#she probably had a very painful progressive disease

[bethanydelleman]

Mrs. Churchill: The Most Unfairly Maligned Woman in Jane Austen

We never meet Mrs. Churchill in Jane Austen’s Emma, everything we know about her is second- (Frank) or third- (Mr. Weston) hand. But once you read the book a second or tenth time, it becomes clear that Mrs. Churchill was getting progressively worse, ending in her death and Frank knew this. 

Mrs. Churchill is far more sick than Frank ever admits. He often uses her as an excuse to neglect visiting his father.  Everyone in Highbury thinks Mrs. Churchill is faking because it's so convenient that she's sick when Frank is supposed to visit. But we know the truth, he doesn't visit until Jane comes to Highbury, he is staying away on purpose.

But she does decline during the course of the novel

Evidence of her decline: 

We know that the Churchills go to London yearly with Frank, “He saw his son every year in London” and yet, Frank says to Emma, “and if my uncle and aunt go to town this spring—but I am afraid—they did not stir last spring—I am afraid it is a custom gone for ever.” This custom has happened every year of Frank’s life and now is suddenly ended. Sounds like Mrs. Churchill was too sick to go the year prior and Frank does not expect her to get better.

According to Mr. Weston, Frank can come if the Churchills do not visit a family called the Braithwaites, “But I know they will, because it is a family that a certain lady, of some consequence, at Enscombe, has a particular dislike to: and though it is thought necessary to invite them once in two or three years, they always are put off when it comes to the point.” But the Churchills do actually go for the visit. As if they are saying goodbye and seeing people for the last time.

Mrs. Churchill does allow Frank to stay in Highbury for the ball, and then suddenly withdraws consent, “A letter arrived from Mr. Churchill to urge his nephew’s instant return. Mrs. Churchill was unwell—far too unwell to do without him; she had been in a very suffering state (so said her husband) when writing to her nephew two days before, though from her usual unwillingness to give pain, and constant habit of never thinking of herself, she had not mentioned it; but now she was too ill to trifle, and must entreat him to set off for Enscombe without delay.” This seems like a petty power play until we remember that she does actually die at the end of the book. Several close calls are normal for a person experiencing hospice care or a sudden decline in health.

Then Mrs. Churchill suddenly decides to go to London, which makes sense if she’s been getting much worse and wants to consult the London physicians:

“The evil of the distance from Enscombe,” said Mr. Weston, “is, that Mrs. Churchill, as we understand (in italics in the text), has not been able to leave the sofa for a week together. In Frank’s last letter she complained, he said, of being too weak to get into her conservatory without having both his arm and his uncle’s! This, you know, speaks a great degree of weakness—but now she is so impatient to be in town, that she means to sleep only two nights on the road.—So Frank writes word. Certainly, delicate ladies have very extraordinary constitutions, Mrs. Elton. You must grant me that.”

Frank actually stays away from Jane against his inclination when Mrs. Churchill is in Richmond. Mrs. Churchill is actually getting worse and he's not a complete dick, he stays with her:

This was the only visit from Frank Churchill in the course of ten days. He was often hoping, intending to come—but was always prevented. His aunt could not bear to have him leave her. Such was his own account at Randall’s. If he were quite sincere, if he really tried to come, it was to be inferred that Mrs. Churchill’s removal to London had been of no service to the wilful or nervous part of her disorder. That she was really ill was very certain; he had declared himself convinced of it, at Randalls. Though much might be fancy, he could not doubt, when he looked back, that she was in a weaker state of health than she had been half a year ago. He did not believe it to proceed from any thing that care and medicine might not remove, or at least that she might not have many years of existence before her; but he could not be prevailed on, by all his father’s doubts, to say that her complaints were merely imaginary, or that she was as strong as ever.

and later: The black mare was blameless; they were right who had named Mrs. Churchill as the cause. He had been detained by a temporary increase of illness in her; a nervous seizure, which had lasted some hours—and he had quite given up every thought of coming,

Also, let us consider how much hatred is directed at Mrs. Churchill for wanting her adopted nephew to stay by her while she is dying, whilst Mr. Woodhouse, who basically imprisons his daughter with all his fancies of ill health, is widely loved. Mrs. Churchill is the alleged hypochondriac who is actually sick, while Mr. Woodhouse worries about his health, but has no recorded illness through the entire book.

To sum up, Mrs. Churchill was getting progressively worse over the course of the novel. She very reasonably wanted her adopted child to be near her. Frank does actually do his duty to his aunt, indicating that he is well aware of how sick she has become. Mrs. Churchill’s death was not sudden, it happens at the end of a decline lasting about a year, or a bit longer.

[doberbutts]

weird question, but is there a reason why humans with rabies don't become as mindlessly aggressive as animals with rabies? like, how come people with rabies aren't running around biting everyone?

If I'd hazard a guess, it probably cooks us before we progress that far. Additionally, it also likely has something to do with natural instinct- humans with rabies while they are still able to talk report feeling intense fear and pain while experiencing hallucinations.

Most humans actively don't want to hurt other people- I have a schizophrenic aunt and even in her worst delusions and hallucinations where she may be screaming threats, she's never actually followed through on any of them because she genuinely doesn't want to hurt anyone when she's capable of processing situations logically. Similarly, I have a friend-of-a-friend who is also severely mentally ill, and the only times he's ever hurt someone are when he gets grabbed while he's hallucinating that someone is trying to hurt him. Those he's lashed out at in this state get shoved or kicked or punched before he continues to try to get away from them (they also forgive him immediately because they are his caretakers and understand his mental state very well).

When we started using tools as a species, we also stopped reaching for "biting you" as a defensive response unless there is truly no other choice. Even in the grips of intense fear and panic and pain and delusion and hallucination and paranoia, humans are more likely to choose literally any other option than teeth unless that's their last line of defense. We probably did bite each other back when we were no different than our great ape cousins.

More or less, I'm not entirely convinced that rabies sends signals for "bite" specifically, and is more sending signals for "attack", and humans don't really reach for "bite" when attacking as a general rule unlike other animals. Humans who are restrained in their hospital beds are significantly more likely to bite their caregivers- shoving, kicking, and punching are out of the question when you're tied down. That is true regardless of if they have rabies or not.

Additionally, the virus seems to only progress so far before it stagnates at a specific stage in certain animals. Bats are significantly more likely to have "dumb rabies" than "furious rabies". This could be due to a number of things ranging from "dumb rabies makes them incapable of flight and fucks up their sonar [true!] and so they starve to death before symptoms can progress past that [theory!] since they have fast metabolisms and missing even a single night's meal is devastating to their health [true!]" to "bats show some resistance to rabies as a whole [true!] and thus it may take much longer for symptoms to progress in the usual manner and so the bat generally dies before it can go any further [theory!]" Bats CAN progress to the furious stage, but we don't tend to see it as often.

There has never been a recorded instance of rabies passing from human to human so my money's on a combo of the two theories. It's very possible that Grug The Caveman got rabies from the wolves he was trying to tame and then wiped out his entire society by zombie-biting the fuck out of everyone who tried to help him. But we weren't writing things down at that point, so we have no way of knowing.

Rabies' first documentation is 4000 years ago- but it's very possible it existed before that, since the writing just states that the owner of a rabid dog needs to take provisions against it biting anyone, meaning we knew by then what rabies was and that the bite was dangerous. It's very possible this disease has followed us around since before humans harnessed fire and invented the wheel. That's a decent amount of un-accounted-for time for humans to have hulked out and started zombie-biting.

We have so many folkstory monsters in nearly every culture on the planet that boil down to "had contact with an animal that was acting strangly, turned me into a savage monster that tries to kill everything I see less than a month later, btw my monster disease is super contagious and I spread it by biting the fuck out of you" that predate any modern science knowledge of how the virus works, which makes me think that it probably did happen back in the caveman days and it's ancestrial memory that has us clinging to these concepts to this day.

[generalhumancloudalmond]

Wonderful child

Platonic!Yandere!Muzan x Child!Fem! Reader

You were a wonderful child not only in the opinion of your own mother, but also in the opinion of your new father, whom you and your sister unconditionally accepted. But to tell the truth, first time your new father bothered you. He may not have done anything wrong, but you were a child with an incredibly developed sense of empathy and you felt every change in his mood better than your mother and sister.

That's probably why Muzan thought you were a wonderful child. You never bothered him and when it was necessary, you left and even more, you took your younger sister away when he was not in the best mood, which made it easier him to stay here.

That night, you saw how annoyed he was after meeting with a strange boy, so when you and your mom and sister said goodbye to him, he was leaving for some business meeting. You, unlike your sister and mom, didn't hug or kiss him, just wished him to come back soon and waved.

"Y/n, I don't think you get along very well with Muzan."

You looked surprised at your mom, who was talking to you.

"You hardly talk to him, I understand that you miss your real father, but..."

"No, I get along well with Muzan. He doesn't even mind anymore if I'm in the same room with him when he's busy."

"Was he against being in the same room with you? I mean, you're a calm girl and don't bother..."

"He didn't kick me out, it's just that my presence, at first, often annoyed him, and now he doesn't mind."

You smiled at your mom, calming her nerves, and your little sister repeated after you, your mom giggled. You really were a wonderful child.

However, a good streak cannot last forever and one day it really ended. Now you were lying in bed in terrible suffering. Muzan still hasn't returned, but his money was enough to delay the progress of your illness. The problem was that neither you not your mom had the strength. You couldn't fight with illness anymore, and your mom couldn't watching you cry and moan in pain, couldn't watching your medical analysis get worse and worse every day. Your mother couldn't contact her husband, and therefore she had to make this important decision on her own.

Muzan came back at night and he was furious when he heard that he had an hour to say goodbye to you when your heart stopped completely. Not caring about the force, he pushed your mother away.

Why can't this useless woman even take care of her own child?!

When he entered your room, he discovered your unconscious figure. You were lying on the bed and looked very much like a dead, but the demon still heard your weak heart. With his claw, he sharply scratched your cheek, giving a small amount of his blood.

At that moment, your sweet dream ended, you thought that the disease was terribly painful, but it was worse, much worse. Your whole body was bending in the opposite direction, you even heard the crunch of your own bones, but all this faded against the background of your cheek, it burned with hellish pain, and the skin near the wound seemed to melt.

Your little sister ran into your room after hearing the screams. And froze in horror. Muzan sat on your bed and held you in his arms while you squirmed and screamed. The father was calm, while you beat him with your head in agony, while he held your legs and arms. The girl immediately covered her eyes with her hands and wanted to run away, but the demon stopped her.

"Come here. Don't you want to help your sister?"

She wanted to help you, she has to help you, so she listens him and approaches you. You began to shake less, but blood poured out of your mouth.

"Dad, what can I..."

Abruptly Muzan grabs her by the head and begins to squeeze.

"Y/n will be very hungry when she becomes a demon and you will help her with that."

[tgrailwar-zero]

Okay. Okay, okay,

This is fine. This is honest. This is good.

That's probably the only way we're going to work this out with any finality, and it is fair. We needed that reminder, and I'm glad you could work it out.

To answer your question, Beastmaster, we want to atone for our past actions. Lord Sigurd showed us a way we can help people. Even if there's a chance of failure, we want to protect and fight for the Solar Cell and humanity in any way we can. We will agree to any test, any fetter, and any pact as long as we can help people. Even if it means killing us if we return, no matter what we say or show.

You watched the beast stare down at you as you spoke. His hand didn't leave his spear, his expression as flat and expressionless as stone.

It was very familiar. A stirring tide of rage and pain. You didn't need to reach deep to feel it- like a duet, you felt it resonate with something deep within your own chest.

It was twisted, corroded. A free heart shackled. A wandering hound chained to an iron leash, disease-ridden and dying.

However, there was a tacit understanding as the beast stared down at you and you looked him in the eyes. There was no more 'Cu Chulainn'.

That shooting star had burned out along time ago, and had now crashed into the Earth and sat smoldering. A shooting star that had never once felt regret in his life, staring up at an empty sky. Red hot and immobile- rotting and eroding.

That was a good question. One without a clear answer.

A thousand things you could offer. A thousand things you could say. A weapon didn't have wants, a beast didn't have desires, so there was nothing that could be offered or traded in turn. No joy in death, no joy in life. A hollow vessel, unwishing and unwanting.

'BEATHACH': "…Useless."

You felt him muscle past you, leaving the chamber. His heavy footsteps growing more and more distant. The other Lair Servants sat in silence as he vanished away, before you saw the Keeper lean over, taking a weary breath before looking over at the Valkyrie.

KEEPER: "….Brynhildr, please."

BRYNHILDR: "He won't come back. You know that."

KEEPER: "Then at least keep an eye on him, he'll listen to you."

BRYNHILDR: "…Of course."

You watched as the Valkyrie landed on the ground, armored boots clanking against the ground as she disappeared after him. A heavy silence hung over the chamber for a moment, before PTOLEMAIOS cleared his throat. Though you could feel it, a fragile balance having been torn, old wounds beginning to slowly bleed again.

KEEPER: "…Yes. We have to stay on track. The trial--"

The Slayer cut in, her voice heavy and clear.

NIKITICH: "...There is no point in a trial. The Beastmaster is right. Beastmaster Tezcatlipoca is also right and said the same thing. We are useless, with no answers and no progress."

CLEOPATRA: "That's... not what he meant. I'm not sure what exactly, but he wasn't talking about us. Can't you stay focused? We're in the middle of something important, you can project and unload later."

NIKITICH: "Always 'later' with you people. We cannot fight the Void Cell, we stand vigil over a world we plan to abandon… It seems that Sigurd has a solution, that doesn't involve us wallowing in our cowardice. Fine. I will take something. You all do as you please, but I am returning to the Moon. At least there I can pretend I am a hero worthy of my name."

You watched as the Slayer similarly hopped down from her perch, walking past you. She stopped, her back to you as she raised a hand.

NIKITICH: "…I vote that they live. Give them a chance to tell their own story, since we have clearly outlived ours."

You watched as she left as well, her own footsteps growing more distant. CLEOPATRA sighed, one hand idly fidgeting with her hair.

CLEOPATRA: "…And this is why we never have these. Ugh, if Quetzalcoatl were here... Whatever. I'll vote. Staring down the Beastmaster was brave, and I think they raised some good points while doing it. So…"

She raised her own hand.

CLEOPATRA: "…I say they don't die, but I'm not sure about entrusting the future to them. You made a deal with Duryodhana, right? Come see me then, if you're successful. I'll consider giving up my Key then."

She dropped down from her loge, striding past you. You saw as she reached the door to the chamber, stopping briefly as she took a breath to collect herself, before straightening her posture and heading through. You saw the ADMINISTRATOR, strangely pensive.

ADMINISTRATOR: "…I'm abstaining. There's too much for me to consider. New data. I need to consult with the other Divided Spirits. However, if Freyr Sigurd requires valuable Solar Cell resources for his research, he'd need only put in a formal request."

SIGURD: "…Thank you, Madame Administrator."

Without further response, ADMINISTRATOR didn't head through the door, but vanished away in a blue, digitized light.

SIGURD: "Old friend, you understand my vote. Brynhildr is of the same mind, the defendant should not be killed."

PTOLEMAIOS: "…Then the votes against execution are in the majority in comparison to no negative votes, and several of the Council abstaining their votes…"

PTOLEMAIOS: "...Meaning that the case is closed. The defendant will not be killed, and will be able to resume their activities. The court is adjourned. To the defendant, thank you for your patience. For those of you that stayed, thank you for your service."

He looked over at the only other Lair Servant still in the room, SIGURD, who was sitting back in his seat with his eyes closed, deep in thought.

Normally you'd expect a bit more fanfare, outside of a rather empty and chilly chamber. It seemed like they all reached their own conclusions, and it reached a rather premature end.

You felt a firm hand on your shoulder, as MAX stepped up next to you with a gentle smile.

MAX: "...Congratulations. You survived the lion's den."

[flutterbyfairy]

i have a neurologist appointment in about a month that i'm quite nervous about due to previously being dismissed/not having my concerns listened to, so gonna post this to ask for some advice on getting Taken Seriously or if anyone knows things about the type of condition i might have about what i should be asking them to do/test.

might be quite long so putting it under a read more, and tw for medical stuff and doctors being dismissive. also i am So So Tired and therefore not able to think very clearly so apologies if i've messed up any of the medical info about conditions i mention and apologise just generally for the rambliness of my writing.

summary of why i'm going:

bunch of disabling symptoms that have continually progressed over the past 5+ years, including: muscle weakness, fatigue, muscle twitches/small spasms, nerve pain, blurry vision, lack of coordination (have this from autism, however has gotten significantly worse recently so might also be related to neuro stuff). first symptoms were difficulty having my arms over my head (like having to take multiple breaks while putting my hair into a ponytail because i couldn't hold my arms over my head for the like.. three minutes to do a ponytail) and blurry vision (that optometrist has said seems like might be due to a systemic disease because of how variable it is) since i was 13, which was seven years ago. i started getting more impairing symptoms when i was 15, and began needing a wheelchair for anything that required standing or walking for more than 10 - 15 minutes. i'm currently 20 and need my wheelchair whenever i leave the house, i can't leave the house or do things around the house often, i can stand for a max of like four minutes and can't hold my hands above my head for more than like 30 seconds to one minute. pretty much all my symptoms get a lot worse with any exertion.

GP thinks i have myasthenia gravis, but the test for acetylcholine receptor antibodies was negative and he doesn't have the ability to do other tests.

the neurologist has already said he thinks i have functional neurological disorder and that i should do CBT and pysio to improve my functioning (i already know CBT is horrible for me, i'm in other therapy which is good, i've done some psyio before but she just taught me some stretches and that was it, more psyio could be good but it'd have to be with someone who isn't trying to do a graded exercise therapy type thing since i get PEM). he has mentioned doing a spine MRI but this hasn't been done yet. he said he doesn't want to do further testing for myasthenia gravis but i will probably try to get him to agree to doing a repetitive nerve stimulation EMG or something.

i also have scapular winging on the side of my body with worse muscular symptoms which has also caused a lot of nerve pain, and i might also have some sort of spine issues (straightening of cervical lordosis was seen on a CT scan, they said it was probably due to muscle spasms, and i get a lot of neck pain which might be due to that? as well as a ton of back pain along my spine. might have CCI but haven't been tested yet). since it seems like i'm getting some structural changes in areas where i also get a lot of the pain and weakness and spasms i'm hoping if i bring that up the neurologist might maybe look more at organic causes + the state of those structural changes but i dunno.

he did a basic neurological exam in my initial appointment with him and said that i have give way weakness/waxing and waning weakness because when he got me to do the pushing my limbs against resistance i could do okay for a couple seconds but couldn't maintain it. he also said in the letter that i had positive hoovers sign however i am.. very confused by this because from my understanding hoovers sign is mainly looked at when someone has one limb that's at least somewhat "normal" and one that either can't be moved or is very weak, and then the person can't move the weak leg but when asked to push the stronger leg against resistance they push the weak leg down. both my legs are strong enough that i can stand and whilst one leg is a bit weaker they're relatively similar. i lifted and pushed against resistance with both legs so.... i am not sure how hoovers is applicable here? does anyone know why it was applied and if that was correct or if i should be challenging that? he's saying that the give way weakness and positive hoovers are indicators that the problem is "non-organic" and therefore should be treated with CBT and pysio.

i'm not sure what i think is actually going on. i think myasthenia gravis might make sense, but also so could other neuromuscular diseases like a mitochondrial disease or something. also very possible it's myalgic encephalomyelitis (aka chronic fatigue syndrome) but obviously that one is a diagnosis of exclusion so i want to rule other things out if possible. i want to know what's going on so i can have the best chance of being as well as is possible for me. i know CBT is not right for me and whilst some type of pysio could help a bit/prevent some decline (based on past experience i know it won't Cure Me but obviously it can help a bit to build some muscle or maintain range of motion and things like that which are important) if there's other things i can do on top of that i want to.

i've tried to do research to work out the best tests to ask for and i think EMG might be good but also know a normal EMG doesn't typically pick up myasthenia gravis so it needs to also have repetitive nerve stimulation i think?

i can't see a different neurologist at least not anytime soon, so i need to get this neurologist to do as much to help as possible. a social worker from where i get therapy is coming to the appointment to help me so that should be good but i need to work out what the best way to advocate for myself is and what tests are going to be the most useful to ask for.

if anyone has any advice for getting doctors to take you seriously or for any tests i should be advocating for or conditions i should be looking into or anything i would really appreciate it <3 (emoticon description: heart)

[fairytaleinagem]

currently dying of "creativity under my skin but no motivation in my soul" disease, anyways here's a short story and a new divider! testing smth out for my post aesthetics

TW: SMOKING (though not very detailed)

Despite the looming deadline of another report of Zenith's progress (both in skill and memory recovery), Andrei couldn't help but stop at the sound of laughter, raucous and echoing from one of the various rooms within the Training District. His brows furrowed. For once, he wanted to join in. To smoothly enter whatever conversation was happening and to laugh with others. Make them laugh, maybe. God, wouldn't that be a shift in energy? Something that many of the others say he lacks.

And that urge is probably why he found himself walking into a room, peeking around the corner to see those who were scheduled to tutor Zenith today; Aeva, Akina, and Marcelo. It was more likely that they volunteered—they were always around the kid, flocking around them like moths to a lamp. That, and their evident skill of melee and physical attacks. Zenith had yet to fully take down Marcelo, but they have proven themself to be a quick learner, lasting longer and longer each fight that was initiated. They might even be able to move up to Aeva's level soon.

"Researcher Andrei. Were we too loud again?" a flat voice snapped him out of his slight daze, and he found himself wondering when he had walked right up to the four, standing behind them with his arms crossed. Zenith stared at him, dark green eyes staring into his own green ones.

"Oh, Andrei! Didn't notice you were around the District! What's up, man?" Marcelo greeted, a toothy grin spreading across his face as he wrapped a slightly sweaty arm around his shoulders. He grimaced at the feeling of fabric being dampened by it, but he shook it off like he shrugged off Marcelo's arm.

"I was on my way to send in a report, but you seem particularly joyous today. Any reason for that?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, looking at Akina for an answer.

"Hah! We're just teaching Zen to axe throw! And suffice to say, they're doing a great job at it!" she exclaims, a sunny grin on her face. It matches Marcelo's, and soon Aeva's face begins to shine with a similarly bright smile.

"Hell yeah they are. Pretty sick at aiming, I'd say. Almost better than I am," Aeva said, punching Zenith's arm with a wink. A short, nervous chuckle leaves them, and Andrei could almost feel the sharp pain that definitely goes through their arm.

"Hm. Mind if you show me?"

A possible update to the report that was due soon—he was glad that he tends to write notes as he goes, he couldn't imagine the stress that would be coursing through his veins if he didn't.

Zenith nods, hefting an axe nearby with two hands, before walking a bit away from the group. They stand a few feet away from the target board, and a dense aura of immediate focus and calculation rippled throughout the air, entering Andrei's head. A familiar feeling.

"The use of a Special Skill?" he muttered, brows furrowing as he noted it down in the holographic report. This new development could help lead towards finding an identity match for Zenith—something the Conglomerate has been waiting on for weeks. Impatient bastards. It was also an update on their progress. Signs of a Special Skill could help progress them even further than they were originally! The four watched as the axe was thrown, landing directly in the middle.

Bullseye.

Aeva, Akina, and Marcelo cheered, rushing over to jostle the poor kid around. They cheered and laughed, much like they did earlier when he was merely passing by.

Despite his stable position as a researcher and Epitome within the Company, Andrei couldn't help but feel…hurt. Something inside him ached. His arms twitched as he barely suppressed the urge to jump on the four in a giant hug, no matter if three of them were much taller than he was. With clenched fists, he begins to back away. Back out of the room. Out of the identical white hallways that were beginning to become blurry, and out of the nearly never ending Training District entirely. By the time he stepped foot inside the Residential District, the ache had grown into something terrible. His lungs stuttered as he Flicked into his room, and he could barely feel the fabric of the bed that he fell into. There was no telling how long he laid there, eyes wide with an emotion that was entirely new to him. No. He knew what it was. What was it doing within him? Poisoning his mind, so quickly and quietly?

A dizzying sit-up later, he yanked the bedside drawer open, fingers fumbling as he nearly dropped the box of Vigorettes and lighter. He pulled a Vigorette out and lit it, inhaling the smoke as quickly as he could.  He nearly choked on it. The uncharacteristic panic smoothed out into a careless daze the longer he smoked.

Maybe this is why the others said he had no energy. It was all put into throwing away any feeling anything other than peace.

Only the faint purple light of the Vigorette flame and dark blue of the report lit up his room. He sent both away with a wave of a hand, before landing back into the soft pillows of his bed.

[prospectivehero]

VICTOR AND NORA, A GOTHAM LOVE STORY- Written by Lauren Myracle, Illustrated by Isaac Goodhart

Confession time: I'm terrible with names (real life and fictional). Even with my associate's degree in Batmanology, my poor name recognition missed the significance of Victor Fries, a resident of the city of Gotham. When the part of my brain that doesn't require caffeine to function decided to look up some familiar names when I was halfway through the novel, I was heartbroken. Would it have been better for me to be surprised by the ending, I wasn't sure, but I didn't think I could expect a happy ending from "a gotham love story."

This is a rough read. Much like Constantine and Miracle Man, it's not something to read when you're in a bad headspace. I'll talk more about it in the trigger warnings, but this story focuses on death and dying. Victor is burdened by a loved one's death in his past, which he feels at fault for. He has become cold to the people around him and feels safe studying cryogenics in solitude. Nora only sees death in her future due to an incurable progressive disease that will slowly deteriorate her functionality, personality, and treasured memories before it kills her. But she refuses to let this illness take anything valuable from her, so she has decided to plan her suicide and leave this world as herself. But she's given herself time to make more memories with a boy she met in a cemetery.

I was not in a good headspace reading this comic. I won't go into full detail, just know that I was having several identity crises overlapping one another. I'm in a better headspace now that I've figured some stuff out, but during that experience, these very well-developed characters hit especially hard. Nora's relationship to her illness and battle with its ever-increasing presence felt relatable since I battle a progressive disability. The two are not the same, but I understood her desire not to tell any of her friends so they wouldn't have to watch her suffer and degrade. When she tells Victor, I relate to his desperation to keep her with him since she makes him feel alive and loved.

If you recognized the names you probably could figure out where the story is going but it's worth the read. The story feels very personal. The illustrations, by Jason Goodhart, consistently match the feeling of Lauren Myracle's story and none of the beautiful character designs distract from the weight of everything that happens. There were breaks in the story that reference other artists or stories like Tim Burton or Titanic (1997) to serve the story. I think these breaks flowed well, but I could understand if it's not everyone's cup of Mountain Dew. This is my new second favorite graphic novel, despite how I reacted to it while reading it. I highly recommend picking it up.

TRIGGER WARNINGS (with potential spoilers) -

1) Death - Victor frequently remembers the fire that he accidentally started as a child that destroyed the family house and took the life of his older brother, Otto Freeze.

2) Planned and Attempted Suicide - Nora reasons that this is the only way she can die as herself, so she sets a date and a means and writes a letter to her father. She is stopped before she can complete her plan. Her note is read at the end of the novel.

3) Secondary Mourning - This comic gives time and space to mourn with the characters as they mourn their past and future. We see how Nora views her illness and how Victor views himself. It was a unique experience, being given an opening to grieve in moments that may feel very familiar to many of us, but it can be painful if you're not ready to feel those feelings.

4) Sex (Consentual) - It is as PG-13 and fade-to-black as a sex scene could possibly get, but it doesn't hide the fact that it happened.

5) Language - Much like Constantine, I tuned it out, which means I had to skim through the novel. I saw rare uses of language to the tune of "s***".

[kxlinthesky]

EPISODE 6 PART 2 LIGHT NOVEL Chapter 5-6 English Translation

“... I’m sorry.” Jack removed his stethoscope, his voice carefully devoid of any emotion.

Owl refused to give up hope just yet. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

Jack shook his head. “Not with how far she’s progressed, no.”

“But she’s still breathing. Her body’s still here,” Owl pointed out, perhaps a touch desperately. “And she wasn’t completely Demonized yet, right? Since Demons usually turn to dust when they die.”

“No, she was completely Demonized. She burned through the last remaining bits of human life force she had. What you probably saw was her trying to restart her heart with whatever magic she had left. It would’ve looked like she was still breathing for a bit... though that’s only a guess. I haven’t seen many cases where the body was left in this state.”

“So all we can do is wait and watch?”

Jack blew out a sigh, mouth twisted in a pained line. “... Unfortunately, yes. I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

Seeing his own frustration mirrored on his friend’s face, Owl held his tongue. His hands balled into fists.

“There’s nothing more we can do for her,” Jack continued. “She... was probably dead before she even met you. The Black Rose Disease marks had spread over her entire body.”

Owl’s jaw fell open. His clenched fist fell limp.

They were back at Owl’s agency, and there was an unconscious woman lying stretched out in front of them. It was the harpy who’d attacked them earlier... well, she had been a harpy. She was just a regular woman now. After all that had happened, Owl and the others had swiftly transported her back to the agency and called for Jack in the hopes that he could help her. And he’d tried, to the best of his abilities... but it was just too late.

That very night, she’d used up the last dregs of her strength. There was nothing left inside her now.

“I just don’t understand.”

Owl all but fell onto the couch, his hands almost clawing at his scalp. The Demonized woman had suddenly attacked them mere seconds after he’d had that odd hallucination, and on top of that, she might in fact be the duke’s missing daughter.... He felt completely justified in being just the slightest bit frazzled at the moment.

Jack’s voice lowered a touch. “... Owl, do you remember the servant at the McCreech’s estate? The one who collapsed in the chapel?”

“The servant...? You mean the one Cain experimented on who got their soul removed...? Whatever happened to him?”

“He passed away, unfortunately. I only bring it up because there were traces of something in him that are also present in her.” Jack gestured to the unconscious woman. “Traces that her soul was pulled out of her body by unnatural means.”

“What?”

Jack held out a medical certificate. As Owl grabbed it and started scanning, his finger tracing the text, Jack went on, “She showed up as a Demon, then reverted back into a human in front of you all, right?”

“That’s right. She turned back right as she was about to attack us.”

“I see....” Jack trailed off for a moment in thought. Eventually, he haltingly continued, “This is just a hypothesis that came up when I was speaking with Sir Tristan before, but... maybe she turned into a Demon before she attacked you all, and someone pulled her soul out then?”

“Huh?”

“She would’ve died the instant her soul was removed, but maybe that’s not enough to actually kill a Demon... or maybe she was moving through some other power....” Jack shrugged, eyebrows furrowed in a pensive frown. “Either way, maybe what happened is she rampaged for a while without her soul, and when she finally surpassed her limits she turned back into a human in front of all of you. Her body ceased functioning... essentially dying a second time.”

“A second death....” The words sounded almost foreign to Owl’s ears. How miserable, how painful would it be to experience that sort of agony not just once, but twice? Hs couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“I’ve been thinking about that device in the McCreech estate this whole time,” Jack admitted.

“Device... you mean the one in the chapel.” It wasn’t phrased like a question. Owl knew what Jack meant.

“Yeah, that one. A device that switches souls around as a way to cheat death... but the more I thought about it, the more I thought that the way it returns souls to their bodies is pretty risky. So I wondered, did the old head of the family create it just to live forever? Or was it used for some other reason? Did someone order them to build it?” As he spoke, Jack raised his arms to hover around him like wings... and not just any wings, not butterfly or bird or anything like that, but the wings of a very particular being. “And so on and so forth.”

Owl dipped his head. He had several thoughts on that front as well. “Mastema... he wanted to turn Eliza and Anastasia into Demons. He said he was collecting it, farming it. Meaning he was cultivating them to try and make something.”

“Make something... Demons, you mean?”

“... No, not Demons. At least, that wasn’t the end goal. Demonization was just a side effect, or an end result, I guess, of whatever he was trying to grow.” Owl’s hand rose to cup his chin. “That apparatus is meant to harvest souls from their bodies. Cultivated souls, grown souls, are unusual – altered in some way, most likely. And once a soul from a Demonized body undergoes that alteration, that’s the optimal time to harvest.”

“... An altered soul,” Jack repeated.

“Yeah. And if the crystallized form of a soul like that is azoth....” Owl was the one saying it, but a chill ran down his spine nevertheless at the thought. He had a bad feeling about this....

“Hey Owl, Doc, why don’t you guys take a break?” called Nick’s voice from the kitchen. “There’s tea on, you want some?”

Owl and Jack traded glances, then nodded as one and moved into the kitchen, taking their seats at the table. Identical massive sighs fell from their lips. Nick handed them each a cup of tea, lips pulled in a contrite frown. “I’m sorry,” he told them.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“If I was faster... if I figured out she was the duke’s daughter earlier....” Nick wrung his hands. “If I brought her to see Owl earlier and we found out she was infected, then maybe....”

Owl cut him off with a firm shake of his head. “There’s no use worrying about what-ifs. You only had that sketch to work off of – there’s no way you could’ve figured it out. You didn’t do anything wrong, Nick.”

“... Mm.” Nick didn’t sound too convinced.

“Ellie already went to bed, right? You should get some rest, too.”

“But –”

Owl reached out and clapped Nick on the shoulder comfortingly. “Tomorrow we’ll get in contact with the duke and have him identify the body, and then we’ll go back there. We’re all worried about Ritz – we have to go get her.” He tilted his head into the agency.

“Thank you for the tea,” Jack chimed in. “Sleep well.”

Nick glanced at both of them, then nodded. “Fine, okay. Lemme just make sure the pub’s locked up tight first, then I’ll go to bed.” He turned and walked out of the kitchen.

Nick shuffled downstairs with a storm cloud hanging over his head. He quickly made his way down to the pub and opened the door. Good thing we were closed today anyway. I don’t think I could’ve handled customers like this, he thought to himself as he walked through the shop. He headed straight for the entrance, but just as he passed by the counter –

“Hey, did you make this lemonade?”

“WAAH!!”

– someone’s voice suddenly spoke up from behind it, and Nick jumped, his heart kicking into wild overdrive. He hadn’t thought anyone was here! He leaped over to the window in a single bound, squinting in the direction of the voice.

“Ahahaha, wow, you just leaped away,” chortled the voice. “Like a cat who saw a snake or something.”

“Ah...!” Nick’s eyes went wide, and one arm shot up to point an accusing finger at the young silver-haired man snickering behind the counter. “You – LOUIS!!”

“Evening,” Louis greeted him amicably. The young man had shadowed Nick on the job the other day, but he’d vanished shortly thereafter... and now he was here in the pub. He raised his hand, revealing a cup of lemonade, and took a sip. “You know, this is really good. It could give Byron’s a run for its money, probably.”

“Hey, don’t just take that! Thief!”

“Now, that’s just rude. Anything that’s left in Byron’s pub is technically mine. He even left me my own key to the place.”

“Okay, but I’m the one who made the lemonade!”

“But the recipe is Byron’s, right?”

“I bought the lemons!”

“And used Byron’s stuff to make it.”

As they continued to verbally spar, Nick drew closer to the counter and deftly swiped the glass out of Louis’ hand. “Why are you even here?!”

“‘Why’... don’t tell me you forgot. You’re the one who said to come back later if I wanted to meet Owl.” Louis leaned his head in his hand, elbow resting on the counter, relaxed as anything. His eyes flicked over to the door leading up to the agency as he added with a huff, “But it looks like there’s another client here. My timing is just awful.”

Nick blinked, then gasped. “Oh, right! Something terrible happened!” He leaned in close to Louis. “That nice lady died!”

“What nice lady?”

“The one who let us run away the other day. We went to go see her today, and... she turned into a Demon, and then she died. I feel awful for her.”

“... I see.” Louis nodded once.

... That was it? Nick squinted at him. “What kind of reaction is that? Are you not surprised at all?”

Louis shrugged a shoulder, almost like he’d been expecting this kind of news. “No, I’m not. There were a bunch of Black Rose Disease infectees coming out of that area, right? It’s not weird at all to hear that she ended up infected, too.”

“I mean, yeah, but....”

“More importantly, if you went to go see her, that means you must’ve been walking around near that hospital place, right? Was there anything off around there?”

“Such as?”

“Anything strange that you might’ve seen or heard.”

“Strange, huh...?” Was there anything stranger than a Demon? Nick opened his mouth to say just that, but then he paused. Right, there was that.... “Actually, yeah, Owl was kinda weird. He said he could see and hear carriages going by, but there was no one on that street but us.”

Louis leaned forward, eyes widening. “That, that, yes! He did see the carriages!”

“What?”

“I saw them, too! I saw carriages rattling around over there!” Louis stepped out from behind the counter, half-forced Nick into a nearby chair, and plopped down on the chair next to him.

Nick thought back to when he and Louis had visited that place together. He did recall Louis saying something about a carriage going by, now that he thought about it. “Right, you did... I remember you saying that,” Nick said.

“Yes, because there was one. I distinctly heard the wheels clattering on the cobblestones. But you didn’t see it.”

“Right, ‘cause there wasn’t one. Ellie didn’t see anything, either.”

“But I did.”

“You sure you weren’t just dreaming?”

“Would you be able to go upstairs and ask Owl the same thing?”

“....”

“Neither of us were dreaming. And neither were you, of course. But there was clearly a difference in what you could see and what we could see. Why do you think that is?” Louis met Nick’s eyes, a challenge in his gaze. “What does the great detective’s assistant think?”

Nick’s jaw snapped shut. He glared at Louis, his mouth puckered like he’d just tasted something bitter, and snapped, “I don’t know. What do you think?”

“Well, the simplest answer would be that one of us was shown an illusion, or put under some sort of suggestion... perhaps?”

“I mean, I dunno about you, but d’you really think Owl’d get ‘put under suggestion?’”

“Maybe it only works on geniuses?”

“Wooow, you really said that, huh. Toot your own horn some more, why don’t you.”

“Well, it’s the truth.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“And, just checking, did you figure out what exactly it was I gave you?”

“... ‘It’ as in... that test tube?”

“Correct.”

Under Louis’ expectant gaze, Nick averted his eyes. “Doc... uh, Ellie’s physician said he ‘felt something from it,’” he answered.

“That’s all?”

“Yeah. He said, ‘Is the gas laced with alchemy?’ and Owl said, ‘It’s not concentrated enough,’ or something. They sent it in for analysis, but I don’t think they’ve got the results back yet.”

“Hmm, I see.” Louis leaned back again. “I think there’s some sort of hallucinogen mixed in with the smog, personally.”

“Hallucinogen? Is that the ‘poison’ the cats were talking about? It’s not a drug turning people into Demons?”

“Correct. It’s a psychedelic drug making people see carriages. You remember what was under the dress at that building, don’t you? That mechanism under the skirt? I think the Demon Parade might be spraying hallucinogenic drugs around while they’re marching around the city,” Louis explained. “At first I also thought they were spreading the Black Rose Disease, but I haven’t heard of anything that can extract the source of infection... and it’s not something a normal person with no technical know-how could operate, anyway.”

“But if it is a hallucinogen, why would they be spreading it around? What good does showing everyone illusions do?”

“Hiding a tree in a forest, probably. Illusionary carriages would mask any real ones trundling around.”

“Huuuh?”

Louis leaned forward again. “You’ve been investigating in that area recently, right? You didn’t see any weird carriages around?”

“Hey, too close! Back off!” Nick shoved his palm into Louis’ face and pushed him away with a dissatisfied glare. “And hey, you’ve been asking questions nonstop this whole time! You better not be thinking you’re getting all this from an informant for free! I’m not cheap, you hear?”

“Aw, come on, don’t be so stingy.”

“Nuh-uh, this is give and take.~” Nick retracted his hand from Louis’ face just enough to drop it in his line of sight, palm up.

Louis stared for a moment at the hand so eagerly awaiting payment and considered... then, instead of money, he pulled out some of the alchemic cards from before. “What if I add these to the pot?” he asked. “And not just any kind – these are sun-aligned. They fit Owl perfectly.”

“They do?”

“Oh, yes, they fit your beloved partner like a glove.” A broad smile slowly unfurled across his face. “Though, well, they’re nowhere near as effective as him.”

“... Fiiiine.~~” Nick swiveled in his seat and pulled a notebook from his pocket.

“Then we have ourselves a deal.”

Louis traded his cards for Nick’s notebook. As the informant pocketed his new acquisition, the student opened the little book and flipped to a map of the city. Nick commented, “Weird carriages, huh... you know, now that you mention it, I do remember seeing some around with these huge machines or something strapped on top of ‘em. Feels like they’ve been cropping up more and more for the last month or so.”

“Huge machines?” Louis echoed.

“Yeah, you remember the one we saw in front of that building, right? It had that big old device on its roof, with that weird shape. I thought someone was moving house, but... it was really weird. I’ve been seeing ones like that parked all over the city. And none of ‘em had any horses attached, so maybe they were abandoned.”

“... Do you remember where they were?”

“Oh, for sure, I make it a rule to jot down anything even a little out of the ordinary. This map here has all the places marked down.” Nick produced another map from his pocket. Louis whistled and made to grab it, only for Nick to yank it out of reach and hold out his hand again. “That’ll be another card,” he said pointedly.

“... You really are a shrewd one,” Louis sighed, stuck somewhere between awe and exasperation. He did, however, pull out another card and place it in Nick’s waiting palm.

“Thank you!~” Nick pocketed the new card and spread the map open in front of them. This one had marks dotted all over its surface.

Louis peered at the map, eyebrows shooting up. “Heeh... I guess a first-rate informant doesn’t do things by halves, huh.”

“What, were you doubting me?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Louis squinted, then pointed at one spot on the map near one of the marks. “... Hey, what does this say here? The chicken scratch is hard to read.”

“Oh, I didn’t write that, that was Owl. He writes notes like that sometimes that only he can read.”

“He writes in your notebook?”

“Just on the maps. He’s got absolutely no sense of direction, so when I’m not around he reads the maps funny.”

“Ahh....”

“He even made a note when we came back today.”

“Heeh...? A note from the detective himself, hm... hmm?” The second he heard it was from Owl himself, Louis dove into his perusal of the map with renewed fervor. His fingers traced from mark to mark, comparing the distances between each location and muttering to himself. “... They’re spaced evenly apart... is something built into the carriages themselves... or maybe there’s some kind of antenna...?”

Nick watched him examine the map for a moment. He kinda reminds me of Owl, he thought to himself.  Out loud, he murmured, “I wonder if all alchemists are just like that....~”

“A nursery rhyme....”

Nick jolted out of his musings. “Hm?”

Louis raised his head from the map. “Do you know a nursery rhyme about London Bridge?” he asked.

Nick had to take a second for his brain to digest the completely out of nowhere question. “Well, yeah,” he eventually replied, “I mean, there’s the obvious one, right?” He raised his hand and began waving his finger around like a baton, humming the tune to himself. “Falling down, falling down, my fair lady~, that one. What about it?”

“What are the last lines of the story?”

“The last lines?” Nick sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Uhh... I mean, I never actually learned the song properly, so... umm, I think, the people try to build the bridge out of all sorts of materials. They start with wood and clay, but then it gets ‘washed away,’ so then they plan to build it with bricks and mortar, or something?”

“Right, but ‘brick and mortar will not stay,’ so they move onto iron and steel, but even then ‘iron and steel will bend and bow.’” As Louis explained, he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “And last they try silver and gold, but ‘silver and gold will be stolen away,’ so they ‘set a man to watch the night.’”

“Is that how it went?”

“Yeah, and the next verse is ‘suppose the man should fall asleep.’”

“Man, this song’s nothing but naysaying.”

“You’re not wrong. But the next verse is the last – ‘give him a pipe to smoke all night.’ That’s where it ends.”

“Heeh? So a pipe solves everything?”

“Well, it’s possible... but there’s an interesting little rumor about this story.” Louis’ face suddenly shifted into a grim mask, his voice taking on a noticeable, almost theatrical tremble, the kind meant to frighten children in their beds. Nick leaned back just a touch, a little on edge despite himself, as Louis’ voice dropped lower and lower until it was a mere whisper. “It’s said that in order to complete the bridge, the man became a pillar himself... a human sacrifice....”

“... Heeh...?~ A human sacrifice?” Nick rolled his eyes doubtfully, still leaning back. “You mean they killed him to make the bridge stay up? C’mon, that has to be fake.”

Louis’ voice rose back up to its normal pitch with a disappointed frown. Guess Nick didn’t scare that easily. “Well, it’s more or less a baseless rumor,” he agreed. But his expression was as grim as before as he placed the paper he’d pulled out onto the counter and slid it over to Nick. “But she told us to ‘not become like that song.’”

“Who?”

“The woman we met.”

Nick gasped. He meant Maud. The paper on the counter in front of him had to be the note she’d passed Louis as they were leaving the other day! He grabbed it and opened the folded note to find some kind of scribbled map and the words “London Bridge” scrawled across the top. “What’s this?” he wondered.

“A map leading to a factory near London Bridge,” Louis replied.

“A factory?”

“One that makes carriages, specifically. I went there earlier today. It’s not all that big, but it’s not small, either. There was this circular symbol on it of three blooming flowers, so it was easy to spot.” Louis gesticulated with his hands as he spoke. “They were making these pitch-black carriages inside... with strange machines attached to the roofs.” He mimed the shape with his hands.

Nick’s eyes widened. “Just like the ones I saw,” he breathed.

What was going on? Why did Maud give them a map to the carriage factory? What was with their odd shapes?

“... What do you think?”

“What do you mean?”

“About what she said. ‘Don’t become like that song.’ Do you think she meant ‘don’t be a person who smokes a pipe and gets turned into a human sacrifice?’”

“Uh....”

“If the smoke from the pipe is some sort of metaphor, then....” Louis tapped the note, his face falling even more –

Ding!

Nick jumped. That was the bell over the door. He’d forgotten to lock it. “Ah, sorry, we’re closed today!” he called. But then he took a closer look at who’d just walked in and his jaw fell open. “Wait, RITZ?!”

“Good evening, Nick.” Ritz – for it was Ritz, perfectly safe and sound – held up a small bag with a quiet smile. “I apologize for the other day. I brought some tea to thank you for serving me that lovely brand before.”

Nick launched out of his chair in a flash and rushed up to her, eyes wide and wild. “Ritz, you’re okay?!” he yelped. “We saw you go in that weird building and we were so worried!” “Weird building?” Ritz repeated, befuddled.

“You really shouldn’t go there anymore!”

“Huh?” Ritz blinked, her head tilted. Why was Nick so panicked? Then her eyebrows shot up, a certain stiffness setting in her shoulders. Now that was the old Ritz, the usual Ritz, with her rigid posture and her chest puffed up with pride. “... Are you referring to the support institute?” she asked. “Don’t be so rude. That place is a perfectly safe salon that provides women in need with the most wonderful system of support they could ask for. Everyone there is fighting hard to secure rights for women. I won’t tolerate any slander against it.”

Nick breathed out a quick sigh of relief at her attitude even as she efficiently shut him down. He shook his head, though, and insisted, “It didn’t look like that to us! If you go back, you might get caught up in all the crazy stuff, too!” He jabbed a finger behind him at the counter. “Even Louis over there thought it was suspicious!”

Ritz peered around Nick, then glanced back at him with her head tilted even further. “Louis? Who is that?”

“Who – the guy sitting at the counter? Look!”

“... There’s no one there, though?”

“Huh? What?” Nick whirled around to find no one behind him, no hide or hair to even hint someone had been there in the first place.

One eyebrow arched on Ritz’s face. “Are you sure you aren’t daydreaming, Nick? Or did you perhaps have a bad dream?” She spread her arms. “As you can see, I’m perfectly fine. Does it look like I’ve been caught up in something strange to you?”

“I-I’m not daydreaming!”

“Then why are you insisting it’s so dangerous? Are you perhaps fine with a society where women don’t hold rights? I may have misjudged you!”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all! I’m just worried about you! I don’t want you going anywhere that’s not safe!”

“And I am telling you that it’s not dangerous, and it’s not suspicious! The head of the salon, Krinos, is a wonderful person!”

Their back and forth was slowly growing more heated, unable to see eye to eye with each other. Perhaps because he heard the commotion, Owl came down the stairs to investigate, his eyes widening as he noticed Ritz. “Oh, good, you’re all right,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest with a relieved sigh.

“Oooowl!~” Nick turned to his partner pleadingly, halting in his tracks. “You tell her not to go there anymore! It’s actually....”

As Owl strode up to the pair of them, Ritz eyed him with naked caution. “Are you also against the movement for women’s rights, Owl?” she queried with a tongue cold and sharp as an icicle.

“What are you talking about?” Owl replied, distinctly wrong-footed. When he noticed just how angry Ritz was, he dropped his voice to a more pacifying tone. “Ritz, we’re not against women’s rights – we’re for it, if anything. You’re on equal footing with us. That’s exactly why we’re so worried about you, as your friends.”

“,.. Friends....”

“Yes. There was a woman outside that building you’ve been visiting that Demonized – she was infected with the Black Rose Disease. We just don’t want you to end up like her.”

“A Black Rose Disease infectee? Is that true?!”

“Yeah.”

“It can’t be....” Ritz’s anger melted away, replaced by flustered confusion. “Th-There are several infectees in the facility as well, all of whom can’t find work because of their condition. Perhaps the woman you saw was one of them.”

“Probably.”

“Where is she now?”

“She passed away. She collapsed right in front of us and lost consciousness, so we brought her here and called a doctor, but by then we were too late.”

“No...!”

Ritz stumbled away in shock, her eyes flicking everywhere but Owl and Nick. But it wasn’t long before she straightened up again, clearly trying to buoy her own spirits with her posture alone. “If a death has occurred, then the police will need to investigate,” she announced, turning to Owl. “I will likely need to call in a coroner as well.”

Nick nervously tugged on Owl’s sleeve. “Owl... she was Ritz’s....”

Owl took a few seconds to collect himself. He stepped aside and gestured at Ritz toward the agency with a nod. “... Go ahead, Officer Ritz,” he murmured, head bowed. “You should see this for yourself, as an officer of the law. I believe in you.”

Ritz shot him a faintly perplexed glance, but she stepped past him without hesitation and climbed the stairs up to the agency. Nick fell in step after her, but as he passed by the counter he glanced over with a frown. “Oh, right, where’s...” he mumbled to himself.

There was no one there, though, just as there wasn’t anyone there this whole time. Even the lamp had been dimmed at some point, as if the place had been completely silent and untouched from the very start.

“... I wonder when Louis left,” Nick muttered, before turning and following Ritz up the stairs.

“Miss Maud...?”

The bag slipped from her grasp and thudded to the floor.

Ritz walked into the agency, exchanged greetings with Jack, then saw the woman’s body lying in the living room... and stumbled to a halt, her jaw dropping and her face rapidly paling. She stood there in dumbstruck silence for several seconds, too shocked to even breathe, too shocked to remember she’d come up here as a police officer intending to do her job.

“Maud? It can’t be – it can’t be Miss Maud? No! Why?!” With a shrill screech, Ritz hurled herself toward the body, her hands desperately reaching for the woman –

“Don’t, Ritz.” Owl grabbed her and pulled her back.

But Ritz struggled against his hold, her focus locked on the corpse in front of her. “It can’t be, it’s a lie – no, this can’t be real, Miss Maud!”

Owl’s eyes flicked down to the woman in his grasp. “So you did know her,” he murmured sadly.

“Know her? She was my friend! She was the kindest person at the salon, she always listened to me... ahh, no, why, how?!” Ritz wailed.

“Calm down! I know you’re upset this happened to your friend, but....”

“I can’t! Miss Maud was... no, no, she can’t, she can’t be dead! She never said she had the disease, she never said anything like that! I can’t....” Ritz slumped in Owl’s hold. Her knees thumped against the floor. She stared at her friend’s body in despair. “I can’t believe this... ahh...!” Her hands rose to claw at her scalp as she broke down sobbing.

“I didn’t think the lady we were looking for was gonna be Ritz’s friend,” said Nick at Owl’s side. He pulled a folded sheet from his pocket – the picture of the duke’s daughter.

Ritz raised her head. Her teary eyes sought out the slip in Nick’s hand. She knew that slip; it was the same picture Nick had shown her before.

“Hey, Ritz, did you – did you know? That she might be the duke’s daughter?!”

The second she laid eyes on the picture, all remaining blood drained from her face. “Ah... I... ahh...!!” Fingers rose to claw at her face again as she shook her head back and forth, the very picture of anguish. “I, I did something so terrible...!!” she screamed.

“Ritz?” It wasn’t like her to lose herself like this. Nick gently grabbed Ritz’s arm and leaned in, studying her face intently. “What’s wrong?”

In between hiccupping sobs she replied, “I... thought there was... a slim chance that, that she....” Her voice rose to a shrill pitch. “Maybe she was her, she was the duke’s daughter that... that you were looking for...!”

“Huh?”

“But I told myself that couldn’t be right, because, she was so much thinner than the woman in the picture, and, and I – even if she was the duke’s daughter, I thought... it’d be better for her if I didn’t tell anyone... because she was being mistreated at home! She said she was locked away in the estate and never allowed even an ounce of freedom, so I...!”

“Ritz....”

“But... now this happened....”

Ritz’s shoulders hunched, trembling head to toe. This time, it was Nick and Owl who couldn’t find the words to speak. How could they, when they had no idea where to even begin consoling their distraught friend?

A different voice, frigid enough to freeze even a waterfall of tears, spoke up instead. “Oh, here you are.”

“The duke?!”

“Duke Fitz?”

The pair turned toward the door to find a black-haired man standing there wearing an haute couture indigo jacket with nary a wrinkle to be seen and shoes polished to a high sheen. The faint scent of perfume clung to his frame. It was the same man who’d been by the agency the other day... their current client, Duke Fitz.

Owl stepped forward, confusion wrinkling his brow. “May I ask why you’ve come?” he inquired. He hadn’t told the duke about his daughter yet, so he was surprised to see him come calling again so soon.

“Ahh, good timing. I thought I’d come and cancel my request to find my daughter... though I certainly didn’t expect to find you here with a corpse.” He glanced the dead woman’s body up and down. He huffed a single chuckle through his nose.

And then he opened his mouth again and said, without a hint of grief or sadness, “Well, she certainly makes a pitiful sight, for a member of the Fitz family.”

“... Your Grace,” said Owl slowly, “are you positive that this woman is your daughter?”

The duke nodded. “Without a doubt,” he confirmed. “That seedy-looking face of hers is the spitting image of my dead wife’s, especially now that she’s so thin – it was harder to tell back when she was fatter. This is my daughter.”

Owl’s face clouded. “... I can’t apologize enough for our failure to locate her while she was still alive,” he murmured, head bowed. “I deeply regret that our cases piled up to the point that we were unable to start our investigation immediately.”

The duke waved him off, still cool and collected. “I don’t mind. I’d thought the woman died two years ago – finding out she only died recently makes no difference to me.” He walked up to the body, his hand hovering over her collarbone as his eyes flicked back and forth as if searching for something. A cheerful smile unfurled across his face as he glanced back at Owl. “In fact, if anything... because you were late, you managed to deliver me a product of superior quality. I really should be thanking you.”

“Huh?”

The duke sounded so calm, almost peaceful, like a disciple whose prayers had reached their god... completely and utterly fulfilled. It was most certainly not the face of a father looking at their dead child. “You see, I was quite discouraged two years ago when the merchandise disappeared right before delivery. I even admit to resenting my foolish girl, but now I realize that was an unseemly bout of pride. My prayers were answered after all. Their messenger came to me earlier and praised my efforts. He said, ‘They have obtained a jewel more magnificent than any in the history of your family.’ To think she had hidden herself right by their side....”

“Your Grace...? What are you...?”

“Well, then, I’ll take my leave now; I have a soiree to be getting to. Ah, I will pay you for your services up till now, of course.” Fitz handed Owl a blank check without waiting for a reply. “Go ahead and write whatever amount you like in there. Good evening to you all.” He turned to leave. Owl and the others stood there silently watching his retreating back, utterly flabbergasted....

Except for Jack, who called after him, “When will you be back to collect your daughter’s body?”

“I won’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t need it anymore,” the duke said, like he was talking about a broken piece of equipment instead of his own family. “Just toss it in a public cemetery somewhere, you can do whatever you want with it.”

Jack’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Wha – Whatever we want?! She’s your daughter, isn’t she?!”

“That was a disgusting, immoral woman who chose to tie herself to a filthy servant, of all things,” Fitz shot back without turning around. “I could never inter her in the family grave.”

Ritz shot to her feet, incensed. “That... that is taking it too far!” she shouted. “You kept Miss Maud confined in your estate ever since she was a child, did you not?! How selfish can you be to refuse to even bury her just because she fell in love with one of your servants?!” She rushed up and latched onto his arm, still screaming. “Miss Maud told me how her father abused her from birth! How she would be beaten if she took even a single step out of her room! I was her friend! She told me everything! I will not stand by and let you treat her like this!!”

Fitz stared down his nose at Ritz like she was a particularly disgusting cockroach. “Don’t touch me,” he said icily, shaking off her grip with a glare. “I gave her a life of luxury – I fed her, I clothed her, she wanted for nothing. How could that be called abuse?”

No one could deter Ritz that easily, though, not even a duke. “How could it be anything else?!” she screamed. “Yes, she may not have been hungry, and she may have always had lovely clothes, but how could anyone be happy living alone locked in a single room for their entire life?! All Miss Maud could do was stare out the window day by day, and the only light in her life was the chimney sweep who would come to visit and sing her nursery rhymes from the rooftop! Is it so wrong that her heart fluttered at his kindness?! Do you know what she told me?! She said, ‘It was only for a short while, but the days I spent living with my husband were the happiest days of my life. We were poor, yes, but his singing was enough for me.’”

A deep crease appeared between Fitz’s eyebrows. But Ritz’s tirade wasn’t yet done. “But her husband passed away... he was murdered...! Was it perhaps you who –”

SLAP!

“Hold your tongue, girl, lest you say something you regret,” hissed the duke. He’d lashed out without hesitation or mercy, sending Ritz stumbling back with a single strike to the face. It had all happened so suddenly she couldn’t even shout. Three, four steps back she went, until her back hit the wall and she slumped to the floor, one hand dazedly pressed against her cheek, her pupils blown wide. She didn’t even seem to fully process the pain, too stunned by the sudden blow.

Nick immediately rushed to her side with a panicked shout. “RITZ!!” As he kneeled down to grab her by the shoulders, he yelled at the duke, “What are you doing?!”

“Slapping away an annoying bug,” Fitz replied calmly. He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket, carefully wiped his hands with it, and carelessly dropped it to the floor. “Let me tell you something, girl. That woman’s name was Matilda. Matilda Lee Fitz. Not this ‘Maud.’ Do you know what that means? It means that while you may have thought of her as a friend, she certainly did not see you as one. You didn’t even know her real name. How pitiful.”

Ritz went white as a sheet. That had struck far harder than any physical blow. She opened her mouth, perhaps to try and refute his claim, but all that came out was a trembling gasp. Her lips quivered.

“Hey! That’s enough!” Nick spat. He shifted to shield Ritz behind his back, his voice quaking with rage. “Are you even really her father?! How could you say that to your daughter’s friend?! Maybe this is exactly why she ran away from you, ever think of that?! You heartless bastard!”

Nick’s red-hot ire was a mere candle flame against the duke’s impenetrable ice, though. “That’s a rather impertinent thing to say to a client, don’t you think?” he said imperiously.

Nick’s voice rose even further. “What’s wrong with you?! You’re treating your daughter like garbage and you even assaulted my friend! You’re definitely not our client anymore! You’re nothing to us!” he declared sharply. His eyes flicked over to his partner. “Right, Owl?”

“... Hm? Did you say something?” Owl glanced up from the check he’d been systematically ripping to shreds. Scraps of white paper were already fluttering to the floor in a tiny heap at his feet.

Nick stared at his handiwork. A slow grin spread across his face. “... Awesome,” he breathed.

Owl walked up to Fitz, his expression perfectly unruffled. He stared the duke directly in the eyes as he asked apropos of nothing, “What would you say to a quick medical examination, Your Grace?”

Fitz’s eyebrows furrowed. “A medical exam? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m perfectly healthy.” He clicked his tongue, meeting those violet eyes dead on. “How rude.”

“No, I remember encountering someone like you before.” His gaze never wavered. “I saw your relatives once... like you, they also kept cool heads and didn’t grieve in the face of death. The women heading toward their tragic fates... and the cruel men who were always waiting nearby. They were the devout folk of a certain island.” Owl’s eyes flashed. “Sometimes their descendants display similar temperaments.”

“...!!”

Fitz’s eyes twitched. Nearby, Jack’s eyes widened in realization. He knew a man like that as well – the man who’d poisoned his own father and attempted the same with his brother and niece for the sake of profit and power. The duke did indeed seem rather similar to that man.

“Research into neurosis is proceeding apace, so what say you, Duke Fitz? I have a rather considerable interest in your bloodline.” Owl took another step toward the duke. “Who or what were you going to offer your daughter to, that caused her to flee from you? What kind of jewel did your daughter become? By all means... I would love to hear it.”

Those violet eyes... they were the unblinking, piercing eyes of an owl.

The eyes of a creature swooping down on its prey cowering in the dead of night.

The eyes of a hunter approaching on silent wings, talons outstretched, poised to strike the heart.

The eyes of a predator.

“Don’t come any closer!” Fitz instinctively raised his voice and shoved Owl’s shoulders away. “I won’t forgive any insults against me, boy! Go ahead, keep going, say something else! I’ll call my lawyer here!” Threats spilled from his lips as he glanced down at the shredded check lying on the ground by his feet. He sniffed out a mocking laugh. “I don’t know what sort of relationship you have with that cheeky little girl, but heed my words... you’ve all made fools of yourselves!”

He turned on his heel and strode away, fully intending to leave this time. Nick wasn’t letting him off the hook that easy, though, and chased after him, shouting, “And what’s wrong with that? Ritz is the nicest, most reliable police officer in the city! Maybe even the world!”

Fitz scoffed. “A police officer? A little girl, a police officer. Hmph. She doesn’t know her place. What could a stupid woman like her possibly accomplish? I would wager she has the easiest job in the precinct, listening to citizen complaints all day long.”

“You...!”

“And since she’s got such an easy job, she doesn’t even realize that the woman the detective was looking for is someone she knows,” he continued spitefully. “If she’s that incompetent, she could at least find someone she could eke out an agreeable life with. And if she can’t even manage that, then she has no value whatsoever, the useless thing.”

“Shut up!!” Nick’s hair was starting to stand on end, his eyes flashing. “Don’t talk to my friend like that...!”

“I’m only speaking the truth. A woman can’t possibly carry out a proper investigation!”

“What did you say?!” A scarlet hue was bleeding into Nick’s eyes... but just then, another voice spoke up.

“I....”

It was Ritz. She’d finally recovered enough to clamber to her feet again, though she was still leaning against the wall in a daze. Her voice was quickly rising from a whisper to a scream. “I... it’s always like that, I don’t notice cases under my nose, I can’t solve anything...! E-Everyone says I can’t, that it’s because I’m a woman –”

“Ritz?”

“– I couldn’t... my friend, I couldn’t even save my friend...!” Ritz sobbed wildly, one hand pressed against her swollen cheek. Her eyes were growing dark, and not just in the emotional sense – the scleras themselves were slowly turning black, spreading outward from her irises in a marble pattern at a concerningly rapid pace.

Owl noticed. “Oi, Ritz?!” he shouted. The instant he thought he saw the telltale signs, though, she dashed away toward the exit as though yanked by an invisible string.

“Ritz! Wait! Where are you going?!” Nick glanced between Ritz and the duke. “The next time I see you, I won’t let you off so easy!” he hissed at Fitz with bared teeth before he chased after his fleeing friend. “Hold on, Ritz! You don’t gotta listen to a jerk like that!”

He might as well have been talking to a brick wall. Ritz didn’t turn back.

Owl stared after the two, biting his lip, then with one last glare at the duke turned to Jack. “I’ll take the daughter’s body,” he told his friend.

“What? You will?”

“Contact Father... Tristan, please.”

Jack nodded. “Y-Yeah, okay.”

With no time left to waste, Owl dashed off after Nick and Ritz.

original written by Nagaya Kawaji here

[papirouge]

What’s are your views on “purity culture” among christians

I think it varies between denominations but the idea is still around mainly fundamentalists. It’s definitely important to teach women how important it is to be picky, believe in hypergamy, and ignore probably the 90% of scrotes that aren’t good people but I never really believed in flat out refusing to teach sex ed, what stds and stis are, what Plan B is, and how birth control and condoms work. Which seems like a lot of these more fundamentalists tend to do.

I had this friend who is divorced now. She grew up in that type of environment where they were very strict about her purity but ignored the boys virginity completely. Like she had two brothers who were total opposites. 1 was basically community dick and caught a disease and her parents didn’t care 💀 the other was an incel who was very anti social. And her parents were upset that they couldn’t marry him off because not even the desperate fundie girls wanted his violent outbursts. He’s still single too and approaching 40

She was married young to her ex and had no idea how sex even worked. She was only told to avoid it and it just scared her. So when she got married, she told me how her parents and church counselor were upset that she didnt turn into someone who liked sex immediately. Even kissing was new to her and she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t like it at all/avoided sleeping in the same as her husband and was told by them to suck it up when she expressed she had pain. When she got older she left that church and her husband but was ex communicated by her family for it.

Does that type of stuff happen in France?

Purity isn't much of a thing anywhere else in the world because as I said, most of USAmerican evangelicalism staples are rooted in culture not in Christianism. I've always found fascinating how France & its very liberal "sex culture" was compared to the US (age of consent is 15 years old, birth control & abortion is free, condoms are handed over in highschool, etc.) yet managed to have proportionally lower abortion rate than God fearing United States of America lol

Fundies family don't exist anywhere else in the world beside the USA anon so nope, we don't have this kind of messy affairs here. Catholicism is in a limbo here in France and real Catholic families are very rare. And even when they do, they don't hold such a spiritual grip on their members to guilt trip them into marrying someone. The only stories of people being excommunicated are bishops coming out as gay or being caught dating/having sex with women lol

The story of your divorced friend is very representative of the double standards of women virginity vs male virginity. Although it's quite normal to particularly warn off women about the consequences of sex because, unlike men, they are the ones who'll carry the baby so they have much more responsibility to deal with (as unfair it may sound). But it doesn't mean men virginity is any less relevant.

Many of women will never want a community d*ck, that's why her busted brother is still single at 40 (which is weird bc red pillers always said men got more value as they got older 🤔).

Fornicators are literally filled with demons and should be avoided at all costs.

And yet, I'm sure he's not shamed like his sister was to marry a man she was even attracted to... Her story is so sad.. but she's better off outside of this cult though. She's lucky she if she didn't have any child with him...

I think kids shouldn't be taught sex ed before middle school. I did in elementary school and it lowkey fucked me up. Even when I was 12-13 years old I had a male friend of my age who told me how many times a week he masturbated and it triggered me so bad lmao

Tbh there should be something progressive, like first learning about sexual organs, periods, how babies are made (12~13 years old), than at 15 about birth control(?) IDK the idea of teaching kids sex at school is weird to me but I think I would be even more traumatized if my mom taught me any of this because we NEVER talk about things like that lmaoo I guess it's important to build a trust relationship with your kid from start so that it's not awkward when you actually do? IDK I lowkey hate the sex talk and wish sex wasn't such a big deal in society so I'm probably not the best person to inquire about that lmaooo

[fattybattysblog]

May Flowers Day 5: Daffodil

Theme: Unrequited Love

Fandom: One Piece

Rating: G

Characters: Boa Hancock and Trafalgar D. Water Law

It started with only a petal at first. Boa didn’t even recall coughing it up and thus dismissed it as some random occurrence. Steadily, each time Boa learned of Luffy’s exploits, she started to cough up more and more petals. Until she had to escape to vomit every time someone said his name. It progressed to the point that she was finding vines on her arm and the pain behind her eye was getting worse. 

Her elder warned her that she needed to get over her feelings or the disease would overtake her and she would die. Starting with a flower growing inside her then more springing to the surface. Boa already had flowers springing up on her arms and there seemed to be one making progress in her face. Luffy was far, far away from Amazon Lily by this point. And there was no way that any feelings would get resolved without the second party here. Boa was beginning to get very worried. She didn’t want to lose her eye.

She had heard many stories about this disease. It was said it starts because someone loves another so much it begins to self-destruct them. Boa knew she loved Luffy far more than necessary. He was immune to her beauty and influence and it made her crave the one person she could never have. She was a chaser but everybody chased her. 

Her heart went out to Luffy every time she heard of his accomplishments. Soared when she heard his name and raced when she thought of him. He made her feel so many different things. Boa loved very strongly but had only ever felt it for him.

In those stories, Boa heard that they must get their love returned to make it go away. It would be hard… but maybe Luffy would finally see how much she cares for him and return the sentiment.

“The only way to get it to stop is to get Luffy to love me back.” Boa decided, nodding sharply. But she had someone she wanted to see first. Someone who, to her slight jealousy, had become something of a Luffy expert. She went to see Law before heading on her journey. He was a doctor after all and this was a disease. Maybe a second opinion was in order.

Law saw her and immediately knew what was going on. He kept his crewmates at a distance to keep them from contracting it and brought Boa into a safe, contained space.

“When did this start?” He asked, not skipping a beat.

“What, not even a hello?” Boa scoffed. Law didn’t respond to that. He wasn’t one for games. Instead, he brought her to sit down and gathered some supplies.

“We don’t have time for pleasantries, Hancock. This can be fatal if I don’t get right to treating it.” Law explained. Boa folded her arms and allowed him to look her over. She was an empress and deserved her respect, but she needed this looked at so she would let it slide. After some silence, Law took his sword from his back and cleared an examination table.

“Get on.”

“W-wait, what?”

“The disease has progressed too far for suppression, I need to cut it out.” Law explained, resting the sword out of the way and setting a Room around them. Boa was getting nervous at his urgency. 

“Wait, so you know what this is?”

“Yes. Hanahaki Disease has a lot of rumors and folktales that run alongside it. I’ve never seen it in person, but it is unmistakable. It will progress until you sprout flowers over your eyes and throat and then you will suffocate. It is a long and painful process. I can take care of it.”

“Isn’t there another way?” Boa asked, gripping her dress in anxious fists.

“You will die if I don’t take care of this.” Law said simply.

“N-no! If you take it out like that, I could lose my love for Luffy!” Boa exclaimed, backing away from him. Law paused, setting his tools down and turning to give her a stern look.

“Boa. That’s not even true. That’s one of the stories. A disease has nothing to do with your little crush. You probably ate something contaminated with it and now it’s spreading.” Law huffed. He was tired of all those stupid rumors. They’ve killed more people than it helped.

“Then why does it go away when people get the love they’ve been missing?” Boa turned up her nose at him.

“It doesn’t. Anyone who says that is lying for their stupid romance. Get on the damn table.” Law demanded. Boa whimpered and looked at the vines crossing her arms. It was getting really bad and she couldn’t put it off for too much longer. She sighed, doing as he told and laying on the exam table. Law got down to work. It was a long process. Painless because of Law’s Op-Op fruit. Boa ended up falling asleep and dreaming again of Luffy.

Boa was startled awake by the clattering of something outside. She bolted upright and whipped her head around, finding herself alone in the private room. She furrowed her brow and checked her body. The vines and petals were gone. Barely anything more than a couple of scars and stitches to show for it.

The rise of concern grew in her chest. It was gone, what about her love for Luffy? Boa closed her eyes and thought about it hard. Luffy, Luffy, Luffy… Boa’s heart raced and her head was filled with all of the romantic, loving thoughts she always had when thinking of him. She released a huge sigh of relief and wiped the sweat off of her brow.

“Oh, thank goodness. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t love Luffy anymore.” Boa laughed.

“Move on?” Law grumbled in the doorway. It seemed she didn’t hear him so he was safe from her wrath… but someone should say it to her eventually.

[edgarsghost]

It would probably be a good idea to take some biofilm dissolvers (Kirkman or Interphase) before doing the test, so you can "break out" as much bacteria as possible so it will show up on the test. It is possible to have a negative result if your bacteria are still embedded in a biofilm.

_____________________________

My understanding is that cirrus actually test your urine against antibiotics. Microgen look for DNA which should tell what you are resistant to. Pathnostics go one step further and rate antibiotics on what should work best. Use them only as a guide, I’ve had both say R and actually I’m S.

I like cirrus bc they test with abx. Microgen goes by the Sanford guide mostly with picking up some resistance - But due to individual resistance I have found it to only e helpful in terms of identifying bugs but not necessarily treating. Plus my insurance covers cirrus abd I love their support.

—————

Dr Ryan heer - Ruth kritz testing. Recommended on uti website for curing via biofilm disruptors.

_________

The study, by researchers at Washington University School of Medicine in St. Louis and the Broad Institute of MIT and Harvard, showed that a round of antibiotics eliminates disease-causing bacteria from the bladder but not from the intestines. Surviving bacteria in the gut can multiply and spread to the bladder again, causing another UTI.

At the same time, repeated cycles of antibiotics wreak havoc on the community of helpful bacteria that normally live in the intestines, the so-called gut microbiome.

Notably, the microbiomes of women with recurrent UTIs were particularly scarce in bacteria that produce butyrate, a short-chain fatty acid with anti-inflammatory effects.

__________

Can be prescribed pyridium for pain

__________________

My understanding is that cirrus actually test your urine against antibiotics. Microgen look for DNA which should tell what you are resistant to. Pathnostics go one step further and rate antibiotics on what should work best. Use them only as a guide, I’ve had both say R and actually I’m S.

_______

Urinary tract infections (UTIs) typically begin to show symptoms within 2-3 days after the initial bacteria enters the urinary tract. However, the exact timeline can vary:

* Symptoms like a burning sensation during urination, increased urination frequency, and pelvic discomfort often manifest within 1-2 days after the infection starts.

* More severe symptoms like pain, fever, back/abdominal pain, and bloody or cloudy urine may take 2-3 days to develop, as the infection progresses.

* Some individuals may be asymptomatic initially, with the infection only causing noticeable symptoms after a few days.

Frequent or recent sexual activity is the most important risk factor for UTIs in young women. Nearly 80% of all UTIs in premenopausal women occur within 24 hours of intercourse or up to 2 days

_____________________

a frequent and strong urge to urinate even after you empty your bladder, which is called frequency and urgency. a painful or burning sensation when urinating, which is called dysuria.

_____________________

Acute cystitis is an infection of your bladder. “Acute” means that the infection develops suddenly and rises sharply

_____________________

Tumeric:

Curcumin can significantly improve the symptoms of chronic urinary tract infections, protect renal tubular function, and also decline inflammatory responses by influencing the expressions of TLR2 mRNA and TLR4 mRNA so as to exert its curative effect on chronic urinary tract infections

____________

believe Methylene Blue (MB) is safe (and as effective from what I’ve read). And it works for me. I’m not comfortable considering taking Methenamine (Hiprex) because it turns to formaldehyde in the body. Methylene Blue can be gotten on line without an Rx, something I am very grateful for. My urologist dismissed MB when I brought up the idea of taking it to her. She shrugged her shoulders and said “nah, it’s just like pyridium.” Well that simply isn’t true so she lost credibility with me. MB is a treatment that docs apparently don’t want to offer up. Hmm. I wonder why? It’s not because it’s not effective and not safe.

______________________________

https://pharmaceutical-journal.com/article/feature/stuck-in-the-1950s-why-uti-diagnosis-badly-needs-an-update?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAR1GFwL9LGBBrcSMu3DdXzlj4rQTp3mvj8P2zOGVwCFmpcUh9rJgdQKGEqs_aem_ZUCzdoo6Qa4C7ujVHqWfSQ

Urine culture testing is based on work carried out in 1957 by the scientist Edward Kass, who gathered urine samples from a small group of pregnant women who had pyelonephritis, meaning his work was not representative of patients with acute cystitis.

The subsequent microbiological threshold that was developed based on Kass’ work, and that is still used to diagnose UTIs, looks for the presence of at least 100,000 colony-forming units of bacteria per millilitre of urine (CFU/ml) of a single species of a known pathogen to confirm an infection[4].

Further work in patients with classic symptoms of acute cystitis has demonstrated that a 100,000 CFU/ml threshold missed nearly 50% of genuine infections[5],[6]. In such patients, a threshold of 100 CFU/ml of a known urinary pathogen was proposed as more appropriate.

If your testing is inaccurate then you’ll unintentionally misdiagnose. It’s no surprise that if someone presents with symptoms that sound like a UTI on several occasions, but each time the urine result is negative, they get led down the IC path.”

___________

You will find reading professor Malone-Lee's book very informative. The sex isn't necessarily giving you the uti. If you have embedded infection and sex aggravates my shaking loose the infection therefore causing a rise in your symptoms, that is normally interrupted incorrectly as a new infection. Some may be, but not likely if you consistently get uti symptoms. It's more likely you have Chronic UTI (embedded) and the activity is stirring up and releasing the infection into your urine causing the symptoms. In a few cases sex can be the issue if your partner is carrying infection, obviously tests need to be done to prove this.

———-

Oil of oregano - Any brand is good if it has carvacrol level of 60% or greater.

____________

* Keep the urine's pH at or slightly below 7 during the course of your D-Mannose regimen. Bacteria thrive in an acidic environment doubling in numbers every 20 - 40 minutes. Conversely, bacterial growth is inhibited in a more alkaline environment.

_______________

https://liveutifree.com/uro-vaxom/amp/

Research team at Duke - Dr. Soman Abraham - creating a new treatment:

The immune system’s response is to shed the bladder lining entirely, taking bacteria with it. However, there is a problem with this. The underlying tissue is now exposed to urine and the ammonia, salts, etc, therein, which can cause a great deal of pain. 

Continuing on heroically, the immune system then sends in two types of T-cells to kill off any remaining bacteria (TH1 T-cells) and repair the bladder lining (TH2 T-cells). But in order to save the body from further pain, the repair bit tends to occur faster than the bacteria-killing bit. This can mean that some residual bacteria are left to hide, safe and snug, within the urinary tissues. Multiplying within these tissues, the result is often recurrent UTIs. 

[kris-mage-fics]

So I've been a stressed bunny the last several weeks, and it's all because of this little nugget:

Okay, it's not Jade's fault that she fell ill. I've just been very worried about her. But thankfully after multiple tests we've found what was going on are are working on treating it. While it isn't curable, we should be able to slow the progression. It's been a little over 24 hours since she started medication and there are already clear signs she's starting to feel a little better. Though I'm probably going to be anxious until Jade is fully stabilized, and I don't know how long that will take.

(I know this isn't important, but I'm slightly annoyed by the colors being off in both of those pictures. The first one is too yellow, and the second one is too blue. Not annoyed enough to be motivated to do anything about it, just complain about it, lol)

I'll put more under the cut, in case some folks don't want to read about a kitty being sick for a while. And fair warning, I'll mention drugs quite a bit. As a former pharmacy technician the differences between human and veterinary medicine is interesting to me. Also this got long because I don't know when to shut the fuck up and used it to work through some of my emotions.

In late spring we switched Jade's food to try and get a handle on some digestive issues she's been having. While the new food treated the issue, it made a new one. And then she started to eat less and lost weight. Concerning when she was only about 4kg/9lbs to begin with.

So we took her in to the vets on Monday, they did some tests and called with the results after she was home. (Jade is an anxious cat, and when the vet wanted to keep her overnight we declined. She'd eat even less in an unfamiliar place than at home.)

The tests made it clear that she has renal disease (kidney disease). Obviously that isn't good. But it's at a stage where it's treatable, so we should be able to slow it's progression and get her feeling better. She went back to the vet yesterday for more tests, and she also has a UTI (there's no way we could've known this, she wasn't showing the typical signs). So we have to treat that as well.

We are switching her to kidney-friendly prescription food, and have antibiotics for the infection. I have to give her anti-nausea medicine for the next few days. And medication to stimulate her appetite. The vet gave her some of the anti-nausea medicine and the appetite stimulant yesterday, and she's already eaten a lot more since then!

(More detailed drug talk, feel free to skip. I'll note when it's over.) First off I always forget how expensive veterinary medicine is compared to human medicine. I see the names of some of these drugs and think "that's an old drug and it's pretty cheap" then I look at the receipt and my eye twitches! There are a couple of reasons for this, even if a drug is made for both animals and humans, some of it is made by different manufacturers. And veterinary medicine is used less, so higher costs. Also, there doses and formulations that we don't use for humans. Since that's more specialized it also drives the price up. (That said, if there is a medicine prescribed for your pet that's also used in humans - get it at a regular pharmacy, it's way cheaper! Check drugs.com to see human drugs and doses.)

The anti-nausea medicine is a pain in the butt because it's a small tablet that I had to cut into quarters. Now I have lots of experience with cutting tablets into quarters, and it almost never goes well. Sure enough, it partly crumbled and broke into five pieces. *sigh* (Halves are usual fine, especially if it's smaller and already scored, you can break it with your fingers.)

What's amusing to me is the appetite stimulant is mirtazapine, which is an antidepressant for humans! When I saw that I was like "wtf, why are we giving her an antidepressant?!" It's also weird, because instead of a tablet, it's a creme/lotion (which isn't even available for humans). And I have to put 0.05ml on the inside of her ear and rub it in while gloved. The placement makes sense, lots of capillaries in the ear to get it into the bloodstream, not much fur to get in the way, and it's easy to get to. It's such an interesting delivery method that I never would've thought of.

It's interesting the different doses between humans and cats. So for mirtazapine the dose for humans is 15-45mg once a day. The dose I'm giving Jade is 2mg. Considering the huge weight difference between the average adult and cat, that's a lot! But most drugs have to be given in much higher doses per body weight to cats than humans. (Drug talk over. Let's get back to our regularly scheduled post about our little Jade.)

We should be able to get the infection cleared up, and the other medications and diet change should keep her feeling a lot better. Though the vet said we might have to use the appetite stimulant on and off because renal disease can really nerf their appetite. But at least it isn't giving her a pill. I have lots of practice at giving cats pills, but Jade makes it so hard. Baby, please I'm just trying to help you!

Thankfully we are in a position where we can afford all these tests, medication, and special food. That wasn't always the case. Though if things get bad enough she needs dialysis, we won't be able to afford it. I looked it up and it's very expensive. Plus we'd have to travel at least an hour away to get to the closest place that even does dialysis for animals. I'm hopeful we can stave that off for quite a while. Though I'll be honest, there is part of me that worries that this won't work. I'm trying very hard to ignore that part and not get bogged down by negativity. Once we get her stabilized I'm sure I'll be doing a lot better, but for now it's a bit of a mental/emotional struggle.

Before all of this Jade was a happy and healthy senior cat. She's a very sweet, silly, and loving kitty. Even though she's least 12 she still played with toys, and chased her tail. We are going to do everything we can to get her back to that.

[voiceless-terror]

I am so completely enamored with Danny as jons ex and I would be forever in your debt if you finished that

i wasn't expecting people to like this idea so much, its definitely one of my weirder ones xD since im not sure when i'll get around to actually finishing it (if ever) you can have a very rough chunk of it instead. you'll have to forgive any mistakes, im not up to editing it.

In a surprising show of athleticism, Jon ducks under Sasha’s chair before the specter of his past manages to see him.

Sasha swears at the action, backing up in her chair and peering down at Jon in bafflement. “What on Earth are you doing, Jon?”

Instead of answering her question, he backs up even further, tucking his feet out of sight. He thinks Sasha’s umbrella must be under here, and judging from the sharp point currently jabbing at his thigh, he probably broke it. “Is he still there?” he hisses, tilting his head to avoid bashing it into the desk.

“Who?”

“That- that man!”

A pause. “Tall, dark and handsome?”

Jon’s turn to pause. “I suppose you might call him that,” he replies stiffly. And it’s true. The man, from Jon’s brief, panicked glimpses, is at least six foot, with thick, dark hair and a bright grin.

And he looks exactly like Jon’s ex, Danny Stoker.

He’d done an almost comical double-take after a cursory glance; at first he’d thought Danny was the new hire, but this man was more angular, like a sharper, leaner version of his ex. So no, it couldn’t be him.

That didn’t stop him from diving under the nearest object, ergo Sasha’s desk. Not the wisest of decisions, considering his throbbing side, but he’s never been known for grace under pressure.

He’s not exactly sure why this fight or flight mode’s been activated- he and Danny had parted on fairly good terms, each recognizing that although they cared about the other, they simply weren’t compatible in the long term. They’d dated for a little over six months when Jon was a freshman, and he’d fallen hard.

Danny had been his first real relationship, and Jon was shocked that someone like him even looked his way. Impossibly handsome, incredibly fit, desired and envied in equal measure, and he dated scrawny, shy, insecure Jonathan Sims; the rumor mill went wild. They’d met at a party, and not even a good one. In a brief moment of liquid courage, Jon managed to insert himself into a group and fit in one snarky joke that sent Danny into stitches, the rest of the partygoers following his lead. For one second, Jon felt like he truly fit in, like he was someone worth knowing.

Danny had a way of making someone feel special. Big, romantic gestures, surprising him after class, taking him on little expeditions beyond campus. Jon didn’t drive, still doesn’t, and Danny wanted to show him the world outside of their privileged little campus.

But, like all of Jon’s relationships, it came to an end. Jon wasn’t ready for such overwhelming affection (didn’t think he deserved it, quite frankly), and Danny needed someone who could handle his fast-paced lifestyle. Jon was not that man. They broke up amicably, even if Jon shed a few tears in private, saw each other on campus a few times. Danny tried to reach out more than once, just as friends, but Jon’s never been able to handle more than one relationship at a time, and by then he’d met Georgie.

But now it seems the past is unavoidable, and standing near the circulation desk. Well, now walking in his direction, if the steady footsteps were any indication. Jon’s heart begins to hammer in his chest as it hits him that he is, in fact, hiding under a desk because a man who sort of looks like his ex is in his general vicinity. Coward.

“‘Lo!” God, even the voice is similar, if not as deep. “Tim Stoker. Reporting for duty.”

Stoker. Tim Stoker. Jon startles, slamming his head against the desk with a yelp.

Somewhere in his spiraling thoughts and throbbing head he remembers- Danny had a brother. An older brother that he adored. This must be the famous Tim- Danny made him out to be a saint, and though Jon never met him, he felt some fondness via Danny’s descriptions. But Tim’s going to have no fondness for him, especially considering Jon’s current position, hiding in pain under his coworkers desk.

“Pleased to meet you!” Sasha chirps, very clearly amused by the situation. “I’m Sasha James. And this-” she tugs at one of Jon’s legs, dragging him a few inches into sight. Jon buries his head in his hands and wishes he were invisible. “-is Jonathan Sims. We’ll be training you.”

“Excellent.” Tim’s voice holds the same good humor Danny’s always did, and sends a pang of nostalgia through his chest. “Er, you alright down there?”

“Yes,” Jon responds robotically, scrambling to his feet and standing behind Sasha’s chair, unwilling to meet the man’s eyes, lest he be drawn in. “I- uh, lost a pen. P-Probably left it in the copy room, I’ll just be going...there.” With that incredible performance, he fled.

And only tripped once on the way out.

________

So Jon’s kind of cute.

Tim doesn’t normally go for tiny disgruntled academics, but Jonathan Sims is an interesting fellow. He’s got a reputation for being the ‘problem child’ of the Research Department, awkward and prickly and always available with a snide word. He wields his books and files like a little suit of armor, and the only person he’s seen him open up to is Sasha. Besides their little conversations, Jon is all work and no play.

Except with Tim.

Sasha says she’s never seen anything like it, with one of her secret little smiles. Jon’s always staring. Usually, the man can’t hold eye contact to save his life, but he’ll spend full minutes looking at Tim when he thinks he can’t see. The first few times, Tim would turn around and smile, but that practically sent the man into convulsions, dropping his papers and jumping out of sight like a spooked cat. It was funny the first few times, but Tim pitied him enough to ignore it now. He hopes Jon enjoys the view.

God forbid he ask the guy a question. Jon will look around the room, as if waiting for someone else to answer, when it’s clearly directed at him. He’ll blush and stammer his way through every explanation, keeping a wide berth of at least two feet between them. Even when Tim wants him to look at his screen, he’ll squint from far away. Tim starting to think he smells bad, or has some sort of communicable disease unbeknownst to him.

“It’s not that,” Sasha assures him, again with that unreadable smile. “Trust me.”

Time to try something else.

He prints out his latest follow up, a rather elaborate statement regarding mistaken identities and absolutely nothing supernatural. He knows Jon prefers to look at things on paper, as screens ‘trigger his migraines’ if Tim understood his mumbles. Maybe if he can engage with him on familiar territory for the both of them, he’ll be able to hold a conversation. Tim specifically requested his help on this one.

“If you could just look it over, make sure everything’s up to snuff, that’d be great,” Tim says to the top of Jon’s head, as the man refuses to lift his own to meet his gaze. “You know how Dr. Walker is. Always-”

“Finding mistakes where there are none? I’m familiar with her methods,” Jon snorts, and Tim feels like he’s getting somewhere. A whole sentence! With classic Jonathan Sims snark! “I-I can give it a look. I’m rather busy, but -”

“Take your time,” Tim says with a dismissive wave of the hand. “I finished a bit early, so I don’t need it for a few days yet. Don’t want to put you out.”

“You’re not.” Jon meets his eyes for about ten seconds before ducking his head back down.

Progress!

[pillage-and-lute]

How about-Hanahaki disease? Gerald/Jaskier? Happy ending please!

Nonny! Darling you read my mind, I’m an ‘angst with a happy ending’ kinda gal. Just so we’re clear, I know nothing of flower meanings and I didn’t research.

TW: Gore

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Jaskier first coughed up a flower at age three.

Poets loved Hanahaki, it was considered romantic, and those prone to it were tragic beauties, destined to languish, delicately spitting blood and rose petals into a silk handkerchief. No one really wrote about how it could be brought on by deeply unrequited platonic love.

Jaskier coughed a violet into his little fist and brought it to his mother, who turned him away.

Fifteen years down the line and having graduated Oxenfurt with honors, Jaskier was old hat at taking care of Hanahaki. His feelings, although often unrequited, were also often fleeting. A night spent coughing tulips into a bowl and a sore throat the next mroning, but rarely more than that.

If it persisted for a week or more there was tea. Any apothecary in even a mid sized city carried it. It was putrid and thick and slid down the throat like a cup of slugs, but in the morning there were no petals, and after two or three days of the stuff, the disease was gone. 

He was almost thankful for being so prone to Hanahaki, it was romantic and lended much to his chosen profession. People gave him sympathetic looks and free drinks if he sang a sad song and discreetly spat a rose petal into a handkerchief. Most of the time he simply didn’t mind it, and considered himself twice blessed with his mobile heart.

Sometimes he had nightmares of what would happen if he found true love.

The notions of true love itself was romantic, but everyone knew that your true love, the one you were fated to, if they didn’t love you in return no tea would save you.

He’d watched a friend, a grad student at Oxenfurt, die of it. It was no delicate coughing into handkerchiefs, no poetic languishing. He’d held her hair back as she threw up petals and blood, crying as she clutched the bucket with skeletal hands because she could no longer force food down a torn throat. 

It had been so slow, she’d said between pulling thorned stems from her mouth. More than a decade of loving the boy she’d had a crush on in her small town village. She’d lived through it all, only occassionally throwing up flowers. Always snow white roses, for him, apparently. It would have been wonderfully artistic if Jaskier didn’t know how they looked covered in blood.

Then she’d gone to his wedding to the baker’s daughter and two weeks later he watched her cough out roots wrapped around a chunk of lung and screamed for a doctor knowing it was too late. The blood stain never washed fully out of the floor.

And she’d said it was worth it. That she wouldn’t have stopped loving him for the world, even as she said it through a throat full of thorns. 

Jaskier never understood it, leaping from town to town, avoiding long term connections while knowing all the while that if fate wanted him to fall in love he would. Denying Destiny only made things nastier, he knew. And then, in a tevern in Posada, with bread in his pants and a hole in his boot, his eyes met pure gold. 

It took a split second, less probably, for him to realize that, although he didn’t love the man yet, for love at first sight truly is a poet’s myth, he could love this man. And if he died for this man, maybe the love would be worth it after all.

The man was a witcher, who punched him in the gut and stank of onion and talked to his horse. Jaskier followed him anyway.

He followed him and coughed up flowers, different blossoms for different people, and he began to fall deeper in love. He wondered sometimes what flowers he would cough, as the bouquets turned into only one kind. 

What flower would represent Geralt? Not buttercups or dandelions, certainly. Perhaps if someone else were to catch Hanahaki for Jaskier those would be for him. Geralt wasn’t a dandelion. He was grumpy and spiky and after ten years wouldn’t even call Jaskier a friend. 

In the dead of night Jaskier feared it would be white roses, like he’d seen once before.

And then Geralt died in a collapsing building only to be alive and fucking a purple-eyed sorceress after nearly killing Jaskier with a djinn. Jaskier vomited flowers not twelve hours after vomiting blood.

Snow drops, tiny and delicate. And from that point forth he never coughed up any other kind.

It didn’t progress so quickly though. Jaskier had expected to die within a month of Geralt meeting Yennefer. He didn’t. Love and sex weren’t the same thing, and his love didn’t go totally unrequited either. It wasn’t the same sort of love, but in the quiet moments just after dawn it was enough. 

Then Geralt made a choice.

He wouldn’t kill dragons, he didn’t hunt sapient creatures, he wanted nothing to do with the dragon hunt, until he caught sight of Yennefer.

And that left Geralt and Jaskier, on top of a mountain, as Geralt screamed into the wind that Jaskier meant nothing to him. Jaskier felt the roots set in.

He wasn’t going to get the story from the others. He could barely breathe, the pain was so sharp and intense and he could feel it growing, feel the flowers growing. Little snowdrops had no right to be so painful.

He wasn’t going to make it off the mountain.

Jaskier took a different trail down, and then wandered into the forest a little way, coughing blood and stems the whole way. He collapsed under a tree, blood staining his doublet. He wished he had a friend to clutch his hand, hold his hair back and rub his back like he’d done more than twenty years ago. 

There wouldn’t be a funeral though. No one would know what had happened to Jaskier the bard. Worse, no one would know what happened to Julian, the person, the man. As he threw up a clump of flowers and blood he felt very much like the scared little boy who threw up a flower for the first time. 

It hurt. It burned and shredded his throat and he wanted a friend and he didn’t have any. He’d thrown all his eggs in one basket twenty years ago and Geralt had kicked that basket off the mountain. 

Jaskier leaned his lute up against the tree. It’d be such a shame to get blood on the lovely girl. He curled up next to it, in a fetal position on his side as the coughs wracked his whole body. 

His friend had lasted two weeks, he thought. But her rejection was a wedding. Not her best friend and the love of her life telling her never to see him again. That he was a burden. That if life or Destiny could give him one blessing it would be to take Jaskier off his hands. And Destiny was going to deliver. She had made Jaskier love Geralt, and she would kill him by it. 

Still, Jaskier would have given anything for the comfort of his friend right now. He began to cry, snot and tears and blood and petals all mixing. He couldn’t even breathe, his lungs burned so bad. 

His vision was blurry.

He could hear noises, tromping through the forest and who knew what awful creatures lurked here. Just like Dame Destiny to have him disembowled while dying of Hanahaki.

It was dark, but it had been noon on the mountain. Black clouds swirled and closed in his vision.

A strangled noise.

No monster made that noise. That was a man-made noise. It sounded very much how Jaskier had felt on the mountaintop. He retched up a flower and tasted pollen and iron.

“Jaskier!”

He didn’t remember hallucinations being part of the final stages, but the brain played funny tricks.

“Jaskier!” There it was again, and he was being bundled up tight to a chest that was not at all comfortable and smelled of horse and leather and sweat and onion. A buckle of Geralt’s armor dug into his cheek. Jaskier’s mouth was full of stems and roots.

GLoved fingers dug in, pulling snowdrops from between his lips and then Geralt kissed him. It was entirely awful and unsatisfying. 

Dimly Jaskier came to the realization that it was not supposed to a kiss, but Geralt trying to blow air into his flowering lungs. A nice gesture but unhelpful.

He lolled his head to the side to throw up another clump of root, not wanting to throw up directly into Geralt’s mouth. 

A shudder ran through the chest he was pressed against, like a tremor before an earthquake. Then a sob.

It was quiet. The worst sobs are. 

Geralt lay Jaskier down on the floor, one hand cupped beneath his head, gently cradling. Then the witcher curled next to him, face pressed against a pale neck streaked with blood, and cried.

Jaskier wanted to comfort him, to stroke a hand through soft white hair one last time and thank him for not letting him die alone. He just didn’t have the strength.

Another wretched, tiny sob, then, “I’m sorry, Jaskier. I’m so sorry.” Oh that wasn’t fair. A tear leaked from Jaskier’s eye.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt continued, face pressed into Jaskier’s collarbone. “I didn’t mean it, I was angry and tired and I’ve hurt you but please,” the voice faded to barely a whisper. “Please don’t leave me, I didn’t mean it, I love you don’t leave me here alone.”

Don’t leave him here alone. Jaskier though. Destiny owed him, owed them both for all she’d put them through. Don’t make him lonely, he prayed. I don’t want to leave him alone.

Geralt held Jaskier tighter, pressing even closer like he was trying to meld them into one. “I love you,” he said. “I’m sorry, Jaskier. I love you.”

The world went white.

Jaskier blinked his eyes open with blood in his mouth. It didn’t seem to deter Geralt, who kissed him so thoroughly his head felt light. Then Geralt pulled him upright. There was blood on the ground around them, some even streaked into Geralt’s hair. 

There were no stems though.

The forest floor had been carpeted for ten feet all around them with snowdrops, planted firmly in earth instead of lungs. They were so close together it looked like a sudden snowfall, trailing to fewer and farther between at the edges of their little pool of white. 

“I...” Jaskier said, letting Geralt pull him to his feet. He wasn’t sure what to say but it turns out he needn’t say anything. Geralt was clutching him like a lifeline and tucking a snowdrop into his hair.

“I smelled blood,” he said, lips brushing into Jaskier’s brown fringe. “I smelled blood and was so afraid. I haven’t been truly afraid in so long and then I found those wretched flowers.” Geralt took a shaky breath. 

“I truly thought it was too late.” He pulled back and looked into Jaskier’s eyes. Geralt’s own yellow ones were dry but the emotion was clear. “I thought I had lost you, my love.” A gloved hand, only slightly bloody stroked Jaskier’s cheek. “I thought I had lost you, my life’s greatest gift. And I wanted to lay down beside you and die as well.”

Jaskier chuckled wetly. “You overdramatic sod,” he said between watery sniffles. “What a ridiculous notion. And I can’t believe it takes me dying to turn you into a romantic.”

“Almost dying,” Geralt said firmly. There was panic written plain across his face, as if he was terrified that time would slam into reverse just to take Jaskier from him. Another embrace, just this side of bone crushing. “Almost dying, my love.”

“Not dead, my love,” Jaskier responded. 

As they made their way down the mountain snowdrops bloomed in their footsteps, but they were too busy looking at each other to notice.

[herenortherenearnorfar]

This Tornado Tolerates And Respects You

A little story about Gothmog and orcs that I’ll probably put on other sites later. But for now, a tumblr exclusive! CW for the terrible reproductive politics of evil (implied reproductive coercion, forced childbearing, light eugenics), orc awfulness, disdain for incarnates, radiation poisoning, chemical weapons, Fingon’s fate, mentions of cannibalism, malnourishment, ear cropping, and all of the above with the implied harm to children.

Orcs, Lord Melkor’s special pet project, a blasphemy first and a strategic asset second, didn’t make the best troops. They could swarm over a target in a useful mass of bodies but they lacked skill and drive. For the Captain of Angband’s own force of fire and shadow, spirits sprung free from the tyranny of the Valar, orcs were a sea of troublesome bodies, cluttering up the field of battle. More flesh to whip through, barbed wire quick, more lungs to choke with lime gas. An annoyance, not an ally.

He didn’t have very high expectations of them as a source of soldiers and there were very few individual orcs who he respected. Gorfaunt was one of those rare exceptions.

They’d fought on the same battlefield under the taunting stars, in those blissful days before the heavens changed, and he’d been impressed by the orc commanders ability to marshal troops. Very few in that division ended up trampled beneath Balrog feet. Even the retreat was prompt, almost orderly, without sacrificing that wild spirit which was one of the orcs’ few redeeming qualities.

When it came time to capture the stripling-king of the elves he’d requested Gorfaunt’s orcs in particular. Once again they’d proven their mettle and the commander had become of of the Captain’s favorites. If orcs had to be stationed next to their betters it was preferable that it be Gorfaunt’s orcs, who knew how to comport themselves and could fight near Balrogs without dying in droves.

Now with the latest glorious battle (and another successful collaboration, the Captain still glowed at the memory of the Noldor’s latest king cracking open to spill his red insides over his silver banner) behind them and Lord Melkor demanding Nargothrond and Gondolin, they met once a month to strategize, share intelligence, and complain about everyone else. To an outsider they might have passed as friends. There was less formality between the two of them than another high general of the iron fortress might have demanded, they sat at the same table and spoke freely.

(The Lieutenant still asked commanders to bow before him; that was why even his own troops called him Sauron behind his back. Gothmog was a superior appellation, less insulting, more fearful, but he still didn’t hasten to encourage its use.)

Despite their surface level amicability and the handful of tried-and-true inside jokes—mostly having to do with how enemies had died— they could bat at each other, they knew very little about each other’s lives. Meat and smoke only mixed when making a brisket, trying to relate two such different ways of being seemed impossible.

But when he saw Gorfaunt waddling into their monthly kvetch with a belly round and swollen like a tick’s, the Captain felt driven to say something. He was the marshal of Angband, he couldn’t let his king’s forces go to seed.

“Are you ill? Cursed?”

Gorfaunt managed to pull out a chair, made for a Balrog three times the size of an orc, and hoist themselves into it with rangy arms. “No? Just five months with a baby kicking around in my insides. The little bugger’s finally starting to show itself.”

That took a second to decipher. “You’re having a baby?”

Of course the Captain knew the basics of how incarnates made more of themselves. It was a topic of great fascination in the old days, when Yavanna was first figuring the system out, and of course the Lieutenant would prattle on about warg breeding to anyone who’d listen. They had sex— another thing that did not come naturally to beings of spirits, though some Maiar had made astounding progress in the field, for pleasure was pleasure and even Nienna’s acolytes sought catharsis and comfort—then there was lots of squishy biology on a level invisible to the incarnates themselves, then a little parasite was somehow blessed with Erú’s fire, to be nurtured until it could nurture itself.

He also knew that orcs, like elves and dwarves, had little distinction between men and womenfolk. Useful when it meant you could channel your entire adult population to battle. Startling when you realized that a key ally had been quietly pregnant for months without you, a greater being able to perceive stalactites growing and the scales on insect wings, noticing.

In truth he’d been doing a lot less noticing of late. His senses were dulling. Perhaps it was the light of the cursed gems, which painted everything in blinding, indistinguishable holiness. Or he was just losing his touch.

If he focused now he could see it. It was easiest to sense on the plane of wraiths. There was Gorfaunt, a guttering candle; wheezing, weak. All orcs had that fire, however dim. No one had managed to fully extinguish it though it had been much suppressed. Tucked against her, nearly imperceptible, was a little spark. Not much yet but given tinder and carefully fanned it could grow. “You’re having a baby,” he marveled.

Gorfaunt’s face was… orcs were hard to read at the best of times, bubbling over with noisy pain and anger that obscured their true emotions, prone to skin diseases and horrendous eye infections that muddled their expressions. She didn’t wear her gas mask around him anymore, though most were quick to cover up around any Maia of Morgoth. It helped little, her face was still opaque as the mountain itself. “Yep, Captain.”

“Good?” You congratulated an ally on a new weapon, a new bond, a promotion. Which one was an infant classified as? What was the correct form?

“Hopefully it’ll be over and the little goblin will be in the caves with the old’uns by the time we find either of the cities.” Gorfaunt provided, only barely contextualizing his felicitations. She was chewing on the inside on her cheek; sometimes she would gnaw until she spat black blood. “Terrible time for it. Terrible time. But the high ups are worried about reinforcements down the line, I suppose.”

Orcs came from orcs. It was a fact so simple it barely bore considering. Another department handled it. The new ones just showed up, springy and long limbed, faces still soft and unmarred. “Goblins��� he’d heard older orcs call those fresh pale creatures. Barely even monsters, more like stunted, crepuscular versions of the elves and dwarves they fought.

“How much longer?” They had a few good leads on Nargothrond, a promising word about Túrin Turambar. The Captain could not sack that city himself, the honor had already been promised to the sulfurous worm. Apparently they wanted to test the mettle of these dragons. But Gothmog could assign a few good orc commanders to supervise, make sure the worm was not overstepping his bounds.

Dark blood trickled out of the corner of Gorfaunt’s mouth. “Five months, I’m told. Could be more, could be less. Then I have to wait until the thing is independent enough to leave alone, that’s another few months.” She was probably counting months as the orcs had started to, by the moon. Wretched traitor, Tilion, who’d laughed with them at the idea of running away then turned his face when the time came to flee for freedom. They hated it as much as everyone else but in their hatred they were aware of its cycles. They rejoiced when it went dark.

“You’ll still be able to manage your underlings?” Orcs, and freed Maiar, were fractious. They did not respect a leader who lacked the strength to force them to obey. It could be exhausting. And Gorfaunt was already so round. The Captain did not wish to lose her support over one orcling.

“I think so. So far… in old days you’d den up somewhere for a year, avoid everyone prowling for blood, but I don’t want to fight my way up the ranks again. I’ve got an ax and I’m using it.” Despite that she sounded tired.

Long heartbeats stretched between them, that exquisite embarrassment of two coworkers suddenly forced to talk about private affairs.

“This is your first,” the Captain didn’t reach the tone of a question with that one.

“Yes. The recruiters were getting growly so I grabbed a fellow. I’ve been avoiding it for too long.”

“You don’t want a child.” Again, not quite a question. He was feeling it out as he goes along. This is the longest conversation about orc reproduction he’s ever paid attention to, for the Lieutenants diatribes we’re always dull.

It was no matter to him, except that this was the only orc commander he could tolerate working with and she was chewing through her own cheek in discomfort.

“They take something from you,” Gorfaunt admitted. “Dame and sire both, but worse for the dame since she has to carry the clot. You go… stretchy. Bleached like old bone. I’ve seen soldiers and after twenty children they’re not good for anything but shoving onto a line of pikes. Raw meat for the wargs.”

That didn’t make sense to him, but he was never a scholar of flesh or spirit. He knew how a skull split and how a soul fled, how this matter-sprung life withered, how it died. That was all that counted. He also knew how to value a resource.

“There won’t be any after this,” he said firmly. “Not if you don’t want them.” If need be he’d escalate to Lord Melkor, frame it as sapping strength from their command structure and propose making officers off limits from breeding programmes.

“As you command, Captain,” she said with a bowed head, but she looked gratifyingly relieved, and their conversation could finally move on to the latest stories of occupied territories and the search for the hidden cities.

The next few months Gorfaunt somehow managed to get bigger and bigger, until she was no longer able to swing herself into a chair and had to take their meeting standing. Her leather armor no longer fit and with just a thin layer of rags over her distended stomach it was easy to see the squirming creature inside.

Ferocious little animal. It would go so still and then kick out again, as if it could burst free of its creator by force of will alone. The kernel of its mind was forming too, a hazy bubble of sensation and half formed emotion. He could see what had the Lieutenant fascinated. It wasn’t his field but it was morbidly interesting, seeing the shape of something new and moldable come together right in front of you.

But he had not been made a sculptor or a craftsman. He’d been born a wild thing, a tornado, a volcano, every disaster meant to fell cities, and though he had not known the words yet he’d sensed in his core, seen in glimpses in the song, that he was a creature of war. Like many other wild things—Ossë, the simpering coward tied up in Uinen’s tresses, excluded— he’d found his way to Melkor in the end. Oh, he’d idled for a time with Vána, heard Námo’s dolorous call, but it was Melkor who he came back to and Melkor who he picked in the end.

Melkor taught him so many more ways to be. The smoke, the blood, the screaming not in sorrow but in anger. He taught the others who came to him as well. In the Captain’s little squad alone there was one who learned the slaver’s whip and the threat of fire, one who learned the ooze of pus and malodorous air, one who came to appreciate the ravenings of rabid beasts. From the dragons in the treasure-caves to the cat in the kitchen to the vampires in the highest towers, they were all Melkor’s creations.

Gorfaunt, born and raised here in the shadow of his ancient power, was even more Melkor’s than most. This was how the Captain rationalized his continuing fondness for her as she weakened, his interest in her spawn. Works of the same maker might gravitate together. They could see parts of themselves in each other, the way he could once see himself in other Ëalar born of the same bit of song.

When Gorfaunt came in four months after their revelatory meeting with a sagging belly and a bundle nestled against her chest he was excited to finally see what had been made.

It took a bit of coaxing to get her to show him the baby but no orc would outright refuse an order from anyone stronger than them, they knew better than that. The newborn was dutifully unwrapped and presented, though Gorfaunt’s expression suggested that she considered this all a silly waste of time.

It was a rumpled wet creature; mostly skin and bones, with a cranium as big as its rounded torso. Small too, barely bigger than Gorfaunt’s hand, and Gorfaunt was smaller than all elves and many humans; based on overheard complaints failure to grow was an ongoing issue with their kind. When it was unswaddled sticklike limbs flailed out and began batting at the air ineffectually. Despite this wriggling its face remained in a sleepy scowl. It wasn’t until Gothmog moved one cherry-hot finger closer to it that it opened its hazy grey eyes and tried to focus on him. Even then the dismayed frown stayed put.

An unscarred orc was always an interesting sight; for it revealed the scale of their reworking. How much orcishness was self-replicating, as the Lieutenant liked to claim, and how much had to be beaten in? This one had a droopy brow bone and already peeling corpse-grey skin but it did not look much like an orc besides that. It even had hair, which most orcs lacked (aside from a few lank patches). The fine red down covered its whole body, thickest on the head and face and arms.

“It’s supposed to fall out,” Gorfaunt said, “Everyone says it’ll fall out soon. Even the prisoners lose their hair after a while, especially in the deep mines.”

That was probably because of the miasma of decay that emanated from the ores of Angband. Not macro-decay, of skin and bone (that came later) but the infitesimal decay. Every piece of metal— every piece of existence, when you got down to it— was made of little stars. There was a gaseous center of energy and little orbiting specks around that, spinning in probabilistic loops. Like stars some were bigger and some were smaller and some were ready to collapse. Ilmarë loved to speak of supernovas. The yellow and blue metals below the mountain were full of little stars collapsing, reforming, giving off energy in great sums as they did so.

The Captain had noted the negative effects of this energetic output on incarnates some time ago. Elves sickened and humans just died— Lord Melkor had moved the man he hoped would give him the location of Gondolin far from those mines for a reason. A few of the spirits with natures inclined towards metal, salt, and industry had already incorporated the burning energy into their signatures. The Lieutenant doubtless had some wicked little experiment running with it. It was a part of life here, that background hum of a trillion crumbling particles, and the Captain never thought of the effect on orcs, though they were exposed from birth.

Now that he focused he could see the little crumbs of decay glancing off the baby.

Hmm.

It would probably be fine.

It was already rubbing its eyes and going back to sleep, one hand curled next to a crumpled, not-yet-cropped ear.

“Are you recovered?” he asked Gorfaunt.

“I’m fit enough to fight,” she said shortly, defensively, as if afraid he’d snatch her command from her. “I’ll be better soon when this thing is gone.”

The Captain’s huge palm hovered over her infant. He knew better than to touch; his ability to change forms was not what it once was, he could not stop being a bipedal avalanche, to strong, too close, too dangerous. Even just containing the noxious gases— the pustulent yellow and choking green— simmering inside this war shaped body was difficult. If he kept a few feet distance the chaotic heat of his skin faded into the air and the baby wriggled contentedly in the ambient glow, like a little lizard.

“And how long will that be?”

Gorfaunt’s hand twitched. Another few months, till it can manage worm meal and listen to the grands.”

It seemed impossible that anything could be big enough to leave alone in such a short time; but incarnation was not the Captain’s specialty. “And that’s the accepted practice?”

“A little young, but safe now that the master put a stop to the baby eating problem.”

“I wouldn’t want it to be a concern,” the Captain said very seriously, even though his fingers curled slightly around the baby’s limp body. “We can make modifications if the child must stay longer.”

Gorfaunt glanced down at her sprawled offspring. “I don’t— I don’t want this to last any longer. I’d rather have my life go back to normal.”

That, at least, he could understand. It has been a rather troubling experience overall. Revelations are not always useful and though he’s gained some knowledge it’s not very practical stuff.

“One more question, commander, then I’ll drop the matter. What is it named??”

That nascent mind bubble had sharpened with time and experience but was still comprised mostly of sensation. He could not even grasp at a basic sense of self. The child’s mother should know what if calls itself, if anyone did.

(He wanted to remember the name, for forty years from now, when he needed more good orcs. All those rants about the fundamentals of inheritance left him with some ideas about how incarnates develop traits. Another Gorfaunt would be a helpful tool to have on hand.)

The question left Gorfaunt unimpressed. “It doesn’t name itself anything yet, it hasn’t got the common sense. And no one’s given it a name because it hasn’t done anything interesting.”

“It has an interesting look” the Captain pointed out, “Tell them to call it Red Cap,” he slipped into the elf tongue, which had better color words than the one the Lieutenant devised, and in the process accidentally named the child after a former king of the Noldor. “Or something like that.”

Gorfaunt apparently had a better memory for politics than he gave her credit for, or perhaps just a distaste for the elf cant, because she quickly translated it back into Angband’s crackly tongue . “Rotbint.”

“Yes.” A Balrog, even the chief of Balrogs, could not give much to something so soft and incarnadine. A name, incorporeal, existing in the plane the Captain knew best, was the only thing he could offer. “Now, to business?”

Gorfaunt wrapped the little creature away— it woke halfway through the rolling to stare at them once more— then tucked it against her chest.

The Captain was sad to see it go, though he couldn’t say why.

He remembered that he had come to this physical world for a reason once. He had wanted to see all there was to see, to feel and taste everything, chew chunks of Arda up and spit it out new. Disasters hungered as much as anyone. Yet all he’d had lately was war fare; blood-soaked mud and rage-tinged fear.

Deprived of fresh experiences, he clung to the potential, the novelty, of new life.

Perhaps Gondolin would see him out of his funk, he thought. It couldn’t hide forever.

“We’ll find it, Captain,” Gorfaunt assured him stubbornly. “And we’ll tear it down brick by brick, raze their gardens, fill their streets with blood.”

Even with a baby trying to gum her collarbone her firm tone allowed no questions.

Orcs were, as a rule, bothersome, unruly, walking corpses. Fractious, ugly, difficult, bothersome, recklessly stupid. The Maiar serving under the Captain were sometimes stereotyped as simpleminded brutes but at least they were able to perceive the world around them, even if few bothered to use that perception. In comparison orcs were stumbling around in the dark. They were inefficient as well, you needed three of them to take down any decent enemy. But when they were well made they were well made. Those were the ones that made it all worth it.

It had to be worth it. This was freedom, after all.

[lastchanze]

(momo hirai, she/her, spirit warrior) To MEDINA OTA, the whole world looks like an open page. With a leap of faith, their ability of ASTRAL PROJECTION grows a little stronger. They’re pledged to the DIMENSION WITCH to defend the enchanted lands of Cagliostro with their DREAM JOURNAL. For 28 years, they have survived a world of magic with both their SOCIABLE and SELFISH. They work as a RUNESCRIBE, MODEL & ARTIST, but if they could change their fate, they’d want to ACCOMPLISH EVERYTHING ON THEIR BUCKET LIST!

summary

after her birth mother gave her away, medina was raised among many foster houses before finally settling into one. when she was 10 years old, she was opted for a permanent stay with the griffin family of trampoli town.

they had a big family, with some children who stayed and others who were temporary installments like herself. she shared a room with a few siblings, and never had the place to herself. she also was allowed to paint on all of the walls, try on and experiment with her mother’s clothes, and was encouraged at every turn to be a fun loving and expressive kid. very well-rounded childhood to say the least. she grew up into a very outgoing person from a close family, encouraged to always follow her heart and dreams.

that said, her life wasn’t always easy as pie. she suffered from several installments of health issues that went from short term and manageable to life-long. when she was in her teenage years, she developed an auto-immune disease that would routinely interfere in her life from then on.

not wanting to let it get in her way, she went to school, high school, finishing school and even into college. always expressing an interest in art, magic and their cross section. she found success in most things she set out to do, such as modeling, art and even love.

in truth, when she got engaged to jack moon, it was partially because she was afraid to disappoint him in saying she felt it was too early for her. she said yes because she did love him and didn’t want to lose him.

some of the worst years of her life came during her final years of college. her body was shutting down on her and the burden of keeping up with all of her hobbies as well as school made things difficult.

to make matters worse, at this time, her family in trampoli town was affected by the boundary and most of her family failed to remember not only who she was, but who they were. her father, mother, and a few siblings, forgot who she was at all. during the worst time in her life, all she had was her doctors and her boyfriend…sorry, her fiancé.

this was the beginning of her end. the first one.

she passed away in pain and feeling very secluded and alone.

but then she was brought back!

largely possible because her family never came to claim her, only her fiance. perhaps because of the manner in which she died, her spirit lingered on. she felt ill rested and unhappy, and it manifested in her being stuck between the mortal plane and where the dying belong.

she and her fiance kept in touch when she was able to manifest herself, and eventually she was able to talk him into something drastic…. to bring her back to life.

after a deal with the dimension witch it actually became possible.

so she’s back to life and suddenly facing the consequences of it. she feels all of her unfinished business laying heavily on her. all the things she didn’t do, the things she did that she didn’t want to, lead her to hate looking at her life the way it was.

what ultimately became the grain of sand that broke the scale was the disappearance of her mother. after making progress towards a new life together with new memories (after never being able to regain their old ones) she thought her family was doing better. happy without her, sure but better than nothing… but then her mother went missing.

the authorities told her it was probably a side effect of her extreme amnesia. but many things didn’t add up.

everything in her life, everywhere, was cracking like paint. so even though it was heartless of her, she let go of her fiancé, and went off to live a life she yearned for.

indulging in all of the things she wanted and inserting herself into an investigation to find her mother, she’s living every day like it might be her last once again.

fun facts

though she was no particularly magic sensitive in life, beyond some craftsman skills using a hand-me-down dreamstone, she became very magic touched after being wrought from her grave by the dimension witch.

after being resurrected, she presented with the powers of astral projection, and dream walking. frequently seeing the dimension witch in her dreams, and often accidentally wandering into the dreams of sleepers nearby, or those she loves.

she frequently sees her mother’s dreams, which is how she knows her mother is alive, but her mother never conscious enough to tell medina how to get to her.

she lives her live very very shamelessly. she will never apologize to anyone for doing what’s best for her. at all. under no circumstances.

she’s a jack of many trades in a way. lots of hobbies and good at a lot of things.

also she’s a freelance runescribe, meaning through art and woodworking, she carves or paints runes into things for people to serve as enchanted objects. protection, defensive or offensive buffs, wards, etc! 

also! my loves i redid my muse pages and stuff! so feel free to read the full profile, or the new about page for medina, or my other muses!