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mistydeyes · 2 years ago

Text

141 and what their patient file looks like

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summary: This is what I imagine everyone's favorite pharmacist as well as medics see when they look at 141's medical file.

Based on this pharmacist and 141 interactions

pairing: Task Force 141 x pharmacist!Reader

warnings: medical/pharmacy terminology, medical inaccuracies, swearing, depiction of wounds, mention of substance use disorder and abuse

Terms

PMH - Past medical history - the total sum of a patient's health status prior to the presenting problem

FH - Family history - contributing family history, generally parents and siblings

SH - Social history - contributing social behavior and routine

a/n: not canon at all! this is just a reference for me

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Price

PMH

Height: 1.88 m (6' 2'')

Weight: 93 kg (205 lbs)

Blood type: O+

Extensive physical injuries

21+ stab wounds - 2 required antibiotics for recurrent infection

9x bullet wound - 5x in the extremities, 4x in the chest (no perforation of vital organs), healed without complication

5x abrasion collar - 1 near right eyebrow became infected following medical eval and stitches

3x diagnosed concussion

Aspirin-sensitivity

Previously evaluated for tinnitus and hearing loss

Father - deceased at 76 from liver disease - 50 pack years, mycardial infarction (x2)

Mother - deceased at 84 due to chronic heart failure (CHF) -Glaucoma, asthma, CHF

Sister - Sports induced asthma, hypothyroidism

Negative family history of diabetes, hypertension, and cancer

Smokes - 30 pack years

Drinks regularly - 4-5 hard liquor each weekend; 1 glass of whiskey occasionally

Physically active - Enjoys recreational activities such as hiking, swimming, and biking

Has 1 dog, currently under the care of pt's younger sister

History of monogynous long term relationships, currently single

Medication list + indications

Amoxicillin/Clavulanic acid 625mg - Infection

Morphine 15mg + Ketamine 3mg - IV - Pain

Paracetamol 750mg - Pain

Buproprion SR 150mg - Smoking cessation - not-taking est 2004

Allergies

Aspirin allergy - Reaction: hives and asthma - ONLY PRESCRIBE PARACETAMOL

No environmental, food, or animal allergies

Notes

Patient has denied smoking cessation options

Soap

PMH

Height: 1.88 m (6' 2'')

Weight: 91 kg (200 lbs)

Blood type: O+

7x stab wound - 6 required antibiotics for recurrent infection, 2 MRSA resistant

2x bullet wound - 2x in lower extremities, healed with no complication

6x abrasion collar

2x broken collar bone - healed, with no complication

Lactose sensitivity - Recurrent IBS if ingested

Chipped first left molar following opening a beer with teeth

Father deceased at 68 due to heart failure - Type 2 Diabetes Mellitus, high cholesterol

Mother - Stage I HTN (hypertension)

Sister #1 - Postpartum depression, generalized anxiety disorder

Sister #2 - Elevated cholesterol/triglycerides

Brother - No known chronic health issues

Positive family history of diabetes and hypertension, but no cancer

Drinks regularly and heavily - 8-12 beers and 2-3 glasses of hard liquor each weekend; 1 glass of scotch occasionally

Smokes socially - 5 pack years

Physically active

Close relationship with family, has 4 dogs at home under the care of pt's mothers

Avid fan of The Glasgow Football Club

Medication list + indications

Clindamycin 300mg with ciprofloxacin 400mg - Infection

Amoxicillin/Clauvanic acid 625mg - Infection

Vancomycin 18mg/kg - MRSA resistant infection

Paracetamol 500mg - Pain

Morphine 15mg IV - Pain

Doxycycline 100mg - Acne discontinued in 2004

Allergies

Insect stings - Observed anaphylaxis to childhood bee sting

Notes

Patient demonstrates medication non-adherence, counsel ESPECIALLY with antibiotics

Scored 6 on Alcohol use disorders identification test for consumption (AUDIT C)

Gaz

PMH

Height: 1.86 m (6' 1'')

Weight: 93 kg (205 lbs)

Blood type: B-

3x stab wound - healed, no complications

1x broken collar bone

2x broken femur

Diagnosed concussion - evaluated in Oct. '19

Father - Type 1 Diabetes, high cholesterol

Mother - Vitiligo, Stage 3 breast cancer

Positive family history of maternal cancer and diabetes, but no hypertension

Social drinker - 3-4 beers each weekend

Does not smoke

Physically active - Enjoys morning and evening runs

Enjoys spicy food and tries to introduce into diet

When on leave, enjoys attending concerts and music festivals

Medication list + indications

Piriteze 10mg - Allergic rhinitis

Fluticasone Propionate - 93 mcg/actuation - Allergic rhinitis

Paracetamol 500mg - Pain

Allergies

Seasonal - Pollen and pet dander

β-Lactam allergy - Reaction: anaphylaxis evaluated in '19

Notes

Organ donor

Ghost

PMH

Height: Weight: 1.93 m (6' 4'')

WeighT: 100 kg (220 lbs)

Blood type: AB-

Extensive cuts and scarring to entire body

4+ stab wounds - healed, no complications

Gun shot to lower abdomen - healed, no complications, evaluated in Nov. '22

13+ collar abrasion

2x broken nose

Childhood injury of broken tibia and large toe

Psych eval - History of depression and post traumatic stress disorder, childhood history indicates emotional and physical abuse

Father - status unknown Diagnosed alcohol use disorder

Brother - deceased, cause of death non-contributory - Substance use disorder

Mother - deceased, cause of death non-contributory - Hypertension, thrombophilia (blood clotting disorder)

Positive family history of hypertension, but no diabetes or cancer

Social drinker - 3-4 glasses of hard liquor each weekend

Smokes socially - 10 pack years

Physically active - Enjoys nightly walks

Psych eval - Other squad members act as his emotional support

Expressed interest in cats and tattoo art (FLAGGED: Further input and comments from other medical professionals would be appreciated)

Medication list + indications

Paracetamol 1000mg - Pain

Amoxicillin/Clavulanic acid 625mg - Infection

Morphine 20mg + Ketamine 4.5mg IV - Pain

Mafenide acetate 5% topical - Antimicrobial, burn wounds

Fluoxetine 20mg twice daily - Depression - not taking est 2001

Allergies

NKDA - No known drug allergies

No environmental, food, or animal allergies

Psych recommends evaluation of a pet, such as cat, for pt while on leave

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missjojolie · 3 months ago

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The Living Obrlisk

“History remembers you as The Living Obelisk—the most powerful witch of any generation, a master of Ancient Magic who shaped the wizarding world forever. But when you are pulled through the mysterious veil in the Department of Mysteries, you awaken in a time that has immortalized your deeds but forgotten the person behind the legend. Trapped in your younger self, you must navigate a world that sees you as a myth while uncovering the truth of why you were brought here. As whispers of a rising dark power reach your ears, you face an impossible question: will you reclaim your place in history, or will you forge a new legacy?

More parts on Wattpad.

Masterlist

You jolt awake to the distant sound of wind rustling through leaves, the taste of damp earth on your tongue, and an ache that settles deep in your muscles. Groaning softly, you prop yourself up on your elbows. Your vision swims, the world coming into focus under the pale glow of moonlight filtering through a dense canopy of gnarled branches.

It's dark—far darker than the Ministry chamber you remember. The towering silhouettes of trees loom overhead, and a cool breeze tugs at your clothes. You press a hand against the ground, inhaling the smell of moss and rotting leaves. A sting in your palm reminds you of the cut you suffered just moments (or was it hours?) ago in the Department of Mysteries.

Where... am I?

Your heart thuds. You expect to feel the stiff ache you've grown accustomed to over the years, but your limbs respond with surprising ease. There's no lingering heaviness in your knees, no tightness in your shoulders. You feel...lighter, as though the weight of the world has been lifted from your bones. It's disorienting, but you dismiss it as adrenaline, your senses still tingling from the raw magic that dragged you through the archway.

Slowly, you push to your feet, wincing when something snags on your robes. A stray branch? You free yourself and glance around in growing alarm. Tall trees stretch in every direction, their trunks bent and twisted by centuries of growth. The moon sits high above you, a silent witness to your confusion.

This is the Forbidden Forest, you realize, recognition dawning with a pang of nostalgia. You haven't set foot here in... Merlin knows how long. And yet here you are, alone in the dead of night. You pull your wand from within your robes, relieved to find it still tucked safely against your side. The smooth wood rests comfortably in your grip, an anchor in the sea of your uncertainty.

A sudden snap of a branch makes you whirl around, wand at the ready. Your pulse kicks up as you peer into the shifting shadows. Nothing moves. Your chest heaves with shallow breaths, and you carefully step forward, testing the solidity of your legs. They respond quickly, more sure-footed than you expected.

"Hello?" you call quietly, voice echoing between the towering trunks.

Silence. A hush drapes the forest like a curtain, broken only by the soft trill of nocturnal insects. Your mind drifts to the archway, to the final flash of light, the whisper of a thousand voices calling your name. You press a hand to your chest, trying to recall every detail, but the memory is already fraying at the edges.

"Focus," you murmur under your breath.

A path of sorts lies ahead, an opening in the twisted brush just wide enough to navigate. You follow it, wand held aloft, casting a faint glow against the undergrowth. Night-blooming flowers glisten with dew, and the canopy above rustles with the quiet scuttle of creatures unseen.

As you walk, you register once again how oddly free your body feels. The back pain that usually nags at you is absent, and the slight stiffness in your wrists has vanished. A fleeting thought crosses your mind—Could the magic from the archway have somehow healed me? It's a ridiculous notion, and yet you can't deny the spring in your step or the easy rhythm of your heartbeat.

Minutes later—or maybe hours, it's impossible to tell—you catch the faint glow of a lantern bobbing between the trees. Your breath catches. Relief wars with caution, but you press on, drawn to the light like a moth to flame. As you near, the lantern reveals a towering figure, broad-shouldered, draped in a shaggy coat. He's speaking in low tones to what appears to be another, larger silhouette, hidden behind a thicket of brambles.

"Steady now, Grawpy," the man says, his accent thick and comforting in its own rough way. "It's late, an' I can't have yeh wanderin' off again."

You freeze. His voice is unfamiliar, but the coat, his sheer size... Something about him strikes you as decidedly Hogwarts, though you can't place why. You glance around, swallowing hard. If this is the Forbidden Forest, then you must be near the castle grounds, but how and when did you get here?

Your wandering thoughts are cut short when the man turns—and spots you. For a moment, he looks as shocked as you feel.

"Merlin's beard," he mutters, lowering the lantern. "What're yeh doin' out 'ere this time o' night?"

You open your mouth, but words fail you. Exhaustion and confusion churn in your stomach. Should you tell him about the archway? About the sudden, impossible trip from the Department of Mysteries to this forest?

Before you can answer, he raises a hand in a gentle gesture, caution in his eyes.

"Easy there, yeh look right rattled." He tilts his lantern higher, illuminating your face. There was a hint of recognition, "Yer not a Hogwarts student... or are yeh?"

You blink. A student? The notion seems absurd, but the question lingers, pricking at something in the back of your mind. You're about to deny it when you catch sight of your own reflection in the lantern's glass—your eyes, wide and bright, not quite as you remember them.

'What...'A chill rakes down your spine.

"Come on," the man urges his voice kind but firm, breaking you away from your thoughts. "Let's get yeh ter Professor Dumbledore. Might be he'll know what ter do with yeh."

Professor... Dumbledore? You've heard of him, haven't you?—seen the name in passing, maybe years ago.

Lightning arcs down your spine, a shocking certainty that something bigger is at play, something that has to do with the veil, with the leap between time and space. Your grip tightens on your wand, your knuckles blanching white, but you take a step forward all the same.

"Very well," you manage, voice wavering. "Take me to him."

But before the large man could say or do anything, you noticed the hulking figure behind him. It stepped into view, and your breath caught. It wasn't just a man. No, this was something much larger—a giant.

Your instincts screamed at you to point your wand at the threat, but the man's voice cut through the rising panic.

"Grawpy, stay put now," he said firmly, turning to the giant. "This ain't a time fer wanderin'."

The giant—Grawp, you realized—tilted his head in confusion, his massive frame swaying slightly as he regarded you with wide, curious eyes. He muttered something unintelligible, his deep voice like distant thunder.

"It's okay, Grawpy," the man soothed, motioning for the giant to stay back. "She ain't gonna 'urt yeh."

You grip your wand tighter, your pulse quickening. A giant, here? Giants had been rare in your time, and they were never known for their gentle nature. You shift your weight, ready to defend yourself if necessary, but the giant doesn't move.

Instead, he crouches slightly, lowering his enormous head to get a better look at you. His gaze is curious—almost childlike—and there's no malice in his expression, only confusion.

"Grawp!" the man barks, startling you both. "Enough! Yeh're scarin' her."

Your heart still hammers in your chest, but something about the giant's wide-eyed stare and hesitant posture calms you. He's no raging beast—just a lost, misunderstood creature. You remember in a Poppy sweeting voice.

"It's alright," you say on instinct, your voice surprisingly steady. You lower your wand, a flicker of empathy stirring in your chest. "He doesn't mean any harm... does he?"

The man—massive in his own right—relaxes a fraction, his eyes crinkling in relief. "Didn't think so," he mutters, turning back to the giant. "See, Grawpy? She ain't gonna hurt yeh, so long as yeh keep yer distance."

The giant, Grawp, lets out a low, wordless rumble. Cautiously, he inches back a step, gaze still fixed on you as though trying to understand exactly what you are. A tense silence follows, but you breathe easier now, sensing no threat.

Everything about this encounter feels odd: the quiet of the moonlit forest, the peculiar warmth in your limbs, and the gentle, bewildered giant bowing his head before you. This is not at all the world you remember—but for now, you're strangely grateful for the unfamiliar kindness surrounding you.

The man turned to you, an apologetic smile softening his weathered face. "Sorry about that. He don't mean no harm, but he don't know his own size, yeh see. He's my half-brother—Grawp. I been lookin' after him."

You nodded stiffly, your grip on your wand easing slightly. The tension in your shoulders didn't vanish entirely, but the way the man spoke—calm, patient—chipped away at your unease. Grawp muttered something else under his breath, a deep, rumbling sound like distant thunder, before casting one last curious glance your way. A moment later, he lumbered off to inspect a cluster of low-hanging branches, his massive hands plucking at the leaves like a child fascinated by their texture.

You blinked, the man's words finally sinking in. Half-brother? That bit of information tangled in your already crowded mind, adding to the growing pile of disorientation. It wasn't just Grawp who was strange—this man, with his giant-like size and rugged appearance, wasn't ordinary either. Your instincts told you there was something more to him, and despite your caution, curiosity slipped past your lips.

"Half-brother?" you repeated slowly. "Forgive me if this is meddlesome on my part, but... I'm assuming you're not entirely human yourself, are you, sir?"

The man lets out a low, good-natured chuckle. "A fair point, that—I'm half-giant, on my mother's side. Me dad was human so I s'pose yeh could say I'm not entirely human."

He pauses, glancing after Grawp, who's now plucking curiously at a thick branch overhead while you stared, caught between surprise and something bordering on fascination. Half-giants had existed in your time, of course, but they were as rare as regular giants were if not more—and almost always kept hidden from public view, thanks to the prejudice of wizarding society. Yet here stood one before you, speaking openly and without shame. You watch the giant sway from side to side, marvelling at his sheer size—and the fact that he's Hagrid's half-brother.

"I see," you said carefully,recovering from your surprise. "That... explains a lot, actually."

Hagrid grins, visibly relieved you're not recoiling in fear. "S'alright. Don't blame yeh for askin'. Most folks get a bit jumpy when they see Grawp." He shrugs, a gesture that sets his shoulders rising like small hills. "But he ain't bad, not when yeh know how ter handle him."

You nod, lowering your wand further. There's a comforting warmth in the mans tone, something that feels oddly grounding despite the strange circumstances. The tension in your shoulders eases slightly, though your grip on the wand remains firm—just in case.

"Well, thank you, then," you say, your voice steadier now. "For not letting him, er... squash me, Mister..."

A grin breaks across his rugged face, lighting it with genuine friendliness. "Name's Rubeus Hagrid, by the way. Keeper o' Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

He extends a hand the size of a dinner plate, and for a heartbeat, you simply stare at it. You've never encountered someone quite so... colossal. Yet there's no mistaking the gentle sincerity in his eyes.

'Hogwarts,' you echoed under your breath, the name tugging at something deep inside you. The castle had once been a constant in your life, a place of safety even amidst chaos. If this man worked there, then perhaps... perhaps you could trust him.

"Forgive me," you said quickly, realizing your manners had slipped. You placed your hand in his, giving the faintest shake. His grip was firm but careful, his calloused skin warm in a way that felt more reassuring than intimidating.

"I'm... well..." you faltered, the words catching in your throat. What could you even say? The truth sounded absurd, and yet the weight of it pressed heavily on your chest. "It's been a long day. Thank you for your help, Mr. Hagrid."

He waved off your formality with a broad hand, his grin kind and unassuming.

"Just Hagrid'll do," he said, his tone light and reassuring. "Now, let's get yeh up ter the castle. Dumbledore'll know what ter do with yeh. Yeh look like yeh've been through a lot." His gaze shifted briefly toward Grawp, who was now lumbering around a nearby tree. "Yeh don't mind, I'll take Grawp back this way. He needs 'is space, yeh know."

"Of course not, sir," you said with a faint smile, slipping back into politeness. "Do whatever you need."

Hagrid nodded, clearly pleased with your understanding. "Good, good. Don't worry 'bout 'im—he's harmless enough once yeh get used to 'im. Right then, follow me. We'll 'ead ter the castle."

You fell into step behind him as he led the way, his lantern casting long, flickering shadows across the forest floor. Grawp trailed a short distance behind, occasionally grunting or reaching for branches as though the trees themselves held secrets only he could see. Every now and then, Hagrid glanced back to check on you, his steady presence cutting through the strange tension that had settled over your thoughts.

The enormity of your situation pressed at the edges of your mind, but you pushed it aside for now, focusing instead on the rhythm of your steps and the soft glow of the lantern ahead. Questions would have to wait—at least until you reached the castle and, as Hagrid had promised, met this Dumbledore.

As the three of you made your way through the forest, you couldn't help but glance back at Grawp now and then. The giant lumbered along behind you, his heavy footsteps shaking the ground, but he kept his distance, more interested in the trees than in you. The sight of him—his sheer size, his presence—only deepened the growing sense of disorientation clawing at your mind. The Forbidden Forest was strange enough, but this...

When exactly am I?

Hagrid turns to the hulking shape behind him and mumbles something before leading you along a narrow path. You follow, every nerve alert. Questions ricochet through your mind, but you tuck them away for now, forcing yourself to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

I'll figure it out later, you tell yourself, your heart pounding in time with every step toward the looming silhouette of the castle ahead.

#harry potter fanfic #ao3 #ao3 author #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #gryffindor #slytherin #hermione granger #ron weasley #weasel

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herpsandbirds · 8 months ago

Note

Found out last year I was allergic to Yellowjackets after getting stung a bunch of times, if I’m allergic to Yellowjackets would I be allergic to bees or wasps or hornets too?

Yellowjacket Allergy

Ok, first of all, I AM NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL!

My understanding is that if you have a Yellowjacket venom allergy, you may not necessarily have allergies to other wasps (yellowjackets are wasps), and you very likely may not have an allergy to bee stings.

Notice the careful and conditional language I am using...

From what I understand, bee venom and wasp venoms have different components that people may be allergic to. There are some components that are found in both venoms.

Some people are allergic to only yellowjackets, and nothing else.

Some people are allergic to yellowjackets and other wasps, but not bees.

Some people are allergic to both yellowjackets and bees.

I think you should see an allergist to be tested for these things.

Are You Allergic To Insect Stings? Types Of Reactions, Symptoms And Treatments (webmd.com)

Insect Sting Allergies | Symptoms & Treatment | ACAAI Public Website

#insect #hymenoptera #bee #yellowjacket #wasp #animals #nature

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doctorvikjain · 2 months ago

Text

general information.

full name dr. vikram aarav jain

nicknames vik / viki ( by odette only ) / jain / dr. jain

age 38

date of birth june 1st, 1986

place of birth great neck, new york

zodiac gemini sun / aquarius moon / scorpio rising

gender cis male

nationality first-generation american

religion atheist

occupation clinical pharmacologist

orientation aromantic bisexual

physical attributes.

face claim dev patel

voice claim dev patel

height 6'2

weight 187 lbs

build lean muscle

exercise habits low impact exercise / yoga

allergies pollen ( tree + grass + weed ) / insect stings ( bee + wasp + fire ant )

afflictions mixed connective tissue disease

hair color dark brown

hairstyle somewhat long / styled away from face

eye color dark brown

glasses/contacts occasionally

dominant hand right

tattoos none

scars burn scars spanning upper left torso / stab wound on left pectoral

piercings none

jewelry/accessories a thin gold chain necklace

background information.

hometown great neck, new york

current residence new york, new york

spoken languages english / hindi / gujarati

driver’s license yes

familial information.

relationship status single

mother priya jain, deceased sept. 1999

father aarav jain, deceased sept. 1999

siblings odoti jain, deceased sept. 1999

other none

children none

pets odette winters / human, test subject

personality.

positive traits observant + intelligent + organized + meticulous + adept

negative manipulative + deceitful + cruel + duplicitous + selfish + detached

likes elaichi chai + painfully hot showers + antique medical textbooks + silence

dislikes cold weather + mindless conversation + nosy minds and hands + rain

moral alignment lawful evil

mbti intj

meticulous and organized, vikram has a compulsion to keep his surroundings as tidy as his mind ; nothing out of place, nothing askew. a fortuitous trait for as studious a mind as his, he has demonstrated a profound and lifelong passion not just for academics and research, but the pursuit of knowledge simply for knowledge’s sake. he is a naturally curious creature with an innate desire to understand the world around him and the exact mechanics by which it operates, a trait perhaps due in part to the distinct disconnect he’s felt from everything — and everyone — around him for as long as he can remember. this sense of alienation led him to pursue a doctorate in medicine as well as a phd in pharmaceutical science — to not only understand how people truly work when broken down to their most essential parts, but to learn how he can manipulate those basic functions through the application of very specific chemical compounds. if you can’t beat them, learn how to control them.

for as estranged as vikram feels himself to the world at large, you would never guess it to speak to him ; the mask he wears for the world is carefully crafted, a polite and professional visage modeled after years upon years of observing the social interactions of others, learning by careful scrutiny of example what qualifies as acceptable behavior — how long to maintain eye contact, when it’s appropriate to smile during a conversation, how to sound like he cares. and he does it well ; to be fortunate enough to know only the vikram he chooses to present himself to be is to know a soft-spoken and mild-mannered man, sympathetic and polite to the degree that his manner of speech at times almost feels anachronistic. vik is intelligent and articulate, punctual and reliable ; he makes an effort to appear as such, to walk a line between unassuming and invaluable that would leave his closest friends and colleagues shocked should they ever discover what he does behind locked doors.

in truth, dr. jain is a cruel man. he has very little regard for human life in comparison to the scientific gain that can be offered in its sacrifice. he does not wish to make people better on an individual basis — he is not a physician — but he wishes to make people, as a whole, better, and oftentimes found himself biting his tongue professionally to keep from overstepping any ethical boundaries when it came to the testing of new pharmaceuticals. but the skew of his moral compass extends beyond big pharma ; he has no qualms with torture and has, on multiple accounts, overseen and personally administered chemical compounds against the will of the recipients with the intention to reconfigure or otherwise permanently damage their cognitive and executive function.

biography.

TRIGGERS - neglect / animal abuse / death / physical + chemical torture / medical procedures

even were he to truly think on it, vikram jain would be hard-pressed to procure but a single memory of a time that he did not feel estranged from the world around him ; as a child, he provided his parents more strife than he ever did pride, though not for a lack of effort on his part. vikram was a peculiar child, abnormal in both the eyes of his parents and his peers ; he was quiet and observant, with wide, owlish eyes that seemed to silently soak in everything around him. for the first several years of his life, vikram was non-verbal — in fact, he did not speak aloud until the age of four, by which time he could do so in complete sentences to clearly articulate his thoughts. and even after he did find his voice, socialization did not come easy. children could be cruel, after all, and not least of all toward what they do not understand. and poor vikram, for all that he sought after it, never truly felt like they understood him. his parents, aarav and priya jain, would protest that they did everything they could to give their son a normal childhood and that it was a fault of his own that he resisted. the unfortunate truth of the matter was that they were ill-prepared to handle the idiosyncrasies of a child such as vikram, and rather than try to address his needs and figure out where the disconnect began, they resorted to ignoring it, stifling it ; overstimulated outbursts were punished, subtle self-soothing tics scolded away.

vikram, of course, could never quite understand what it was he’d done wrong and rather than lay himself out for continued lashing, he withdrew upon himself. it wasn’t difficult; he’d never really understood the value of such connection or emotional intimacy. what should’ve been a warm embrace from his mother only ever made his skin prickle and crawl and any attempted heart-to-hearts with his father — an emotionally stunted man in his own right, in different ways — only ever left both parties feeling more frustrated than before. the only exception to this unwritten rule of distance came in the form of a younger sister, odoti. at first, he showed apathy toward her at best — and near disdain for her constant crying and screeching at worst — but by the time she’d grown from a drooling, babbling infant into something at least resembling a small, cognizant human, vikram found himself strangely endeared to her. perhaps it was because of her own apparent fascination with him, or the resulting truth that she was, in fact, the first person who didn’t look at him like he was strange. like he was some sort of anomaly. no, odoti only ever looked toward him with admiration and curiosity and something vikram still thinks, to this day, is the closest he’s ever really felt to understanding genuine, unconditional love. or something he would think, at least, if he ever allowed himself the opportunity. he does not.

as a young boy, vikram was possessed with a curiosity of his own. a morbid fascination, more like, and one he kept hidden from the likes of everyone around him — odoti included. he had an affinity for experimenting with chemicals — caustic cleaning supplies stolen from beneath the sink or shoved into his backpack from the janitor’s cart at school, various jugs and cartons of automotive fluids, anything he could get his hands on. he’d mix the solvents and solutions with food and leave them out for wildlife and feral animals, hidden away in inconspicuous places. and then vikram would do what he did best. observe. he’d take careful note of which chemicals sedated them and in which dosages, which caused behavioral changes or made them ill and which ceased vital functions altogether. when they did die, inquisitive young vikram would often inspect their corpses, oftentimes hiding them away and returning weeks or months later to collect the bones. he had quite the collection once he’d cleaned and bleached them all, and he insisted — to his parents’ horror — that it was all locally sourced roadkill to alleviate suspicion about their origins. it wasn’t that he thought what he was doing was shameful ; on the contrary, vikram saw nothing wrong with his behavior — but he expected everyone else to disagree, to misunderstand and misjudge him. he’d grown tired of being scolded. it was easier, he found, to just be private.

for years, vikram managed to maintain his morbid pastime. he grew bolder, mixing volatile compounds in glass measuring cups in his bedroom behind locked doors ; he fancied himself a scientist, a chemist. he was just shy of twelve years old when his experiments finally proved beyond the realm of his control. as he would discover, it takes only moments for an open container of acetone to evaporate enough to cause a flash ignition if there is an open enough flame, even one so small as a candle, near enough by. the curtains behind his desk were the first to catch and, for a moment, it was all vikram could do to stare on as the flames began to swallow up the fabric, lapping at the walls and warming his skin. he should’ve anticipated it — he wasn’t stupid, he’d read the warning labels on everything he touched meticulously and at least thrice over. but vikram could hear their voices as he watched the fire grow brighter and stronger — his parents, his teachers, his peers. scolding him, mocking him for being so foolish, so careless! they were screaming at him, their voices drowning out the roar of the flames and instead setting every single one of his nerves alight.

by the time vikram snapped out of his haze, nearly half of his bedroom was engulfed in flames. and in truth, the only reason he’d been pulled from his internal cacophony was because he could feel the sting of the fire against his arms and flesh, the burn of smoldering cotton and sizzling flesh. he didn’t tell them before he fled the house in a panic, made no effort to rouse his parents or his sister as he scrambled into the bushes of the backyard and tried to calm down even as the blaze grew brighter. by the time he could see the glow through the kitchen windows, he could already hear his father shouting. vikram was too far away to make out the words, but he sounded desperate, frantic. his mothers wails wove in between the curses, choked and gasping. this, vikram found, did not upset him, for they could not know that they need direct their anger at him. in fact, if only he could hide long enough, they’d never know the chance to scold him again. but odoti… he’ll never forget the sound of her screaming his name, how the sound of her fear was visceral enough to carry her plea through blistering walls. when emergency services finally arrived to put out the flames, the firefighters on the scene found him trembling in the brush with his hands clamped over his ears and his eyes pressed shut in a pair of filthy, burnt pajamas. there were no other survivors.

with all of his remaining family residing out of the country and no viable guardians to speak of, vikram was a ward of the state by the time he reached his thirteenth birthday. he ended up in a boarding school for young men where he quickly flourished in academics but floundered socially with the same haste. it was not the words of his peers that bothered him — vikram was used to mockery and he took no offense to childish insults and name-calling, even at the expense of his newfound scars and rumored history — but the physical harassment. that he should be intentionally injured in a facility meant for learning just or simply existing, a truth which he could not help, was nothing short of baffling to vikram. but he had a keen eye for observation and an analytical mind and it did not take long for vikram to begin studying the behaviors of his peers, picking out details in micro-expressions and subtle changes in speech patterns and intonations as they engaged with each other. things he could’ve noticed ages ago, if only he’d bothered. things he wasn’t doing. he scrawled notes in his journal, practiced making faces back at himself in the bathroom mirror when there was no one around to see.

slowly, carefully, he began to craft a newer version of himself based on his findings — a mask, the illusion of a more socially palatable vikram. polite and charming, always listening and never over-sharing; he learned when to smile and how to laugh loud enough to blend in but not so loud as to get noticed. he learned when it was better to bite his tongue and withhold his opinions — in his case, the answer was often — and how to ignore the desire to crawl out of his skin at the slightest degree of platonic contact. more importantly, he learned how to wear this mask always. it helps in a way, he thinks even still, the level of control it allows him over how others respond to him, how they treat him. it allowed him the privilege of survival by means of camouflage in a cage full of predators ( perhaps maybe one day he could become the predator… ) until his eighteenth birthday, when the call of higher education pulled him beyond the walls of the boarding school where he’d spent most of his formative years.

as it happened, vikram flourished in a different environment. nobody paid any mind to him at university and outside of lectures and labs; he spoke up enough during discussions that people knew who he was well enough, but nobody ever sought him out or made an effort to befriend him, not truly. this, he decided, was the ideal — the sweet spot socialization. it offered him a chance to observe without actively engaging. nobody could ever say who it was that invited him to parties, but at the same time, no one ever batted an eye at his presence, nursing a beer in the corner with a soft, disarming smile. the thing about college students, vikram discovered, was that they seldom had to be coerced into taking drugs. as he learned about prescriptions and pharmaceuticals in his lectures, he learned about street substances — stimulants, hallucinogens, an assortment of psychotropics — in crowded apartments and abandoned warehouses. between these parties and the lectures and his coursework and dissertations, vikram seldom had time for sleep. he adapted, swiftly learning to live without.

by the time he was twenty-five, dr. vikram jain possessed not one but two degrees — a doctor of medicine and pharmaceutical science. though he was not necessarily lacking in bedside manner, he ended up pursuing a career in clinical pharmacology that left him in a lab rather than a hospital, designing and conducting human trials for new drugs in development. and what might appear on the surface a dream job to vikram was rather a test in patience and self-control, a constant practice in biting his tongue to maintain an appearance of morality. it was a tease, is what it was, and vikram found he could only take so much before he grew bored of the limits and boundaries forced upon him by the pharmaceutical research company that hired him, of the countless medical boards churning out guidelines for ethical practices. unexpectedly adverse side effects for blood pressure pills or anti-inflammatories weren’t enough — vikram wanted more.

but the luxury of big pharma was that, at the very top of the ladder on which vikram remained perched on a relatively lower rung, were a bunch of wealthy bastards with morals just as disaligned as his own. one would need to, vikram supposed, to profit so unabashedly from such a corrupt industry. how he came to do freelance work for such individuals is neither here nor there ; a stroke of luck, a matter of simply being in the right place at the right time and being observant enough to catch just enough of a conversation to deem it worth inserting himself into. and if vikram had any woes about ennui, they vanished in the blink of an eye under the new employ of these men. he was allowed the creative freedom to explore experiments he’d only ever dreamed about under the simple condition that he’d administer very specific courses of very particular, mind-altering drugs at their beck and call. the financial compensation was alluring enough in its own right to make the offer worthwhile, but it was the true respect and appreciation for his particular skill set finally being recognized that made vikram realize he’d found his calling.

he can vividly recall the day they brought it to him — odette winters. vikram knew there was something special about her the moment he’d gotten his hands on her ; she was a fascinating specimen, reacting to his procedures in unexpected ways. her body did not take to the drugs like the others, nor did her mind ; no, it was a challenge to concoct the correct regimen to do the job, and vikram … well, he’d always enjoyed entertaining tasks that stimulated his brain. ( surely his fondness for her had nothing to do with the way her name sounded so terribly similar to the only one he’d ever missed, the way he could see a familiar spark in her eyes that caused his chest to ache. ) when it was whisked away from his lab the first time in a state of drooling half-sedation, he did not expect to miss it. he knew better than to get attached to ferals and strays, that they never lasted very long in his hands. but she was a curious one, and his mind often wandered back to the file he’d compiled on her. a silly pastime of thought, nothing more.

until he heard a voice call out to him, shouting to him in a desperate plea one evening when he was prowling the streets of the city’s underbelly in search of something new to entertain him and suddenly vikram was taken back to 1999 — to a crisp september night and the acrid smell of smoke and the prickle of thorns in the bushes and the sound of his sister’s terrified screams. odoti. no, no, odette. it was kismet, vikram remembers thinking in that moment ; he was not a spiritual man by any means, nor did he ascribe much to the notion of fate, but there was no other explanation for why chance might have brought it to him twice unless it was meant to be there. meant to be with him. he protected it that night in the alley, and when he did, it felt like he’d been given a second chance. he brought her home, cleaned her up and tucked her in on his sofa with a heavy quilt and an even heavier dose of sedatives, their bitterness masked by the warm spice of a hot cup of chai. he wanted to keep it, in the way as a child he’d wanted to keep many of the animals he experimented on until they grew ill and perished. but this was different in a way that was unfamiliar for vikram. discomforting, even. for all that he desired to poke and prod at it — and he would — he also felt a strange compulsion to protect it.

for years, he kept odette close ; it would come and go as it pleased in the same way a stray cat might, but he made sure she knew his door was always open — and that it was never wise to stray too far. he continued to test on it, insisting that every new session was another attempt at helping them, at making them better. he was a doctor, after all, someone to be trusted ; and more than that, he cared for it. and to a degree, vikram wanted it to rely on him if only for the guarantee it gave him that it would never leave. ❝ oh, but you cannot tell anyone what’s happened, can you? no, of course not, poor thing. they’d be so angry, wouldn’t they? so ashamed, your father. no, that simply won’t do. they don’t understand that it isn’t any fault of yours, that you’re perfect, odoti, they won’t — but i do. i’m the only one. i’m all you’ve got. ❞ whether it believed him or not, it remained close, decorating his office with its bizarre works of art and showing him affection the likes of which he’d never actually known but which felt innately impossible to refuse. for years, they existed like this.

that is, until one unfortunate night when he’d had unexpected company in his lab in the form of a very particular set of employers. and while vikram had foreseen an unfortunate unfolding of events — he knew its mind well enough by now to expect it to react poorly to the sight of them the moment he heard the rumbling of familiar voices outside his door — he couldn’t have anticipated exactly how volatile it would become, nor how quickly. it attacked one of the men with all the blindly feral rage of a frightened animal ; a pet he’d not meant to keep, and here it was biting at the hand that feeds him! he could forgive it, of course, if only he could remove it from the man before it caused any serious damage. but, like an oiled snake, lithe and venomous and ready to strike, it slipped right through his arms. and then it turned on him. if he’d anticipated a knife in the chest from the creature he held dearest, he’d not known it would be so literal.

the pain was searing, white-hot, as vivid crimson began to soak through the pristine white of a lab coat. but more than that, it felt almost karmic. hard-earned and well-deserved. he saw his sister in it for a second, in its eyes, and even with the hilt of a knife jutting from his pectoralis major, he couldn’t find it in himself to be angry with it. not even when it yanked the blade free before he could protest. not truly. ❝ out! get out! ❞ he’d insisted anyway, his words wet and crackling but sharp as he stumbled toward his desk, one hand wet and sticky as he clutched it to his chest in a desperate attempt to apply pressure to the wound. not in an attempt to scold her, but to protect her. she needed to leave ; the man on the floor had not come alone and he expected that they’d be back for her sooner than later. that someone would be back for her. but his dot was a stubborn creature, and one of the last things vikram can recall is the sight of her tearful face and the sound of her apologies as she fluttered over him, desperate to help. ❝ do not cry, ❞ he managed to mumble, dizzy and hoarse, ❝ remember… remember what i said. ‘s not your fault, odoti. ❞

and that was the last time he would see it. when vikram woke in a hospital bed less than a day later,it was to a swift and unfortunate series of discoveries ; not only had she managed to puncture his lung, but in the process of calling for aid, she’d gotten herself detained. institutionalized. of course he had no intention of pressing charges, but they’d deemed his odette a danger to itself and others and they’d kept it, stolen it away from him as if it had not been thriving under his care before the incident. life went on for a few months following. vikram had never been the healthiest himself, in spite of his profession ; recovery was slow and unpleasant and the break from work it forced upon him was torture for idle hands and an overworked mind. and even when he could return to his day job in clinical pharmacology, it was several weeks still before he could return to his true passion. he’d only just begun to dip his toes back in when the outbreak hit new york.

a man with a skill set such as vikram’s was invaluable in a world as lawless and anarchic as his had become ; he’d been selected and sought out by one of his private clients, offered security and protection in exchange for his medical expertise at access to a camp of survivors stationed at the hotel elysee in midtown. seeing an opportunity and no reason to refuse, vikram remained at the hotel elysee for several months ; the men he chose to align with were a vicious lot, cruel and thieving, but their efforts meant that vikram lived in luxury. his suite was not a modest one, and he’d been gifted an additional adjoined set of rooms to transform into a makeshift infirmary of sorts. what he did behind the locked door of that second room was a business entirely his own. he thrived in this camp through the winter, all the way up until the moment of its collapse — a power struggle that ended in foolish decisions and bloodshed and rendered the hotel overrun by biters. it was by the skin of his teeth that vikram managed to escape, but he was fortunate in that he’d already had his belongings packed. he’d seen it coming. perhaps not to this degree, but he’d anticipated some sort of catastrophe all the same.

it was not chance but a fortunate tip that led him to the wexley, received from one jeremiah rose — a contact he’d not anticipated coming across in the wilds of this new city, though he should’ve guessed the other man was resilient enough to survive. he does not know what to expect upon his arrival, but vikram has grown accustomed to a certain standard of living in the new world order, and he has every intention of gaining that back.

headcanons.

vikram would occasionally engage in non-consensual ( but explicitly platonic and non-sexual ) behavior with his test subjects while they were sedated ; this self-soothing behavior for the touch-starved man included draping their arms around him in an embrace or climbing up beside them on the exam chair he’s strapped them to and resting his head on their shoulder for a while.

vikram has moderate scarring on the left half of his body from burns received during the fire he started in his home as a child, mostly spanning his shoulder, chest and upper arm. these are mostly hidden by his wardrobe choices, although if one were to look closely enough at his collar they might catch a glimpse of the glossy, disfigured skin creeping up his neck.

he suffers from a connective tissue disorder that causes chronic pain he keeps under control with a careful cocktail of drugs for himself, and he made sure to utilize the raiders from his previous camp to ensure he had an ample supply, even after he left the hotel elysee. on his worst days, vikram employs the use of a cane, but years of practiced control over his expression mean that his pain is carefully concealed.

this condition is what complicated his recovery from pneumothorax after being stabbed in the chest; he still experiences sporadic, stabbing chest pains that have been known to steal his breath away for moments at a time and his lungs tend to rattle a bit at times if he breathes too deeply, lending to a dry cough he often smothers into a handkerchief.

supply list.

one nondescript black duffel bag containing the following:

a variety of various pharmaceuticals ( narcotics / opiates / stimulants / muscle relaxers / cns depressants / antibiotics / anti-inflammatories / mood stabilizers )

an extensive first aid kit ( including but not limited to gloves, gauze, various bandages and dressings, medical tape, tweezers, scissors, antiseptic, antibiotic ointment, isopropyl alcohol, several needles and surgical thread )

a rubber apron and a pair of reusable elbow-length gloves

two changes of clothes / three pairs of socks / a sweater / a lab coat

a personal supply of nutritional supplements and vitamins

a beretta 30x tomcat with 32 rounds of ammunition

custom made support cane with engraved handle and concealed 18’ stiletto blade

#↳ intro #↳ about #bnyintro #good LORD this got long #triggers abound in the bio be warned now #anyway uuuh... here's vik

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tired-truffle · 2 months ago

Text

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 3.9k

Part 33 - Stop - Supress - Silence

"You love like a mother, a father; a caregiver at the core. You forever prioritize your precious ones at the expense of yourself because you have never looked at your reflection and seen a soul worth protecting. (Do you remember how it felt to be tucked in and kissed goodnight, my child?)" - Unknown

Tag list: @thomrainierapologist (If you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know!)

Warning: Panic attack/emotional spiral

Masterlist

Pins and needles prickled at her scalp, sending tingles rushing down the back of her neck like a thousand tiny insects skittering over her skin. Oxygen had vacated her lungs, leaving her struggling for breath. When had she sat down? Only a moment ago she’d been standing to allow Leliana into her room. The Nightingale had sounded so despondent, detached as she relayed the news that turned Ash’s legs into quivering jelly.

No…this had to be some sick joke, something to test her mettle or something Rae had commanded of her spymaster as repayment for some slight Ash had committed against her. But even Rae wasn’t that cruel.

Her sister…Creators, who was going to tell her? How was anyone supposed to tell her this?

How would Rae survive knowing that the ambassador’s plan she’d put in motion to protect their clan hadn’t been successful? How would she react when she was told that their entire clan had been slaughtered or scattered?

Clan Lavellan was gone.

“Have you told her?” Ash croaked from between numb lips, her hazy eyes flickering to the woman standing before her.

Leliana shook her head. “I thought it prudent that you be present and aware.”

There was no need to articulate the obvious, for the weight on Rae's shoulders was already substantial enough. She shouldn’t have to shoulder this burden alone.

Ash felt her head nod, not having realized she ordered her body to move. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

“We will be in the War Room when you are ready.” Leliana moved silently towards the door, but every step she took away from Ash felt like the beating of a war drum, the impending march towards death. The Spymaster paused. “Neither of you deserved this, we will ensure those who committed this atrocity are found and punished.”

It was her heartfelt way of expressing 'sorry for your loss,' and Ash greatly preferred this sincere gesture to a hollow attempt at placating her grief.

“Good.” Ash barely registered the sound of the door clicking shut.

Her fists balled tightly into the soft fabric of her robes. She yearned to exact her own vengeance, to shred apart those responsible for the devastation wrought upon her clan. Rae had been stripped of her parents, and now, her entire community lay in ruins. How dare they inflict such suffering upon her sister? Rae had sacrificed everything - absolutely everything - to serve as their Inquisitor, their chosen Herald of Andraste, for a group of shem’lens and useless felasils(Idiots) that didn’t give a single shit about her.

And what it meant for Ash…when her relationship with Cullen inevitably exploded, she had nowhere safe to return to.

She had no names to curse, no visions of faces twisted with hate and the promise of violence to picture in her head as the rage inside her burned and singed her bones, desperate to consume and destroy, but having nowhere to aim except inwards. Love’s wails of anguish rang in her head like she stood directly under a Chantry bell as it tolled midnight. Suppressing her fire took every leftover ounce of willpower Ash contained.

Magic coursed through her veins like glacial rapids, chilling her from the inside out and leaving a frosty sheen on her skin - smothering the flames inside. Her tears crystallized upon her cheeks, unnoticed until the icy droplets stung sharply like the prick of a bee's sting. Her fingers clawed at her hair, tangling and twisting as she tried to shove the magic back inside, somewhere safer, somewhere her rampaging grief couldn’t hurt anyone else.

This wasn’t about her, this was about Rae. She needed to be there for her younger sister, that was her responsibility. Her sole role in life, the one thing their mother had asked of her. Yet there she was, struggling to manage her own turbulent emotions for her sister’s sake, when Rae already had more than enough on her plate.

Stop it, stop it, stop it!

Spine straight, face blank, ice receding from blue-tinged lips. She wiped her tears from her cheeks as they thawed. A numbness spread through her limbs that was as satisfying in its dullness as it was terrible in its significance. But it was fine, she was fine.

Ash had lost her clan, but she still had her sister. A sister who needed her. There was no time for petulant mourning, no time to wallow in her own sorrow.

Her legs carried her toward the last remnants of her family. Fen’Harel himself wouldn’t be powerful enough to part them. Ash would fight the Gods themselves if it meant Rae would know peace.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Rae seethed, banging her fist against the large wooden war table as she stared down the red-headed rogue across from her. Leliana remained unflinchingly neutral, gaze darting to where Ash pushed open the heavy double doors. Rae whirled around, the anger brewing in the sneer of her lips dulled when they landed on Ash’s impassive face - too unemotional for someone who usually covered her deeper feelings with a grin. Something was wrong. Rae knew it, and it was driving her mad not knowing exactly what.

“Sister Nightingale, your Inquisitor has given you an order.” Ash barely registered Cullen’s words, tinged with concern and trepidation. Nor did she fully absorb the report that Leliana handed over to him.

“I requested Ashvalla attend today’s war council meeting to discuss the sensitive nature of the missive we received regarding Clan Lavellan. My scouts intercepted it before it arrived.”

Sympathy filled those beautiful amber eyes as he read the words that spoke of their clan’s destruction. Ash was unable to meet his gaze, unable to confront the softness and comfort that his look promised. How badly she wanted to fold herself into his strong arms. This wasn’t about her, she needed to look anywhere but at him. Josephine gasped as she read over Cullen’s shoulder, her hand fluttering to cover her mouth as she watched them both in horror. But Ash was not concerned with them, she drew herself up, leaning on her staff for support. As dreadful comprehension hit her, Rae's skin drained of colour and her lips parted.

“No…” she breathed, her head shaking and her choppy hair falling into her face. “No, you’re lying—you can’t—this isn’t—“ Rae bit her knuckles as she shoved them into her mouth to stifle a keening sob before rounding on Leliana once more.

“Why didn’t you tell me first?” she demanded, livid and shaking. “I am your leader! Do you seek to undermine me, or have you simply deemed my sister more capable of doing my job?”

Ash took a step forward, her staff clacking against the stone floor and bringing attention back to her. “You know why,” she said with motherly patience and a calm that she did not feel. “Leliana wanted you to be supported. You already do so much, let us help with this.”

"No!" Rae erupted, causing Ash to jerk back in surprise. Her gentleness was not reciprocated and had only fuelled Rae’s growing rage. The mark on Rae’s hand - the anchor - flared a sickly green, though Rae paid it no mind. “That is complete nug shit and you know it. You need to support me? I never asked for that, remember?”

Rae barreled forward, her steps pounding the ground as she closed the distance between herself and Ash. Her fingers clamped onto the front of Ash's robes with a vice-like grip, her mouth twisted into a fierce snarl. After the shock of Rae’s outburst passed, Cullen took a step forward as though he meant to intervene. Ash held up her hand behind Rae, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him pause - wary, but listening.

“You didn’t have to.” Ash placed her hand over the one gripping her robes.

“And you didn’t have to deal with it all on your own! You wanted to be here for me? Well, who was there for you!” Ash’s heart stuttered in her chest, her jaw slackening as Rae’s words tripped over each other in her mind. Who was there for her? What did that have to do with this?

“Who was there for you, Ash, or did you just take it on your own and pretend like it doesn’t bother you like you always do? What part of I’m sorry you have to remember alone do you not understand? It should bother you. Our clan is dead and I am responsible for it. You are all I have left, but if you won’t take care of yourself then I guess I don’t have you either.”

“Ma Fen’lin, you asked me how to help our clan, you chose what I suggested, this isn’t—“

“Don’t placate me!” Rae screamed, raw and cracking. She unleashed her grip on Ash’s robes and she stumbled, her shaky legs buckling before she caught herself on her staff. Rae clutched her wrist as the mark flared again, pulsing and illuminating her contorted face as she gritted her teeth against the pain.

“This is my fault! This is my fault and you…” Rae’s head shook and her voice contorted over the sob she was trying to suppress. “You think it is yours. Why can’t you even let me have my own mistakes? Why must everything be yours!”

“I…” What was she supposed to say to that? The words tangled in her throat, refusing to form. That’s not what she was trying to do; she wasn’t trying to make it about herself. This was about Rae, wasn’t it? Ash had only wanted to ease some of her heavy burden, no one should have to carry so much. But it seemed that she had achieved the opposite. The disdain glazing over Rae’s eyes as she stared at Ash had her taking a tentative step towards her sister, hand outstretched, her heart sinking into the soles of her feet. “Rae, please…”

“Save it.” Rae slapped Ash’s hand away, the sound echoing through the spacious room. “I need some space. Don’t come find me.”

A strangled noise bubbled up from Ash’s throat, choking around syllables that yearned to be words but fell short. She wanted to speak, but there was nothing she could say that would help - she’d already ruined it past the point of repair. Love was only making it worse, writhing and pushing against her restraint from within, begging her to unleash the full extent of her magic - to let out all her grief. But she couldn’t. She had to keep it contained lest it harm the people around her, the people she cherished so dearly.

Rae’s boots passed her, a blurred figure in her swimming vision, her eyes fixed helplessly on the floor. Wind from her exit breezed past her, the light scent of elfroot and lavender brushing past her, a scent that was so specifically Rae. Rae who was grieving, Rae who took on the responsibility of saving Thedas, Rae who resented her, who thought her self-centred and arrogant - everything that she moulded herself not to be. One’s true nature was difficult to fight.

Leliana and Josephine departed, offering her words of condolences that she did not have the wherewithal to retain. The grand doors to the war room closed firmly behind them, leaving her in the large chamber, but feeling suffocated by it - unwilling to look up as another pair of familiar and oddly ornamented boots came into her line of sight, stopping within arms reach of her.

“This isn’t your fault.” Cullen placed a warm hand on her shoulder, the heat of his touch seeping into her skin through her robes. “Maker’s breath, Ashvalla, you’re freezing.”

Her head shook, ignoring his second statement. “I should have handled it better.” I should have been the person she needed me to be.

A callused thumb brushed the tears from her cheeks - the heat of his touch like a fiery ember against her frigid skin. Again, she hadn’t noticed she’d started to cry. “You’ve lost your clan too.”

Her stomach swooped uncomfortably, queasy and roiling. She knew she shouldn't be dwelling on those thoughts; her priority should be to console Rae, not to get lost in her own tumultuous emotions. If she fell apart now she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to pick up the pieces.

“Ashvalla.” Concern rested in the pinch of his forehead.

The sharp sound of wood clacking against stone echoed through the room as her staff tumbled to the floor, the noise reverberating in the silence. Her clan, her family - those she had left behind, with whom she had barely kept in touch, consumed by her own struggles - were gone. Rae's anger burned like a fire she couldn't extinguish, and every action she took seemed to spiral into failure. She felt utterly useless, worse than useless; she was harmful. She was the antithesis of everything she was meant to embody, she had failed their mother.

Her knees buckled, unable to bear the strain, her skin itching like she’d run through a thicket of rashvine. A strong, solid weight caught her, soft fur surrounding her as her breath puffed out in a small cloud, mixing with the chilly air around her. Her grip on her magic was slipping again, but this time she wasn’t alone. No, she couldn’t let her magic hurt Cullen. Squeezing her eyes shut as strong arms wrapped around her, her body shook against the anguish that filled her chest and creaked along her ribs like it would break her open and spill her guts across the ground.

Would Rae ask her to leave the Inquisition? Had she finally realized she was better off without Ash hanging around? Maybe she’d be too disgusted to even show her face and order one of her advisors to do it. Maybe it would be Cullen. A punishment, for her lover to send her away.

“Ash,” Cullen interrupted her spiralling thoughts, petting the back of her head like she was a feral dog requiring a gentle touch to prevent it from snapping. “You are allowed to be upset. I’m here for you, whatever you need, I will not leave you. But you…feel like ice. Tell me what I can do to help with this.”

She dug her fists into his cloak. “Silence me.”

There was still lyrium lingering in his system, surely he could Silence her enough to take the edge off.

He jolted abruptly, his expression transforming into one of bewilderment - his eyes widening dramatically, his entire body going rigid.

"What—" he began hoarsely, the question dying on his lips. "Are you out of your mind? I will not Silence you."

“Please, Cullen,” she pleaded. How far she’d fallen; a Dalish Mage begging an ex-Templar to Silence her. Surely her mother was rolling in her grave. “I can’t stop it.”

He kept her supported, arms securing her to him around her waist. “Yes, you can.”

“N-No,” she stuttered through a sob, “I can’t do anything right. I-I can’t help my sister, I can’t control my magic, I can’t be trusted to make any decisions. I need you to Silence me, take this away. Please, I’m begging you.”

Frozen tears fell to the ground, tinkling like delicate glass as they shattered upon impact. Their breaths mixed together, a swirl of heat between them, frost gathering on the ends of her hair and sticking to his eyebrows and lashes. His skin flushed a rosy hue from the biting cold, and she inwardly appreciated his insistence on donning that outlandish mantle, if only to protect him from her.

A muscle ticked in his jaw, his mouth set in a firm line. “Do not ask this of me. Ever. I will not do it.”

He didn’t know about the spirit, about her possession. Would he feel the same if he knew or would he smite and slay her like the abomination she was? Would he fear her? She didn’t want to know, and yet the words pressed at her lips, begging to be free, begging for him to see her as she truly was.

Cullen leaned down, keeping one arm wrapped around her waist, and the other sliding behind her legs. Without any warning, he picked her up, a surprised gasp puffing in the cold air as she clung to him. Taking a few strides, he placed her down on the war table, little pieces scattering across the wood.

“Let me go,” she demanded weakly. “I’m just going to hurt you too.”

“You won’t,” he said with such conviction that she almost believed him. Almost.

She held up her hands, covered in a layer of frost, freezing vapour floating off of them and meandering down in a tranquil stream. “I will.”

His gloved hand encompassed hers, and despite her attempts to yank it away, he maintained a firm grip, guiding her palm to rest flat against the side of his neck. His heart beat erratically, but his breath was stable, calm and measured. “I need you to slow down, stop thinking of everything that you believe to be wrong with yourself and focus on my breathing. Can you do that?”

Could she focus on his breathing? What was she, an infant? Of course, she could do that. A simple task, an easy instruction that even a child could follow.

“Good,” he murmured. “And I seem to have forgotten, could you remind me what conditions elfroot needs to grow?”

She wrinkled her nose, why in the Void was he asking about elfroot at a time like this?

He smiled softly. “Humour me.”

“It needs partial sunlight, it withers under anything too strong. Damp soil is ideal, but it’s a hardy plant and they can survive without it for a few days.” She recited, the words feeling foreign in her mouth. It was so inconsequential, she couldn’t understand the reason he needed to know.

“You’re right, not too much but not too little. Dorian tells me you enjoyed your time in the Emerald Graves. He said the weather was tepid, not overly cold, but with the sun covered by clouds and the trees you were able to enjoy it without your thick cloak.” He chuckled and Ash could barely believe he’d made such a sound when she had her ice-cold hand pressed to his neck. But their visit to the Emerald Graves had refreshed her. Keeping her burn scars covered constantly was a hassle, the cloak unwieldy. She’d felt…contented.

She blinked as the fog cleared from her vision, her nose crinkling as sensation returned to her extremities. Cullen’s hand brushed the remnants of frozen tears off her cheeks, a sweet smile pulling on the scar bisecting his lip.

“You can control your magic, you are not going to harm me - or anyone else for that matter. You are grieving, give yourself the same grace you would extend to anyone else in your position. You are not the exception to your own kindness.”

“Cullen, I’m so—“ She didn’t get the chance to finish as his fingers brushed over her chapped lips, silencing her.

“Don’t you dare apologize, you have done nothing wrong.”

Ash exhaled shakily, closing her eyes as she leaned against him, burying her face in his mantle. It smelled of him - leather and elderflower. Her cheeks tingled, stinging where the frozen tears had clung to her skin. Her fingers, once numb, prickled with pins and needles as they defrosted. His arms tightened around her, rubbing soothing circles onto her back as he let her come down from her panic.

“Keeper Deshanna, my clan, they’re gone. They’re all gone.”

Cullen rested his chin against the top of her head. “And there is nothing you could have done to change that with the knowledge you had.”

Why couldn’t she ever do anything right? No matter how hard she tried there was always something that slipped through her fingers. She stretched and stretched herself until she was paper thin, cracking at the edges as the weight of her failures tore at her.

Sobs unfolded from her chest, no longer able to contain their shaking force. Her grief, angry and bitter, twisted in her stomach like a writhing snake, biting puncture wounds into the lining. She clutched onto him, desperate and trembling, needing his grounding presence to stop her from floating away. She wanted to stay in his arms forever, to be safe and cared for.

Would he still care for her if he found out she was spirit-possessed? A question she had asked herself on repeat for the past few weeks since they had started to properly see each other. It was difficult to believe. But in that moment it did not matter. In that moment she gave in to her selfishness, her grief, and she consumed his fondness for her like a woman who’d been lost in a desert and had finally found a wellspring.

As he held her, his warmth enveloping her like a soft blanket, she poured out all of her anguish, her loss, until she no longer felt much of anything at all, and her body gave in to the exhaustion. As long as she was in his arms she was safe, her limbs may become heavy, her brain foggy, but she knew he would support her.

It was one of the many reasons she loved him, after all.

She wasn’t sure when or how she’d made it to her room, nor did she particularly care to think about it, not when Cullen was wrapped around her, her head resting on his chest and his arms hugging her close. Sweetpea had snuggled herself across the top of Cullen’s head, her purrs soothing in the quiet of her chambers.

“My reason for joining the Inquisition was to support Rae. If I can’t do that, then why am I even here? If I’d been with my clan maybe I could have stopped this. Maybe I could have helped her more by staying out of her way.”

His thumb and index finger held her chin, gently pulling her gaze upwards, a frown marring his handsome face. “You know as well as I that Rae is happiest with you here. How do you think she would have fared had harm befallen you as well - losing the only family she has left? And I…” He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching. “I am eternally grateful that you are here. I do not know what I would do if you were not, if you’d been harmed.”

Ash's breath hitched at Cullen's words, her heart aching with a bittersweet pain. She shifted onto her elbows, studying the earnest vulnerability in his amber eyes. "You truly mean that, don't you?" she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. And perhaps screaming, she could no longer recall.

Cullen's hand came up to cradle her cheek, his calloused thumb brushing over her skin with a tenderness that made her want to weep anew. "You…you mean a great deal to me. More than I can adequately express."

She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she savoured the comfort of his presence. "Stay with me tonight," Ash pleaded softly. "I…I don't want to be alone."

"Of course." Cullen brushed a strand of hair from her face with gentle fingers. "For as long as you need."

He had made yet another promise, unaware of the profound gravity of it. She would need him endlessly, like the sun relied on the sky to rise each day, but could he truly dedicate his eternity to a woman who had deceived him about her very existence?

No, Ash was sure he would not. She absorbed every ounce of his affections while they were hers to cherish, clinging desperately to the man she desired above all others. Deep down, she recognized her selfishness and cowardice, traits her mother had always predicted would define her. Yet she couldn’t regret it, not when it meant she had Cullen - for however long he would give.

Next Chapter

A/N: So sorry for this, but this fight was a long time coming, and I am very excited for The Squeakquel (aka: rage meets desperation)

Also, hehe, Ash asking Cullen to Silence her, what a silly goose

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horseshoecrabman · 1 year ago

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hey guys!!!!! you might not have seen the post, but a few days ago me and my dad set up a beehive with around 3,000+ bees in it! my friends were interested in hearing bee updates, so here it is!

but before i start all of that, here’s some general information on how beehives operate and how to take care of one under the read more!!

expect an actual update on information about the hive dad and i have specifically in a day or so!!!!! thank you!!! :)

(this is by no means a step by step guide, it’s more of just something informative and fun!!!)

jobs bee have in their hives

bees commonly have different jobs in a beehive, the most important being worker bees, drone bees, and the queen bee.

worker bees are the ones you see out and about, pollinating and such. they are also responsible for feeding bee larvae, some also do things such as guard the hive and nurse injured bees! they do have stingers, but it is very true that bees do not sting unless they feel threatened.

queen bees basically control everything in the hive with their pheromones. they will also only leave the hive once in their lives, to find a drone bee and mate with it. once they return and start producing eggs, they can produce eggs for life and will lose their wings and remain in the hive for the rest of their life. worker bees are responsible for feeding the queen, and if a queen isn’t producing enough eggs for the hive or not producing enough pheromones, worker bees can cultivate a new queen by selecting any larvae and by feeding it special honey that they convert themselves, turns it into a queen, and then kill the old one.

drone bees are the ones queens mate with. this is their only purpose, and they also don’t leave the hive. in winter or times where a hive isn’t getting enough to feed everyone, they will be kicked out as they are practically useless.

here’s a picture of how to tell the difference between them!

brood is the official word for bee larvae, and applies to all bees, no matter the type!!! here’s a diagram :)

common pests bees encounter:

just like any animal, it always has a predator to eat it!

aside from things like birds or any insect eating reptile or amphibian are other bugs that are parasites that leech off bees!

varroa mites: varroa mites are small mites, but they are disastrous for a beehive. any beehive will always have a certain number of them, but it is possible to control their numbers with the proper treatments and care. mites will often feast on the fat of adult bees and the larvae, making adult bees weaker and killing larvae. there is a special test to see how many mites you have, typically performed every month or so, where you scoop up around 20 bees and put them in an “alcohol wash” and however many mites you can see in the alcohol indicates if you have an infestation or not. more than 5-10 mites, you have a problem, other than that, you’re safe. the reason its such a small number as 5-10 is because varroa mites reproduce very quickly. the bees you scooped do die because of this, which is really sad, but bees are really smart! they understand when sacrificing some bees will help the entire hive.

hive beetles: hive beetles will crawl into hives and essentially steal their resources! a strong hive can fight them off but a weaker hive will usually die off and if a human owns said hive, they can use certain bee-safe pesticides to kill the hive beetles specifically!

on the topic of pesticides, i just want to say that bees are very endangered. because of things like pesticides as well as general dislike for bees, and fear that they will sting people, they aren’t well liked. i really hope me talking about bees helps people understand that bees are friends and really do benefit the ecosystem and are just as excited about them as i am!!!!!!!!

how to take care of and monitor a hive

one of the many things to keep in mind is that it costs a lot to obtain and maintain a hive, definitely over thousands of dollars, and you might not get much honey from it to make up for this, so if you really do want to have a hive or multiple hives of your own, please keep this in mind.

the first thing you will need is equipment. the first thing is an actual hive for them to be in, one looking something like this:

ours has 6 individual frames in it, where bees build places to store honey (honeycombs) as well as places to store larvae, but the number of frames can vary between how small or big the hive box itself is!

this is what a typical beehive frame looks like !!!

in the photo, you can also see someone wearing a bee protection suit, which protects you from getting stung by any bees that might get mad at you going through their hive. there are other things you can do to calm bees down as well, such as using a smoker!

this is what a typical smoker looks like, they can vary in design, but this one is pretty common! you can put anything flammable in there and light it, i prefer using pine straw, as it doesnt smell bad and its easy to obtain, and squeeze the clamp part to help the fire inside the container spread and use the smoke on the hive.

what does the smoke do?

it basically does two things:

- masks the scent of pheromones for the bees, making them not mad

- distracts the bees from you by making them think something is on fire and focusing their attention on that

it does seem a little scary to know that the bees get panicked, but if you do it in the right amount and not too often they will be completely fine and calm down shortly!!!

alright, that’s all that i have for now, thank you for reading this far!!!!! if you have any questions dont hesitate to send me an ask!!!!

for posts like this and future asks, i’ll use the tag #bee updates to sort it all!!!!

thank you again!!!! 🐝🌻💛

#bee updates

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amalgamgooze · 11 months ago

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feelin' disoriented

I woke up again this morning feeling strange.

I'm somewhat surprised I didn't find myself turned into a giant insect.

Regardless...

Today I had two tests: one for my Linear Algebra class, and one for Anatomy and Physiology.

Now, I hate Anatomy and Physiology, so of course I studied for the test in hopes that I'd bring my grade up.

I came up with little pneumonic devices for all of the little cat muscles we needed to study for today, filling in all the worksheets and shit.

For Linear Algebra, on the other hand, I didn't study because I kinda assumed I'd fail the test since I hadn't studied yet before today.

...

Now, when I took the Linear Algebra test, it was MUCH easier than I'd expected. In fact, it was disappointingly easy. I'm not sure what happened there.

And as for Anatomy and Physiology?

I scored a 5/20 on the test.

Despite my efforts.

And I got "turbo dunked on" by the other kids in my class for it.

I think they use me as a standard for what a "high achieving student" looks like. That's totally false. I can't control the achieving and the not achieving anymore. I'm not the outstanding student I once was.

That doesn't mean it didn't still sting when everyone else cheered because they got a higher grade than me.

...and it's not because they want to spite me or anything! I'm confident I'm not an annoying smart kid! I go out of my way to make sure my test scores stay obscured unless someone asks about them!

...

Whatever. I'm overreacting to it, I think. I knew I was going to do poorly on the test. I just kind of assumed that studying would have helped me just a little more.

The world really just does continue to spite me at every turn, huh?

I suppose that's the way it runs for all of us.

...

And this evening.

I finally felt a burst of productivity to clean my room for the first time in a while.

...and then I was invited to go play some volleyball with a grass net.

Which, don't get me wrong--I love playing volleyball. It's just... now?

When I'm feeling productive?

That's when I get invited and distracted by something worth being distracted by?

...

I just have strong opinions on the universe's treatment of me.

I'm sure many of you all have similar opinions on how the universe has treated you all.

Just still makes me weird and disoriented.

#blog #writing #narrative #rant #personal rant #existence #spite #the universe #absurdism #despite

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viillaincoded · 1 year ago

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lee pace. 43. cis-male. he/him. ┊┊ cerberus corp has been watching JACKSON BRUNGOT. some of the public has dubbed them HIVE because of LIVING HIVE gifted by A HORNET ATTACK. having been an extra ordinary since 2023, they’re doing a good job at hiding THAT’S HE'S TERRIFIED OF HIMSELF. when they aren’t working their day job as an ATTORNEY, they are fond of ICE SKATING and are never seen without HIS WEDDING RING. at first glance they seem SENSITIVE & PRAGMATIC, though their close friends know them to also be REPRESSED & NERVOUS. they consider themself a CIVILIAN. ┊┊ connor. he/they. 24. cst.

CONTENT WARNING for EMOTIONAL ABUSE, SUBSTANCE ABUSE, BUGS, AND INSECT IMAGERY.

001. GENERAL

name jackson brungot nicknames jack (hates it, but probably won’t correct you) age forty three date of birth march fifteenth zodiac pisces place of birth buffalo, new york current residence new york city, new york gender cis male pronouns he/him sexuality gay occupation attorney

faceclaim lee pace height 6’5” tattoos a small duck on the inside of his ankle piercings (closed) lip piercing distinguishing features dark academia style, closely trimmed fingernails positive traits pragmatic, focused, loyal, sensitive, magnanimous negative traits repressed, intense, calculated, insecure, nervous labels / tropes love martyr, creepy good, body horror, guilt complex, people pleaser likes reading, fashion, (pretends to like) hockey, (actually likes) figure skating, musicals dislikes disappointing people, dogs (scared of them), the dark (also scared of it) fears his powers, dogs, the dark, being alone hobbies reading, ice skating, singing habits holding his reading glasses in his hands (for effect),

002. EXTRA ORDINARY

the questions here for each section are suggestions to get you thinking. as long as the section is appropriately elaborated upon, you’re fine!

near death experience… five weeks ago, he had been trying to get rid of some yellow jackets that had nested in a crack in the wall outside his balcony. the can of raid lasted just long enough to make them all angry before going empty. he suffered twenty three stings, and spent the next day and a half in a coma, one that he was lucky to survive. when he woke, jackson had been afraid that he was still being attacked, but it was simply the hive that had nested inside him, buzzing in his ears.

power… living hive. jackson is a host to a swarm of yellowjackets. they live inside of him, and are able to come out through his mouth, nose, etc, as well they are able to “molt” through his skin. he is able to direct them through thought, as well we can see through the eyes and ears of them (he has not yet learned this technique). when a yellowjacket dies, he is able to make another one, though it can take twelve hours to regenerate a single yellowjacket.

drawbacks / vulnerabilities… the yellowjackets cannot function without his input, as well cannot leave a sixty foot radius. if too many of the yellowjackets die, he will die—similar to a large blood loss. similarly, if he makes too many, jackson will get weak, though he has yet to test the actual limit. he’s terrified of his ability, so he hasn’t been using it.

codename… hive. not chosen by him, just the name from a youtube video that maxed out at two thousand views (currently). jackson doesn’t like it, would rather no one knew he had this ability at all.

003. EXTRA

background

jackson grew up with a very controlling father. beckett brungot was the city attorney for buffalo; ambitious, and image-obsessed, he had an idea of what his son was supposed to look like. he would divorce jackson’s mother when he was six, believing she was making his soft. a nasty custody battle gave his dad full custody. desperate for his remaining parent’s approval, he learned to hide himself to please his father.

his father remarried quickly, giving jackson a younger sibling. half-sibling. the divide between them was encouraged by him, who believed that competition was healthy between siblings. the contempt made it impossible for jackson to truly bond with them, as well as the age gap.

jackson left for college, and quickly went off the rails, like many who have controlling parents. wanting to have his fun, while still not disappointing his father, he started to abuse adderall, thinking it was the lesser of evils. this addiction would follow him through his first marriage, and the majority of the strain between them.

ten years ago, jackson’s younger sibling would confess their powers to jackson and their father. beckett was repulsed by what they could do, whereas jackson was terrified. their father disowned his younger sibling, and he couldn’t find the courage to reach, rationalizing that they had never been close.

it was his cowardice that would lead his first husband to leave him. the shame of the divorce had his father give him the cold shoulder. the rejection, and guilt, pushed him further and further into addiction and self-destruction, until he showed up at his father’s—high, awake for four days—to have the only honest conversation they would ever have. by the end of it, jackson agreed to go to rehab.

he spent the next two months there, and came out truly dedicated to his sobriety. jackson did much of it alone—despite paying for his rehabilitation, his father still refused to talk him, and when he attempted to reach out to his younger sibling to reconcile, he got a short go to hell. despite the odds, he has been able to maintain his sobriety since.

jackson made a solid group of friends, people who showed him how to have fun without drugs, people who showed him the love he never had through his family. through his friends, he met his current husband. life had been merry, domestic bliss

until his nde. since the accident, and the discovery of his powers, he has been slipping back into hold habits, lying, working long hours, isolating himself. jackson was scared of himself, and hasn’t wanted anyone to see his shame.

PINTEREST || PLAYLIST

wanted connections

sibling: please see here.

any gender, fc utp, 30-34 ( 0 / 1 )

somewhere only we know: jackson’s husband. they have been married for 2-5 years, though they’ve known each other for six years (give or take). since jackson’s nde, he’s been very distant, spending basically no time at home, scared of y/m’s reaction (and generally just scared in general tbh). he doesn’t know y/m is an eo as well. all other details i’m down to plot, but i want it to be a wholesome, loving relationship (with a few harmless secrets just for funsies)

men (or masc aligned), rahul kohli or utp, 38+ ( 0 / 1 )

something comforting: a mentor!! jackson is soooo out of his depth, with having a power at all, nonetheless the one he has. he needs someone to teach him how to control this shit (and also someone to tell him everything is fine). jackson’s a neutral good character, so preferably hero/vigilante/good guy leaning, but i’m also down for a villain/villain-leaning character tricking him??

any gender, 35+ ( 0 / 1 )

narcotics anonymous: jackson has been sober for the last nine years, but still attends at least one meeting every few months. i’d love for him to have some friends/acquaintances he has met from here.

any gender, any age ( 0 / ∞ )

i’m down for basically anything though, i love to brainstorm

#cc.intro #( jackson brungot ) / * task .#emotional abuse tw #child abuse tw #bugs tw #substance abuse tw #forgot to write his nde #its there now though

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