arthur’s bed. If the item of clothing hadn’t come flying at his head, it wasn’t his problem.
“You could have him hanged,” Merlin said mildly, tugging a new sheet into place. “If that’s what you really want.”
Arthur rounded on him, stabbing at Merlin with one pointed finger. “What on earth would you bring him here for? What possessed you?”
“I didn’t bring him anywhere. He came on his own.”
“To Camelot?” Arthur’s eyes were wild with disbelief. “A sorcerer? For what purpose?
Merlin fought down a prickly wave of irritation. “For me.”
Arthur looked Merlin up and down in a faintly skeptical way. Merlin bit his tongue to avoid saying something that would land him or Will in deeper trouble. “Are you going to report him to your father?” he asked instead.
“I ought to,” Arthur growled, his face thunderously shadowed.
Merlin picked up one of Arthur’s pillows from the bed and removed its dirty casing with a flick of his wrist. “You can, if you like.” There was a pause as Merlin denuded each of the pillows in turn. Then he added, “Course, then you’d also have to explain what you were reporting him for. And then you’d have to explain to your father that you did cross the border into Cenred’s kingdom, after he explicitly told you not to.”
Arthur shot Merlin a poisonous glare.
“You could have started a war, you know,” Merlin remarked, tossing dirty pillowcases over his shoulder and retrieving a set of clean cases from a nearby basket. “Can’t imagine your father would have been too pleased to have his precious treaty annulled by your hand. And then you went and dragged Morgana into it as well - ”
“You appear to be misremembering, Merlin,” Arthur said thinly. “As I recall, Morgana left for Ealdor before I did.”
Merlin pasted a puzzled look onto his face. “Did she?”
Arthur’s eyebrows climbed up to his hairline. “Are you braindead? She left with you!”
Merlin shrugged vaguely. “I’m not sure I remember it that way. That’s not how she’s telling it, anyhow.”
Arthur ground his teeth together. “And how, exactly, is she telling it?”
“I’m not sure,” Merlin mused, tossing the re-cased cushions back onto the bed in an unappealing jumble. “Something about you preying on her compassionate and kind nature to goad her into aiding an enemy village over the king’s objections.”
Arthur stared out the window. He appeared to be measuring the distance from his own chambers to Morgana’s, gauging whether a crossbow fired from this distance would be accurate enough to find its mark, or powerful enough to do the kind of damage he was hoping for.
“Of course,” Merlin continued, “I suppose you could just go ahead and give Uther your version. It’s not as if he’s more likely to believe Morgana than you, yeah?” Merlin shuffled Arthur’s dirty pillowcases across the floor with his feet, kicking them under the chest next to the door. Then he laughed. “I mean to say - he’s besotted with her, obviously - ”
“Merlin.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Shut up.”
Merlin closed his mouth, and waited.
Arthur continued to stare out the window. He appeared intensely focused on the row of stained glass portals lining the great hall on the opposite side of the palace. Down below, Merlin could hear an argument escalating between the pantler and one of the castle’s suppliers, who was unloading wagons through the postern gate of the minor courtyard.
“I don’t want to see him within the walls of this citadel,” Arthur said finally. “He is not to wander this place outside your line of sight, and he is not to engage in any sort of...any unnatural activity, under any circumstances, at any time. And by no means is he to come anywhere near my father, is that understood?
“I can’t imagine William has any interest in meeting your father, sire.”
“Merlin.”
Merlin linked his hands together behind his back. “I understand, sire.”
Arthur nodded infinitesimally. He was still completely fixated on the pantler’s progressively wilder gesticulations, though Merlin couldn’t understand why. It was the same show every week.
“Will that be all, sire?” Merlin asked.
“Yes,” Arthur said.
Merlin bowed and turned to go. Then Arthur spoke once again, arresting Merlin’s exit. “Find him something useful to do,” he said, still gazing out the window.
Merlin hesitated with a hand on the door. “More useful than saving your life, my lord?”
“Get out, Merlin.”
“Yes, my lord.”
3. where you lead
“How long are you going to stay?”
Will picked at the grain of the table. “Sick of me already?”
Merlin shook his head, feeling the suffocatingly pressing need for an extra second to formulate his response.
Gaius had gone out to do his evening rounds, and for once he had not insisted that Merlin accompany him, which meant that Merlin had made supper for himself and Will, and the two of them had eaten together, but it had not been like a typical evening back home. Will had seemed to have very little to say, and Merlin had not been able to come up with a successful way to coax him into conversation, and they had passed an uncomfortably stilted evening, with Will spending most of the meal gazing at cluttered instruments on Gaius’s workbench, scientific diagrams plastered to the walls, tattered books stacked in every corner - anywhere but Merlin’s face.
Now Merlin swallowed the last of his dinner and set down his spoon, pushing the bowl aside. “I never said that,” he said uncertainly. “Why would you think that?”
Will continued his inspection of the surface of the table. After a moment, he replied, “You came here alone.”
Merlin’s supper wriggled in his stomach. Guilty, guilty, guilty.
Will traced the outline of a knot in the wood with one of his fingers. Merlin tried to think of something to say in response, but he had no excuses to make for himself. It was too complicated.
“It’s fine, Merlin,” Will said, before Merlin could open his mouth and attempt a weak explanation.
Merlin did not think so. But he could not figure out how to say what he needed to say about it just now, so he latched onto something he was sure of. “This is dangerous for you.”
“It’s dangerous for you,” Will countered. “I’m only pretending; it’s no skin off my back if someone thinks I have magic.”
“Pretend sorcerers can still end up on the block, Will.”
“And actual sorcerers?” Will said. “What happens to them, Merlin?”
Merlin turned his spoon over and over on the table, watching Will from the corner of his eye. The light from the wall sconces bent through clusters of glass vials and lit Will’s face in an interesting way, a pattern Merlin had never seen before. There had never been any glass in Ealdor.
“Nothing happens to them,” Merlin replied. “Not when they’re hiding behind their friends.”
Will looked away. The watery glass-glow painting his face made it difficult to pick out his flush, but Merlin knew Will well enough to make his own assumptions.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Merlin said, his voice suddenly very untrustworthy, and he shut his mouth before he could stumble into something soft and wobbly and very un-put-together.
Will shook his head, gazing fixedly at a collection of animal skulls lining one side of Gaius’s bookcase. “It’s done, Merlin.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you. But here you are, and here I am, and maybe we ought to just let it lie, yeah? I know you think I’m happy to lock horns with anyone who cares to try me, but this has been a godsawful, stupid shambles of a summer, and believe it or not, I’m tired of rowing with you.”
Merlin was quiet for a long moment. “I wasn’t trying to make you upset,” he said finally.
“I’m not upset,” Will said. He was having a staring contest with the eyeless, empty skull of some ruminant or another. “I’m just saying.”
The fire crackled alongside them, no doubt gluing the remnants of their supper to the inside of the kettle. Merlin glanced out the window at the rising moon. Gaius would be coming home soon.
“How long are you staying?” Merlin asked Will again. Before Will could bristle a second time, Merlin added, “I’m not saying that to get rid of you. I’m asking because it’s - complicated, here, with your - with the situation. And I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
Will gazed into the shadowy eye sockets of the skull on the shelf, much as if he had not heard Merlin’s question.
“Will?” Merlin prodded.
Will looked away from the hollow hunk of bone. “What?”
“Did you hear me?”
Will did not reply. He pulled Merlin’s empty bowl toward himself and pushed himself back from the table, then, dishes in hand, rose from his seat, but he suddenly appeared to realize that he did not even know where to go to do the washing-up in this place. He clapped the bowls down onto the table again with an under-his-breath oath and plopped back down on the bench. “Hear what?”
“When are you leaving?”
Will sighed heavily, his eyes permanently fixed somewhere off to one side. "When do you want me to go, Merlin?”
The answer popped out of Merlin before he could stop himself. “I don’t. I don’t want you to.”
Will stopped rubbing unconsciously at the left side of his chest. He stopped everything, in fact. He was abruptly frozen, like the kind of animal that one of the little skulls on the top shelf had once been - spooked into stillness. “Come again?” he said.
Merlin took a deep breath. “Stay.”
“You want me to stay here?”
“Yes.”
“In Camelot.”
“Yes.”
“Where the only people I’ve ever met think I’m a sorcerer.”
“Yes.”
“Where I haven’t got any money.”
“Yes.”
“Where I haven’t got any land or livestock or anything.”
Merlin hesitated. He had no right to ask for this. But he couldn’t lie, either, however selfish and insensitive it made him seem. Lying to Will was not something he remembered how to do. “Yes.”
A long silence stretched between them. Outside, the royal hunting hounds yapped for their suppers.
“I’m not asking you to do it,” Merlin said quietly. He had never been nervous around Will before, but lately that seemed to be the only thing their relationship could manage - unsettled stomachs and treacherous footing, pitfall traps marring what had once had been a solid plain of understanding. “I’m just answering your question.”
Will did not say anything in response. Merlin resisted the urge to wipe sweaty palms on his trousers and continued. “I haven’t got any right to ask that of you. I know I haven’t. It’s my fault we’re in this mess to begin with.”
Merlin did not clarify, exactly, what ‘mess’ he was referring to; he hoped Will would understand that he meant more than their current case of mistaken magical identities. “You don’t owe me anything,” he added.
Will shook his head at that. “I owe you my life.”
“No,” Merlin corrected. “I owe you mine.”
“Oi,” Will said tiredly. “Haven’t I just told you I’m sick of rowing with you?”
“Yes,” Merlin replied, surrendering to a small smile. “But you’re so easy.”
Will scowled at him.
It was a nice look. A normal look.
Before Merlin could say anything else, the door to the hallway banged open.
“Ah,” Gaius said. “Gentlemen. Good evening.” He swung the door closed behind him, laying his medicine bag on the workbench and divesting himself of his cloak. “Arthur is looking for you, Merlin. You’d better go and see what he wants.” He ambled past the kettle, leaning over it to have a sniff on his way by. “I see you’ve made supper - I assume it’s too much to hope that you’ve left something in that pot for me.”
Merlin hurriedly got up and scraped together a third plate, then gathered the remaining dirty bowls in his hands and hovered by the edge of the table. “Erm - listen - ” he said to Will in a low voice.
“Sir Thickhead’s looking for you,” Will interrupted, tipping his chin at the door. “Don’t you have to go and unbuckle his boots or something?”
“Yeah, I - what? No, I mean - he can unbuckle his own boots, Will; he’s not entirely stupid.”
Unbidden, a memory arose in Merlin’s mind of Arthur storming out of a Council session with his shirt on back-to-front and his tightly-clasped belt keeping the situation from being rectified, the prong bent out of place by some blow or another and stuck at the fourth notch. “Most of the time, I mean. It doesn’t matter. He’s not - ”
Not important just now, Merlin thought.
Arthur’s boots could wait.
He leaned over the table, closer to Will, so that Gaius, who had settled down at a different workbench with his supper and his books, could not hear. “Listen,” Merlin said in an undertone. “Forget what I said. I wouldn’t have brought it up, only you asked. It wasn’t fair of me to even mention it. Don’t think on it.”
Something in Will’s face made Merlin hesitate, though. He furrowed his brow, not wanting to give in to the sudden spark of inconceivable hope that had just lit up inside his chest. “I mean, unless - you’re not - ?”
“Why don’t you go and put his royal majesty to bed,” Will suggested pointedly.
“Right, yeah - but we were just talking, though - ”
Will shrugged. “I’m not going anywhere, am I?”
Merlin took a half step to the door, then turned around and bent quickly over the table again. “Hang on,” he muttered, “sorry, er - you mean just now? Or - ”
Will met Merlin’s eyes levelly. “I’m not going to do a runner on you, Merlin.”
Not like you did on me. Merlin heard the unspoken thought clearly enough. But Will didn’t voice it, this time, and that was something.
“Right,” Merlin said, his head buzzing with possibilities. “Okay, then. We’ll talk later. Erm.”
Gaius was giving him a pointed look. “I’m going!” Merlin exclaimed, and bolted for the door before Arthur could start hollering Merlin’s name from the bottom of the stairs.
Not that anyone would care if Arthur yelled himself hoarse, Merlin thought, taking the spiral steps two at a time. Merlin found the hollering more amusing than anything - he didn’t understand how the prince could fail to see the embarrassment inherent in stalking down corridors with his tunic undone and his trousers unlaced, bellowing for a servant to come and (yes, all right, fine, Will had probably been right) unbuckle his boots.
But Merlin didn’t think Arthur’s bellowing would do much to convince Will to extend his visit.
And so, perhaps, Merlin thought, popping out of the stairwell at the appropriate floor and speeding down the corridor, dodging a page tending to the wall sconces - perhaps it would be better if Merlin took it at a bit of a run, today.
[TBC, maybe! if i continue to feel like playing around in here - we’ll see what happens!]
#the once and future slowburn#fic#no kings no masters#for want of a woodwright#next up gwen and morgana and kilgharrah; if i have the inclination to keep going#we'll see#there's more of this in my head#but i'm not used to just writing random scenes and i definitely am not used to AU's#so this is like....the undiscovered country#boldly going where [lots of people] have gone before#but it's the first time for me#also uh THIS PREMISE WAS A COMEDY???#and it's becoming...not that#like there's still elements that are definitely that but the boys have Baggage to check also#i don't know#i don't consciously do these things i just...go where they go#they are driving the bus; i am just along for the ride#anyway#fORREAL THIS WAS SO FUN#i've been creatively in a weird place#now that the big fic that gave my life structure and a schedule and a general sense of purpose for the last year is finished#but this booted me into writing like 9 pages in one day so#I HAD A GREAT TIME WOO
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A whisper of smoke 3/5
[Buddie fic; Heavy Angst; Angst with a Happy Ending; Hurt/Comfort; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Established Relationship; Major Character Injury; Blood and Injury; Eddie’s POV; I don’t know how to English; I Don’t Even Know how to tag; I don’t even know why; Author.exe has stopped working]
read ch1; ch 2
[read this work on ao3]
Eddie doesn’t know how it happened. What changed that Friday all those weeks ago. He only knows that when he went to get Christopher at the hospital that evening, Maddie told him that they couldn’t give up, not yet.
They didn’t have the courage, both of them, to give themselves that ultimatum. They didn’t have the heart to end hope. And maybe yes, it was Christopher, the one who actually changed Maddie’s mind, the fact that he loves Buck unconditionally, that although he understood, because he is a smart kid and knew very well the severity of his Bucky’s situation, he fights. Christopher doesn’t give up. She started to talk about him meeting her daughter, whatever her name is, Eddie knows it, the name, but it seems not to want to stay in his mind. He has even seen the beautiful baby girl at some point, but he’s so much focused on Buck that he really can’t function. Just can’t.
And Eddie doesn’t really know how it happened, but then they let days, weeks go by, and continued to float in this muddy river of uncertainties, without the possibility of going upstream, without being able to reach a shore.
And yet.
Yet there have been tiny developments, so small that it seemed to be going round in circles, tiny improvements which, however, have ignited hope even in Maddie, who has stopped talking about organ donation for a few days. Evan who occasionally moves his fingers, Evan who occasionally moves his eyes under his eyelids. But to every small improvement, every tiny answer, always follows a flat calm made up of evoked potentials that give no answer, if not a small or large deterioration. But every now and then Evan reacts to the stimuli, every now and then his fingers barely move, when they touch the palm of his hand, in a grasping reflex that is increasingly unexpected. There is a minimum of activity and to that, to that tiny activity Eddie hangs on with his nails and teeth. But as the sixth month of coma approached, doctors began talking. And there is this extremely young and harsh neurologist who has started saying things, frightening things. Without evident brain damage, without a specific cause to be attributed to his brain, it is necessary to diagnose a permanent vegetative state. He began to talk about withdrawing nutritional support, to remove life support, in slow steps so he doesn’t feel any pain or discomfort, and as long as his organs are still serviceable, donate them. They started throwing in the towel too, everyone except the old doctor and the young surgeon, and Eddie is so tired and so angry because Buck is there, he has these tiny reflexes, and those must be enough for them to fight. Even Maddie has started to talk about organ donation, again, she started to say that those are just reflexes and that aren’t that unusual, that the rest of the reactions that Evan should give are important, and he doesn’t answer, he doesn’t react.
And Evan is so thin now, so fucking thin, tiny, so pale, and if they run his hand through his hair, tiny locks remain entangled between their fingers. If Evan is reacting, his body is quickly letting go. And Eddie knows that he has no more time to hope, and that little time he has left with him, he must begin to understand how he will go on later on, when Eddie will give in and consent, giving permission to disconnect the life support and let him go.
He is so irritable, Eddie, so unmotivated to even go there in that little room to sit near him, near Evan who doesn’t look like Evan anymore. He is breathing hard now when he enters the room, his heart rumbling in his chest and his breath shortening at every single step. He already couldn’t sleep, it took forever to fall asleep, but now his sleep is broken all night, and there are strange nightmares that take away his breath, he as an old man who sees his life as a viewer, as he isn’t allowed to live that life, a life in black and white, weak, and every time he wakes up he is even more tired and empty.
He loses patience easily, and is often one step away from scolding Christopher, and it’s so fucking frightening, finding himself being short with his family. It also happens with his colleagues, but in the end, it’s also their fault, it’s also the fault of his found family if he and Evan no longer have time.
The little he eats remains on his stomach, he has this strange low-grade stomach ache all the time, it feels like having butterflies in his stomach, but they look more like wasps, who are banging from one side to the other.
And if only he were less in control, he would be able to cry a little, a little more. And Frank says he should do it, let go and let go of everything he feels, it’s normal that it hurts so much, it’s physiological, it’s chemical, it’s everything and nothing. But he feels so empty, so detached from reality, and continues to go on with his days by the sheer force of inertia, mechanically, because if he let himself go, if he answered really emotionally, if he really connected to reality, he wouldn’t be able to remain at afloat.
He’s just empty. Simply empty.
His head is empty, his heart is dry, and when he enters there everything falls on him. When he sees Evan not responding, who occasionally moves his fingers when he takes his hand, who seems to listen to him when he speaks, when he sees that he is no longer colourful, cheerful, sunny, that is only a spectre, a ghost of what, of who he was, everything falls on him. His Buck wouldn’t want to live like this. And Eddie can’t be really selfish enough to keep him there again and again, even now that his body is letting go.
He doesn’t have the courage to stay there when they move him to avoid pressure ulcers, and as much as he has learned to gently exercising his joints to prevent them becoming tight, he has gradually begun to feel a frightening panic, now that his wrists are so thin and he could swear to hear the patella move on the meniscus. And so when the nurses are there to do those treatments, when they change the catheter, when they clean his mouth and teeth, when they do all those little manoeuvres to clean him, to move him, Eddie stays out of that little room.
Eddie visits the hospital chapel from time to time, when Maddie is up with him or when nurses take care of what is called supportive treatment. He isn’t a religious type, although raised in a very traditional family, very attached to religion, although he wears a medal of a saint around his neck as a good luck charm, he has seen too many bad things to believe in God, yet he has had his miracles in some way. So he decidedes to proceed with this perhaps bigoted hope, and even if he doesn’t know what to ask, if he no longer knows how to pray, if he doesn’t know which saint to turn to, he is there and looks at the wooden coffered ceiling, looks at the cross, looks at the candles. Abuela often goes there to pray for Evan, and knows for sure that she lights a candle for him every time. And he would like a miracle, of course, he would like to wake up one morning with a million unanswered calls on his phone, he would like to get to the hospital and find him awake, responsive, with bright eyes and a sparkling smile.
But most of the time his head goes somewhere else and the thing he prays for, or rather for which he speaks senselessly with himself, is to find courage and not ask whoever it is, for a miracle. He is there waiting in that room to look for that little sign of awakening, that little clue of reaction. And he tries to feel different, every time, he tries to feel new, to silence what he feel, and to control himself. Science fiction, stories, which bend reality. He can’t forget how much he loves him, not like that, not snapping his fingers, not praying in a fucking chapel, no prayer could unbreak his heart new.
And so he needs courage, to give up hope and let him go, he needs control, he needs courage to kiss him goodbye, and bid farewell to a part of him with Evan.
And when he returns home it is unusually silent, and when he arrives at the station everything is unusually off. Eddie lives and works mechanically, emptied. He had to learn to do it by force, at the beginning even the smallest thing made him snap, and even now he is irritable, insufferable. After the week he had spent compulsorily off duty, for his little injury, at least on paper, but mostly for his state of mind, arriving at the station and finding everything in its place and all oddly different, had been atrocious. Evan’s nameplate was still there, this time there was no paper tape with a name written on it, it was all there, his locker with the usual combination, a part of his spare gear, his bag, it was all there. Everything except him.
Then his replacement had arrived. For a while they had stumbled with double shifts to cover his absence, but they couldn’t go on for so long. And as much as Bobby said he didn’t want to substitute him, that guy, Nate or��whatever his name is, Buck’s fill-in is a substitute. A five-feet happy-go-lucky guy from Maine with a strange inflection dialect, tall and strong, extremely kind, is in every way a replacement, as if Evan could be replaced.
Then this guy started clicking well with the rest of the group, cooking with Bobby, sitting in Buck’s place and chatting. He talks, talks and talks. And all Eddie can think of, whenever this Nate or whatever the hell is his name, is that he would like to silence him with a punch, a punch well placed in the centre of the face. Both this poor fellow who has done absolutely nothing except the fact that he is replacing Buck, but above all to Bobby. Bobby who is extremely attentive to all group dynamics, who is directive and severe but only up to a certain point, who is ready to intervene in case of danger. Who didn’t intervene that time.
It’s hard to ignore the fact that the station is unlit, figuratively speaking, empty. He must try again to enjoy the lunches with the team, now that there is that substitute who sits next to him and not Buck, he must have the courage to stay a minute longer in the locker room, and look up at that locker that was his and now there is the plate and not the scotch of paper, nothing temporary, which says that there is someone else there, in his place.
The tag and Evan’s belongings are in a box now, in Chim’s trunk or maybe at his and Maddie’s house, because Eddie didn’t have the courage to empty that part, that little big part of Evan’s life and put it in a box. Eddie hurries past his locker. He also stopped imagining Evan, there, in the locker room with him, who tells him about this other absurdity that he learned about this or that phenomenon, a human encyclopaedia stuffed with most absurd facts, that little smile on his lips, before blowing a kiss on his forehead.
It’s been so long, yet the absence there is always so pressing, both at home and at the station.
And today is just a bad day, and the neurologist, the young and stern one, this morning said that they must decide, that with a diagnosis of a permanent vegetative state, recovery is extremely rare but not impossible. And Maddie is pressing him, and Eddie is there about to decide and at the same time he doesn’t have the courage to decide, he will never have it.
But then again, if one can wake up that is Evan, but it is also true it is so hard to see him that, if it is almost impossible for him to wake up then it’s no longer worth let him wither like that. He can still do a lot for many other people, he can still save lives. And maybe they should just let him go. He’ll tell Christopher tonight, and tomorrow they’ll say goodbye and let go of his hand, let go of him.
He sent a message to Maddie before entering. I’m not ready. And it is the truth because he will never be, he will never be ready to let him go, he will be materially to end his life, he will never overcome it. But he has to do it for him, he must have the courage. Tonight he will go in that room and talk to him, do as Abuela and recommend, there will not be parting words, there will not be goodbyes, because maybe they will have luck in another life, and there will not be goodbyes because Evan will always stay with him. As long as he breathes.
So, today more than any other day, he feels underwater with that tremendous new awareness of the time slipping away from his fingers, hope shrivelling in his heart. Eddie just wants to finish his job mechanically, maybe a series of beautiful interventions could help him not to think for a while and then go back to the hospital and find courage, find the right words, put his heart in peace and remember how different Evan is from what he was, how frightening it is to see him wither, how much it will hurt to let him go. But when he enters the station there are balloons, garlands, there is noise.
“Eddie come on, we’re celebrating,” someone shouts, but Eddie proceeds quickly towards the lockers and sits there looking at something in front of him.
Usually Bobby is the one who goes down there to retrieve him and force him to have lunch with them, he tries to weave a conversation with him. And every single time Eddie doesn’t have the strength to replicate, or maybe he does have it, but he doesn’t have enough nerve to avoid bursting, snapping. He’s tired, he’s so tired of drifting his emotions, without a guiding star to lighten his sailing, because his north star is in a hospital bed and is gradually turning off that mighty light. And he would like to let off steam and lose control, take Bobby and slam him on the wall, he who first gave instructions to stop with the compressions, who gave up on him, who ordered to leave him under that house in that hell of smoke and flames, who practically did nothing but deny him the support he wanted, if not to leave him on the bench, without telling him anything, without giving him the right explanations. Bobby who now behaves like a good captain, who teaches cooking to the substitute, who spends his days trying to start a conversation, who goes to the hospital once a week, who perhaps prays a bit for Evan in the evening too, or perhaps he prays only for himself, to clear his conscience.
“Hey Diaz, it’s my birthday, let’s celebrate!” someone mumbles, but Eddie doesn’t hear, or maybe he hears but decides not to react, because his reaction would be the wrong one, and he needs to work, not so much to pay Evan’s hospital bills, which apparently are covered by the excellent health fund that he has stipulated, in addition to their insurance, or from his father, whoever he is, this mysterious occult partner of their life, but to disconnect, to forget his feelings, to keep his head busy. He stretches his legs and hopes that the damned siren will ring. He even hopes for a cat stuck in a tree, all to avoid being there.
“Eddie?” this time the voice is Hen’s. “Do you want a piece of cake?”.
And Eddie moves his head to look at her. “Have you ever noticed that we didn’t throw him a party when he came back?”.
“You say after the lawsuit?” she asks taking a seat at his side.
“Yeah,” nods . “He just wanted to come back to work and we were pieces of shit. He still says sorry sometimes. Said sorry…” he corrects himself with a weird huff. “He was always here when we needed him and yet… we were pieces of shit”.
“We didn’t give our best, back then...” she agrees.
Eddie purses his lips. “I’m not hungry, I don’t want the cake, I don’t want to celebrate… I don’t... you should go up with the others and enjoy this moment...” he shakes his head.
“Eddie...” Hen begins to say, her voice soft.
And he sighs. “A party. I didn’t think we were even celebrating birthdays here”.
“He wanted to do something nice, you know... there is tense air here... you can cut the atmosphere with a knife so tans and cold…” he sighs. “Nate just wants to be part of the group, you know”.
Eddie snorts. “With a party”.
“Yeah,” she sighs. “What do you say, you don’t have to celebrate, but at least eat a slice of cake?” she keeps saying.
He shrugs. “You go, I don’t... I’m not in the mood”.
“I guess.” Hen sighs.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be in the mood. That guy is taking his place. And if Buck knew, Dios, how pissed he would be, and hurt and...” he shakes his head and smiles at himself, if he imagines him complaining in bed, or on the sofa, if he imagines him working twice as hard to get back to them. And the smile remains bitter on his lips and shakes his head, while tears swell at the corners of his eyes.
“He will never take its place,” Hen replies, her tone gentle, optimistic as always.
“Tell Bobby.” Eddie snorts a half bitter sigh.
And she looks at him, curling her eyebrows and purses her lips before speaking “Eddie everyone lives with pain in his own way”.
“He didn’t do anything, Hen. He didn’t do a thing, he didn’t allow us to do anything. And now he’s over there and teaches cooking to that guy?” he grumbles.
Hen sighs, squeezes her hand on his shoulder, but this gesture only makes him stiffen more. “Eddie... Nate has nothing to do with it”.
“It’s a bad day, I should have taken today off. I should have been with him today,” he murmurs with a whisper. Today could be the last day I will spend with him and... I’m not ready I’m not ready I’m not ready I’m not ready.
“You can go there later. I thought I would come too, maybe next Tuesday, you know... I found some articles that I think would interest him a lot. Karen has prepared a small summary of NASA’s new discoveries and updates that will surely please him and...” she continues to say.
“You should go today. You too, maybe Tuesday will be late...” he replies.
“Late?” Hen repeats, her brows furrowed. “What are you saying, Eddie?”.
Eddie purses his lips and rolls his eyes, wrinkling his nose. He would have expected a lot more support from them, everyone knows, right? “Chim knows it, so you know it too. And if you know it, Athena knows it too, and if Athena knows it, Bobby knows it too. I just have to sign those papers and... let him go”.
“What papers? Eddie are you talking about?” she mumbles.
Eddie swallows and turns his gaze to his locker. “Who knows what was in there to make him calm down every time, I would like to know, I would like to understand... I can’t ask him anymore”.
“Eddie?” she continues to say. “What are you saying, he will wake up you know, right?”.
He slowly glances over her, heaves a sigh and relaxes his shoulders. “His new neurologist, the young one, wrote... they diagnosed... on his file there is now written permanent vegetative state. And Maddie wants to turn off the life support”.
Hen’s eyes widen, his glasses glaze over. “What?”.
“She’s been saying it over and over again, it’s been months now…” Eddie shrugs.
And the paramedic moves over him. “And what do you think?”.
Eddie doesn’t know how to say it, what he thinks. “Now with this diagnosis... this diagnosis is final, Hen, and he doesn’t react...” he murmurs as he shakes his head slowly, and his stomach tightens from how much his tone sounds pliant. “Evan is no longer there. The small movements he makes, he makes them because the nerves are... because...” and his voice becomes thin and feeble as a whisper. “I don’t even know how to explain and... he’s so thin, Hen, slender... his hair remains in your hand if you caress it and...” he sniffs and looks at her. “His body is giving up and Maddie... Maddie is right. It’s right to make him make one last heroic gesture”.
“Donate his organs?” she realizes. “Eddie... but he’s still alive he... he moves every now and then, his fingers will...”.
“The evoked potentials... brain activity is almost non-existent, Hen. Buck, Evan would never want to live like this. And I don’t know how to do it anymore, because I would fight with my nails and my teeth, again and again to bring him home with me, but... his body is giving up, and I don’t know how much it hurts, maybe he doesn’t feel anything and... but maybe he’s afraid and it hurts and I don’t... I can’t... I can’t be so selfish, I can’t force him to survive...” he mutters, confusedly. “I will never be ready but, but before he goes into septicaemia, he… he would like to save other lives. He stayed in there because we heard a scream, but I think he was one of those whispers of smoke... and he pushed me out because he’s like this, he’s like this, he wants to save everyone and...” he shakes his head. “And he would like to donate organs, he would like this. If he could choose, Evan would choose this”.
And she slowly nods the tears that swell in her eyes. “Of course, he is a hero, he doesn’t even need a cape”.
“Chris says he’s like Captain America, who sleeps in the ice and will come back to us, to do the right thing once again...” adds Eddie, with a small inexplicable smile, which remains again so bitter on his lips. “I don’t know how to tell him that hope disappears at some point, and you can’t fight anymore. I would never want to teach my son this thing...” he mumbles.
Hen reaches out to embrace him. “I’m sorry Eddie, living with this awareness... I... I didn’t know... why didn’t you tell us? You know you could come to us, right?”.
Eddie sighs. He never wanted to talk about it, saying it out loud is like making it come true and reality is scary. “I thought Chim told you, I thought you all knew it”.
“I don’t think he wanted to tell me about it, I would have said what I think about it, I would have said that I don’t agree, that he is a sleepyhead that... that you should give him more time. I don’t agree, but it’s not my choice to make. Every situation is different, every situation is…” she shakes her head and tightens her grip on Eddie. “But he would like this, you’re right. Saving other lives,” she mumbles with a certain fondness in her voice. “He is a hero”.
Eddie nods softly. “I just have to find the courage to let him go”.
“It takes a lot of courage, but we will be here for you, you know it” she replies taking his face in her hands, in a maternal, kind, affectionate gesture.
“Ah,” hisses mockingly. “If he’s gone, I have no reason to be here. I’ll go back to my mother, my family in El Paso. I already have all the papers ready, it’s just a little form to sign, nothing more”.
“Eddie!” she begins to say, but the siren begins to ring. “We will finish this later”.
.
.
.
Turns out that they can’t finish that talk, later.
The shift worsens gradually, without giving them breath, and Eddie thanks a bit that it is such a busy and demanding day, so his head remains clear and doesn’t think. He doesn’t think about Evan and the fact that Maddie will be there today with Christopher, like every Friday, that she has the day off and for his kid this means spending a lot of time with his Bucky. Because Chris is so good, and he will always wait for him. As he waited for Eddie and Shannon.
And Eddie doesn’t think about him, or maybe he actually thinks about him, thinks about what he would have done differently, he thinks about how much Buck would have been scolded if he had jumped on the roof of a house and not that guy from Maine, he thinks he could hear him laughing, when they are all whole in the truck and ready for another emergency, if he can imagine Evan planning their weekend. But in the truck in his place is that substitute who keeps on talking, who tries to start a conversation with Eddie. And Eddie has reached a point of no return, he has reached a point where he no longer listens to anything, a point where he no longer wants to hear anything, in any sense. His life proceeds by the sheer force of inertia, and he gets emptier with every step, his knees weaker and heart too. Buck would have understood that he had to shut up, Buck would reach out and caress his thigh with that gentle and reassuring touch.
Two accidents and two tamed fire later, and Eddie is sitting on the sofa, eyes closed, trying to control his breathing, trying to calm down. That internal anger that mounts in his throat every time they are all around the table has taken away his appetite today too.
There are still a few hours until the end of their shift and he suddenly feels that ancient need, like an itch under his skin. He feels the urge to fight, something that seemed dormant now. But perhaps it would help him get back in control, back at the helm of his life. Buck wouldn’t judge him anyway, whether he was there or not, Evan would still love him, in any case, beyond any circumstance, any prediction, any bad thought, beyond any wrong choice. Buck would love him anyway. How he loved him unconditionally, for all that short time they have been together, as he knows perfectly well that he still loves him, even in his non-slumber sleep.
“Eddie,” grumbles Bobby. “We need to talk”.
And maybe a small part of him expected it, talking to Hen also meant that. That she would confide this burden to Athena and that somehow it would reach Bobby’s ears.
Eddie gets up and drags himself into the captain’s office. He doesn’t know how tired or how angry he is looking at him, but he knows that resentment is like gall in his veins.
“Sit down,” Bobby tells him, fatherly.
And they had an excellent relationship, they on paper have an excellent relationship. And surely if Eddie listened to his head, his rationality, he would understand that Bobby tried to do the best, even that day. But the best isn’t always enough. It wasn’t enough, not this time.
“Who told you?” he asks slowly, without taking a seat.
“Athena. She went to see him today. And she read the medical record. How long have you known?” mutters Bobby, also standing in his place.
Eddie purses his lips. “This morning, but it was in the air since long before”.
And now Bobby sits down and looks at him. “Eddie I...” he begins to say.
“I think I’ll resign, Bobby. Not with immediate effect because I want Chris to end his elementary school here, but...” he shakes his head. “At the end of his school year we will return to El Paso, I would like you to move me to another station, or to change my shift. I don’t want to work with you”.
“Eddie” tries again to say.
“We will turn off the life support, we will donate his organs. Athena may not know this. We’ll probably take the machines off tomorrow and proceed to organ donation and...” he sighs. "He’ll be the hero one last time. A hero, what you know he does best,” he adds and walks back to the door, his eyes stingy and burning with tears.
"Eddie?" Bobby repeats, the voice sounding like a whisper.
And when Eddie turns around, maybe he has an expression so upset that he stops Bobby on the spot. He can see the captain swallowing, looking down.
“He’s a fighter,” Bobby then says, in a low voice, a strange affection, a pride that inflates his voice. “He always fights, and he will make it, he will come out of it. In a while he will be back in the truck with us. He reacts, right? You have to give him some time more”.
Eddie is tired. He’s tired of hearing him talk, he’s tired of hearing everyone talk about how strong Evan is. He knows how strong he is, how good, how amazing he is, he knows how much of a fighter he is. But, they all have to be honest and face reality. Evan really thinks it isn’t worth fighting for him, that it isn’t worth fighting, and Eddie is afraid that he is now too tired of fighting, too tired of rolling up his sleeves every time and trying to get back there, on that truck, in that station with them, with his family, with the family he chose. And his body is giving up and he doesn’t react to stimuli as he should and... and it’s scary and hurts and he knows that Evan is one who doesn’t give up, but if his body gives up before him, there is no much more to do.
And he would like to get angry, he would like Evan to get angry with them, with all of them, for not having supported him enough, for not having told him how important he is, how vital he is for the team. He has a heart of gold, and they will never be, Eddie will never be enough for him. And if he is lucky, if they are lucky and he survives, and fights a bit more, and his body reacts and he manages to return, things must change. All of them must change for him. And maybe Eddie will also have time to dismantle all his beliefs, all his resistances. Maybe he will make him feel loved enough, he will make him feel worthy enough, maybe he will be able to give him all this and much more. Or maybe it’s late and the only thing they have to do is let him be a hero one last time.
“You know I couldn’t get you in. You have a son waiting for you at home...” he hears Bobby say.
And Eddie no longer sees it, he loses his composure. He no longer has control. Christopher isn’t an excuse, he isn’t a mitigating factor. He didn’t do enough, nobody there, did enough that day. And maybe it’s not just that day, they haven’t done enough, in general since he knows Evan, since Buck is his colleague, they have always been little supportive with him. Everyone, including Eddie, who has included him in his and in his son’s lives, perhaps he hasn’t done enough. He didn’t do enough for Evan to start thinking he was worthy, worthy of being helped, worthy of being supported, worthy of being loved, worthy of a family, worthy of having time to live.
“Evan has a son waiting for him at home as much as I do, a son who goes to the hospital and reads his favourite books to him. A son who wants to ask Santa to wake up his Bucky because he managed to give him this gift other times, when asked for my return, when asked for Shannon to be home… a son that loves Buck more than I can ever love.” he shakes his head with his eyes closed, not to let a tear leave his eyelids, and tries to control himself, because under his skin there is that ancient call that reminds him of the arena, the cage, the noise, fighting for his own good.
“Eddie, I just thought about limiting the damage,” Bobby mumbles. The way he repeats his name might seem aggressive, if someone else did it, it certainly would have sounded aggressive, but Bobby seems to be pleading him, begging him to see with his own eyes, his vision of things.
And Eddie doesn’t want to humanize him, doesn’t want to hear him, doesn’t want to understand. He is too angry and empty at the same time. “You didn’t make us intervene. In these cases, the timing is vital. And he stopped breathing, his heart stopped beating and... and there was so much blood in his lungs that he couldn’t breathe and... and I can’t get it out of my head that it’s your fault too, Bobby.” He adds, this time it looks more like a growl. “I don’t want to work with you anymore. I no longer trust your judgment or mine, if I work with you. I am too angry and sorry, because rationally, rationally I know that you have done the best for us, but it wasn’t enough. Not for Evan.” he reiterates trying to get back in control, at the helm of his emotions.
“Eddie, take some time. Surely when Buck gets better...” Bobby starts to say.
“He will never get better. We will let him go. I will have to explain to my son that we have to let him go and I will have to hope that he doesn’t hate me as much as I hate myself, for giving up. But Buck… Evan wouldn’t want to live like this.” he adds in a low voice. “Take it as a warning. After he leaves, I will take my bereavement two days leave and then I’ll use all my off work days. And when I’ll be back I’d like you to move me to another station or at least another shift. I am not going to play happy family with all of you. No more, never more” and before he can say anything more the siren rings, alerting them of another emergency.
And Eddie is already on the stairs, ready for action.
.
.
In the truck he doesn’t listen, in the truck he just thinks. He thinks and rethinks about today, what will happen today and then tomorrow, and what will happen from tomorrow onwards.
When he’ll go to the hospital today, he will talk to him about his day, he will talk to him about today’s emergencies. He will tell him how that tutorial on youtube didn’t help him at all not to burn their toast this morning. He will describe the sunset and the drawings of the clouds in the sky. He will recommend him not to do anything stupid wherever he goes, and will hold his hand until he begins to understand how to do it, how to live without him, how to leave his hand.
A change of air, returning to El Paso could be another fresh start. But he doesn’t want a brand new start, he won’t get a brand new start from the pieces torn apart. Eddie wants to feel that pain and doesn’t want to forget it. Because a lot of love corresponds to the same pain, and even if more months have passed in that muddy limbo, of uncertainties and time that flows away from the fingers, rather than those they have actually spent together loving each other, with all their heart, with their whole bodies, with their whole minds, Evan will leave an unbridgeable void. But he needs someone, someone who will keep him afloat in the future, otherwise he will bring his son, his tiny ray of sunshine, down into his pitch black abyss.
.
It is a young couple, the one woven into the sheet-metal of a Saab. She who cries out in pain, the horrible awareness that he is not breathing on her.
She comes out intact, she, as Eddie got out unscathed that day. While he, whose life is hanging by a thread, quickly fizzles on the stretcher, before reaching the ambulance. And he protected her, he took all the shock when he noticed the other car, which was about to take them in full. And he played the hero like Buck and life, bastard, took him away, like is taking Evan away.
It’s almost the end of his shift when that phone call arrives. They just finished recovering their tools and got back on the truck, leaving behind the place of an accident where not only devastation hovers, but the vague memory, a tremendous understanding, an inalienable judgment. They haven’t done enough, they haven’t been there on time, they haven’t be enough, like that other day. Sorrow overshadow Eddie’s heart.
So, Eddie answers almost without thinking, without looking at the screen. And he hears someone sniffling, breathing heavily. “Daddy?”.
“Hey buddy, what’s going on? You never call me when I’m at work.” he hums, trying not to read as much in his kid’s voice, like his grief is only a shadow that walks with him today, more than any other day. “Chris? What’s going on, mijo?”.
“Daddy...” he repeats again and hears him sobbing.
And his heart becomes so small in his chest. “Chris, Chris? Let me talk to Maddie, alright, buddy?” he mumbles and glances at Bobby who is already facing him. And he does everything in his power to breathe slowly, he does everything he can not to panic.
“Eddie, Eddie you have to come here right away... Evan... collapsed...” says Maddie, breathless.
“What?”. Eddie doesn’t even hear himself saying it, he couldn’t be a judge of how painfully that sound rings in his ears.
“We were with him, inside and... suddenly the saturation dropped all together. They sent us out... Eddie I’m afraid that...” she starts to explain.
“Don’t say it” He blocks her. And he knows, he knows that if she says it out loud his heart will break into a thousand pieces, but then there is Christopher there and he still hasn’t explained anything to him, he hasn’t explained to him what will happen when they let him go. “Not in front of Christopher, not yet, okay? I’m coming, give me time, I’m coming,” he tells her and begins to silently pray for time. Time to see him one last time and hope one last time.
“What’s going on Eddie?” asks Bobby.
“Evan. He... I have to go to the hospital. The saturation dropped” he replies mechanically, trying to control himself, but in his head there is only that silent and boundless prayer.
He will be late, he knows it. It’s already late. The sun is setting and he is not ready. He wanted more time, he was still thinking about what to tell him, because he knows that Evan hears him, he knows that he can hear him. He could hear his voice. And now?
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Throughout the stretch of road, he continued to think, think and rethink. They will not see Christopher grow in the wonderful man he will be, they will not grey together bickering in the backyard, they will not look at the stars together, they will not see the sunset together. They will not have the good immense luck to marry, they will not love and fight, and reconcile. Take and get lost in each other. They have not had this immense luck, of being able to love each other for a long time, of being able to get used to the idea of not having a future together. Their nights together were a trickle, numbered, like the days they spent together, work a distant memory, pain and suffering, the continuous not being enough to save lives.
Eddie feels so drained when he gets there. When the noise of the hospital swallows his thoughts. And there is this storm that is swelling in his chest.
Buck was there when he started his new life, he was a constant. His presence has been a constant even when they have been far away, the need to have him in his life, in his daily life has broken a monotony, a schematic, pragmatic routine, forged by his mental state and his past. And there were little things, little big things in their days, little steps that became brighter and happier. The problem with people is that they often forget that it’s the little things that matter most, and Evan is the light, and the oxygen, he’s his way home, he is all the little big things that made his life better. And Eddie knows that he will have to go on, that his life must go on, anyway, grit his teeth and walk, proceed along the road of his life, even without having Evan next to him, without being able to reach out and hold his hand and find comfort, safety, anchoring. He has always been there in this new part of his life, and Eddie could now divide his life into a before and an after. In a before and after Buck. And his brief while has already come to an end. Their numbered nights. Their numbered days.
And it’s late, it’s late, it’s late. It’s so fucking late. Buck who was there even before he felt the need, Evan who has become an integral, crucial part of his life, and who will now leave an infinite void. Until his heart stops hurting. Because one day it will stop, and Eddie is afraid right now of when that day will come, when he will stop feeling this incredible void.
He knows the hospital by heart, and when he gets out of the truck his legs are going for him, his body moving autonomously, and his mind, his mind traveling fast towards that day, towards that day when he will thank goodness, and fear takes his heart. One person can’t disappear like this, Eddie can’t stop feeling that pain. He still misses Shannon, sometimes, so hard that it breaks his heart. He still misses the mother she could have become, the wonderful woman who did her best. Eventually over time all the mistakes disappear, all the quarrels, all the fights become little nothings and only the good things remain, and perhaps the therapy helped him a little. With Buck, with Evan he didn’t have the time to build those memories, yet his warmth in his life was so great, his colours so bright, his affection so essential.
Eddie walks past the chapel and looks at the cross and the candles that shine at the bottom on the altar from the small mosaic window. And prays, prays, to have some more time at least for the latest recommendations, to tell him how much he loves him, at least one last time. He won’t be able to demonstrate all that love to him, he won’t be able to operate that love, he won’t be able to give it voice.
And then he proceeds, walks quickly, steps heavy and knees that seem to tremble.
And when he arrives in the waiting room there is Christopher holding his book tightly against his chest and his head down and Maddie trying to calm him.
“I got here as fast as I could” murmurs Eddie, the turnout coat and the pants and braces that weigh him down now, all together.
“Daddy!” peeps Christopher throwing himself into his arms. “We have to wait for him some more, right? We wait for him?”.
Maddie takes a choked breath between her clenched teeth.
“Okay mijo, you and I need to talk about something, okay?” he babbles cupping his son’s face with his hand before hurrying to take off his coat and those heavy trousers, to remain with his station uniform, his thin blue trousers and his T-shirt. And then he looks over at Maddie, and smiles softly before turning his attention again to his kid. He kneels down in front of him, and takes a deep breath.
“But we fight with him, do─don’t we? We─We don’t stop fighting, do we? Because if we stop… he stops too,” Chris murmurs sobbing quietly, his eyes are reddened by tears.
And Eddie then leans over to him and takes his little face between his fingers and smiles softly, wrinkling his nose, before pulling him into a tight tight hug. “You know your Buck always fights, don’t you? But there is a time when we can no longer fight for him, and we can no longer ask him to fight.” he says softly. “He wants to do fight like Ironman now. Snap his fingers and save lives, but you know what this means...” he mumbles and is amazed at how simple it is to say it this way, an allegory. And he hears Christopher nod as he sniffles. “And you know that I would never want him to snap his fingers and decide for us, but...”.
Christopher nods and lowers his gaze, his shoulders trembling. “Like Iron -man? But if he snap his fingers...”.
“Look at me Christopher,” Eddie says softly and picks up his tiny face again between his fingers, and tries to stretch a smile, even if his eyes are burning and he feels like crying and would never want to do this speech. “It won’t erase him from our hearts, it’s normal to feel sad, he will always love us even if we stop fighting and let him be the hero. He will always be with us, like mommy, huh? And we will love him anyway even if he has decided to be a hero and snap his fingers, and to go away and save many other people if he does”. He adds swallowing a thick lump in his throat. “You know he is a hero and... and we would have loved him anyway that he was a superhero or a supervillain, because Buck is Buck”.
“But I... I haven’t finished reading the book to him,” Christopher adds with his trembling voice. “I pro─promised to read it to him, to finish it... few pages... only one chapter to go”.
And Eddie doesn’t know what to say, and just hugs him before looking at Maddie. And then move his gaze to something else, anything else.
And then he hears footsteps, a brisk, quick step. A nurse who enters the waiting room. “Family of an Evan Buckley?”.
And Eddie looks at Maddie and silently entrusts Christopher to her. “I’m going to talk to the doctor, okay? I’ll be right back, stay with aunt Maddie, the others are coming soon,” he adds before reaching the nurse.
And he pretends not to feel that emptiness, which falls upon him as soon as he lets go of his son.
The nurse walks quickly towards the panic doors of the ICU and hurries to say many things, she speaks all out of breath, but the only thing he can understand is that the doctor, the one whose name Eddie has never learned, but sounds in a strangely familiar way, wants to talk to him. And they pass in front of Evan’s little room and he is not there. And there is an attendant, who is arranging the bed and has already begun to detach all the photos and drawings from the wall, to place them in a box with his name and a number written in a black sharpie. And Eddie’s head is emptied of all possible thoughts and scenarios, of all words and sees the light fade away, and for a moment it is hard to remember the way Evan laughed, or the warmth of his hands, or the full body grasp of his hugs.
And a small void hollows out in his heart, and then all around it, he could swear to feel emptied, almost completely when he finally sees the doctor, who is at the door of a duty nurse office and is disinfecting his hands.
“Oh, Edmundo!” he says in this extremely friendly tone.
And Eddie remains motionless for a moment, and watches him and then the words reappear at the bottom of the throat. “We want to donate his organs, is it possible to donate his organs? I... I temporised… It’s my fault… I just wanted him to wake up but it’s not... it’s not possible anymore is it? So... please, please... his sister and I agree, if I have to sign something” he finds himself saying, his words a river in flood. “Let me sign, he... Evan would like to save lives, donate organs. If they are still good, if it is still possible”.
The doctor looks at him with wide eyes and seems to be evaluating his mental state. “No... it’s not possible to donate organs, Eddie,”.
And the world collapses on him. He didn’t get there on time. He also failed to honour Evan. Damn it! He just wanted to be an hero, Evan just wanted to save people, one last time, with all he had. “I’d like to see him then. Please I... I have to see him before you put it in the morgue and...”.
“Morgue? But Nurse Josie, what did she tell you?” the doctor babbles, his wrinkles that seem thinner now, less hollowed out, and when he smiles, it’s a smile that doesn’t have that scary taste of pity.
Eddie stops and looks at this old man’s calm face and then moves to look for the nurse who is no longer there. “He collapsed, didn’t he? He can’t go on like this, if he’s got worse, we are ready, we throw in the towel, we give up, we let him go. And I’m sure some organs will still be good,” he continues to say, and his breath shortens in the back of his throat and feels his heart racing and echo in his chest.
And the doctor approaches him and places a hand on his shoulder. “Eddie, breathe. Slow down, please. You definitely can collapse, now” he mumbles, smiling softly. “You should have got Madeline come here with you,” he says gently. “Would you like to sit down for a moment? So you can catch a breath”.
“I have to see him,” Eddie manages to say.
“And you will see it, sure, but now I have to talk to you because I have to tell you things and I have to explain them well and you must not be panicking, it will not do anyone any good if you panic” the doctor adds, with a kind tone and makes him approach a bench in the medication room, the one usually used to put shoe covers on.
“I saw that... I saw that they took his things out of the room. I saw that they have... a box of his things…” Eddie says shaking his head and closing his eyes.
“Eddie sit down,” he says, and Eddie executes the order like the good soldier he was in another life, in another before, before Buck, and only then does the doctor sit in front of him. “Breathe slowly, you can’t collapse, not now. I knew you didn’t want to follow the group therapies that are there to support families... but Madeline told me that you have your own therapist so... you all have your own therapist,” he adds.
“Has he collapsed? What have you done? Have you stabilized him? He... Evan doesn’t want to live on life support... we waited too long and I…” he mutters, standing up. “I must see him and you must... you really must─”.
“Okay you really have to listen to me” the doctor says stern, and Eddie just hushes, and lets his head drop.
The doctor waits for a moment, instructing him with calculated short breaths.
And when finally Eddie seems a bit more in control, he starts talking again. “He is breathing, Eddie. Independently. He breathes and opened his eyes. It wasn’t a collapse, he rejected the endotracheal tube,” he simply says. “It took us a while to do the first tranche of exams and tests, and he will have to do many more and a lot of therapy, physical and psychological, maybe a bit of logopaedic therapy, but... he breathes and is awake, not exactly alert, but he has opened his eyes and has is reacting good, really”.
“He breathes? Evan? Evan is… On his own?” Eddie repeats with a small voice and feels his knees give in, the adrenaline abandoning him completely, his breath breaks in his throat and it takes a moment for him to find his balance and remain standing straight, and he must reach out with his back the first wall available to support himself. “He breathes?”.
“Yes, we had noticed small reflexes, but in these cases, it is impossible to predict the chances of someone in a state of impaired consciousness improving. Some improve gradually, others stay in a state of impaired consciousness for years.” he begins to say .
Eddie looks at him incredulously. He must have hit his head, very hard, this is his first thought, or he is dreaming. “The other doctor said...”.
“I have my theory and I think Evan has heard of ending his life and is back to kick us in the ass, Eddie,” he replies, pursing his lips in an awkward smile.
“And he is awake, like now?” he asks slowly, he needs a lot more time to process all this informations.
“Recovering from coma is a gradual process, starting with the person opening eyes, and responding to pain and speech.” the doctor says, smiling softly “We are currently performing an MRI and a couple more exams. The length of a coma is the most accurate predictor of long-term symptoms. You know, right?” he adds with a murmur.
Eddie nods. “The longer the coma, the greater likelihood of residual symptoms” they repeated it like a mantra, so it’s like a mantra for Eddie and Maddie too. “You made it pretty clear”.
The doctor moves to grasp Eddie’s harm with his hand. “Glasgow scale 8, right now. He’s improving very fast. So we guess he wasn’t in that deep coma he seemed to be, the past few days at least. Or we could call it a miracle. Either way he is awake, now”.
“He is tough” Eddie says a little smirk on his lips, while his eyes are full of tears. “He is a survivor”.
“He surely is,” the doctor hums in agreement. “Okay, now, after the MRI they are going to move him in his new room, in our sub-intensive care unit. I’ll take you there, now”.
“Isn’t it a bit early, moving him around like that? In another unit, he could...” he starts to say, but then the doctor looks at him with this confident face.
“Eddie he is awake, very grumpy but, awake and breathing, and as his recovery proceeds like this, he’ll be up and kicking our ass in a blink of an eye. He can’t talk right now, due to the intubation, but he opens his eyes in response to voice, withdraws from painful stimuli. He can’t lift his hands as much as we hoped right now but does pull away when he is pinched. That makes him very grumpy, so I suggest you not to do it…” he adds. “And we are keeping an eye on him there, like a very close eye. I guess doctor Green wants to write an article about his miraculous recovery so, there are going to be at least three nurses and a lot of residents and interns around him monitoring him. And I guess he’ll get even grumpier”.
Eddie seems to be quite content with this answer. “Can I see him?”.
The doctor smiles softly. “Yeah, you may be a good support, as I said…”.
“He is a very cranky patient.” Eddie nods, his legs now tremble for the wait, for the excitement. He’s going to see him. No matter how big and scary his residual symptoms are, he is going to see him. He has more time, he has more time to live with him.
The doctor slowly accompanies him down the corridor, towards what they call a sub-intensive care unit.
Here the walls are brighter, the usual straw yellow but it seems freshly painted, and here and there is stained by large splashes of colour which are perhaps stylized flowers. But Eddie’s heart is in his throat and this time he doesn’t want to focus on the details. He doesn’t even read the room number, and he’ll have to do it later, when he calls Christopher and Maddie, because he’ll have to bring them back here, he’ll have to bring them to him.
There are doctors around the bed, and there is an almost sacred silence again. The heart monitor still marks time in its own way. But then he hears it, that sound, a sound strangled like a moan, and then a half-voiced, distressed rumbling.
“You will have to help him drink with a teaspoon, Evan has been extubated for about three hours now, and can’t ingest large quantities of water, but it could give him some relief.” he hears the doctor say before he approaches the other doctors around the bed. And he begins to speak in a gentle tone to Evan and he hears him inciting him with an almost fatherly attitude. “There is a surprise for you here, now I bring him closer and you try to open your eyes, huh? Do you understand Evan?” he then says and gestures to Eddie to come closer.
And it takes a moment for Eddie to notice that his legs are moving on their own accord, towards the bed and the doctor leaves him the space to get closer, and entrusts Evan’s hand in his.
And he does not even have time to start talking that he sees those tiny movements of his eyes under the eyelids. And when they tighten, his heart swells in his chest, waiting, eager.
It takes Evan a moment, his fingers twitching in Eddie’s hand. But then he opens slowly, painfully his eyes. And it’s a bright blue, the one that looks out of the slits, of his half-open eyes. He blinks slowly and Eddie draws a choked breath between his teeth.
And his legs give way to him and if there wasn’t that chair nearby, he would be kneeling near the bed, his face on the mattress and his shoulders trembling with his sobs.
And now yes, now yes that sobs come scratching his throat, now yes that he can lose control.
He doesn’t even notice that the doctor begins to push away all those other doctors, who now move like white shadows in the periphery of his field of vision, while Eddie drinks that blue sea, and then moves his gaze when Evan just tightens his grip of him, weakly yet so dearly. And then he sees the nasal respirator that serves to give him the right supply of oxygen without being too invasive, now that he breathes alone, and chapped lips and that little smile.
“Hey” is all Eddie manages to say and his voice is like a whisper.
And Evan just closes his eyes and stretches his smile a little wider, and moves his hand away from Eddie’s hovering over his forearm until he grasps the lateral head of his left bicep, and it is as if he is asking Eddie to move closer. When he reopens his eyes are full of tears and he looks so tired.
“Hey, I’m here, I’m here and you’re here. And you’re... you’re alive, you’ve been so good, you are… oh fuck Evan you are so good!” he says and makes him a smile brighter. “You really are a fighter, I’m so proud of you. You are amazing, you are… so fucking good”.
Evan tightens his grip on his arm and mumbles something, the sound is hoarse and deaf, but he has always been so good at communicating without having to speak. And Eddie barely looks at the doctor, who is still there by the door as if asking for permission and when he nods as if to say go ahead, Eddie approaches and bends down just to rest a kiss on the corner of Buck’s mouth.
And as soon as he hears Evan moan, gasping a sound that seems almost a whimper, Eddie moves away. And with a not so fluid and almost heavy gesture as if his hand weighed, Evan brings his free hand at the base of his trachea.
“Yes, I know. I know, mi amor. Your throat is very irritated, your vocal cords are sore, but it will take a blink of an eye to start talking again, I know” Eddie nods with the voice so gentle that almost terrifies him, and moves to rest his lips on Buck’s forehead, to reduce the space that divides them.
Evan groans softly.
“You don’t need words with me, huh? You know?” he adds as he straightens up on his seat and brings Buck’s hand to his mouth, then, to kiss the knuckles and the fingertips and the palm softly.
And Evan moves slowly to brush Eddie’s cheek, to wipe away that fugitive tear that has escaped from the tear ducts. And he seems to frown for a moment before muttering something again. And it sounds like don’t cry to Eddie’s ears.
“They are tears of joy. You are awake, you are finally awake.” he explains, the words that roll up on his tongue and he wouldn’t even know how they sound to his ears, as he is busy looking at him, so busy finally feeling him living. “Don’t do it again, mh? You know that I can’t live without you anymore” he adds, holding Evan’s hand in that position, supporting it with his own and reducing more the space between their faces, so as to ease his awkward caress.
And Evan’s fingers tremble on his cheekbone.
And now Eddie looks at him better and even though his eyes are bright and a little wet with unshed tears, and this big soft smile sparkles on his lips, he seems so immensely tired and battered and pale and thin. The respirator in his nostrils must bother him enough because he occasionally wrinkles his nose and closes an eye when he runs his tongue over his chapped lips. But he smiles, and looks at him and his fingers are warm, and the way he clings to Eddie, the way he caresses him, it’s all so reassuring.
Eddie can’t help but look at him with such satisfaction, with such affection, with so much fondness and pride. He is alive. And he struggled all by himself to stay there. And surely as soon as he knows, as soon as they tell him how they were giving up on him, he will kick them and get pissed enough. And honestly Eddie can’t wait to hear him grumble, to see him pissed off, to have to make up with him and kissing him better.
“Hey, you scared us so much, but now you’re here and... you know your sister is looking forward to seeing you and... Christopher, Christopher wants to see you and...” he continues to say and the words escape his throat with a strange sound, his voice trembling.
And Evan curls his eyebrows, and swallows hard and tries to open his mouth, tries to let out some sound, but the only thing that comes out is still that little dull sound, that whimper that looks like a cry.
And Eddie rediscovers himself with tears in his eyes, with shortness of breath at the bottom of his throat, with his breath broken by ugly sobs, and he didn’t believe he had more tears, or that he could cry more. But this is joy, a strange joy that falls upon him transcendent, such a great relief, such satisfaction. And his heart almost hurts in his chest, as he bends down once more to kiss him slowly. And Evan curls his station shirt between his fingers, as if to mimic a kind of hug, as if holding him tightly.
“It’s all right, sorry. Sorry... I was losing hope... but you... you... you are formidable that’s what you are, you are incredible and… fuck” he manages to say, his lips still on his skin, again at that corner of his mouth and then sliding on his lips. “And you know I’m not good at talking... I...”.
And he hears him make a vaguely strangled but unmistakable sound. It’s his laugh, although it doesn’t seem like a laugh at the moment, but that’s definitely a chuckle, pleased and mocking.
Eddie pulls himself up and collects his face in his hands . “Argh, you laugh huh?”.
Evan closes his eyes with some satisfaction and curls his lips in one of his wry smiles.
“You make fun of me, you’re terrible!” Eddie grumbles and still has tears in his eyes but he laughs and it seems an eternity that didn’t happen, that he didn’t laugh. “I have to go tell your sister you’re awake, I have to tell Christopher!” he says, and he already knows that Christopher will want to see him, but maybe it’s not the time yet, maybe Evan is too tired, but he asks him anyway. “Do you want to see Christopher?”.
And Evan lights up and moves his head very slowly in a tiny assent.
“So I’ll go now, huh? I’ll be right back, stay awake, will you? Did you understand? Don’t try anything, no funny business, Evan. You know I’m old and my heart doesn’t hold up this time.” he mutters bending over to give him another little kiss on the edge of his forehead before entrusting him to the doctor.
The doctor just smiles at him, in such a paternal way. And Eddie must definitely learn his name, at some point, months have passed and he still can’t associate his face with a name.
But it has other priorities now, definitely other priorities. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to call Maddie, can I get her here? With our son, he... he... can our son come here? Or is it too early? Surely Buck, Evan would like it...”.
“He definitely can,” the doctor says, smiling. “We continue with the last battery tests for now. And then I talk to the nurses, I guess you will stay here to keep him company in the next evenings,”.
Eddie nods vigorously, his eyes burning at the mere idea of having more time, more time to live with him. Time.
Before going, he takes another look at the bed. Evan still has his eyes open and still seems focused on him, and slowly waves his fingers as if to greet him. And Eddie feels the tears rise in his eyes as he waves back, what he does with Christopher, repeatedly closing his fingers of his right hand, before jumping into the corridor.
He repeats the road by heart and gradually his breath becomes shorter. He still has to carburate, he still has to understand, he still has to actually assimilate that information.
And every step he thinks and rethinks, that they were giving up on him, that they were letting him go, that they were throwing in the towel. And Evan who is so stubborn, tenacious, a fighter and has some pretty hard bark on him, has surprised them once again.
And his heart becomes small in his chest.
He wipes his tears again, which seem to not want to stop gushing, before reaching the waiting room.
“Eddie!” Maddie still has Christopher in her arms, and his son is still clutching the book to his chest.
“Hey!” he mumbles, sniffing, but smiling. And he bends down to reach for Christopher, without doing much if not spreading his arms and waiting for his kid to hug him.
“The others are coming soon, I also called your abuela and Josephina, and Carla... I don’t know how we want to organize this and...” Maddie starts to say.
Eddie holds Christopher tight against him and then reaches out to hug Maddie. “He hasn’t collapsed. It wasn’t a collapse. It scared us a lot but...” Eddie murmurs.
Maddie shakes her head. “Eddie he...”.
“He woke up, Maddie. He woke up... it wasn’t a collapse he just started breathing on his own... he is awake. A little confused and battered... and he doesn’t speak but... he moves, he is awake and opens his eyes and he recognized me and..." he continues to say and looks at Christopher who has not made a sound.
“Like Captain America,” Christopher murmurs with his eyes big and sparkly. “Can I see him?”.
“Of course, when I told him I was going to pick you up he was so happy!” he says and caresses his son’s face and takes the crutches with one arm but leaves everything else there, the rest of his gear, all there on that armchair in a waiting room.
And she hears Maddie sobbing.
“Come on, huh? We warn the others afterwards, he is having a bit of a hard time staying awake and... he is all grumpy...” Eddie continues to say.
And Maddie reaches out to take Christopher’s crutches and retrieves her bag and says nothing but wipe away the tears.
“Buck is always cranky when he’s sick,” says Chris, tightening his arms around Eddie’s neck.
“Oh, yeah, it’s true,” Maddie scoffs and sobs altogether, doing to retrieve Eddie’s things.
“Come on, don’t think about it, I don’t care about that stuff, we have other priorities." he says and stretches out to her his free hand.
And they set off down the corridor, all the energy he seemed to have lost is in every fibre of him again, now that he is rushing towards Evan’s new room.
.
Eddie stops a few steps from what he remembers to be Buck’s room, there is still that cloud of doctors who are in there to visit him.
“So he can’t really speak now, he does some sounds but…” he says to Christopher, but he says so for himself to remember. “It’s like when we have a sore throat and we make those weird sounds... he does something like that” he mutters. “But he understands everything, I told you he heard us, when we talked to him, do you remember it?” he waits for his son to nod before continuing, with a small fond smile. “I’m sure he heard you read and can’t wait to hear how the book ends”.
“Can I read it to him when─when he gets better?” Christopher asks, his eyes sparkling and a bright little smirk curving his lips.
“Sure! You can read this and many others to him, he knows that you have become super good at reading aloud!” adds Eddie and glances at Maddie.
And she takes another choked breath between her teeth. “Eddie I…”.
“Let’s not talk about it now.” he replies categorically. “Let’s go in. Then we organize the shifts, as always”.
And when they enter Buck is busy pushing this doctor’s hand with one foot, his bad leg flexed in this unnatural way and he seems really stressed by this situation, his tongue between his gritted teeth and his expression contracted. He grunts what appears to be a feeble smear and then relaxes completely in bed.
“Enough,” decides the doctor. “Enough for now, let’s continue later. There are visits for you.” he mumbles and gestures to the other doctors to go out, and moves near Eddie and Maddie “I spoke with the nurses, and we moved his things here, I’m sure we can paper the room with all the drawings of this young man, mh?” he adds, reaching out to caress Christopher’s back. “Don’t tire him, huh?” it’s his last recommendation before going out.
And Maddie hurries to release Eddie’s hand and reach for the bed. Leaving her bag and Chris’s crutches on near the box with his things, placed on a tiny table. “Hi!” she says, slowly, the breath that is louder than her voice and reaches out to gather Evan’s face and he seems so small, so thin now that Eddie looks at him with his eyes always veiled by an emotion, a great unnamed sentiment.
There are strangled sounds, those of Evan’s throat all parched and battered by the endotracheal tube.
Maddie sits on the bed and takes his hand and when he squeezes her slowly, and closes his eyes and smiles, a sob escapes her lips.
“He made us a surprise, right Maddie?” Eddie mumbles, deciding to stay there a moment longer and give the two of them that extra minute, that moment of intimacy.
But she looks up and reaches out to Eddie, and gestures for him to come closer. And when he enters Evan’s field of vision, Evan smiles and slowly extends his arm too.
“Bucky!” peeps Christopher.
“Hey now, slow okay? He is all battered, remember” Eddie warns softly, before bending over and placing her son on the bed.
And there was no need for that recommendation, because Chris slowly approaches his Bucky and reaches out only to gently caress his cheek. “It will be all right, kid.” he murmurs with a tiny fond smile.
And Buck gasps, and grasps Chris’s shirt to make him move closer and Christopher looks at Eddie with his wide, sparkling eyes, like asking for permission, as Eddie did with the doctor only a few minutes ago.
“Go ahead, kid” he says softly, and moves the chair to take a seat near the bed and support Christopher and hold Evan’s shoulder in his grasp.
So his son moves to snuggle in his Bucky side, leaning close but slowly, like Evan could break under his touch.
And Evan smiles, softly when all the three of them are around him touching him and he slowly closes his eyes.
“It will be all right,” Christopher reiterates looking at Eddie and Maddie with this big smile. “I told you daddy, that Buck is like Captain America”.
And Buck makes that sound again, what Eddie has understood by now that it’s a chuckle and he laughs too. “Oh you’re right, mijo. You always are, he’s a superhero”.
.
.
As always, stay safe and take care of you!
tagging @buckleystrand; @sparksfly-buddie; @chrrlees; @lieselfh; @themoonyloveenvy and whoever wants to be tagged!
#buddie fic#9 1 1 fic#evan buck buckley#eddie diaz#heavy angst#angst with happy ending#this isn't your happy ending yet but we are so near! really!#hurt/comfort#emotional hurt/comfort#established relationship#major character injury#lamalefixwrites#freaking long things#over 12k words#author.exe stopped working
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Pleeeeeaaaassssseeee!!!🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 May we get a continuation of Bumpy Ride?
Ask and you shall recieve! If you missed it the first time around, here’s a link! Part I
———————————————————————
Mulder hadn’t been this worked up in a vehicle since he was in high school. He knew with the utmost certainty that he was going to embarrass himself and was already silently writing an apology novel to Scully in his head. He was affected by her on a normal day basis, catching a whiff of her perfume or getting a glimpse of her upper thigh when she crossed her legs. This was too much, overwhelming in the most literal sense of the word.
He’d been so self-absorbed in containing his own response that he wasn’t fully registering hers until…
…she…oh my god.
There was no doubt in his mind what was happening on his lap right now, every quiver and tremble sent a message loud and clear.
Scully was having an orgasm from the stimulation of sitting on him.
This didn’t feel real. There was no way this could even be possible. Yet, he could feel it and he could see the way she was trying to hide her face and the way she was clutching onto her legs, as if she could will it away with a white knuckle grip.
“Holy shit,” he whispered, drawing her back onto him. Then she went rigid in a completely different sense. The shaking had subsided, but he could practically feel the fear creep into her body.
He was just about to ask if she was alright when her trembling hands reached out and unbuckled them, sliding off his lap and out of the van without another word. “She okay?” Frohike asked while they watched her run into the warehouse.
“Uh, yeah. I’m sure she just had to go to the restroom,” he lied, trying to catch a glimpse of her retreating form.
“This is the first time I ever thought Scully was similar to Julius Caesar,” Langley remarked off hand.
“Why do you say that?” Frohike asked.
“Because I’m pretty sure she just spent this car ride getting stabbed in the back repeatedly,” Langley laughed pointing at Mulder’s still painful erection.
The front row laughed while Mulder tried to hunch over and hide himself, and Byers just shook his head. “Hey, the fact she didn’t have to sit in a puddle blows my mind,” Frohike teased.
“Okay, okay, okay. Cheap shots,” Mulder defended. He was pretty sure Langley had another lame joke coming when they heard Scully calling from a few meters away.
“Hey! There’s a body in here!” she yelled, pointing behind her.
Wow. That was just so, painstakingly and irritatingly, them. Something monumental happens in their relationship and they’re cock blocked by an actual dead body.
Aside from Scully taking a long look at the front of his pants, which seemed to be calming down at a painfully slow rate, she seemed completely comfortable in pretending like that never happened.
She wouldn’t look him in the eye, and she was clearly avoiding him.
Every single time he started to make his way over to her, she’d all the sudden need to talk to a policeman or help the medical examiner look at the body or just generally replace herself on the other side of the room.
He was distracted from his mission to get a moment alone with her when he had to answer a few questions about why they were there to being with and who the three squirrly guys were. By the time he was done, he looked around and couldn’t find her.
“Has anyone seen Agent Scully?” he called out.
He received a few shaking head before someone said, “She rode back to Georgetown with another officer.”
Of course she did.
He couldn’t blame her. If he’d have come on her, like he was just a minute away from doing in the van, he’d probably have never been able to face her again. But this was Scully - the same Scully who prided herself on professionalism. He couldn’t even imagine the horror she felt at the fact she was brought to orgasm on his lap.
On the ride back, he came to the decision that if she wanted to pretend it never happened then he’d respect her wishes. That night, however, as he laid on his couch in his apartment, his thoughts kept going back to her; how she felt when she was that close to him, how she felt when she was trembling, how much he’d give his arm to have it happen again. He just felt guilty knowing that everytime he thought back fondly, she was no doubt thinking back with abject horror.
He had to go talk to her. He couldn’t just let her suffer and beat herself up. Those were the thoughts that permeated his mind as he slipped on his pants and grabbed his shoes. He just had to-
*knock* *knock* *knock*
-answer the door right now. He dropped his shoes on the ground and raced to the front door, swinging it open and revealing a haggard Dana Scully.
“Hi,” he greeted breathlessly.
“Mulder, I just came to apologize for earlier,” she rushed, barely waiting for the word to leave his mouth.
He gaped for something to say before stepping back and opening the door more, inviting her in, which thankfully she accepted. “W-what are you apologizing for?” he asked, shutting the door and leading them to the couch.
She plopped down on the couch before she narrowed her eyes at him and he felt her analyzing him in that way he usually found hot, but right now intimidated the holy hell out of him. “W-why do you think I’m sorry?” she asked slowly.
Mulder realized she was taking this as a possible out, that if he didn’t know what happened that she could truly bury it into oblivion. Part of him considered giving her this out and just pretending that he hadn’t felt her rock his world earlier. But, he was a man who lived for the truth.
“Oh, um. Are you talking about when you had an-”
He didn’t have a chance to finish he sentence before she hid her face in her hands. “Oh my god. This is so embarrassing. I shouldn’t have come-here, that is. Oh my god.”
“No, no, no, Scully,” he murmured, taking a step towards her.
“What did you feel?” she asked, lowering her hands and revealing her glassy eyes.
“W-what did I feel?” he stammered. She nodded as a response and he gulped nervously. “I just felt you um-tremble. I swear that’s it.”
Her face was red, but she was actually looking at him now, small steps. “I was just over stimulated,” she stated plainly in defence of an accusation he’d never said. “It was my body’s physiological response to-”
“Scully, trust me. You felt my body reacting to the same thing,” he offered. She didn’t respond and he started to feel self-conscious. “I mean…you felt it. Right?”
She let out a little half-chuckle and affirmed, “Yes, Mulder. I felt it.”
“I understand why you might be embarrassed. I am too-”
“But you didn’t come Mulder,” she interrupted. “You were able to hold it in! I came all over you like a horny teenager!”
He felt his soft cock stiffen at her words and it was just an attestment to what he was about to say. “Scully, I’ve had plenty of practice over the last couple years. Trust me, it wasn’t easy,” he laughed.
He saw her ears perk up before he could even register his mistake. “Last couple years?” she repeated softly.
Fuck. If he hadn’t said that, she would have just guessed he meant in his youth. He exhaled nervously and ran his hand over his neck anxiously. “Well,” another nervous laugh, “you know,” he stated lamely.
She wasn’t letting up and fixed him with an intense stare. “No, I don’t.”
This was it. Scully was going to leave him. There was no getting out of this, so he may as well be honest and hope her moment of accidental perversion will be forgotten amid his entire life of it. “Scully, you’re a very beautiful woman,” he stated as if that was answer enough.
She blushed, but both her eyebrows raised in that way that asked ‘and’ without her mouth even having to open. “Sometimes, I just react to you.”
“React to me?” Apparently Scully’s newest method of interrogation was simply repeating your own words back to you and making you feel like you’re speaking a foreign language and need to try again.
“I’m very attracted to you, Scully,” he admitted, watching her mouth part in surprise as she digested his words. “Not just physically, but, god,” he exhaled, rubbing his hands over his face. “Everything about you. I never planned on telling you this because I don’t want you to think for a second it’s your weird male co-worker lusting after you, which, maybe in part it is, but it’s more than that. Ugh,” he was rambling and admitting too much and she was just sitting there in shock, surely about to storm off and leave any given second.
“I have a feeling I’ve already put my foot far enough in my mouth, but if we’re being honest and if it’ll make you feel better about what happened earlier, here it is: I have gotten more erections from you over the years that I wouldn’t even be able to count. I couldn’t even count how many times I’ve gotten them this month.” He hoped she was so distracted that she didn’t realize it was only the sixth. “You don’t even have to be doing anything. I could just get so much as a whiff of your perfume and get hard. So yeah, I’ve had plenty of experience trying to reign myself in.”
Her entire face was red and he knew he was embarrassing her, but for some reason he couldn’t stop himself. “If you had been on top of me any longer, I promise you would have left with a wet spot on your back. It wasn’t just a sensory overload - it was a you overload.”
“I lied,” she whispered, biting her lip between her teeth and staring at him, surprisingly still on the couch and not halfway out of his apartment as expected.
“Lied about what?” He knew what a real female orgasm felt like and that was definitely it.
“It wasn’t just physiological,” she murmured, making his heart stop.
“What?” he asked slowly, not wanting to jump to conclusions out of hope.
“I…react to you similarly,” she admitted, quietly, fingering a frayed edge of his couch.
He felt a ringing in his ears, like all the blood had rushed to both the heads of his body and he felt dizzy. Surely she didn’t just admit what it sounded like. “W-what?”
“Mulder,” she whined in irritation.
“I’m sorry. I’m just-shocked,” he shrugged. He turned Scully on? He felt his crotch stirring at the mere thought of her thinking of him in that way.
“How?” she asked. “You’re a very attractive man, and we’re very close. It would only make sense that, um, we would be drawn to each other in that way,” she elaborated.
“I turn you on?” Mulder balked.
“Yes, Mulder. God. Do I have to spell it out for you? Yes. You arouse me. I came in the car because of you, not because of the situation,” she proclaimed, her face matching her hair.
And that was it. With those words his erection had turned from moderate to full-blown. It was painstakingly obvious and was tenting his pants painfully. He leaned in a bit in the hopes that it would slightly conceal it from him. “I feel like I’m dreaming,” he admitted shyly, laughing breathily.
She smiled at him sweetly before letting her gaze cast downwards. He gasped when she put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him to lean against the back of the couch, letting his erection strain painfully for her to see in its full glory. “So,” she started, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “That’s because of me?” she asked softly.
“Always,” he affirmed.
She looked at it unabashedly and then licked her lips, making his cock twitch noticeably, much to her apparent pleasure. He noticed her fidgeting a bit before she murmured something. “What was that?” he asked.
“Can I touch it?” she whispered, her eyes focusing on his to gauge his reaction.
She probably saw shock mixed with fervent desire. He wasn’t sure if he was alive or if she shot him earlier and he entered an alternate timeline, but, to be honest, he didn’t care. This was without a doubt one of the best moments of his life - just following “I’m Dana Scully. I’ve been assigned to work with you”, “the cancer’s in remission”, and “no, it didn’t.” His mouth felt incredibly dry, and he didn’t want to say anything that might fuck this up, so he just nodded.
He felt his breath hitch as she scooted closer to him, close enough that her knee was touching his leg. While she focused on the front of his pants, he focused on her face. He watched the way her eyelashes flitted against her cheeks and how her lip was raw from her teeth’s attention. She was beautiful, and the only thing that tore his gaze away from her was his eyes closing involuntarily when he felt her hand, ever so lightly graze across his lap.
He forced his eyes open and looked down to see her hand nervously resting on his upper thigh. Almost as if she was waiting for him to look, she slowly inched towards the bulge, extending her index finger out so she could slowly trace the outline of his penis inch by inch.
“Fuck,” he whispered with a shuddered breath, resisting the urge to buck up into her hand.
She licked her lips and extended her hand, palming him gently as she watched his face contort into pure ecstacy. “Oh my god.”
She kept doing that for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only two minutes, slowly stroking him with her thumb as her hand rubbed up and down his shaft. He was pulled back to reality by the sound of his pants unbuttoning as her fingers clasped his zipper. “M-may I?”
Another nod, followed by a gasp as she pivoted her body so that she was on her knees on the floor in between his legs, resting her elbows on his thighs. He couldn’t believe his eyes and if it wasn’t for his intense desire to see what she did next, he probably could have come from the sight alone. She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear again before grabbing his belt and undoing it, using her full strength to whip it off and throw it to the side. The she resumed her position and went back to the zipper she’d grabbed before, only this time dragging it down slowly, the sound like a scream in the otherwise silent apartment.
She leaned a bit closer, close enough for her breasts to touch his thighs and he felt like he could faint from anticipation. She looked up at him and he hoped to god he didn’t look half as desperate as he felt in this moment. Luckily, whatever she saw must’ve been encouraging, because her dainty fingers hooked under the opening of his boxers and brought his erection out into the open air, right in front of her face.
She took him firmly in her hand, gauging how her fingers barely met around his girth as she rotated her wrist. She seemed fixated on how his foreskin shifted with each upward stroke and partially covered his head until it was tugged away by a down stroke. She continued playing with him like this until he was so erect, the foreskin was too taut to move.
Focusing on something new, she let her thumb collect some of the precum that had gathered at his tip and spread it around before bringing her fingers back to her lips and licking them clean. “Fuck, Scully,” he whimpered. That was, without a doubt, one of the hottest things he’d ever witnessed.
Her hand returned without pause, but she lifted herself higher on her knees, no longer sitting on her thighs just observing. She looked at him with dilated eyes as if to ask for permission again, then, without a doubt having received permission, she lowered her head, stuck her tongue out, and licked him from root to tip. He gasped and resisted the urge to let his head fall back. He had to see this.
Scully let her tongue circle around his tip before plunging his cock into her mouth without hesitation. He moaned loudly and his hips twitched. He felt her hum against him and he realized she was laughing at his eagerness. He didn’t know what she was doing, but fuck it felt good. The flat of her tongue was moving against him with every bob of her head as her hand cradled his scrotum.
This was Scully. Scully’s lips were wrapped around him right now. He was throat deep in his gorgeous, brilliant partner. He wanted to cry from happiness. She must’ve felt the telltale signs of his balls tightening, because she let her head up with an audible “pop” as she used her fingers to squeeze the base of his shaft, stopping his orgasm immediately.
Her face was flushed, her lips swollen, and her eyes watery from giving the world’s best blowjob. She looked gorgeous. Instinctively, he grabbed her face and pulled her towards him as he leaned in, crashing their lips together in a passionate frenzy. He could taste himself on her as his tongue darted out to lap as her lip. He realized the ridiculousness of the fact she’d blown him before they’d even had their first, proper kiss, but they never did anything conventionally so why start now.
Her breathing was ragged against his cheek as he wrapped his arms around her and pushed her closer to him, mashing her breasts against his chest as he kneaded her ass. “Mmpph, Mulder,” she moaned into his mouth, breaking the kiss.
“Scully, you feel so good,” he groaned, nuzzling her cheek.
“Wait, let me take off my clothes,” she panted. Immediately he let go, not wanting to stop her from that specific task and quickly worked on discarding his own crumpled attire.
“Oh my god,” he groaned as her perky breasts bounced on her chest from the force of her whipping her bra off over her head instead of taking the time to unclasp it. She was just as excited as him.
He was naked in time to watch as she slid her underwear down her legs, leaving her completely nude in front of him. His eyes must’ve been bulging out of his head because she giggled sweetly. “Scully, you’re breathtaking.”
“You’re pretty beautiful yourself,” she murmured, hiking one leg over each of his thighs, making his heart start beating erratically.
“Wait, Scully. Did you want me to reciprocate before-?” he asked. Each answer was honestly a win win for him, he just wanted to make sure she was comfortable.
“Thank you, Mulder, but-” she took his hand from her hip and guided it to the apex of her thighs, parting her auburn-covered folds and letting him feel her velvety, smooth warmth.
She was absolutely fucking soaking wet.
“Do you feel that Mulder? That’s what I’ve been trying to hide. You do that to me so often. I’m tired of waiting,” she whispered.
He moved his hand, swirling around her hardened clit which made her whole body twitch in response as she sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. “Please,” she cried out.
Not wanting to torture either of them any longer, he lined up his head with her opening and watched as she sank down on top of him. They stayed like that for a moment and just stared at each other. “Wow,” she whispered, laughing lightly.
“You feel incredible,” he moaned, rocking slightly despite his attempts to sit still.
“Fuck,” she groaned, rocking her hips in response and encouraging him to buck back into her.
Her skin was lit by the dim glow of his shitty lamp, but god she looked like heaven and felt even better. She kept a steady pace on top of him as he leaned forward and captured a pert nipple in his mouth, making her squirm and pick up the pace. “Oh, Mulder,” she whimpered. Hearing his name said in that intonation in her voice was like audible sex.
He felt something shift by the side of his face and he turned to see it was her hand reaching down to - fuck.
She was touching herself. While riding him.
He watched in rapture as her middle and ring finger curved to circle her clit in purposeful strokes, making an erratic pattern of speed and pressure. He looked back to her face and watched as her brow furrowed in pleasure, her mouth open as she took staggered breaths. “H-harder,” she stammered.
Her wish was his command, so he wrapped his arms around her and effortlessly moved them so she was on her back as he picked up the pace from his position on top of her. He lowered himself a little bit so that with every thrust, her hand became trapped between his pubic bone and hers, grinding her fingers even harder against herself. “Yes,” she whispered, her eyes almost fluttering shut from the sensations, but she managed to keep them open. She wanted to see this as much as he did.
“Scully,” he praised, simply overcome with the pleasure of being inside her after years of dreaming about it. In response, she hiked her legs up so that her calves were resting against his sides, letting him plunge even deeper. “Fuck,” he groaned.
He picked up the pace and she gasped loudly, her brow furrowing once more as he felt her hand pick up the pace in between them. “That’s it, Mulder. Right there please don’t stop please don’tstop pleasedon’tstop” she demanded.
As if he could. He kept up, stroke for stroke, angling his hips to hit the spot that made her twitch against him. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growled, noticing how her dainty gold chain was intermingling with drops of sweat gathering at the hollow of her throat.
“OhmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodMULDER,” she cried as her entire body trembled and quaked, much like it had earlier. Except this time he allowed himself to follow suit, crying her name as he buried himself inside her and let go, expanding and releasing in a white hot blaze.
He kept rocking against her, pushing her hips into the couch cushion as they rode out their orgasms. As her shaking subsided into small twitches, he littered her face with kisses and words of affirmation. Eventually, she regained her senses and started smiling lethargically, puckering her lips against his skin in response to every sentiment.
“Hey Scully,” he prompted in a whisper.
“Hmm?”
“I hope you never feel the need to apologize for coming again,” he teased
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Do you think Ogata is a sociopath?
Sorry for the late reply. Sadly this is an extremely busy working period for me.
Anyway…
is Ogata fitting sociopath trope?
It’s a really interesting question and also, if I’m not wrong, a hot topic for the fandom so I’ll try to answer it the best I can.
I’ll use as reference for the Sociopath trope tvtropes because it’s good enough to analyze a character of a litterary work.
So, for this trope, we’re given 5 defining qualities (I’ll copy the words of tvtrope below so people don’t have to go back and forth to check it).
1) Lack of Empathy and Devoid of Conscience: Their defining feature. Utterly ruthless doesn't begin to describe them: except for when trying to appear normal, they will disregard any social norms and semblance of morality in pursuit of their own selfish desires. The Sociopath will do whatever it takes: lie, cheat, steal, extort, manipulate, or use outright violence without the slightest hesitation, disgust or remorse, and for as little as Pleasure or The Evulz. Murder and violence have no more emotional weight than eating Chinese takeout or some other mundane activity, and they have no concern for the direct or collateral damage they do to other people, being unable to understand why anyone should. Likewise, they never truly understand the feelings of others on anything more than an intellectual level, and may even believe that everybody else is faking it too. As many Real Life criminal psychologists put it: "They know the words but not the music." Techniques for learning moral behaviour, such as reason, therapy, rehabilitation and behavioral reward/punishment, will not work on them or tend to only make their behavior even worse by making it easier for them to fake it. This is why the only thing resembling consistently successful treatment involves teaching them to avoid behaviors that have predictable consequences; they may still believe that consequences are bullshit, but if they have been made sufficiently aware of the fact that their behavior will always end up with them in jail, getting sued, or simply just getting jumped or killed when they fuck with the wrong people, and that they can't lie and fake their way out of it because people are wise to their game, they will usually shape up.
Noda actually debunk this in Ogata’s second apparition and it’s THE DEFINING FEATURE of the trope.
Not only he has Ogata decide they won’t kill Tanigaki in Huci’s house because Huci reminds him of his grandmother, whom he loved and therefore he doesn’t want to kill her (chap 43),
but he also have him to save Nikaido (Chap 45)
eventhough Ogata is sure it’s a trap (Chap 45).
In case people hadn’t gotten the message well Noda remarks his meetingwith Huci left an impression by having him remember her when Tanigaki mentionedher (chap 110)
making him consequently offer to help Tanigaki (yeah the way hewent at it was horrible) and in other small instances (like how although hedoesn’t believe in dreams he tells Asirpa he should write her instead than justsaying he should ignore her for being senile and naïve (chap 113)).
He also remarks that Ogata knew a wounded Nikaido would be a liability byshowing how one of the war techniques Ogata learnt in war was to woundopponents instead than killing them (chap 46)…
and underlines this again in thefight with Vasily, where not only it’s explained again how wounding opponentsis a technique used to damage enemies (Chap 162)...
but Ogata also comments on how Vasilywon’t expose himself for his companions as he evidently would be comfortablehearing their screams of pain through all the night (chap 162)...
which was what Ogata should have done instead than saving Nikaido.
We’ve other instances in which Ogata showed he’s not utterly ruthless,like when he saves Shinpei instead than letting his father kill him and onlyafterward killing the man (chap 59).
We’ve him claiming he doesn’t feel guilt for the people he kills and yethe hallucinates and is clearly haunted by the memory of his brother, whom hekilled (chap 164/165).
More recently instead we’ve the scene in which he comfort Koito (chap199)
...or the fact once he was left alone with Koito he didn’t harm him in retaliation for slamming his head against his nose but just tied him (Chap 200).
Noda likely created those settings exactly to debunk the defining feature of thetrope, so we won’t get the wrong impression about Ogata.
2) Consummate Liar and Manipulator: In the event they are ever targets of suspicion in crime dramas and thrillers, sociopaths are able to fool any Living Lie Detectors in the cast, pass polygraphs effortlessly, and fool even you, the audience, into believing they are genuinely kind and caring people who are victims of a "big misunderstanding" (assuming they are not so smugly confident of their own invincibility that they feel no need to hide their unsavory personality). Moreover, despite their lack of empathy, sociopaths are capable of using their knowledge of others' desires, emotions and insecurities to manipulate them for their own personal gain. Because of this, many of them are Faux Affably Evil. This is related to their lack of empathy and shame - they don't feel the slightest discomfort about lying or exploiting others, so they do so with the same ease in which normal people perform mundane activities. This is why you should always assume that any apparent epiphany from a sociopath is bullshit; as far as they're concerned, it's just another tool to get what they want, and they don't actually believe that they have done anything wrong. Don't let them know that they are full of shit, because it will just force them to become more slick, but do act with the knowledge that they will go right back to their old ways the minute that they think it is safe to do so.
Yeah, Ogata lies in Golden Kamuy. All the cast does, even Asirpa.
But the idea here is he has to be a consummate one, a GOOD one, a masterful one, not just a guy who here and there lies. He has to be so good at lying he can manipulate others though his lies.
And Ogata fails at lying. Noda debunks this as well in Ogata’s second apparition when he tells Tanigaki that he was joking when he said Tanigaki might have killed Tamai and Co and Tanigaki is free to remain in Huci’s house because Ogata will act as if he had never seen Tanigaki (Chap 43).
Tanigaki is so sure Ogata is being sincere he thinks he has to leave AS SOON AS POSSIBLE (Chap 43).
And I’ve spent lot of time discussing how his lie about Sugimoto’s final moments was a complete and utter mess, the clear sign the most Ogata can do are extremely simple lies because as soon as he tries to make up a story that’s as unbelievable as possible.
Ogata can be a good strategist during a battle.
We see it in the Barato arc, also in the sniper duel and, if we want, also in his recent escape. However he’s clearly not good at manipulating people in interactions.
He can’t win over their trust, which is a big requisite to manipulate people as he’s almost universally distrusted, we see it not only with Tanigaki, who simply didn’t buy his lie nor spilled the truth about Sugimoto’s involvement but also with Sugimoto himself, who’ll be more prone to trust Kiro or Hijikata, who’ll both betray him to try to get Asirpa, and even Tsurumi than Ogata even when it’ll be really obvious Ogata is actually right (remember the fake Ainu arc?), with Yuusaku, who won’t spend time with whose women nor kill a man, with Asirpa, who won’t give him the code and honestly, I’m not even sure his attempt at hinting Tsurumi’s involvement in Koito’s kidnapping will be something Koito will understand.
In order to be a manipulator is not enough to attempt to manipulate, you’ve to do so successfully. And Ogata fails at this.
3) Pathological Need for Stimulation: The Sociopath's raison d'etre (i.e.: an overriding goal which serves as one's "reason for existence"). Due to their inability to empathize or even care for those around them, sociopaths largely view their existence as boring or meaningless and therefore feel compelled to engage in "thrill-seeking" activities to alleviate their restlessness. How this manifests depends largely on the sociopath's personality. It can be as relatively benign as binging on video games, compulsively gambling, or leading highly promiscuous lifestyles. Far more dangerous examples are prone to satiate their lust for thrills by partaking in criminal enterprises, becoming serial rapists and/or killers, or (if they are unusually high-functioning) accumulating vast wealth and/or influence for the sole purpose of dominating as many people as they can for their own amusement. Due to their obsession with indulging their insatiable appetites however they want whenever they want, sociopaths have a very low tolerance for inconvenience or irritation which in turn leads them to have a pronounced lack of impulse control. Because of this, many of them are Ax-Crazy, have a Hair-Trigger Temper, and/or are Mood Swingers.
That’s hard to say.
So far Ogata never stated to find existence boring without action. Sure, he’s engaged in a very risky hunt and he’s rather reckless but does he has a pathological need for this or, like the rest of the cast, he’s just thinking this is the price to pay to reach his goal? He’s in this for the fun of it or he has a different purpose? Until we don’t know Ogata’s goal we can speculate as much as we want but we can hardly say for sure.
What we know is Ogata has a very good impulse control, that he’s usually very cold and even in the few circumstances we’ve seen him angry or in a tight spot he hardly lost it.
4) Shallow Affect and Complete Lack of Emotional Reciprocity: A Sociopath is physiologically incapable of experiencing a deep emotional attachment towards others but - being a Consummate Liar - learns early in life how to fake them. This shallow emotional life means that the Sociopath is unable to form sincere long-term relationships with anything or anyone, but will feign feelings of love and affection if they feel it serves their purposes. Most of the true feelings a sociopath harbors towards others, positive or negative, are rooted in an insatiable desire to dominate or control them. While narcissists desire to be loved or at least respected, sociopaths don't care whether others view them positively as long as they don't stand in the way of their own self-centered gratification. In the rare event that a Sociopath actually does form an "attachment" to another person, it rises no further than that between an owner and a possession and/or a valuable resource for advancing their goals. Thus, once such "friends" cease to be useful or entertaining, they will abandon them or, in some cases, even kill them without any hesitation or regret. Any emotional reaction to having committed a heinous act is met indifference at best and glee at worst.
Technically debunked again in Ogata’s second apparition.
As said before not only Ogata declared he had feelings for his grandmother but even went out of his way to spare Huci because it reminded him of her.
But I know this is viewed in a rather controversial manner.
In fact so far we hadn’t seen him developing a deep emotional attachment toward others as he remained a loner.
The fandom though was very impressed by two things.
One is his relationship with Yuusaku. It’s worth to note that Noda made very clear that Ogata wanted to avoid Yuusaku and not have a relationship with him at all (chap 164),
...and it was on Tsurumi’s request he ended up on having to try to deceive him and get them what they wanted. It’s also meaningful how Ogata never played the whole thing on the affection side. The most he did was to point out he and Yuusaku were brothers so they should get to mischief together, but he never tried to use feelings into the play, he insisted in calling Yuusaku ‘Yuusaku-dono’ and he never asked Yuusaku to do something because Ogata loved him or out of the love Yuusaku should feel for him.
Ogata is clearly not faking any affection for Yuusaku, he’s at most giving him some of his time. Yuusaku, who has already decided Ogata has to be delighted to have a little brother even when Ogata clearly hinted the contrary, might not see it but this speaks more of Yuusaku’s obsession to get Ogata to be his big brother than about Ogata’s attempt at faking feelings he didn’t felt.
The other thing the fandom likes to talk about is Ogata’s relationship with Asirpa.
That one is a rather controversial topic.
Asirpa is friendly with Ogata. Nothing over the top, she just deal with him with the same kindness she would deal with everyone else (actually she’s kinder with Tanigaki considering the guy threatened her and tried to use her as human shield and she completely forgave him that and saved his life. Twice).
Ogata’s interactions with her, for most of the story, are not responding to it at all.
He’s not faking affection, he’s just mostly not interacting and keeping on his own.
It takes him months to say ‘citatap’ as she repeatedly asked him and call Asirpa by name. It’ll take him even more to say ‘hinna’.
Asirpa decides to remain friendly with him. That’s Asirpa’s decision, it’s not Ogata’s actions, or more exactly his lack of actions that cause Asirpa to remain friend with him.
And Asirpa is clearly not the type who needs to be rejected to latch to someone as we see she’s just fine with being friend with Sugimoto, Shiraishi, Kiroranke, Tanigaki and others, who aren’t keeping distant, nor she’s so starved for affection just a word would win her over.
Even when he will try to get her to give him the code he won’t try to play it on the ‘if you care for me/trust me give me the code’ or on the ‘I care for you so I’m telling you what would be best for you’.
Really, to assume Ogata was faking affection with her would require accepting he can’t fake it to save his life.
5) Grandiose Sense of Self-Worth: The trait that ties it all together - the one that changes it from moustache-twirling evil into a mental disorder. Sociopaths will go so far as to convince themselves that they have succeeded in their plan, even as failure stares them in the face and snaps on the handcuffs. They genuinely believe it. They don't really care what others truly think on the matter, but they do care about what they say, and like to fill their social circle with people who say what they want to hear. Any others - even former 'friends' - will be dismissed from the sociopath's social circle simply for doubting them. They consider themselves better than anybody else and that they are entitled to special treatment - and they can't stand anybody being considered better than them. However, while the Narcissist is self-conscious of how they measure up to others' standards (and therefore will experience shame or guilt for failing them), a sociopath's grandiosity is all-encompassing to the point they have no concern how their actions reflect upon them UNLESS it threatens their ability to indulge their appetite for further stimulation. They are incapable of acknowledging personal responsibility for failure, and will always blame others, no matter how irrational it is. In fact, it's considerably difficult convincing them that the activity they have partaken in has even failed. This is all part of why a sociopath can't change - since they consider themselves to already be perfect, and refuse to acknowledge failure on their part, and consider the true opinions and feelings of others insignificant, they never try to improve themselves.
Honestly I wouldn’t say Ogata has a grandiose sense of self worth.
Sure, he knows he’s an amazing sniper and he occasionally brags about it.
Everyone does know Ogata is amazing at sniping. This is, after all, a fact that’s accepted by the whole cast and that’s actually proved more than once, after all Ogata fits the trope of improbable aiming skills with his impressive feats of shooting two deer at once or managing to catch three woodcocks with a less suitable rifle, exterminating a reindeer herd on his own or hitting targets with an impossible precision from an amazing distance.
Ushiyama too comments on how he’s Ushiyama, the Undefeated, even if he lost to Gansoku here and there when they only used fists (Chap 143).
Just bragging a little on a real skill isn’t a sign of grandiose sense of self-worth, just of rightful pride for it. Yeah, modesty is an important virtue but you don’t turn into a sociopath if you’re proud of what you can do.
What’s more noteworthy though is he knows he’s a rejected kid, anunwanted one, who wasn’t loved and that feels he lacked something fundamental. He’s aware of how, being an illegitimate, his existence was a source of shame for his father. He comments on how he knew he wouldn’t be able to persuade Asirpa, admitting his failure. He admits his responsibility in his actions.
Therefore I can’t really see him as a guy with a grandiose sense of self worth.
And so with this, we’ve finished with the defining traits for this trope.
Tvtropes also says:
Many of these traits are shared with other disorders, but it's the combination of them all that creates the trueSociopath.
In short you need them all to have a character that fits this TROPE (please, remember, this is a TROPE, the real personality disorder that goes with the same name is not something an ordinary person can find out in real people with this checklist, no, not even if, like me, they studied psychology in high school, this is a list for a TROPE as this is a fictional work).
As a result honestly I can’t see Ogata fitting into them because, for the first 2, Noda actually did his best to remark howthey don’t fit to Ogata from his second apparition, for the 3rd we can’t really say as we lack material, I’ll let the 4th up to debate and honestly, I don’t see him matching with the 5th.
As a trope Ogata fits the cold sniper with improbable aiming skills and an ambiguous disorder (at least for now... who knows, in the future Noda might tell us).
The one of the sociopath isn’t really cut on him.
It doesn’t mean Ogata is a good person, or that he only does good things, it’s clear he does a BIG DEAL OF TERRIBLY WRONG THINGS and we know sociopaths can do this sort of wrong things.
However Noda apparently wasn’t interested in making Ogata a sociopath or otherwise he wouldn’t have written scenes debunking a sociopath’s main characteristics and, believe it or not, in real life you don’t need to be a sociopath to do the sort of wrong things Ogata does so it’s not like Noda is being unrealistic.
Sorry to whoever wanted him to be one, I know each fandom loves to have its own memetic psychopath but as they’re not my cup of tea I fear I won’t partake into the ‘fun’ of turning Ogata into one.
Thank you for your ask!
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Fibromyalgia Masterpost
As someone who has struggled with severe chronic and pain fatigue for over a decade and have recently been diagnosed with Fibromyalgia - I have decided to research my condition amd educate myself on my symptoms.
Fibromyalgia, also called fibromyalgia syndrome (FMS), is a long-term condition that causes pain all over the body. As well as widespread pain, people with fibromyalgia may also have: increased sensitivity to pain. fatigue (extreme tiredness) muscle stiffness.
Through my own research i have learned that many difficulties i have are directly linked to Fibromyalgia. There are over 200+ symptoms and while not everyone will expereince all of them, we experience our own combonation of debilitating symptoms.
With anything, education is key.
If you have fibromyalgia, have a family member or friend with the condition or would like to be more educated on the condition this post can help.
Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional and do not claim to know everything about fibromyalgia. This post will not list everything so i urge you to do your own research. And if you have any of these symptoms, go to your doctor!
Symptoms (most common)
All over pain is the most common symptom of fibromyalgia but the syndrome causes many others. Extreme fatigue , trouble sleeping and feeling stiff and achy. Your ability to think and make decisions can be affected (this is known as fibro-fog).
As well as widespread pain, your muscles can be very tight and knotted. They can be painful to touch and they radiate pain to other areas - these firm knots are myofascial trigger points. (These knots are commonly used to diagnose fibromyalgia in a physical pressure point exam)
Other Symptoms
Cold feet and hands
Feeling cold often/feeling hot often
Heart palpitations
Craving carbohydrates
Symptoms worsened by temperature changes
Unexplained weight gain or loss
Joint pain
Feeling spaced out
Restless Leg Syndrome
Noise intolerance
Scalp Pain (like hair being pulled out)
Sensation that you might faint/ Syncope (fainting)
Tinnitus (ringing in one or both ears)
Photophobia (sensitivity to light)
“Growing” pains that don’t go away once you are done growing
Transposition (reversal) of numbers, words and/or letters when you speak
Difficulty with long-term memory/and short-term momory
Difficulty following conversation (especially if background noise present)
Difficulty expressing ideas in words
Blind spots in vision
Eye pain
Excessive sleeping
Difficulty falling asleep/ Difficulty staying asleep
Difficulty balancing
Vivid or disturbing dreams/nightmares
Sensitivity to the sun
Bruising easily
Sensory overload
Allodynia (hypersensitive to touch)
Menstrual problems
Suicidal thoughts
Irritability
Abrupt and/or unpredictable mood swings
Frequent crying
Diagnosis, Medical Help and Treatment
If you think you or someone you know has fibromyalgia go see your doctor. Tell them about your symptoms and explain that you think it might be fibromyalgia. Keep in mind that a diagnosis can take time and you have to be persistant and in many cases fight for your diagnosis!
Common treatment involves pain medication, anti-depressants, physiotherapy and therapy (CBT and pain managment).
Self Help
The most common coping technique for chronic pain is breathing exercises and meditation. Try the following,
Put yourself in a relaxed, reclined position in a dark/or low-light room. You can shut your eyes or focus on a point.
Begin to slow down your breathing. Breathe in deeply, using your chest. If you find your mind wandering or you are distracted, then think of a word, such as the word "Relax," and think it in time with your breathing...the syllable "re" as you breathe in and "lax" as you breathe out.
Do this for 2 to 3 minutes or until you feel relaxed.
Now that you feel yourself slowing down, you can try to use imagery techniques, like the ones below.
Positive imagery
Focus your attention on a pleasant place that you can imagine going to - the beach, mountains, a place where you feel safe and relaxed.
Positive self-talk
Encourage yourself and tell yourself: I can do this, I am strong and capable. Find a positive coping statement or affirmation that works for you (even if you don't believe it at first!). Write it down and memorise it for when you need it.
Counting
Counting is a good way to deal with painful episodes. You can count aloud or in your head. You can count breaths, the number of yellow items in your room, the floor tiles, or even visualise some sheep and count them!
Grounding techniques
Look around you, what do you see, hear, smell, sense? Say aloud (or in your head):
5 things you can see? 4 things that you can touch? 3 things you can feel? 2 thing you can smell?
It can also be helpful to use sensory items like plushies, fidgets, slime, and more! Anything that brings you comfort or joy or relaxation.
Pamper yourself
Do something you really enjoy, or do something relaxing like a bubble bath!
Mindfullness Box
Make a box of items that remind you to use the techniques that help, or put photos on paper, or write and decorate a list. (This box can be filled with items to help with depressive episodes)
The daily fight with fibromyalgia goes beyond pain management and fatigue and it's important to be educated on all aspects of the condition.(Especially if you or someone you care for has a diagnosis)
What are the facts
Fibromyalgia is a neurological illness and involves neurotransmitters (chemical messengers in the brain) that are also involved in some mental illness. This means that depression and anxiety are common overlapping conditions in fibromyalgia.
Stress is a major exacerbating factor in many, if not most, cases of fibromyalgia. It's suspected as a causal factor and known to make symptoms worse and cause flare-ups.
It is also believed that childhood trauma may alter the body's physiological stress response leading to illness later in life.
Looking after your mental health is just as important as physical treatments when treating fibromyalgia. (I should state that fibromyalgia is a chronic illness and that there is no cure for the condition.)
When it comes to fibromyalgia patients seeking mental health help it's not much different from someone without the condition seeking similar help.
The major difference would be around pain managment and the emotional distress that comes with daily pain and the inability to live a normal life. It's common for fibromyalgia sufferers to feel hopless/helpless and worthless alongsides feelings of frustration.
It is believed that depressive episodes, mood swings, suicidal thoughts and suicidal attempts are all symptoms of fibromyalgia and it is very common for fibro-sufferes to struggle severly with poor mental health.
Treatments such as anti-depressants, anxiety medications and therapy are commonly suggested alongsides pain medications. Both help the other as stress and low mood decrease our ability to cope with pain.
Mental Health Techniques
Keep a mood diary
This will help you keep track of any changes in your mood, and you might find that you have more good days than you think. It can also help you notice if any activities, places or people make you feel better or worse.
Connect with people
A good support network will always be a good thing. Having people you can reach out to when in distress is a important part of recovery and having good mental health.
Take control
If the problem has a solution, make it happen! Don't let thoughts like "i cant do anything" hold you back as they only add to the problem. But,
Accept the things you can't change
Changing a difficult situation isn't always possible. Especially when you have a disability. Instead, try to concentrate on the things you do have control over.
Try to be positive
Look for the positives in life, and things for which you're grateful. Challenge thoughts like "I can't do this" or "there's no point" or anytype of thoughts which are negative and defeatist. They won't help, chuck them out!
TIP: Try writing down 3 things that went well, or for which you're grateful, at the end of every day.
Work smarter
What i mean is, some tasks are more important than other. As someone with a chronic illness it's not always, if at all possible to do more than one task a day. Often we are forced to choose between making food or cleaning and we have to learn to prioritise based on a number of factors. Don't feel bad when you can't do a lot or even anything, your pain and illness is valid and the last thing you need is to feel guilty about something you can't control.
If you have to choose between washing the dishes or preventing a flare up - your health wins everytime.
Diet, sleep and exercise...
It can be frustrating we all you hear is "you should exercise, eat healthy and have a good sleep routine..." and somehow people think that this will heal us. This is not the case.
Yes, a healthy diet, sleep schedule and light exercise is good for us but it's not as easy for us to achieve. There are many factors that make access to these difficult (poverty being the big one). But, lets ignore that for now (like everyone else does).
Okay, lets say we eat a healthy diet. We can't always follow a sleep routine because we have severe pain that is generally worse at night. We also struggle with other symptoms that are more prominant at night (restless leg syndrome, heat intolerence, twitching, nightmares...) that make getting to sleep and staying asleep very difficult. And, exercise is the hardest of them all. We cant go to the gym and get our sweat on. It's not in the cards. Every chronically ill person has been told to eat healthier, sleep better and exercise and it's not helpful. In fact, it only adds to our stress. If you don't know what you're talking about (e.g. you suffer from a similar chronic illness or are a medical professional) then shut up!
Excerise when you can. Don't excert yourself. Swimming is one of the best options. Eat as healthy as you can (but any food is better than nothing) and try your best to keep a sleep routine. But don't stress when these things arent possible, they won't cure you, they will only help you decrease your symptoms and make them more managable.
This has been a long post, congradulation on making it to the end! I hope this post has been educational and helpful in some way or another. Feel free, encouraged even, to reach out to me with any questions, i am happy to amswer any to the best of my ability. Please reblog this post so other fibromyalgia sufferes can have a read and add to the post if they wish.
I would also like to add that i am looking for fellow spoonies to follow on here and instagram (@gogh_save_the_bees) give me a follow and ill do that back!
#fibromyalgia#chronically ill#chronic pain#chronic fatigue#masterpost#information post#mental heath support#positive mental health#mental health#positivity#positive#disability#disabled#disabilties#self help#recovery#affirmations#text post#depression#personal#text#positive mental attitude#anxiety#signal boost#long post#fibrofighter#fibrowarrior
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Holy Shit Y'all. Morgellon's Disease (Aka "Delusional Parasitosis") is Actually Real. #gaslighting #fuckdoctors #killallmen)
October 2, 2019
Whilst performing my daily catch-up with my favorite conspiratard sites, today I found this: recent peer-reviewed medical research indicating that so-called Morgellon’s disease is actually a real, physical ailment and not all in patients’ — usually female patients’ — heads. I have had a slightly more than casual interest in Morgellon’s disease for at least a decade if not two, and I am seeing the year 2002 thrown around as the approximate date that reports of this confounding, untreatable and disabling medical condition first appeared in the United States. People — usually female people — started presenting to their doctors for diagnosis and treatment of a condition comprised of skin lesions, often with strange “fibers” protruding from them or embedded in the unbroken skin or in the scabs, as well as maddening feelings of itching, crawling, burning etc. under or on their skin as if “bugs” were crawling there. There were almost certainly additional complaints considering what Morgellon’s actually turned out to be — a tickbourne infection that is often comorbid with Lyme disease — but let’s leave it there for now.
Morgellon’s patients routinely brought in a collection of scabs and fibers to show their doctors, intending to be good patients and their own “advocates” to help the doctors do their job, which is the current advice given to particularly women in order to insure that they get the best medical treatment possible (and so that the women themselves as actors or co-actors on their own “care team” can take part or all of the blame when they are not effectively treated). Whereupon the doctors proceeded to mock the women and their attempts to document and provide physical evidence of what was happening to them by referring to such evidence as “matchbox sign” because women allegedly brought the fibers and scabs with them in empty matchboxes. Of course, matchbox sign was a euphemism for evidence of fraud and mental, not physical, disease.
Here is an example of “matchbox sign” where the woman brought her evidence in a folded piece of paper, and not an empty matchbox, but whatever right? The point of inventing and naming matchbox sign was so that doctors could warn other doctors that the person sitting in front of them covered in lesions and in terrible, ongoing and relentless pain, cradling a sad bundle of phony evidence was crazy. The point was obviously not to tell the truth or describe anything accurately or even neutrally, or in a way that was likely to get these women meaningful treatment or relief.
Recently, around 2018 perhaps, there has been a bona fide connection shown between Lyme disease and Morgellon’s disease, where 6% of a sample of known Lyme patients were also diagnosed with Morgellon’s, and 100% of those were seropositive for B. burgdorferi infection. The full article can be found here. 75% of these Lyme/Morgellon’s patients were women and most of them presented with late stage “disseminated” Morgellon’s; their badly progressed disease was likely due to having unsuccessfully sought treatment for years or decades only to be told they were crazy and denied treatment that could’ve prevented the infection from spreading. A person with any experience with Western medicine might speculate (and correctly) that these women were told to see a shrink and likely prescribed powerful and dangerous psychiatric medications, that they may’ve also been psychiatrically incarcerated at some point, and/or told to go home, have a glass of wine, and let their husbands fuck them. And that it would’ve been better for these women if they had been denied any “treatment” at all.
This article abstract provides several gems and is worth reviewing. Somewhat late to the party, where people suffering from chronic illness have known this for a long time, Big Medicine recognizes in the case of Morgellon’s that physical illness often precedes, coincides with and even causes so-called psychiatric complaints: in essence, just because someone is crazy now, doesn’t mean they were always that way, and it doesn’t mean the crazy exists all or only “in their heads.” That’s right y’all, sick people’s brains aren’t sitting in jars on counters, and people’s heads and brains are actually connected to physical bodies that have to exist and navigate in the real world, bodies which are vulnerable to illness, injury, toxic exposures and the like. Brains and bodies are connected, and there is a physical demonstrable connection between physical illness and so-called “mental health.” In the case of Morgellon’s, previous “studies” (if they can even legitimately be called that) that have been used for decades to dismiss and humiliate infected patients — primarily women — in disabling pain have been, uh, flawed. Yeah, flawed, that sounds good, let’s stick with that. Ignoring that “flawed” studies are not even legitimate studies at all and are literally just hateful propaganda:
Clinical studies supporting the hypothesis that MD is exclusively delusional in origin have considerable methodological flaws and often neglect the fact that mental disorders can result from underlying somatic illness.
Full article here. Let us also consider that invisible physical illness would oftentimes appear as mental illness to outside observers. Think about that shit. Even if a person appeared nutty as a fruitcake to someone who wasn’t living in the sick person’s body, practically every “psychiatric” symptom I can currently imagine is also a known symptom of physical disease, acute or chronic pain, and/or side effects of dangerous medications including wrongly prescribed psychiatric medications taken by physically ill/compromised people who don’t actually need them. Jesus fucking Christ. At this point I’m not sure if my increasing nausea and urge to defecate are due to my current Crohn’s flare or the result of reading this medical literature and “digesting” its implications for sick people and sick women.
In contrast, rigorous experimental investigations show that this skin affliction results from a physiological response to the presence of an infectious agent. Recent studies from that point of view show an association between MD and spirochetal infection in humans, cattle, and dogs. These investigations have determined that the cutaneous filaments are not implanted textile fibers, but are composed of the cellular proteins keratin and collagen and result from overproduction of these filaments in response to spirochetal infection.
So the women with their ignorant, sad and fraudulent matchboxes were actually right all along. The fibers were evidence of an actual, demonstrable physical disease, the doctors just chose to believe these stupid sluts lady patients adult female humans coming to them for help were all irritated and scabby for no reason and that the “fibers” embedded in their psychiatric sores and skin crusts (!) originated from their dumb wimmin clothes, or from lint from doing the laundry (or as was alleged in one case, also linked above, the bristles of a broom). Of course, the fibers are often embedded in unbroken skin as well but let’s forget about that part, or if we do acknowledge it, let’s choose to imagine the women putting the fibers under their healthy skin themselves. Let’s imagine that, shall we. It must’ve required a syringe of some kind, or magic!
Crafty slutty scabby wimmins trying to defraud and make fools of men. The best case scenario here is that the mountains of psych meds likely prescribed to Morgellon’s women over the years provided some relief from the effects of long term chronic illness and chronic pain and being abused and gaslighted by powerful men, but we know those meds likely did not provide such relief. And that any relief they did get was surely eclipsed by the crippling side effects of the medications, the progressive effects of an untreated yet “disseminating” pathogen, and the medicalized trauma that is baked-in when dealing with Western medical providers at all. They probably also had undiagnosed and untreated Lyme and God knows what else, considering how many women are currently subclinical or diagnosed autoimmune patients and women are, en masse, becoming progressively ill with often multiple chronic, progressive and incurable disease.
Comments Open.
#advertising#media#feminism#capitalism#healthcare#Lyme Disease#morgellons#autoimmune disease#medicine#drugs#killallmen#doctor who#chronic illness
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6 Ayurveda Tools to Reduce Stress, Depression and Anxiety
In spite of the many advances in the field of psychological wellness, it is approximated that regarding 1/3 of our populace is suffering from some kind of diagnosable mental disease at any kind of provided time. The expense of mental health and wellness care in the U.S. alone is approximately 1 trillion dollars annually.
And, in spite of the excellent that lots of medicines do (as well as in the field of mental health and wellness much of these medicines are life saving), it's also real that in some cases their adverse effects could really cause harm. The third leading reason of fatality in the UNITED STATE (about 1/4 million each year) is iatrogenic, which means triggered by the damaging effects of modern-day clinical treatments.
So it's clear that our existing system of mental wellness isn't doing enough. A new technique is required. And also a new approach requires brand-new expertise, understanding that addresses the root cause of most of mental conditions. Maharishi AyurVeda possesses both the expertise and treatment techniques that have the possible to fill this missing void in our current mental health care system.
Ayurveda is a 5000 year-old system of alternative medicine from India. According to the old Ayurvedic messages, one of the 8 significant branches of Ayurveda is Mental Wellness. Beginning in the very early 1980's, Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, the Vedic scholar that had previously made Transcendental Reflection available globally, met with Ayurvedic scholars, medical professionals as well as scientists for the function of recovering this old system of medication to it's complete self-respect. For this reason the name "Maharishi AyurVeda".
Stress is now known, via modern research, to be one of the primary source of lots of mental illness. In addition to stress and anxiety, poor diet plan, lack of workout, harmful practices (like alcohol and drug use and also lots of various other addictive actions), and also absence of enough rest, are additional danger factors for the development (or worsening of) psychological illnesses. Our existing medical care system is sorely doing not have in efficient techniques for lowering anxiety as well as finding a means to motivate individuals to enhance their diet regimen, get more workout and rest, and also to lower unhealthy routines. Since unhealthy habits are typically desperate efforts to deal with stress and anxiety, tension decrease commonly results in the ability to make healthier life choices.
Transcendental Meditation is the cornerstone treatment of Maharishi AyurVeda. During the method of T.M., the mind effortlessly works out to the state of pure silence, or pure consciousness.Because of the intimate link in between mind as well as body, when the mind goes beyond the field of activity, the body becomes really kicked back. Modern research demonstrates that during this deep degree of rest the metabolic price decreases to degrees much deeper compared to is usually seen during sleep. It is this extensive level of rest to both the body and mind that allows deep rooted tension as well as tiredness to be launched, in a most uncomplicated and spontaneous fashion.
For this factor, T.M. together with the various other techniques of Maharishi AyurVeda, considerably boosts the self fixing systems of the mind-body system. Scientific study shows that this self repair takes place at the level of the DNA, which may describe the alternative benefits in the location of mental wellness, that are seen in those who make use of the modern technologies of Maharishi AyurVeda.
Maharishi AyurVeda addresses the root cause of mental ailment, which is stress and anxiety. Modern psychiatry operates at the psychological, behavior, as well as biochemical degrees of the individual, and also for that reason have some benefit. Contemporary therapies are unable to access the origin reason of psychological imbalance, and for that reason contemporary psychiatry is restricted in its capacity to accomplish its goals. The deepest level of our being, pure consciousness, which is regularly experienced during the exercised of T.M., is a state of peaceful awareness. It is associated with mind wave coherence as well as extensive physiological rest, which subsequently makes it possible for the self-repair devices of our body to operate most efficiently.
In addition to T.M., which operates at the inmost degree of our being, there are a number of other Maharishi AyurVeda comes close to that have actually been revealed to be very helpful to our mental wellness. They consist of diet as well as exercise customized to one's psychophysiological kind, purification processes, natural restoratives for the mind as well as feelings, recommendations for quality rest, day-to-day regular referrals, as well as developing skills for optimal relationships. I will quickly talk about each of these crucial matches to one's reflection practice.
Diet According to Psychophysiological Kind: Historically Ayurveda has actually considered a harmful diet to be a prospective reason of psychological imbalance. This is due to the fact that when our food is not properly as well as effectively digested, undesirable metabolic by-products of digestion (called "ama" in Ayurveda) get generated. There are largely 3 type of ama, vata ama, pitta ama, as well as kapha ama. Vata ama causes anxiety and stress and anxiety, pitta ama triggers impatience, as well as kapha ama creates reduced aspiration and anxiety. Both one's psychophysiological kind (vata, pitta, or kapha), as well as the sort of food one is eating, identify which kind of ama gets produced. An assessment with an experienced Maharishi AyurVeda practitioner could help you make an "ama totally free" diet regimen finest matched to your specific constitution. Various other elements that generate ama include just how quickly you eat, how well you eat your food, as well as the amount consumed.
Exercise According to Psychophysiological Kind: Exercise, according to Ayurveda, is considered important to mental health and wellness. Modern medical research has actually begun to substantiate this ancient prescription. Workout increases serotonin and also endorphins, neurotransmitters that are popular to enhance mood. Furthermore, workout minimizes chemicals in the bloodstream that trigger swelling throughout the body, consisting of in the brain. Swelling is being discovered to be one of the potential reasons for a variety of mental ailments. The degree of workout that is suggested is dependent after one's psychophysiological type. As well little or as well much exercise could be unsafe, so it works to know whether you are a vata, pitta, or kapha type. Vata types feel their best emotionally with light to moderate workout, such as walking or light running. If Vata types over-exercise, it could enhance stress and anxiety. Pitta kinds feel best with a moderate amount of exercise. Swimming is ideal for pittas because it tends to maintain them from overheating, which subsequently could raise irritability. Kapha kinds feel happiest when they obtain a higher degree of cardio workout. Or else they could feel phlegmatic as well as depressed.
In enhancement, exercising particular yoga exercise postures have been discovered to enhance blood circulation to the mind, and also to generate hormonal agents that are valuable to mental health and wellness. Maharishi AyurVeda suggests a day-to-day hatha yoga regimen that serves to improve our mental wellness. Along with yoga, breathing exercises, called pranayama, are valuable, particularly, for reducing anxiety and anxiety. The method of yoga, along with pranayama, is likewise beneficial as a preparation for a deeper experience throughout meditation.
Herbal Recommendations: Some of the world's most renowned quantum field philosophers in physics have actually proposed that our thoughts as well as emotions are wave features, comparable to the wave features of light and great particles such as quarks and leptons. Waves are a vibratory phenomenon. The Maharishi AyurVeda natural preparations deal with numerous levels of the physiology, such as the biochemical degree. They are also defined as working at the quantum degree, which consists of the level of our ideas and feelings. Each plant is known to have a details frequency, or wave pattern, which, when consumed, resonates with certain parts of the body that have a comparable wave frequency. Therefore, the Maharishi AyurVeda herbs job at a very deep and subtle degree. Many research studies have shown that specific Ayurvedic organic preparations can be practical to improve mood and also cognition. Maharishi AyurVeda products such as Mind Plus, Research study Power, and Stress Complimentary Mind and Emotions are a few examples of herbal combinations that can aid to advertise balance in mental and also psychological functioning.
Body Purification: Also called "Panchakarma" in Ayurveda, these procedures have been revealed to be extremely valuable to psychological and also emotional functioning. Some of the therapies used in Panchakarma are oil massage (Abhyanga), Shirodhara (oil poured over the temple), as well as basti (herbalized enemas). The combination of these as well as other purification treatments function to methodically remove toxic substances from the cellular level of the body. The outcome of these detoxification treatments is improved mood as well as psychological clarity, amongst lots of various other advantages. Ayurveda advises doing body purification for 3-5 days one or two times each year. The Raj in Fairfield, Iowa, in addition to many other Maharishi AyurVeda Clinics in the U.S. as well as around the globe offer these treatments.
Daily Routine: The significance of a healthy and balanced everyday routine for optimum mental health and wellness can not be overemphasized. It's well established in the medical literature that not obtaining enough sleep could enhance anxiety and also anxiety, and hinder cognition and also mental focus. According to Ayurveda, obtaining to rest by 10 pm is excellent, as that's the moment when kapha dominates as well as a person is most likely to be naturally drowsy. That's when melatonin degrees are highest for lots of people. Melatonin is created by the pineal gland and also generates rest. Maharishi AyurVeda prep works like Blissful Rest can be useful to promote improved sleep. In terms of the timing of meals, eating 3 times a day with the biggest meal at twelve noon (when agni or the gastrointestinal fire is greatest), with supper being light and also not as well late, is excellent. Transcendental Meditation twice daily and also regular workout are also critical for ideal psychological health and wellbeing. Some normal socializing with loving supportive close friends at least a few times a week has likewise been located to promote durability as well as enhanced psychological health.
Relationships: Maharishi AyurVeda acknowledges that the high quality of our close connections considerably impacts out psychological health. Most individuals experience that on days when there is conflict in our intimate relationships we really feel emotionally uncertain, as compared to really feeling much more delighted and also relaxed on days when there is a sensation of nearness and consistency. Knowing abilities to effectively connect as well as function with the disharmony when it occurs is crucial to our psychological peace and also happiness. Along with learning healthy and balanced partnership abilities, it is useful to do all the above referrals of Maharishi AyurVeda in order to initially be psychologically balanced within ourselves. When we really feel material within ourselves, our joy overflows and it's all-natural to wish to provide to our liked ones. When a glass is partially complete, the water does not go anywhere. When the glass is complete, the water overflows.
So, taken all at once, the strategies of Maharishi AyurVeda have been discovered to have an extensive result on enhancing our mental wellness as well as wellbeing.
Reflections on Maharishi AyurVeda and also Mental Health by Jim Brooks, MD.
Chronic mental conditions, consisting of depression as well as anxiousness, are leading causes of morbidity, impairment, and also loss of high quality of life. It is estimated that as numerous as one-third of all Americans struggle with some form of psychological disorder.
In this practical and also extremely understandable job, Dr. Brooks addresses the inability of modern-day medicine to stop and deal with these chronic conditions. He proposes a reliable solution located within the world's most comprehensive and ancient system of alternative medicine-- Ayurveda.
World-renowned Vedic scholar and also teacher Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, in cooperation with leading Ayurvedic experts, scientists, and medical professionals, carried out a modern-day rebirth of Ayurveda called Maharishi AyurVeda. Dr. Brooks expects that the Maharishi AyurVeda strategy to mental health and wellness, or Vedic psychiatry, will have a significant effect on just how medication comprehends, stops, as well as deals with psychological disorders.
Topics include:
The Human Mind: A Design from Quantum Physics
Maharishi AyurVeda and Therapy
Pyschotheraputic Use of Vedic Literature
The Bhagavad-Gita: A Design for Vedic Counseling
" I have witnessed countless my individuals take advantage of these recommendations and I wholeheartedly urge you to quickly review this publication as well as put it to sensible use in your life." -- Nancy Lonsdorf, MD, Pioneer as well as Leader in Integrative Medicine as well as Ayurveda, Writer of The Ageless Woman
Jim Brooks, MD, has actually spent his life aiding individuals develop health on their own via all-natural medicine. He is a practicing psychoanalyst who has actually researched as well as used Maharishi AyurVeda for several years. He obtained substantial training from several of one of the most popular Vaidyas (Ayurvedic physicians) in India. He is additionally an educator of the Transcendental Meditation method and also has actually authored several journal short articles as well as publication phases on Ayurveda and psychological health.
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Moodboard: Jaime x Brienne - Star Trek AU
War has been raging for far too long between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. At last, first steps are made towards peace again. However, animosities are high on both sides, mistrust has been the modus operandi for almost everyone for the last years, making peace almost too far out of reach even in the vastness of the universe.
The headquarters of the Federation, whilst doing their best to build on the ceasefire agreed upon with the Empire, receives secret intelligence that a new enemy they did not even have in their books just yet is on the rise. Their targets are parts of settlements on sides of both the Federation and the Klingon Empire, seemingly in an effort to break the fragile bond growing between the two parties as they seem to profit off of war much more than peace. As the intelligence further states, there is the severe threat that those enemies are building a machine in a secret location, which is tactically set beyond the Neutral Zone and across Klingon territories no human dares to cross without preparing for getting into a fight of life and death.
Captain Jaime Lannister is approached by his younger brother Tyrion who, beside his service as the scientific officer by his brother’s side on any mission, also works in the administration. Tyrion informs him of the latest top secret developments and lets him know that he has a new mission for him in mind that authorities are willing to approve of “if begrudgingly”: Jaime is supposed to travel to the secret location and take out the missile before the enemies can strike against them and destroy any steps taken towards peace between the Klingon Empire and the Federation. As Jaime’s ship is the fastest in the entire fleet and he is one of the best captains the Federation has, against the odds of his being considered “the Kingslayer,” he is the one most suited for the mission.
Jaime is less than pleased with the proposal. He lost his hand in the war against the Klingons and has since had his doubts whether peace with Klingons is ever truly possible. He saw the war, he felt it, he lived it. He saw the violent deaths at the hands of the Klingons and knows for a fact that they seem to love fight more than they do peace. Rather, he fears that this is all a big hoax meant to trick the Federation into treaties that will be broken the moment it’s convenient.
“I don’t think it’s much of a choice you have, though.”
“I already feared you were going to say that. So when do we launch the mission?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Though I have one critical point to make that has not yet been addressed by you that may well mean failure from the very beginning,” Jaime tells Tyrion. “How will we get all the way through the Klingon Empire without being chased by warbirds?”
“We have an insider who will grant us a safe passage.”
“An insider. You don't mean to tell me that you expect me to take a Klingon as a crewmember now,” Jaime scoffs.
“Officer Tarth is a human Starfleet member, but she has lived with the Klingons for years. She is an accepted member of the community and has been vital in establishing the armistice we all want to hold now,” Tyrion informs him.
Jaime can only ever scoff at that. “Great. There is a woman living the Klingon life.”
“And she is on the way here to join you as your First Officer.”
“My what?” Jaime gapes.
“You didn't elect a new one in ages, which the Starfleet does not fancy seeing anyway, because we both know you only ever put my name in to shut them up. And the Klingons only ever agreed under the condition that she would have some say with regards to the decisions to be made when in the Klingon Empire, which is why the authorities agreed that it was best to give her that position,” Tyrion informs him.
“You've got to be kidding me.”
“She will arrive here tomorrow, so no, I am not kidding. Though I will be drinking.”
“I somehow knew you were going to say that.”
“One of the few constants of the universe.”
And so, preparations are made for the launch of this secret mission. A few days later, the crew is assembled and Jaime finds himself back in his chair, waiting for his new number one to come inside, something he still did not get used to, no matter how hard he tries to wrap his head around it.
His shock is only ever the greater when a tall, blonde, mannish woman strides in through the turbolift to enter the bridge, fully dressed in Klingon uniform. Jaime must admit, he never saw a human woman wearing such a thing in the first place, even less so with that kind of pride, and even less so another time under the premise that she is a proud member of the Starfleet. “Officer Brienne of Tarth. I request permission to come aboard, Captain.”
“Permission granted, Officer.”
Brienne, for her part, is less than pleased with the entire situation as well. After all, she had no intention to leave her fleet just yet, for a number of reasons, and then it is the infamous man without honor, the Kingslayer, of all people who is supposed to be her first in command. She can sense instantly that Jaime does not trust her, which suits her fine because she does not trust him either. She is here to fulfill a mission meant to protect the two worlds she cares about so much now, the Klingon Empire and the Federation. However, beyond that, she is set on pursuing her own goals again, which make it necessary for her to stay with the Klingons.
After all, she made a promise. And to Brienne, they mean something, even if the likes of Jaime Lannister probably don’t much care.
The stiff first meeting is only ever intensified when the Klingon ship that brought the woman to the Starfleet station wants to have conversation with the captain. On the screen appears a slightly older Klingon who introduces himself as Ekim Zacorgh, instantly demanding to see Brienne to be sure that she is alright.
“You are aware that she is one of our own, yes?” Jaime huffs.
“I don’t trust my own either. Trust is earned, Captain, and you have not done that yet, though maybe you will in due time.”
Ekim and Brienne have a brief conversation, which gives Jaime a chance to catch some important details about the stranger woman now meant to be his number one. He is fascinated by how close the two seem, because Jaime can’t recall ever having seen that, and whenever he clashed with Klingons, he either tried to get away or stood his ground and fought with all he had. He grows irritated when Ekim continues to refer to Brienne as “qorDu,” which, as far as he knows, means “family” in Klingon. Jaime has to try hard to hide his smile when he sees how stiffly the two act around one another, however, talking about honor and oaths when it’s rather clear that they do indeed care for each other on a much more personal level.
“Captain Lannister, I expect to have my crewman back as soon as possible. This alliance only holds as much as you are willing to hold on to it, which means that you would do best listening to your new first officer. She knows the designated path you have to take to maneuver through the Klingon Empire.”
“We will surely try our best.”
“Qapla'.”
To say that Jaime and Brienne have a rocky start is an absolute understatement. They have barely left the station and the two are instantly in each other’s face about what routes to take or what decisions to make.
As their voyage continues, Brienne makes a habit of it to keep speaking Klingon around her captain when he is being an ass, which forces Jaime into looking up Klingon words to figure out what she said to him, only to call her upon it the next time they meet. As retribution, Jaime keeps teasing her and calling her names, while also questioning her intentions and loyalties. He makes it no secret that he is of the opinion that after what he has seen, anyone who seeks out true alliance with the Klingons is just a stone’s throw away from choosing the Empire over the Federation.
“Sometimes we have to choose, you know,” as he tells her one time during a private conversation after all had to leave the operation room after yet another argument between the two.
“And I choose every day anew, Captain. I choose peace.”
“Very unlikely for a Klingon,” he huffs.
“I am no Klingon. I am a proud honorary member of the House Zacorgh, but I know for a fact that I am no Klingon. Yet, I learned very early on that the categories humans assign to themselves are very limiting.”
“I just don't get what you see in them. Because I know what I see when I see their faces.”
“May I speak openly, Captain?”
He gestures at her. “Be my guest.”
“It is small wonder to me that you won't see what I see in them. Because they have a kind of honor you will likely never witness nor inherit,” Brienne tells him drily.
“I think that is all, then.”
“I think so, too.”
Things remain tensed not just between the first officer and the captain but also between Brienne and the rest of the crew. She mostly stays on her own while on the ship, does not socialize or try to get to know the crew. Instead, she drowns herself in extra work, practicing with her bat'leth, or following through with Klingon worship. She has no illusion about it that the crew will never accept her. Indeed she knows that they are scared of her, even more so because she is the only one still not wearing uniform. And Brienne rather has things stay that way, then she can't get hurt again, the way she was so many times before.
Tyrion is the first one who tries to break the ice by offering her to drink some bloodwine with him. Brienne very reluctantly agrees. She is surprised that Tyrion seems genuinely curious about the Klingon culture when they sit down to have a chat in his room.
“You see, when we get to study Klingon physiology, we went for what was brought back in body bags from the war. Other scientists have gone on to experiment, the same way it was done on the other end of that horrid war, but I refused that. You are one of the first who was granted an exclusive view into the Klingon culture, their customs, not just what is gathered through secret intelligence. I think there is much more to be gained from looking at someone in his or her entirety than just at the body. Understand the mind, then you understand the people, at least that is my scientific opinion.”
“You are aware that I am one of the primary sources for that intelligence,” she huffs.
“And I have read those reports, or rather, I almost devoured them when they landed on my table. It was quite refreshing to read about their culture rather than what happens they have and in what numbers. While I recognize that it is important, I as a scientist am much more intrigued with that. They have such a rich culture we still know so little about because we are at no more than a ceasefire.” “I never expected to be accepted into a crew, even less so into a House. It was an honor I thought I would never know, even more so because... as you will know... I joined the Klingons before there was a permanent peace,” Brienne recounts.
“You said to the crew that you wanted to defect,” Tyrion agrees, nodding his head. To him, it read like a crime novel.
Brienne smiles sadly. “Ekim saw through it and let me join anyway. Do you know why?”
“I would love to hear it.”
“Because he found the same thing unjust that had me join the Klingons in the first place. It was only then that I finally had someone who believed me when I said what had happened with Renly Baratheon – and that they wanted to find those responsible as much as I did. We joined forces out of necessity, but out of it grew... a companionship I never quite witnessed that same way before,” Brienne admits.
She joined Ekim’s team in an effort to get information on who were the Klingons responsible for Renly’s murder. That was all that mattered, but it was only once she became part of that crew that she realized that they were not only not responsible for his death but were looking for the same thing she was so desperate for – and is still so desperate for – the truth, justice. Because how he was killed was a disgrace in the eyes of the Klingons as well.
Whoever did this was no true Klingon, at least not in the heart, that much is for sure.
“Who could have guessed,” Tyrion laughs. “Klingons are truly fascinating.”
“I think you would like Ekim. He is a wise man. He reminds me of my father in many ways.”
“Have you spoken to him yet, your father, I mean?”
Brienne swallows thickly. “I recorded a message, but did not send it yet.”
“Why is that? I bet the Admiral would be more than glad to speak to his daughter.”
“I know he would be. And he gets reports from me to assure him of my safety and wellbeing, but I can't face him just yet.”
“But why?”
“I brought dishonor to our House when I failed to protect Captain Baratheon. I brought it to our House when I lied to join the Klingons to pursue my own goals. My father would have wanted me to follow my career in the Starfleet, but I decided against that.”
“Well, and since, you have been vital in establishing communication between the Klingons and the Federation. Is that nothing?” Tyrion argues.
“It only means something once I prove myself worthy. Until then... I will work on fulfilling our mission to protect the worlds we all care about.”
Tyrion eventually advises her to try to be a little more open to the crew if she actually wants to be a part of it, because with that attitude, she won't go anywhere, of that he is sure. Brienne insists that she isn't here to make friends, but Tyrion makes the valid point that she will have to give them something so that they dare to rely on her.
“You need trust to have a truce,” Brienne mutters, as it kind of starts to dawn on her.
Tyrion then tells her about Jaime's time in imprisonment that cost him his hand, and how much it cost him psychologically to cope with that.
“Even more so after all that he had to see with Aerys.”
“You mean his former captain.”
“If you want him to trust you, I think you may have to offer him something about yourself, then he may tell you about that. I was not successful yet, but I suppose you may achieve something.”
“Why would he?” she scoffs.
He doesn’t trust her.
She doesn’t trust him.
What is the point?
“I know my brother. He has something on the tip of his tongue whenever you two get into an argument. And normally, that is about a truth bomb he is about to drop on us,” Tyrion informs her with a smile.
After that evening, Brienne makes the decision to follow through with some of Tyrion's advices, in an effort to become more of a member of the crew, if only for the time being. While it seems to be generally appreciated by most of the crew, even more so by the captain following on particular instance involving the replication of an old uniform rather than the one that was ordered, things don’t stay that peaceful for long as they get past the Neutral Zone and head into Klingon territory.
The stakes are almost instantly raised as they are confronted with Klingon warbirds almost the exact same moment they get past the borders. They won’t grant him passage even though they have the permission from Ekim. The Klingons threaten with attack and Jaime is tempted to open fire, but that is when the First Officer steps forward and negotiates with the Klingons, in the language they understand, which means not just their native tongue but also way of talking, which is a lot rougher than what most Starfleet members are used to. Brienne manages to make the Klingon warbird grant them passage through that sector by recounting her ties to House Zacorgh, one of the proudest and most influential Houses in the entire Klingon Empire.
As the mission continues, the captain and his number one finally seem to find a way to work together, and as it turns out, once they put just enough of their animosities aside, they are a dream team.
Jaime starts to have doubts with his presumptions about Klingons as he starts to see the other side that was not clouded by war when he first came to the Klingon Empire. He sees families trying to protect one another, people who since suffer from the war and the atrocities also committed on the sides of the Federation over they ears.
Bat'leth training with Brienne proves to be a personal treat for him because she has a natural way of going about his disability, not treating him any different in fight, which grants him a new sense of worthiness that he thought he lost when his hand was chopped off.
“In Klingon culture, scars are seen as a badge of honor. You would do best regarding it as an honor as well, because you survived this, you grew stronger as a result. And that is all that matters in the end, Captain… though you still do poorly on keeping up your defense.”
“That may be very true, I am afraid.”
“Then let’s do it again.”
“Aye.”
Things don’t stay peaceful, however, how could they? Not only do they get to see first-hand what their enemy is up to, not hesitating to annihilate entire settlements in the Klingon Empire only just to have them believe that the Federation is responsible for the atrocities, but new trouble is just on the way that may prevent them from fulfilling their mission.
But will they succeed or will they fail – and what does that mean for the peace between the Federation and the Klingon Empire? Is all hope lost or is there a way of moving forward? Together?
Author’s Note: I will admit that I presonally really dig the story and keep plotting for, even though I know I shouldn’t because I should be focusing on other things and this likely is beyond my capacities as a casual Trekkie. But a fangirl can dream and plot bunny away, right?
Additional Image Sources: Star Trek (2009), Star Trek Into Darkness (2013), Star Trek Beyond (2016), Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (1993–1999), Star Trek: The Next Generation (1987–1994), Star Trek: Discovery (2017-), Star Wars: Episode V – The Empire Strikes Back (1980), Star Wars: Episode III – Revenge of the Sith (2005), Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Oblivion (2013), Virtuality (2009), Rememory (2017).
#jaime x brienne#jaime lannister#brienne of tarth#game of thrones#moodboard#aesthetic#got moodboard#got aesthetic#fanfic#fanfiction#ficlet#wacky writes fanfic#in smol#wacky tries gimp#yet again I mean no offense to original franchises#but this idea really grew on me#because watching discovery had me think so much about klingons
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What torture could I have a character use if they only have access to their victim for a short amount of time, want to cause a lot of pain for an extended period afterward without leaving an obvious mark of torture, and have to pass it off as some type of "routine procedure" or "test" because they're being watched by someone who would not approve of torture, but is morally grey enough to let a bit of roughness slide? I was debating some kind of irritant or injection, disguised as being a (1/2)
(2/2) “routine medical procedure” however I think it would leave a mark on the skin & I was looking for something more along the line of clean torture for others to look at & dismiss as the character overreacting to it because there’s nothing/hardly anything showing up visibly. In this scenario the torture is taking place to instill fear. Kind of a “even if you think you’re safe because other people are watching, we can still hurt you” kind of thing. (This ask probably sounds really creepy…)
Ithink we’ve safely established that my threshold for ‘creepy’is a bit different to most people. :)
Thebit that really gave me difficulty here was passing it off as a testor treatment.
You’reright that injections of most irritants would leave marks, but thesemarks wouldn’t be permanent and could probably be dismissed. Thesort of redness and swelling this would most likely cause can bepassed off as something else very easily because a lot of medicalinjections cause exactly the same redness and swelling. For somevaccinations it can be a positive sign, showing that the immunesystem is responding. They’re also symptoms of very common skindiseases and some allergies. Insect bites can look similar.
ButI’d hesitate to use injections this way because this is moreskilled and more high tech than most torture. (This said one of mysuggests for a torturous treatment involves injections even if inthis particular case they’re easier to administer-)
Thereare a lot of things I can think of that would fit the ‘test’ ideawithout the time limit. Generally the sort of scenario you’redescribing makes me think of clean beatings and aggressive use ofrestraints justified by the ‘rebelliousness’ or ‘disobedience’of the victim in an institutional setting.
Restrictingthe victim’s food and water intake is a possibility and requires nodirect contact between the torturer and the victim. Just instructionsto the right people. Whatever shape, age or physical condition thevictim is in the torturer could probably find some way to justifymessing with what they eat and drink on ‘medical’ grounds. Thevast pseudo-scientific diet industry would help the torturer herebecause it can be used to make severely restricted and unsafe dietsappear ‘healthy’. The US government actually used the dietindustry to justify starvation in Guantanamo.
Thetorture itself is long term and causes long term pain but the contactbetween victim and torturer is minimal.
Allof the other things that are coming to mind were used as ‘treatments’at one point.
I’m….basicallythinking of historical ‘shock therapy’, cold shock, insulin shockand electric shocks.
Iamgoing to talk about electricity. I think it could fit what you’reafter perfectly, but I have misgivings about using it in this contextbecause…while I think it could fit in this story it would lookextremely superficially similar to many of the patterns/tropes Iadvise against. Not apologist ones but…things that are inaccurateand pervasive in pop culture without actually encouraging torture.
SoI think I’ll start by talking about cold shock treatment.
ModScix on ScriptLGBT talked about this a little bit here.
Idon’t know a lot about this practice in terms of homophobiaspecifically. Rejali talks about it briefly in the post-war period assomething that was used as an attempted treatment for ‘shell shock’(which usually means PTSD but can refer to other conditions too).
Itessentially involved forcibly dunking someone in ice water (water at0oC,sometimes maintained by periodically adding ice). The head wasn’tsupposed to be submerged but the body could be strapped into icebaths for several minutes. In torture scenarios freezing water isoften applied for hours at a time. Prisons generally use showers,though buckets and exposure to the weather are sometimes used.
Rejalidoesn’t really focus on this much. I get the impression it was morecommon at the beginning of the last century then in this one andRejali’s focus is on the present day.
O’Marais muchmore useful when it comes to cold shock. He quotes a lot of researchon the effects of immersion in cold water as part of his moredetailed discussion of waterboarding. In fact, if you can afford toand you want to use cold shock, I’d recommend picking up O’Mara’sbook WhyTorture Doesn’t Work.I think you’d find it very helpful.
O’Maragoes into a lot more technical detail about this process but thebasics of it is this. If a person is suddenly immersed in cold water(especially the chest and face) they have a very fast physiologicalreaction to it. They gasp. They start hyperventilating. Their heartrate slows then rockets up. The change in blood pressure and wherethe blood is being directed to (the body’s core functions becausethe body thinks it’s drowning) can cause disorientation, confusionand sometimes fainting. This all happens in around 15 seconds.
WhenI say ‘can cause’ I want to be clear about the context of thoseresponses.
Inwilling volunteers who knew what was going to happen and had thephysiological process explained to them in advance, before being putin chest deep 11oCwater for 60 seconds disorientation and confusion was reported insome volunteers. In the same set up when the physiological processwasn’t explained two volunteers fainted. All of these people werecalm beforehand, knew what was happening and did not believe theirlives were in danger. It is highly likely that confusion,disorientation and fainting would be more common if the victim didn’tknow what was about to happen and genuinely feared for their life.
Historicallythis was used to ‘treat’ PTSD and a host of other mentalillnesses or perceived social ills. The idea was that a ‘shock’could reset the body’s nervous system to a healthier norm.
Inthe case of cold shock there’s no evidence that works.
Buta villainous character couldprobably argue that it was a ‘treatment’ based on outdatedresearch. They could also claim that they were testing the victim’sreflexes or the nervous system response that underlies this process.It doestechnically show that the victim’s breathing and heart rate arefunctioning as expected. But that could just as easily be done byasking them to run on the spot.
There’salso a niche ‘health’ movement that claims regular immersion incold water is good for you. I have honestly not looked into theseclaims in any detail so I can’t make a judgement on their accuracy.But a lot of things that can be positive in a consensual context withunderstanding of the process are torturous without informed consent.And health movements have been used to justify torture in the past.Usually without the consent of the organisations involved.
Whencold shock has been used in prison contexts the victim is usuallystripped and forced to stand in a cold shower for hours. In this caseI’d suggest keeping the character fully clothed because the actualimmersion/splash of water is going to be so short lived. If thecharacter is clothed their clothes will soak up the cold water andthey’ll continue to be uncomfortable (or possibly in pain dependingon the water temp) for several hours afterwards. If the charactersuffers from chronic pain, such as joint pain (possibly due to otherclean tortures) this would probably exacerbate that pain.
Therewouldn’t be any lasting marks.
Insulinshock was a ‘treatment’ used historically on a similar principal.That ‘shocking’ the system would cure mental illness.
Itbasically meant injecting insulin and inducing hypoglycaemia.
Ifthat sounds dangerous…that’s because it is.
Symptomsinclude confusion, memory loss, dizziness, shaking, heartpalpitations, sweating, coldness, nausea, headaches, pins andneedles, blurred vision and lack of coordination. In extremelylow-sugar states people can have seizures or lose consciousness. Andnot all of these symptoms will show up in every case for everyperson.
Howfast symptoms set in is highly dependant on the dose, the individualand the type of insulin used, some kinds act faster than others. Thetorturer would need to be reasonably careful with the type and doseso that the character doesn’t end up in a coma. After consultingwith ScriptSpoonie (you can find them here: https://scriptspoonie.tumblr.com/) a sensible time frame for symptoms to startbecoming obvious is 45-90 minutes after the injection.
Insulincan be relatively easily administered because it is sold ineasy-to-inject packaging with pre-measured doses. With the labeltaken off the torturer could probably pass the injection off assomething else. The symptoms wouldn’t manifest until much latermaking it easier to dismiss the victim’s claims that the tortureris to blame- especially if they’re suffering from a degree ofconfusion.
They’dfeel absolutely wretched until their next meal when the symptomswould suddenly fade. Which would probably also make it easier forpeople in authority to dismiss them as ‘faking it’.
Insulinshock has no therapeutic value and while insulin isan essential medicine like any other medicine it can be dangerous.This scenario is essentially an overdose of an unneeded medication.
Itwould also probably be incredibly frightening because the victimdoesn’t know what these symptoms are or why they’re happening.And they’d feel pretty sick for quite a while following theinjection.
WhichI think brings us to electrical shocks.
Iusually hesitate to suggest electricity in a medical orpseudo-medical context for a couple of reasons. The first is there’sno evidence of the type of ECT machine usually depicted in torturescenes ever being used to torture. They’re too big, complicated andobvious. The second is that there are people out there who find ECTgenuinely helpful for their conditions and the continued linking ofit to torture doesn’t help them access treatment.
Inthis case however electrical torture really stands out as apossibility. It’s can be clean. It can cause long term pain andelectricity hasbeen used to treat a variety of medical conditions (with varyinglevels of success).
ATaser or stun gun doesn’t really work in the kind of scenarioyou’re describing because they’re designed to….basicallytemporarily knock out the connection between your nerves and muscles.And, for the reasons I described above, I don’t think an ECTmachine would be a good choice.
Ithink what I’d suggest in this case is making up a fictionalelectrical device based on electrical muscle stimulation.
Inthe real world these devices are used by athletes and in certainkinds of physiotherapy to encourage muscle growth, regeneration orsimply to prevent muscles dying when patients can’t get as much usefrom them just yet. They produce a low level of electricalstimulation that isn’t painful and leaves no marks.
Obviouslythe real device doesn’t fit what you want for the story. Butpassing off a different sort of electrical device- something thatcauses pain and massive muscular spasms, as the same ‘therapeutic’idea could work for what you have in mind.
Thetrouble with this as a suggestion is that…..it’s too easy tothink that the device and scenario is real and I think it cansometimes be difficult in fiction to stress the fictional nature of aparticular element. If we lived in a world with greater understandingof torture generally and electrical torture in particular…I’d bea lot more comfortable with this.
I’dapproach this by stressing that the machine is supposedto cause mild muscular spasms and that in this case the machine iseither adjusted or faulty, the spasms are much more intense. Youcould also describe this as a treatment that is usually done when thepatient is anaesthetised, in the same way that ECT is now conductedwhen patients are unconscious. (It’s done this way so it’s lesspainful and distressing for the patient). I’m not sure that coversall the necessary ground, a lot is going to depend on how you writeit.
Electricaltorture, of a kind that causes muscular spasms, causes lastingmuscular pain as well as the pain of the shock itself. It’s usuallyconducted when victims are restrained and small (or indeed large)injuries caused by spasming against the restraints are common. Inextreme cases victims have broken bones. This sort of electricaltorture could also cause burns on the skin at the point of contactbut doesn’t necessarily. There’s increased risk of heart failureand seizures, which can be fatal. There’s also a pretty high chanceof the victim biting off their own tongue, torturers would generallyuse gags when there’s a risk of spasming to prevent this whichincreases the risk of the victim suffocating.
Ifthe torturer can persuade other people that this is treatment they’dlikely restrain the victim (probably to a hospital bed) and putsomething in their mouth. The victim could sustain small cuts andbruises being restrained.
Theactual injuries from electrical torture vary hugely with the typedevice. In this case if you’re inventing a device you can decidewhat you need for the setting. Which is muscle spasms but no burns.With softer, looser restraints broken bones are less of a risk thoughthe victim might still get a broken jaw biting down on whatever is intheir mouth.
Shockingsomeone who has been given a pain killer or an aesthetic looks prettymuch the same as shocking a conscious person from a distance. Acombination of neglecting to administer a painkiller and musclerelaxant plus the usually harmless nature of the device could be usedto undermine the victim’s story. Especially if there is a workingdevice as well as a faulty one, meaning that other people could beundergoing the ‘same treatment’ without complaint.
OverallI think this is an interesting scenario. It certainly stretched mycreativity but hopefully I’ve given you enough options to pick whatyou feel works best for the story. Remember that the misgivings Ihave about particular techniques here don’tmean you should rule them out; they mean that if you choose to usethem you should be aware of the potential pit falls and implicationsthat come with them.
Ihope that helps. :)
Disclaimer
#tw torture#tw medical abuse#tw ableism#tw homophobia#electricity#starvation#cold shock#insulin shock#needles#clean torture#Anonymous
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