#critical metals recovery

[townpostin]

NML Jamshedpur Scientist Wins Prestigious Award for Sustainable Metal Extraction

Dr. Abhilash honored with Vigyan Yuva – Shanti Swarup Bhatnagar Award CSIR-NML scientist recognized for groundbreaking work in sustainable metal extraction and waste recycling. JAMSHEDPUR – Dr. Abhilash, Senior Principal Scientist at the CSIR-National Metallurgical Laboratory, has been awarded the Vigyan Yuva – Shanti Swarup Bhatnagar Award for Engineering Sciences. Dr. Abhilash was presented…

[cognitivejustice]

To build all of the solar panels, wind turbines, electric vehicle batteries, and other technologies necessary to fight climate change, we’re going to need a lot more metals. Mining those metals from the Earth creates damage and pollution that threaten ecosystems and communities. But there’s another potential source of the copper, nickel, aluminum, and rare-earth minerals needed to stabilize the climate: the mountain of electronic waste humanity discards each year. 

Exactly how much of each clean energy metal is there in the laptops, printers, and smart fridges the world discards? Until recently, no one really knew. Data on more obscure metals like neodymium and palladium, which play small but critical roles in established and emerging green energy technologies, has been especially hard to come by.

Now, the United Nations has taken a first step toward filling in these data gaps with the latest installment of its periodic report on e-waste around the world. Released last month, the new Global E-Waste Monitor shows the staggering scale of the e-waste crisis, which reached a new record in 2022 when the world threw out 62 million metric tons of electronics. And for the first time, the report includes a detailed breakdown of the metals present in our electronic garbage, and how often they are being recycled.

“There is very little reporting on the recovery of metals [from e-waste] globally,” lead report author Kees Baldé told Grist. “We felt it was our duty to get more facts on the table.”

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

Every infection, no matter how mild, has a cumulative effect on your brain, reducing gray matter and altering function. Mask up. Keep yourself and others safe from a disease that can and will cause many varied lingering issues.

by Denis Storey

Clinical relevance: New research shows that even mild COVID-19 cases in young adults can lead to changes in brain structure and function.

Researchers found reduced connectivity in key brain regions, including the left hippocampus and amygdala. These changes were linked to deficits in spatial working memory and cognitive performance. The study highlights the need for further research into long-term neurological effects of COVID-19, even in mild cases. For all the damage the pandemic’s done, it seems as if the youngest generations will pay the steepest price. The latest proof of that has emerged in new research that’s discovered that even the mildest of COVID cases among young adults can lead to changes in brain structure and function. As a result, it could pose a threat to long-term cognitive performance.

The research provides new insight into the potential neurological impact of SARS-CoV-2 in populations that avoided severe illness. The study focused on adolescents and young adults since it’s a group that’s remained relatively understudied.

Methodology The study, part of the Public Health Impact of Metal Exposure (PHIME) cohort, included 40 participants. More than a dozen of them – 13 – tested positive for COVID-19, while 27 served as controls.

The researchers enrolled the participants in a longitudinal study, which offered pre-pandemic baseline data through MRI scans and cognitive assessments. This allowed the team a unique look into pre- and post-pandemic neural outcomes.

The researchers relied on the latest neuroimaging technology, such as resting-state functional MRI (fMRI) and structural MRI, to examine shifts in brain connectivity and cortical volume.

The researchers also subjected the participants to cognitive testing focused on spatial working memory. The team conducted the assessments both before the COVID-19 pandemic and after recovery from mild COVID-19 cases. These parallel evaluations allowed for a direct comparison of brain and cognitive changes.

COVID Affected Multiple Brain Regions The study exposed notable differences between COVID-19-positive and healthy participants in five critical brain regions:

The right intracalcarine cortex. The right lingual gyrus. The left hippocampus. The left amygdala. And the left frontal orbital cortex. Perhaps most notably, the left hippocampus revealed a significant drop in cortical volume among those who’d tested positive for COVID.

Researchers also found that the left amygdala showed much lower connectivity in participants who’d contracted COVID-19. This lack of connectivity appeared to be linked to deficits in spatial working memory. From this, the researchers inferred that even mild COVID-19 infection could impair one’s ability to perform tasks that rely on short-term memory.

Backing Up Previous Research The study results echo a mounting body of literature that suggests that COVID-19, despite its nature as a respiratory virus, appears to have far-reaching neurological implications. Earlier research has linked more serious cases of the virus with reduced gray matter thickness and cerebral volume loss, particularly in the hippocampus and amygdala.

The researchers add that the brain changes they observed could be related to the neurotoxic effects of SARS-CoV-2, which could have a lingering influence even among milder caes of infection. The paper’s authors theorize that it could be because the virus might be invading the brain through the olfactory system. That could cause inflammation and damage in important neural regions.

On the other hand, the authors also posit that the social and psychological stressors of the pandemic – whether its the social isolation or the lingering uncertainties – could be a factor in the changes appearing in the brains of the COVID-positive participants.

These results underscore the necessity for more research into the long-term neurological effects of the pandemic, especially among its younger survivors.

Moving Forward Finally, the research team hints that further investigation could clarify whether these neurological changes are permanent, and – if not – how long they might last.

The authors conclude by insisting that this study offers crucial new insight into the potentially long-term ramifications of COVID on the brain, even in mild cases. As we struggle with life in the shadow of the pandemic, a better grasp of what it means for everyone who’s been infected could help us develop more effective treatments.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

VILLIAN won by Hero's friend as a prize at a poker game part 1

TW: tortured, suffered, abuse, captivity whump, rescue, recovery

PROMPT:

Your character, a superhero, is sitting in... the kitchen when his partner comes in, their arch nemesis willingly in tow.

When they ask what the heck is going on, the partner says: "I won him in a poker game."

MY WRITING: (Hero is female Villain is male)

"WHAT?!" Hero shouted. She was outraged.

"Relax," her partner said, chuckling.

Villain only looked down, appearing to be half asleep.

"Well, now you two can be friends. Make it happen." The partner of Hero laughed and walked away, leaving her alone with her enemy. Hero only scowled at the villain, yet the villain went right away to sit down in a corner, silent.

Hero eyed Villain warily, who still hadn't made a sound. Now that she was looking closer, his eyes seemed dilated and confused, like he wasn't really all there. Cautiously, Hero rose from her seat and approached, dagger drawn, then rested the sharp blade against the smooth skin of Villain's neck, using it to tilt his chin up and force him to look at her. He didn't even flinch, or react other than to swallow, throat bobbing uncomfortably against the cool metal.

There was fear in Villain's eyes, yes, but also... not completely directed at Hero? There was a haunted look deep in his gaze, a gut-wrenching terror that made even Hero feel a twist of pity. She criticized herself for feeling that about her enemy. Villain had done many monstrous things. He deserved to suffer. But still... Hero couldn't help but be curious as to who could have possibly beaten him so thoroughly. He wasn't even trying to fight her. It was like he was... broken. Had given up.

She had been battling Villain for months on end, without successfully taking him down. Then one day he had just disappeared. And now he had ended up as a prize in poker? Nothing was making sense.

Villain's glazed eyes slid out of focus for a beat, and for a second it almost looked like he might pass out before he jolted back to himself.

"Who did this to you?" Hero demanded, pressing the blade harder into his neck. "What happened?"

Villain visibly struggled to keep his head up, wincing as the sharp metal bit into him. There was no fire, no defiance left in him. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse and rough, as if he'd been screaming his throat raw. "New enemy... Everything hurts so much... help me... please..." He slurred weakly, barely coherent. Hero couldn't help the flash of shock that flitted across her features. 'Please?' Villain never begged. Ever.

Villain suddenly pitched bonelessly forward, doubling over with a racking cough, and Hero instinctively caught him, more out of surprise than anything else, dropping her dagger as he crumpled into her. She was astonished to be able to feel every last one of his bones through his clothes. He was so emaciated he could barely stay sitting upright, practically half-dead. Hero had no words. It was clear that Villain was heavily drugged, judging from how his head kept lolling to the side as if he could barely stay awake and lucid, and his appearance was ragged and unkempt.

Villain had always been professional and polished, the kind of person you would never assume would be evil based on how nicely they always dressed. The kind you would never look twice at, which made him all the more dangerous. It was hard to believe that the limp form in Hero's arms was once the mighty (Supervillain name).

Hero's first instinct would have been to suspect a trap, as that was Villain's style. He was good at outsmarting his enemy in every way. But he could barely struggle, let alone put up a fight. He didn't pose much of a threat in his current state.

Hero could feel Villain trembling from head to toe, and to her astound surprise he didn't resist or say anything snarky when she held him tighter, offering him most basic human decency of comfort and safety --- even though he far from deserved it.

"...If I help you, will you give me answers?" Hero asked firmly. Villain didn't say a thing, merely nodded his head. It could be a huge mistake, but the promise of answers was tempting. She needed to know who had done this to her enemy, and determine if they were a threat to herself. If they were a danger to the public that needed to be dealt with. After all, Hero was responsible for the safety of the citizens.

Begrudgingly, she briefly checked Villain for any weapons, before letting out a long breath. Satisfied that he was truly unarmed, she reluctantly draped one of Villain's arms over her neck and shouldered his weight, supporting him the best she could as she heaved him up to his feet.

Villain almost immediately collapsed again, legs wobbly and unsteady, and Hero was the only thing keeping him from hitting the floor. Villain sucked in a sharp breath of pain and clutched at his side, making Hero frown.

I'll have to check on that, she thought suspiciously. Is he hiding something, or just injured?

Uneasy, Hero half-helped half-dragged Villain away, toward the medical wing where she frequently patched herself up after a fight. She never would have imagined using it to help Villain, of all people. It was a slow process, with Villain's injuries obviously straining on his already wounded body. She took it one step at a time, going slow enough that Villain could keep limping along beside her, teeth gritted. Finally, they reached the medical facility, and Hero led him to the nearest medical bed.

Villain's face turned a little red with shame when he spotted it, and she quickly realized why. He knew he didn't have the physical strength to climb onto it on his own, but was too prideful or guilty to ask for more help than Hero was already giving.

Rolling her eyes, Hero scooped up Villain in one swift movement and dropped him on the bed with ease. It wasn't hard with how light and skinny he was from malnourishment.

Villain looked surprised when he landed on the soft surface, but she didn't miss the brief flash of gratitude that darted through his expression, before he turned his face away to hide it. Hero couldn't tell how genuine it was, as he was a person of many masks, but she got the feeling that the gratitude was real. Maybe it would make Villain less likely to take advantage of the hospitality, she hoped.

Hero gathered some basic medical tools on a rolling tray and brought it to the bedside, setting up a saline drip. Villain couldn't help a shiver as Hero brought his scrawny arm away from him to slide the needle in and start the flow of saline.

Then Hero reached over to cut open the center of Villain's shredded, tattered shirt to check for any obvious injuries. Villain's eyes widened. "Wait--!" He tried to stop her, but was too late. Hero couldn't help a small horrified gasp when she saw what was beneath the ruined shirt. His skin was mottled black and purple and red with hundreds of bruises and cuts and lacerations, all in various stages of healing, a grotesque mosaic carved into his flesh.

Hero's wide eyes roamed across the damage, taking it all in. Deeper gashes laced across Villain's chest, and larger bruises had formed over his ribs, some of them looking no more than a day or two old.

Shocked, she started cutting open the sleeves of his shirt too, ignoring Villain's weak protests, revealing more and more vicious wounds. He was covered in so many injuries, it was hard to believe he was even still alive at all.

Villain wet his dry, cracked lips uncomfortably in the heavy silence as Hero examined him from head to toe, making note of every small blemish. Eventually Hero checked his wrists, heart twisting in knots as she ran a light finger across the inflamed chafe marks there where the skin was rubbed raw, signs of a futile struggle.

She was absolutely livid, and disgusted by the cruelty. No one deserved to be treated like this, not even Villain. Hero was surprised by that thought. She had hated Villain for so long, wished curses and darkness upon him, but seeing him now so frail and weak... there was no hatred. Only pity and sadness. And anger.

The chafe marks showed that he had been left restrained and struggling while he was being attacked and tortured and beaten to within an inch of death, a cowardly move by whoever did it. And to add to the final humiliation, the assailant had used Villain as no more than a prize to win at poker when he was of no more use, drugged and half-dead. Like a bloody object.

Hero glanced up at Villain, who was averting his gaze elsewhere, staring off into the middle distance. "What on earth happened to you?" She asked, half to herself.

"What's... it look like...?" Villain rasped hoarsely, a hint of his former snarky self showing through. "Someone... finally did the impossible... and caught me..." His strained breaths wheezed audibly in and out of his lungs, and he broke off into a bout of shaky coughing.

Without thinking, Hero gently grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Villain tensed anxiously, going rigid, and finally risked looking at her. She could see the agony displayed in his eyes, and the efforts he made at hiding it. But there were no more masks Villain could wear, no facade he could put up and maintain. This was who he was beneath all his cruelty and dangerous, polished charm. The real Villain.

Scared, weak, and hurting. The motives behind his villainous actions, why he constantly picked fights with Hero again and again. Hero had only seen the cocky, confident side of him in their many showdowns. She had never seen this side of him; the vulnerable, exposed version. Beneath all those layers, Villain was just as human as anyone. Afraid to lose, afraid to be forgotten. Afraid to show weakness. Afraid to accept even the smallest kindness, lest it be double-edged with ulterior motives. He had lived his whole life full of bitterness and anger and hate toward the world, never experiencing the joy or happiness it had to offer. Hero understood him now, more than she liked to admit.

And in a moment of weakness and understanding, she leaned over Villain on the medical bed and gave him a light hug, being careful not to jostle his many injuries. Hero felt him jerk in surprise and shrink away from it, but there wasn't anywhere to go, and he didn't have the strength to fight.

A few long beats of silence passed, before Villain unexpectedly relaxed a fraction, guard still up, but letting himself get caught up in the moment.

"...But why...?" Villain eventually choked out, and Hero didn't miss the crack in his voice, the audible chink in his armor.

"Because you need to be reminded that there is still kindness and decency in the world, even if you've long become blind to it," she murmured softly.

"I don't want your pity," Villain wheezed defiantly, voice barely a whisper.

"Don't worry, it's not pity. It's sympathy." Another moment of silence, before Hero felt small tremors wrack Villain's body in her arms, and she realized that he was... crying? She pulled back and settled down in her seat next to the medical bed again, gauging Villain's expression.

His eyes were squeezed shut, face tight and devastated, but he couldn't stop a few tears that leaked out, rolling down his dirty, bruised face.

"...You know I don't deserve that," Villain whispered quietly.

"We both know," Hero agreed. "But that doesn't mean you can't start over. Maybe all you need is to know what it feels like to be loved."

"And how would you suggest that? I'm the villain, you're the hero. That will never change." Villain's eyes slowly cracked open, watery and pained.

"...Because I changed," Hero admitted. "I was (other supervillain name), decades ago."

Villain's eyes shot wide open with shock, and he studied her closely, searching for a lie. But he found none.

"How did you possibly end up as Hero?" Villain coughed.

"Because I was once given the same chance I'm giving you," Hero said softly. "The chance to switch sides, to be loved instead of hated and feared. And I took it. The question is... will you?"

Villain looked stunned, but also... hopeful. Longing. Wistful. And eventually a shaky smile broke out across his face.

"You offering me a job?" He laughed weakly.

"Depends on if you want it." Hero shrugged. "Do you want to get justice on the guys that did this to you?" She gestured to Villain's broken, battered body.

A flare of fiery life flashed through Villain's eyes, determination and hope in equal measures.

"...Yes.”

Next ⏩️

Masterlist

[dailymanners]

"Swedish battery maker Northvolt has developed a new sodium-ion cell technology and could ramp up production of batteries in the next few years. The demand for critical minerals such as lithium, cobalt and platinum has surged in recent years as electric vehicles (EV) become increasingly popular, prompting car manufacturers and battery makers to look for alternatives. Northvolt’s sodium-ion batteries do not contain lithium, cobalt and platinum, which can pose cost and environmental challenges."

"The researchers have developed a recycling method that allows recovery of 100 per cent of the aluminium and 98 per cent of the lithium in electric car batteries. Swedish researchers say they have developed a new, more efficient way of recycling electric car batteries. The method allows for the recovery of far more valuable metals found in EV batteries. The process does not require the use of expensive or harmful chemicals either, the scientists say. “As the method can be scaled up, we hope it can be used in industry in future years,” says research leader Martina Petranikova"

Not exactly related to good manners, but some good news I heard today that I was too excited about not to share.

There's been quite a few technological breakthroughs recently that could make electric car batteries, and just batteries in general, more environmentally friendly, more ethical, and more sustainable.

[whump-tr0pes]

Relief

Many thanks to @newbornwhumperfly for being so generous in letting me put their boy Morja in Situations, and many apologies to them as well for holding onto this story for so many months while waiting for me to finish it.

My masterlist

Morja is a diathésimos, one of a class of indentured servants owned by society’s elite - though some would call them slaves. He has been tasked with a mission of critical importance by his anóteros: to infiltrate a dangerous family that has taken refuge in the north, and kill the criminal that they are harboring: Gavin Stormbeck.

“It is your part to kill me, mine to die without flinching.”

— Epictetus, from Discourses (Translated by Robert Dobbin)

Your Part to Kill | My Part to Die | To Die Quietly | Despair | Dawn | Breakfast Part 1 | Breakfast Part 2 | To Die Without Flinching

Contents: nightmare, [captivity, beating, gaslighting, forced to hurt someone, torture, flaying, so much blood, begging, death] all in a nightmare, collared whumpee, conditioned whumpee, past murder, PTSD, emeto, comfort, flashbacks, permanent injury, chronic pain, misunderstanding whump, recovery

~

Morja instantly knew where he was; the peeling paint on the walls, the barred door, and the cold blue lights overhead told him everywhere he needed to know. He was back in his cell room, back in Crayton. He was back where he belonged. 

There was an addition to the room, and the room seemed to have grown to accommodate it: a large metal table with leather cuffs at the top and bottom. Morja shuddered as he looked at it. He knew exactly what it was for. He had been on one himself, more than once. He wondered if his anóteros meant for him to climb onto it. 

Before the lack of answer could worry him, there was a sound behind him. Boots. A voice. 

“Hello, my diathésimos,” his owner benefactor said. A steady hand slid up the back of his neck, over his collar, and knotted in his hair. He dropped to his knees in an instant.

“Anóteros,” he said, his lips trembling. His hands settled in his lap and he tilted his head back, baring his throat. He was where he belonged at last - but his eyes burned, and his mouth was dry. He couldn’t explain it. He belonged at his anóteros’ feet, did he not? He had never known another home than this. 

No, there was another place, where he had a bed, not a cot - where there were no bars on the door, and there were windows that opened to the outside–

A blow snapped his head to the side. He accepted it without a gasp. His right ear rang. 

“Where did you just go, Morja?” the mayor said, his voice low and smooth. Morja knew better, though - he could hear the threat beneath the words. 

He answered honestly. He must always be honest.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. He closed his eyes and waited for the correction. 

Another blow whipped across his face, splitting his lip. Blood began to trickle down his chin. It itched. He did not lift his hand to wipe it. When it dripped on his wrists, then the floor, he knew he would need to clean it after this. 

“I don’t think you’ve ever been anywhere but this,” his anóteros said conversationally. “Other than when you are serving me on my missions, of course.”

An image flashed behind Morja’s closed eyes: a breakfast table, laden with eggs, bacon, toast. 

“Yes, anóteros,” he breathed. 

“Open your eyes, Morja,” the mayor said.

Morja obeyed.

He barely caught his gasp when he realized there was someone lying on the table now: Sam, the youngest of the family that was harboring Gavin Uriah Stormbeck. He remembered where that room was now: in that family’s house. 

Their wrists and ankles were strapped down to the table. With the table at eye level, he could see how tightly the restraints were buckled, the leather digging into their flesh. They trembled and stared back at him in terror, their mouth open but silent.

Morja’s owner benefactor drew the knife from his belt and held it out in front of Morja’s face. Morja held perfectly still, prepared for the knife to carve into his own cheek - but the knife hovered there, the blade between him and Sam. He could see himself reflected in the wickedly sharp steel.

“This one was captured harboring Gavin Stormbeck,” the mayor said coldly. “It is your job to punish them for this crime.” 

Morja’s throat tightened as he swallowed. His hands shook and he forced him to be still against his thighs. “Punish them… sir?” he croaked.

“Yes,” his anóteros said. “Gavin Stormbeck is a scourge upon this world, and they have actively worked to prolong his reign of terror. There must be punishment for this. You will deliver it.” The mayor flipped the knife so he was holding the blade, gesturing with the grip toward Sam. “Now, diathésimos,” he hissed.

Morja’s legs shook under him as he pushed himself to his feet. Sam met his eyes, and their eyes went wider as Morja took the knife from the mayor. His anóteros stepped behind him as he moved forward, as if in a trance, until his legs pressed against the table. The knife trembled in his grip.

He forced his mind to go cold and blank - like it so often did before the kill - as he brought the knife to Sam Vasterling’s sleeve. He made quick work of slashing it away from their arm until it was bare, the thin muscles rippling and tugging beneath the skin as they struggled to free themself. Then, as he blew out a slow breath through his lips, he brought the knife to their forearm. 

“Morja, please,” Sam begged.

The knife froze over Sam’s skin. Morja met their eyes. They looked so frightened, so young, strapped down to the table and pleading for their life. 

But Morja had killed younger people than them. And he had never spared anyone just because they begged him to. He forced down the bile that clawed up his throat, and slid the knife into Sam’s forearm down to the muscle. 

Sam screamed. They made no effort to bite it back. Tears welled in their eyes and streamed back over their temples. Morja carved into their arm again, staying within the first few layers of skin, fat, and muscle - avoiding the arteries. He could see the play of their muscles in the gash as they fought the restraints. Again, he cut, and veins stood out in their neck as they screamed.

He had seen his anóteros hurt people like this. He knew, now, how very effective it was. 

After he had sliced their arm to ribbons, he cut away the rest of their shirt. He avoided touching their skin as much as he could, as if one touch would burn him. They looked at him, trying to meet his eyes, desperate, writhing against the leather cuffs. He looked away. 

“Please, no, no, no!” Sam shrieked as Morja sliced through the thin skin over their breastbone. They shuddered and writhed, tears streaming, wrists twisting in the restraints. Morja’s shirt was soaked through with sweat. His hands shook as he gripped the knife. He cut again, and again, and again. Blood pooled in the hollows of Sam’s body. It rolled down their sides and onto the table, then dripped onto the floor. The entire room smelled thick with blood. 

And behind him, his anóteros stood silent as a sentinel. He chewed his lip and continued cutting Sam to pieces. They screamed and sobbed. The handle of the knife was slippery with sweat. 

“Isaac!” Sam screamed, finally squeezing their eyes shut and turning their face away from Morja. “Isaac, h-help me!”

Morja shuddered. The knife froze above Sam, dripping blood onto their skin. 

Sam whimpered and cringed away from Morja. “I-Isaac,” they sobbed. “Please…”

“Continue,” Morja’s anóteros hissed from behind him. A chill feathered down Morja’s spine as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

His hand tightened around the knife. The smell of blood was making him sick. Sam was barely more than a child, and Morja felt - he felt, he knew - they had nothing to do with the evil his owner benefactor was claiming. But if he could make them scream loud enough that Isaac heard them…

If Isaac Moore came, he could force Morja to stop this.

He brought the knife to patch of unbroken skin over Sam’s stomach and dug the blade in. Sam screamed anew. 

He fileted them open, carving into them with a cruelty he had only seen his anóteros reserve for the most depraved traitors of the North. He flayed them alive until his hands were soaked with their blood. They screamed and screamed until their voice went raw and began to fade. Still, he cut. Still, he carved. He slipped on the blood pooling on the floor. Everything was red. He was drowning in it. And still, Isaac Moore did not come and rip the knife from his hands, strike him down, shoot him dead. 

Still, he carved. 

Sam Vasterling screamed. 

“Keep going, diathésimos,” the mayor said. “Remember, this is the fate that awaits all who harbor traitors to the North. They are guilty. They deserve this.”

The small body on the table juddered and bled and screamed. They barely looked human anymore. Still, they did not die. More blood had come out of them than Morja had ever seen in his life. Still they did not die. They only screamed and bled. 

Morja’s shirt was soaked with sweat. He stared down into Sam’s chest, at their beating heart. He had carved away everything else. Still, they lived, and cried, and bled. 

“Isaac,” they rasped. “Isaac, please…”

Bile seared the back of his throat. 

They raised their eyes to his. Their eyes were bloodshot, red from crying, but they were brown, he noticed. They looked so frightened. “Morja,” they breathed. “Help me.”

Morja stared back at them for an eternal moment. Tears streamed from their eyes. 

He raised the knife and plunged it into their exposed heart. They shuddered once, then their head fell back. Their eyes were blank, their mouth open. They were - finally, mercifully - dead.

Morja braced for the correction.

His anóteros said nothing for a breath. Then, the mayor said, “No matter. You still have the rest of that family to get through.”

Morja opened his eyes. 

His room was pitch black, and the sheets on his bed were soaked through with cold sweat. He could still smell blood thick in his nostrils. 

He staggered out of bed and fumbled for the doorknob. When he found it, he wrenched the door open and dashed down the dimly-lit hall and into the kitchen. He threw open the sliding door to the backyard and made it a few shaky steps before he fell to his hands and knees, retching into the grass. When he was done, he slumped over and sobbed weakly. 

He still felt the youngest one’s blood on his hands, tacky and warm. He still smelled it. He still heard their screams. He still felt his anóteros’ hand on the back of his neck. 

“Morja?” a small voice called out behind him.

He gasped and spun around. Sam Vasterling stood in the sliding door, silhouetted by the light in the kitchen. The golden light illuminated their curls like a halo. They took a halting step out of the house. Their hand was extended towards him. “Are… you alright?”

Morja blinked. In the fraction of a second that his eyes were closed, he saw them - bound to the table, coated in blood, flayed and screaming and begging for mercy. His stomach heaved again. He bowed his head in shame and horror. 

Sam drew closer. They were so young, but they showed no fear as they went to their knees and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Morja wasn’t sure if they didn’t know that he could break their neck with just his hands, could drag them inside and cut their throat with a kitchen knife… or if they knew, and chose to master the fear. He trembled, but held still as their hand rubbed up and down on his arm. The touch was gentle, so unlike–

He flinched at the memory - it was just a dream, but he had so many real memories of it, too - of his anóteros’ hand whipping across his face. Sam’s hand paused on his shoulder. “Is this… is it okay that I’m doing this?” they whispered.

A chasm opened inside Morja’s chest. His face crumpled and he began to weep. 

He leaned against Sam, bending his head so low that it rested in their lap. Their hand rested on his shoulder again. He reached out, his own hand shaking badly, and covered their hand with his own. His broad hand swallowed theirs. 

“Shhh,” Sam soothed. “I’m sorry, was it… a nightmare?”

Morja shuddered with shame. He pressed his head against their knee and nodded. 

Sam pushed out a slow breath. “Gotcha. I… I get them too, sometimes.” 

Morja blinked and tightened his hand over theirs. The thought of them waking, cold and shuddering, from a nightmare, made his chest ache. He rolled his shoulder to ease the old twinge there. 

“I get them less now,” Sam said, stroking their thumb along his arm. “But they still happen from time to time. About… our time in Colleen Stormbeck’s house. I… I get a lot of nightmares about getting shot.”

Morja’s eyes went wide, and he sat up. His eyes darted over Sam, looking for a scar - and his eyes finally settled on their right hand, the one they always held curled against their stomach. 

Sam followed their gaze and nodded. “Yeah,” they murmured. “It was a few years ago now. I was shot by a Stormbeck guard as we were escaping Colleen.” They smiled. “Finn saved my life.”

“Does it hurt?” Morja asked, before he could stop himself. He looked at his hands and bowed his head for his impertinence. 

Sam didn’t deliver a correction, though; they said, “Sometimes. Well… pretty often, yeah. It twinges. Sometimes I need to wear a sling.” They shrugged. “But it’s gotten better as time has gone on.”

Morja’s own shoulder twinged again, and he rolled it in its socket. 

Sam inclined their head. “You hurt, too?”

Morja’s mouth went dry. “I… no. Nothing so bad as… no.”

Sam looked at him for a long time. Then they said, “Gray says comparing things doesn’t do anyone any good.” They glanced out into the night. 

Morja stared down at his hands. His mind churned as he tried to decipher the meaning in Sam’s words. Slowly, he said, “My… shoulder. It hurts. Often.” He pointed to it stiffly.

“Don’t complain, diathésimos, or I will teach you the true meaning of pain. Back up on your knees, or I’ll string you up by your collar. Five more lashes for your impertinence.”

He shuddered and waited for the correction, or the promise of one. 

Sam nodded. “Yeah,” they said. They looked toward the house. “I’ll be right back.” They pushed themself to their feet and made their way inside to fetch a cane, or perhaps a whip, to punish Morja for the complaint.

His head dipped low and his stomach churned with guilt and shame - and a flash of something else, something he could not allow himself to name. Something that felt dangerous to feel. Something that rankled for having been guided right into that trap. 

Still, he should have known better. He had a lifetime of pain, telling him that he should have known better. His hands curled into fists as he waited for Sam to return. When he heard their footsteps at the back door, and then the swoosh of their feet through the grass, he squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth together. He must be silent when accepting this correction. He must not wake anyone in the sleeping house with a gasp or a cry. 

He had earned Sam’s disgust with his weakness. He must not make a sound, now. 

Sam went to their knees beside him, and he held perfectly still - save for his hands, which he slid together, palm to palm, so they could tie him. 

“Here,” they said softly. 

He held back a whimper. Perhaps they had not returned with a cane at all, but something worse - like a knife. He forced his eyes open. Their hand was moving toward his shoulder - the bad one. He froze. He braced. 

Something warm pressed against the knot that always lived in the flesh there. He flinched and uttered a shocked sound. 

“Sorry,” Sam muttered. “Is it too hot still?”

Morja turned his eyes to theirs. Their eyebrows were tugged together, holding something out to him - a warm compress. They had another one, balanced on their injured hand. “Here,” they said, holding one out to him. “The heat… it helps, sometimes. With me. Maybe it might with you, too.”

Morja stared at the compress with wide eyes. Sam held it a little higher, and he finally took it. Heat soaked into his finger tips. Sam took their own compress in their good hand and pressed it to their injured arm, over their bicep. They took a deep, shivering breath and let their eyes fall shut. 

Morja’s back ached in thwarted anticipation of the cane. He glanced at the compress in his hand, then back to Sam; their face wasn’t twisted in disgust - not at him, nor at anything else that he could see. They were smiling lightly. And they were using the compress. Haltingly, hesitantly, he pressed it to his own shoulder like Sam had done for him. 

Heat bloomed in the knotted muscles and he let out a trapped breath. His eyes burned with unshed tears. He slumped a little to the side - a little closer to Sam. They opened their eyes and smiled at him. 

“Nice, huh?” they said. 

Morja’s throat tightened. His head hung low. A dry sob shivered in his chest. 

Sam raised their curled hand and rested it on his shoulder. They slid it across his back, over the healed scars. Morja’s head dipped lower, lower still, until he was folded in half over his knees. He cried softly as Sam rubbed his back, not saying anything at all. 

Continued here

@womping-grounds , @free-2bmee , @quirkykayleetam , @walkingchemicalfire , @inpainandsuffering , @redwingedwhump , @burtlederp , @castielamigos-whump-side-blog , @whatwhumpcomments , @whumpywhumper , @stxck-fxck , @whumps-the-word , @justplainwhump ,  @finder-of-rings , @inky-whump , @thatsthewhump , @orchidscript , @this-mightaswell-happen , @newandfiguringitout , @whumpkitty , @pretty-face-breaker , @cinnamonflavoredhugs , @pebbledriscoll , @im-just-here-for-the-whump , @endless-whump , @grizzlie70 , @oops-its-whump , @kixngiggles, @1phoenixfeather , @butwhatifyouwrite , @carnagecardinal ​, @annablogsposts , @suspicious-whumping-egg , @starfields08000 , @morning-star-whump , @theelvishcowgirl , @i-eat-worlds

[manari-archives]

Bad for Business

We look good in photographs, I like the way you like to laugh At dirty jokes, I know they'll always land Used to get to work on time, but now you're taking up my nights Never been so glad to be so tired

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader

warnings: alludes to a sexual relationship, a crash, hospitals

word count: 2.7k

note: sorry for not uploading for a week, i had to get a emergency surgery and the recovery hasnt been great. again this isn't based on the entire song, just a couple of lines. the reader is a motogp rider in this. also english isn't my first language and this hasnt been proofread yet, so any corrections feel free to let me know and any feedback is welcome :)

masterlist

in the realm of MotoGP, you thrived on the intoxicating blend of speed and adrenaline, your fervor for the race track coursing through your veins. The pulsating roar of engines, the intoxicating feeling of victory – these were the elements that defined you. Amidst this roaring symphony of metal and fervor, fate orchestrated an unexpected meeting. Enter Lewis Hamilton, the luminary of Formula 1 glory. At a racing event, your lives converged like two celestial bodies gravitating towards each other. A kinship ignited, catalyzed by a love for motorsport that resonated deep within both your hearts.

"He's good for my heart, but he's bad for business," you often pondered, grappling with the complexities of your relationship with Lewis. Your love was passionate and genuine, but it became a concern for your manager, Sarah. Sarah had guided your career since its inception, carefully curating your public image and securing lucrative sponsorships.

Observing the budding romance between you and Lewis, Sarah couldn't help but worry about the potential impact on your career. One day, Sarah sat you down for a serious conversation. "Y/N, I understand your feelings for Lewis, but we must consider the implications for your career," she expressed with a concerned tone. "I understand the pull Lewis has on your heart, but we must tread cautiously. Your career is a delicate balance, and his presence could tip the scales"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to Sarah's words. You understood the importance of your career, but your love for Lewis was equally significant. "Sarah, I appreciate your concerns, but I can't deny my feelings for Lewis. He brings me immeasurable joy, and I can't let go of that," you responded, your voice tinged with determination.

News of your and Lewis's relationship quickly spread through the racing community, igniting a media frenzy. Speculations about the impact on your career and sponsorships ran rampant. Journalists questioned your commitment to racing and accused you of prioritizing personal happiness over professional success. You found yourself caught in a storm of criticism from all sides. Friends who were once your staunchest supporters began to doubt your choices, believing that you had lost your focus. But you remained steadfast, refusing to compromise your love for Lewis for the sake of societal expectations.

Despite the external pressures, your performances on the track remained exceptional. Your determination and skill were undeniable, even in the face of scepticism. Slowly but surely, your critics began to realize that your relationship with Lewis had not affected your abilities as a racer.

"We look good in photographs," you whispered, cherishing the moments captured in frames that adorned your home.Photographs, snapshots of joy and togetherness, adorned the walls of your shared haven. These captured moments were more than mere images; they were chronicles of an amour unyielding. Amid your playfully bantered jests and whispered endearments, the world found itself a backdrop to your love story. Your smiles were genuine, and your eyes filled with an unspoken understanding.

Despite the challenges you faced, your love remained a source of strength and joy. In your private moments, Lewis's laughter filled the air, and you revelled in the way he embraced your "dirty jokes." Your shared sense of humour became a cherished bond, a reminder that your love was built on deep connection and mutual appreciation. Late nights became a sanctuary for you.

"Used to get to work on time, but now you're taking up my nights," you would playfully tease Lewis, relishing the exhaustion that came from staying up into the early hours of the morning, talking, laughing, and simply being in each other's arms. You had never been so glad to be so tired, knowing that it was a testament to the depth of your connection.

The persistent scrutiny and doubts surrounding your relationship began to take their toll. You and Lewis faced challenges that tested the strength of your love. But together, you forged a path forward, determined to prove that your love was worth fighting for. You and Lewis made a conscious effort to keep your personal and professional lives separate. You respected each other's careers and understood the importance of maintaining a balance.

With open communication and unwavering support, you weathered the storms that came your way. As time went on, the racing community began to see the authenticity and power of your love. They witnessed the unwavering dedication you brought to your racing career, alongside the joy and inspiration Lewis's presence brought you. The doubters slowly transformed into supporters, recognizing the depth of your connection and the positive impact it had on both of your lives.

The news of your and Lewis's secret connection slowly began to circulate within the racing community, fueling speculation and curiosity among fans and journalists alike. While you continued to keep your romance hidden from the public eye, it became increasingly challenging to shield your love from prying gazes. One day, as you prepared for a crucial race, your mind swirled with a mix of emotions. The pressure to perform on the track weighed heavily on you, but you found comfort in the thought that Lewis would be cheering you on from the sidelines. As the race commenced, your focus was razor-sharp, your heart racing with adrenaline. You manoeuvred your bike with precision, navigating the twists and turns of the circuit. But amidst the chaos and speed, fate dealt an unexpected blow.

On one particularly treacherous turn, a fellow rider lost control, causing a chain reaction that led to a collision. You found yourself caught in the chaos, unable to avoid the collision. Your bike skidded across the track, sending you tumbling through the air before you landed with a heavy thud. The spectators gasped in horror as you tumbled across the track, the deafening sound of screeching tires filling the air.

The crowd held its breath, anxiously waiting for any sign of movement from you. Immediately, the track's safety team sprang into action, rushing to your aid. Lewis, who was also aware of the crash, felt his heart skip a beat as he watched the scene unfold from the pits. He desperately wanted to run to your side, but he knew that the safety team was equipped to handle the situation. Anxiety gnawed at Lewis as he waited for updates on your condition.

The moments seemed to stretch on forever, each second filled with worry for your well-being. Finally, he received word that you were being transported to the medical centre for evaluation and treatment. Unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, Lewis hurriedly made his way to the medical centre, his heart pounding with fear and concern. When he arrived, he found you conscious but in pain, surrounded by medical personnel. He rushed to your side, his voice trembling with emotion. "You, are you okay? Can you hear me?" You managed a weak smile, your eyes reflecting a mixture of pain and gratitude. "Lewis… I'll be okay. It was just an accident." Lewis held your hand gently, his heartache evident in his eyes. "You scared me, you. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you." You squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I'm sorry for scaring you, Lewis. But I'm strong, and I'll get through this." In the following days, Lewis remained by your side, offering his unwavering support as you focused on your recovery. Your bond grew even stronger as you navigated the challenges together, knowing that your love was a source of strength in the face of adversity. Together, you and Lewis faced the challenges that life and racing threw your way, knowing that as long as you had each other, you could conquer anything. Your love had weathered the test of time and trials, proving that it was indeed a force that could triumph over anything life had to offer.

Time passed, and you and Lewis continued to excel in your respective racing disciplines. Your love only grew stronger, anchoring you in a world that often prioritized fame and success over personal happiness. Your triumphs on the track and your unwavering devotion to Lewis transcended the racing world. You became an inspiration to fans around the globe, a testament to the power of love and the courage to defy societal expectations.

In the end, you understood that your love for Lewis was the greatest victory you could ever achieve. Your relationship had taught you that true success lay not only in professional achievements but also in the depth of the love you shared. As you stood side by side, the roar of engines fading into the background, you and Lewis revelled in the triumph of your love. You knew that you had created a legacy that would resonate beyond the racetrack, a story of unwavering devotion and the courage to follow your hearts

As your relationship deepened, you and Lewis found solace in each other's company, cherishing the moments you spent conversing and connecting on a profound level. Your relationship was more than just a whirlwind romance—it was a partnership built on mutual understanding and unwavering support.

Late one evening, as the moon bathed your quiet surroundings in a soft glow, you and Lewis sat together on a terrace, the gentle breeze carrying your whispers. Your laughter echoed through the night, blending harmoniously with the rustling of leaves. "You know," Lewis began, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, "your sense of humour is unlike any I've encountered before. Your jokes always catch me off guard." You grinned, your eyes glimmering with affection. "Ah, Lewis, that's one of the things I love about you. You get my jokes and laugh with me, no matter how silly my jokes may be." Your conversations often delved into deeper realms, exploring your dreams, fears, and the intricacies of your shared experiences as professional athletes.

You exchanged stories of triumphs and setbacks, finding solace in the understanding that only you could offer each other. In those private moments, You found comfort in Lewis's unwavering support. He listened attentively, offering encouragement and insight, always reminding you of your immense talent and resilience. Lewis, in turn, found inspiration in your unwavering determination and your ability to rise above challenges. Your conversations were the threads that wove the fabric of their relationship, building a profound connection that transcended the glamour of their respective careers. You revelled in each other's insights, finding solace and strength in your shared experiences.

Your love faced its fair share of challenges as the world scrutinized your relationship. Doubts and judgments weighed heavily on their hearts, threatening to dampen the flame of your love. But you and Lewis were determined to weather the storm together, your bond growing stronger with each obstacle you overcame. One evening, as you cuddled on the couch, you sighed, your gaze fixed on the flickering fireplace. "Lewis, sometimes it feels like the world is against us. The media, the critics—they question the authenticity of our love and its impact on my career. But I want you to know that my love for you outweighs any doubts or fears." Lewis intertwined his fingers with yours, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Love, I understand the weight of those doubts, but together we can prove them wrong. Our love is resilient, and it can withstand any storm. The strength we draw from each other is what propels us forward, both on and off the track." You nodded, your eyes shimmering with determination.

Your heartfelt conversation filled the room, creating an atmosphere of unwavering trust and support. In those moments, you found the courage to embrace your love fully, disregarding the opinions of others and focusing on the profound connection you shared.

Your conversations grew more profound, intertwining dreams, fears, and aspirations. Amid your busy schedules, you always found time to share your thoughts, your hearts pouring out to each other like an open book. Your unwavering support for one another led to a harmonious balance between your personal lives and professional ambitions. You navigated the challenges of fame and competition together, your love serving as an anchor in turbulent waters.

The sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the picturesque landscape as you and Lewis found yourselves strolling along a secluded beach. The gentle lapping of the waves provided a soothing backdrop to your conversation, which danced between lighthearted banter and heartfelt exchanges. As you walked hand in hand, Lewis's gaze never wavered from you. The love in his eyes was palpable, a testament to the depth of his feelings. In a moment of quiet reflection, he paused, his voice trembling with emotion. "Y/N, my love," Lewis began, his voice filled with a mixture of nerves and unwavering devotion. "You are my rock, my inspiration, and the love of my life. From the moment we met, I knew there was something truly extraordinary about us." Your heart skipped a beat, her eyes locked on Lewis, her love for him growing with every word he spoke. He continued, his voice steady but filled with profound emotion, "I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Y/N. I promise to love you till forever falls apart. Marry me and Make my favourite dream come true" Tears welled up in your eyes, your heart overflowing with love and happiness. The answer, a whispered "yes," echoed across the sands, a promise sealed with the promise of forever. The ring on your finger shone like a star, a beacon of love that illuminated not just the present but the journey that lay ahead.

Months later, the day of your wedding arrived, brimming with anticipation and joy. You and Lewis stood at the altar, ready to exchange your vows and declare your eternal love before your loved ones. As you stood face to face, You spoke with unwavering conviction, your eyes shining with adoration. "Lewis, from the first moment I saw you, I knew that our love was something extraordinary. You've filled my life with joy, laughter, and unwavering support. I am so grateful to have you as my partner, my best friend, and now, my husband." you declared, the weight of your words permeating the air. Lewis's voice rang out, filled with love and reverence. "Y/N, you are the light of my life. Your strength, determination, and the way you constantly inspire me is truly remarkable. Today, I promise to always laugh at your jokes, always be your biggest supporter, your confidant, and your steadfast partner in all that life brings us." With their heartfelt vows exchanged, the officiant asked you to seal your union with a passionate kiss. The room erupted in applause and tears of joy, celebrating the love that had brought everyone together.

The reception hall was adorned with vibrant decorations, reflecting the colours of your love and the beauty of your union. Guests laughed and danced, celebrating the love that had brought them all together. You and Lewis revelled in the joyous celebration, your hearts filled with gratitude for the support and love surrounding you. Your conversations with loved ones were filled with laughter, reminiscences, and heartfelt well-wishes for your future. As you shared your first dance as a married couple, your bodies swayed in perfect harmony. In each other's arms, you felt the strength and joy that your love brought, a love that would guide you through the adventures and challenges that lay ahead.

Throughout the evening, your conversations flowed effortlessly, interwoven with laughter, memories, and dreams for the future. You revelled in the shared stories and promises, knowing that your connection was not only built on passion but on the foundation of friendship and unwavering support.

[starsomens]

Noah should NOT have to apologize for having an infection. Ive said it already and I'll say it again. If he just continues it'll get worse and no shows or new songs any time soon.

out of his control and he NEED REST AND RECOVERY.

You should be ashamed of yourselves for complaining about it and/or putting so much pressure and criticism on Noah or the Band as a whole for something he has pushed past and possibly made worse becuase he pushed himself. Like how fucking dare you. Noah, both Nicks and Jolly perform BEYOND their limits to give only the best at their shows. I get that no one wants their concert to be canceled but have consideration for the people who are putting on the show ESPECIALLY when it comes to artists who are in the genre of metal because those vocals are FAR from easy.

Noah or anyone close to the band I really do Hope that Noah recovers and experiences better days along with the whole band, and their staff. They deserve and have the right to rest and recover.

[thechthonicherbalist]

✨ Busy productive week managed! ✨

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊ I'm desperately trying to finish my "plans for this year" post since two weeks, but the new year wants to be dealt with and energy, duties and well-being collide. ⚔️ At least I was able to navigate this and recovery from the physical toll it had on me without extra guilt or danger. And had amazing friends support me through the more emotional moments of all this. (I'm absolutely not crying with relief. 😭💕) ⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

Regardless, this week was productive! I have:

📋Dealt with the annually renewed disability department forms, medical assessment papers and other documents. ♿Went through the disability support needs reassessment back and forth since late November and am about to send in the final report about 2024 at the beginning of next week; had my final appointments for it all.* 👣 Had my last aftercare appointment for the infectous-arthritic osteomyelitis debridement surgery from August/September 2023. All is healed well now, the last metal bits that made sure everything grows back in place as it's supposed to have been removed. There's one more check up next month and while there's scarring, we've reviewed pictures of what my foot looked like during the inflammation/infection and during different surgical steps and damn, am I happy this is over and how well it healed. 🥲 Well done doctors, well done body. A long and tough battle finally won. 🩸 Much blood was taken and read. I have been officially diagnosed with testosterone, iron and severe vitamin D deficiency. The latter is a side effect from autoimmune disease, in my case MAS (multiple autoimmune syndrome, in my case with MS, RA and IBD). It's likely worsening a bunch of my symptoms, especially neurological ones. Luckily I've got some meds now to try and fix this.

☢️ After treatment induced pneumonia has been successfully battled, chemotherapy can be continued in 2 weeks! I'm excited, because as crappy as the side effects are, I've made a lot of progress in regards to being able to keep in liquid food again in the past months! 🍮 I've even attempted and been almost successful in digesting some baked Tvorog / Quark thingies that were delicious, this week! It's insane how emotional I am about being able to have delicious flavours on my tongue and the sensation of warm fullness in my stomach again, after 17 months of being unable to digest food due to severe inflammations, ulcers and cancer. I've been sobbing the entire time, I never thought I'd be able to experience this again. There is so much more to say here... so many awful things that happened, that almost made it impossible to become okay again. I'm just glad this is over.

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊ ☀️ Praised be Apollo, God of Healing, who shines his light on me! ⚔️ Praised be Ares, God of Warriors, who lends me his strenght! 🍇 Praised be Dionysos, God of Rebirth, who taught me to rise again! ❤️‍🩹 Praised be Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, who fills my heart with unending capacity to be gentle and loving, even through the darkest times and to those who reject her divine gifts. ⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

Notes: * I have big and a bit fragile hopes for this, because there might be an option to hire private people to help with medical appointments, groceries and more, because I've been unable to leave my living space and fully navigate it on my own due to severe illness since 15 years and my only halfway safe supportive person was my father who had a car accident in January 2024 and suffered of a severe brain injury that left him in critical condition for weeks and permanently disabled him, which has been a terrible calamity on a family and personal level.

[ziekaramaik]

Changeling

(Word count: about 1500)

(Spoilers for Agatha All Along)

This is a work in progress of a first chapter that may change when/if I post the full version on ao3. Constructive criticism welcome.

Tagging @wiccanlytalented who wanted Kaplan family angst and @shadybisexualpirate who also asked for Billy-centric updates.

"MOM! LOOK OUT!"

I looked back at the road. A car was aiming right for us. I had swerved into their lane. Or maybe the other car was in my lane. It happened too fast for me to be sure. I panicked and jerked the wheel too hard -- I avoided the other car, but our own car went right off the road.

We were sliding downhill over uneven terrain. It was only a couple seconds, but it felt like longer. And then it all stopped too suddenly. The side of the car smashed against a tree trunk. The back door crumpled like tinfoil.

I was stunned -- literally. So was Jeff in the passenger seat. It took too many precious seconds for us to become alert again. We looked towards the backseat. "Oh, my God. William."

The window was cracked and bloody where William's head had smashed against it. There was blood on the glass, blood on his face, dribbling down his chest and seatbelt.

"William? William!" Jeff shouted.

But William wasn't wincing in pain. He sat there, eyes closed, completely motionless.

I called out, "William, can you hear me, baby?" I looked to Jeff. "Call Nine-One-One."

He already had his phone out. "I'm trying."

"I don't think he's breathing!" I looked back towards the road. A police car drove by. "Jeff, look!"

"I'll flag him down." Jeff rushed out the passenger door.

"William?!" I couldn't get to him. I struggled to open my door. The metal was warped. And William still hadn't moved. "No, no, no, no, no, no!" I gave up on my door and crawled out the car through the passenger side. "I'm coming, hold on!"

It took so much longer than I wanted to get to the back door and open it. "Hey! Hey!" I crawled into the backseat. "Are you all right?!"

He wasn't all right. He wasn't breathing.

"William! William, please wake up!"

I shook him. I pressed my hand onto his neck. He had no pulse. The blood seeping out of his head had already slowed. He was already cold.

"No, no! Please no!" I cried.

I checked his pulse again, refusing to believe it. Nothing. He wasn't waking up this time. There was no miraculous recovery.

He died. He stayed dead.

"No! NO!"

I woke up with a start. I was gasping, in the dark, in bed. My hands scrambled over the covers on impulse.

Someone lying beside me was stirring. "Wuh -- What's it?" It was Jeff, my husband.

My memories and common sense rebooted as I got more awake. It was a dream. That accident happened almost two years ago. In real life, William survived. He was alive and asleep in his room right now.

Jeff rolled over. "Rebecca? What's wrong?"

I lay my head back against my pillow. "Nothing," I said. "Just a nightmare."

A pause in the darkness. Then he asked, "Was it about the accident again?"

I rolled away from him. "I don't wanna talk about it," I mumbled. "Let's go back to sleep."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I repeated.

A shorter pause. Then, "Okay."

I felt him settle on the mattress again. Then silence. We both went back to sleep.

.

To be clear, I didn't want to talk about it then.

I went to see my therapist the next day. (I already scheduled this session ages ago -- the timing of the nightmare was just coincidence.)

I occasionally saw therapists for years. Jeff used to joke about that. I'm a psychologist, so he said it was ironic that I would need a psychologist of my own. Although I was actually seeing a psychiatrist, which is a little different. Jeff knew that -- he was just being silly.

(He stopped joking about it after the accident.)

"Hello again, Rebecca." My current psychiatrist was Dr. Samson. He was a big man. Tall and muscular. He looked more physically imposing than you might expect from someone whose job is to put people at ease, but his gentle tone made up for that.

I got right to it. "I had that nightmare again last night."

"Which one, exactly?"

"William dying in the car crash."

I had several variations of the same recurring nightmare. Either William died (most common), or it was Jeff who died instead, or both of them, or all three of us. Sometimes I had nightmares where it was just me trapped in a car speeding out of control. But they were all built around the same premise: the crash.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Dr. Samson said.

"I keep thinking I'm over it, and then they always come back." With a sigh, I rolled my head back and sank deep in my chair. "I hoped I'd have better progress than this. It's been almost two years."

"Rebecca. You're a psychologist. You've been in my chair. You've had this exact conversation with your own patients. You know it can take several years to recover from a traumatic event. It's not a failing."

"You know what they say: Doctors make the worst patients."

A brief lull in the conversation. And then he asked, "How has William been doing? I understand that he has all his memory back now."

"Yeah. He says he remembers everything . . ."

He must have noticed something in my tone. ". . . But?"

I paused. I considered not saying anything.

But I told him, "I don't really have a rational reason for thinking this. But sometimes, when he talks about stuff he remembers from the past, I could swear he was faking it somehow. It's like, he says he remembers so-and-so, but it doesn't sound sincere. It sounds like he's reciting the CliffsNotes. But -- But I know that's irrational. He says details that Jeff and I never told him so how else . . . I don't know. I can't explain it. It's just this feeling I get."

"Well, it could be that before he remembered it naturally, he filled in the blanks by re-reading his old diaries."

"Maybe, but I didn't think William ever kept a diary . . . Of course, I never snooped around his room looking for one, so who knows?"

I leaned forward. "But it's not only the amnesia. He seems depressed lately. Really depressed. And I can't tell if it's genuine, or if I'm projecting and overreacting. Or if it's because of the accident. Or if it's just average teenage stuff." I rolled my eyes. "I should be able to tell. It's literally my job. But . . ."

"You're too close to be objective," Dr. Samson said.

"Exactly! With my patients, I deal with psychoses. Mental disorders. Things I can diagnose. Things I can prescribe treatment for. What happened to William is different. And his doctors were no help at all. Their answer to everything was 'we don't know'. 'We don't know what caused the amnesia.' 'There's no physical brain damage.' 'It's not neurological.' 'It's probably shock.' 'We don't know how long it'll last.' 'We don't know how he survived.' 'His head injury healed like magic.' One of them actually used those words, 'like magic'.

"And look, I'm a doctor too. I get it. The answers are never handed to us on a silver platter. But -- But -- It's so frustrating being on this side. I spent over a year twiddling my thumbs, waiting for my son to recover from something I caused."

Dr. Samson was quiet for a few moments, letting everything I said sink in. He asked me, "Would you like my opinion?"

"Please."

He gently said, "You blame yourself for the accident. You've said that before. And we've talked about Survivor's Guilt before. He was injured and you weren't. Ever since the accident, you've felt a pressure to help William regain his memory as fast as possible. Now maybe I'm wrong, but is it possible that this isn't really about making William better? That it's some kind of . . . 'penance'?"

I didn't get defensive. I respected him too much for that. I thought it over and eventually responded with, "Okay, maybe. Call it penance. When I say it was my fault, that's not me being guilt-ridden. I was speeding. I was not looking where I was driving. I was careless, and because of that my son almost died. So of course I feel a duty to undo the damage."

I continued with, "But my desire for him to get better is sincere. I remember when he first came home after the hospital with no memory at all. He was so . . . lost, and vulnerable, and stressed, all the time. I don't think he ever really recovered from that. He never really went back to normal."

I sighed. "I wish I could do something to fix him. Not just make him 'better', but actually 'be fixed'. I wish I could just . . . fix everything."

[paperanddice]

Eater of Dust

A terrible creature that resembles a knight wearing plate armor made of calcified resin. Its helmet has no eye slots or mouthpiece, or hinge to be opened, and its weapon is a glistening greatsword that consists of a great mouth. This is an eater of dust, a strange being from some lost dimension of nightmares, now wandering the planes without a true home. Known by the name yakat-shi in ancient texts, they most often associate with demons, devils, and other such fiends, acting as mercenaries. Seeking out new meals, they can devour nearly anything with their mawblades, from dust to diamonds, from flesh to metal. Offerings of unusual or previously unheard of flavors can draw in yakat-shi, ready to operate in small but deadly military units.

The armor they wear is actually a secreted resin as hard as steel, which binds to the skin and cannot be removed. When cracked, it seeps ichor that glistens like a nautilus shell and quickly seals the wound. Older yakat-shi have networks of mother-of-pearl scars on their armor, marks of battle survived. Lightning disrupts this rapid healing however, leaving cracks open longer and the eater of dust vulnerable to death, so enemies that utilize lightning are usually targeted first. In general those who engage in mercenary work seem to have nothing but contempt for other life forms, even their own allies, devouring those they kill and their equipment. In particular, they seem to enjoy devouring and destroying powerful magical gear, hunting for intelligent weapons especially.

Completely silent, eaters of dust communicate only through telepathy. They stand a bit taller than most humans, at around 7 feet, and tend to weigh between 350 and 400 pounds.

Inspired by the Tome of Beasts 1. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as access to my premade adventures and other material I’m working on, consider backing me there!

Pathfinder 2e

Eater of Dust Creature 9 Rare, Medium, Aberration Perception +19; hearing (precise) 60 feet Languages Aklo, Chthonian, Common, Diabolic (can't speak any language); telepathy 100 feet Skills Athletics +20, Intimidation +18, Occultism +15, Survival +17 Str +5, Dex +2, Con +5, Int +0, Wis +2, Cha +3 AC 29; Fort +20, Ref +15, Will +17 HP 130 (regeneration 10 (deactivated by electricity)); Immunities blinded, poison; Resistances acid 10, cold 10 Speed 30 feet Melee mawblade +20 (magical), Damage 2d10+11 piercing Occult Innate Spells DC 26 ; 4th harm (×3), heal, translocate, unfettered movement (×3); 1st sure strike (×3); Devour Any time the eater of dust scores a critical hit with a mawblade Strike, it picks one of the following effects: it also deals the same amount of damage to the target's armor, bypassing any Hardness lower than 10, like adamantine; or the target must succeed at a DC 28 Fortitude save or become drained 1, or increase its drained value by 1. Weapon Bond The eater of dust's mawblade is treated as if it were made of any solid precious metal for the purpose of ignoring resistances or immunities, or exploiting weaknesses. The eater of dust always knows the direction and distance of its mawblade, as long as it's on the same plane of existence.

13th Age

Eater of Dust Double-strength 5th level troop [aberration] Initiative: +9 Mawblade +10 vs. AC (2 attacks) – 20 damage. Natural 14+: The target takes a -1 penalty to AC (save ends). Natural 18+: The target loses one recovery. Regeneration 10: The eater of dust heals 10 hit points at the start of each of its turns. It can regenerate five times per battle. If it heals to its maximum hit points, then that use of regeneration doesn’t count against the five-use limit. When the eater of dust is hit by an attack that deals lightning damage, it loses one use of its regeneration, and it can’t regenerate during its next turn. Dropping an eater of dust to 0 hp doesn’t kill it if it has any uses of regeneration left. Resist Acid 16+. AC 21 PD 18 MD 15 HP 130

[proximasc0rner]

Okay it's not quite liveblogging but i found the left right game qcode podcast yesterday and wanted to share my thoughts (just finished the first 3 episodes)

OKAY SO!!! Somewhat mixed but still positive feelings i think! So far!!!

My thoughts (spoilers under cut):

It makes me sad that a good chunk of the narration was dropped in order for a more immersive listening experience, but i suppose that's just how it goes when you're trying to translate stories to different mediums

Speaking of immersion oh my GOD i had my first Apollo kinshift ever and it is SOLELY because of how good this podcast is at making you feel like you're there. Like it hit me the minute Apollo stepped out of his car talking about the Hitchhiker. I was shaking and had to take a break from listening until today 😭

Also speaking of immersion. The Ace death scene was unfortunately fucking PERFECT. It was EXACTLY as gruesome as it felt in the og version, and scary in the way that it makes you feel like time is slowing down as it happens and it was just unbearable the whole time listening and AAAAAAAAA (it was good).

I also REALLY liked the added touch of actually getting to hear the conversation between the Jubilation Recovery Service guys as they're capturing Ace and hanging him from the tow hook. Like in the og story the narration just says they're casually talking but in the podcast you get to HEAR it all happen. Except the conversation was... weird, because it felt like each individual statement felt like it was being taken out of context??? Like one minute they're talking about people growing up out of their uniforms too fast and the next thing they say is something about like. Calling off work????? Or something????? It's really hard to describe how off it was, it was like when you put two cleverbot chat ais next to each other and make them converse. It added to the uncanny effect ✨

Also i lOOOOOVED the whole bit where Rob was freaking out at Bluejay for going so slow around the tree because it reminded me why all good people HATE Denise "Bluejay" Carver /silly

THE HITCHHIKER WAS SO FREAKY I LOVE HIM SO MUCH (i would not touch him with a 39 and 1/2 foot pole)

I appreciate that the stellar characterization of everyone wasn't lost in translation. The voice actors have really brought the cast to life.

However, I do not think Tom needed to be expanded upon. like this guy is just the middleman he does NOT need his own story and the lengthy preamble just kinda detracts from the horror for me.

The one good thing abt Tom's end of things tho is that I enjoy the added detail that Tom seems to be the only one who can remember Alice ever existing

WOOOOOO ALICE IS ONLY HALF BRITISH NOW

In seriousness tho. Idk exactly why the details about Alice and her parents were changed-- like in the OG version she was British with Indian parents, but now her dad is American and her mom is British/Caribbean. It's not a negative by any means I'm just curious as to what the reason was for this change. Also Sharma -> Sharman happened too so 🤷

Final criticism: the whole scene with Chuck Greenwald was slightly worse for me than on first read and first listen via CreepCast. Like genuinely Hunter conveyed him better I think 💀. Like the "they're going to hurt now" line was played straight on CreepCast like it's a serious thing. But then on QCODE Chuck sounds borderline mischievous? Like don't get me wrong I loooove me some hammy, campy evil characters (see: my obsession with disney villains) but even i can admit that there is a TIME and a PLACE for cartoon villain behavior and Radio Jubilation is NOT IT. Also the screams were surprisingly lackluster and the weird metal clanking sounds just really confused me 🥲

BUT ALL IN ALL IT HAS BEEN GOOD SO FAR! I'm excited to see where it goes from here!!

[tired-and-healing]

Local Dumbass Has OceanGate Titan Sub Theory

I don't know shit about this except what I have looked into and thought about regarding my mechanical engineering degree.

Yesterday afternoon, when I first heard about it, I thought the extent was that Titan had gotten tangled in some wreckage and also had a communications failure. Granted, I was in the middle of a 15 hr car ride home so I couldn't do much research into it.

Today, I've done some research and thinking about it because the mystery of it fascinates me. I am going to kinda journal/ record my thought processes as I was messaging my partner about it earlier.

I felt inspired by the twitter user Peter Girguis and wanted to do the research myself in understanding the materials and design of the vessel in addition to understanding the timeline of events.

Background:

At 9:47 am on Sunday, June 18th, the vessel had lost communication contact with the Polar Prince, and the last known location was received at 10:00. Though the communication system and location tracking were separate, previous history denotes either one or the other experiencing blackouts before successful recovery. This time, both of these have failed in a 13 minute timeframe, approximately halfway through its 2.5 hour dive time.

Initially, I feel strange about the fixation of criticism over the usage of a game controller. Yes, I do find the humor in it, about the indication of cheapness, but it doesn't feel right to just blame the interruption of input connection from the controller for the loss of communications and then the location tracker.

Honestly, my interest piqued at the mention of the use of a new material being used for the design - carbon fiber

I watched the Sunday Morning segment about David Pogue's 2022 expedition because I wanted more context about the design and to get a better mental picture. The parts that struck me was the verbiage of the contract in combination with the attitude of the OceanGate CEO, Stockton Rush. It concerns me in the beaming pride that the man shows in his sourcing of shockingly cheap parts and the callousness of tossing the controller around. I find the lack of discussion around safety concerns or mitigation of risk factors incredibly disturbing.

I began to look for papers documenting the behavior of carbon fiber material under compressive load and surprisingly found this article detailing plans for a near identical vessel from a few years previous. I find it interesting that the sole reason carbon fiber was selected for use was because it would cut down on the cost of the vessel. Not safety, or because existing research pointed to increased durability, or anything. Just that theoretically, the material would make the hull lighter in weight and they wouldn't have to pay for the foam applied to metal-hulled vessels to offset the metal's weight.

I then found a paper detailing the failure mechanism of carbon fiber reinforced composite under longitudinal stress detailing the effects of the material under compression. From my understanding of the failure modes detailed in the paper I created my initial assumption.

What I think happened is that the carbon fiber hull could not handle the load cycling of repeated dives. At a significant pressure providing a compressive force on the material at freezing cold temp, the carbon fiber became too brittle and failed either along the the middle in an axial line or at the penetration sites required to attach the titanium end caps.

Also I noted that the monitoring system depends on strain gauges attached to the titanium pieces that measures the metals' deformation, but wasn't sure if they would be as effective in use for the carbon fiber. Furthermore I couldn't see how it was effective in use as an appropriate safety monitor, or how an evac plan was supposed to be constructed around it given the requirements of the human body and recovering from depth pressure.

The carbon fiber hull is entirely shielded from view from the outside because it is encased by the sleek looking glass fiber shell. This shell is incapable of standing up to the depth pressure and provides no structural support whatsoever. What it does do, however, is make the whole craft look nice and capable.

The hull is about 6" thick and thankfully when carbon fiber begins to fail under compression, the failure can be visible from the outside of the thickness to the inside. If the hull itself is thoroughly checked before each and every submersion, signs of failure and weakening can be noticed before a complete failure. The mission can be aborted and lives can be saved.

However, if failure is detected, then the entire hull must be scrapped and replaced by a newly manufactured one. Even if the visible signs of damage don't look "that bad", the extreme pressure placed on it is too much to fuck around with.

I also do not assume that the hull can be patched with additional layers of carbon fiber. I feel it is extremely important that all of the fibrous threads used throughout the hull are continuous and unbroken to prevent shear stresses from forming in between the undamaged remaining section of the hull and the patch.

Personally, I think there was a lack of effort on ensuring safety. I think they became overly familiar with the craft and began to think of it more as a reliable vehicle that enabled them to do research and secure funding instead of a material testing experiment where theye were cycling it though who knows how many loads with lives inside. I genuinely believe that when the incident reports are written, it will expose that the hull was exposed to many more cycles of loading in extreme conditions than previous lab testing experiments under controlled conditions. If we (the engineering and scientific community) are lucky, we will be able to recover and analyze the fracture surfaces from the wreckage and understand how carbon fiber fails in a cold and highly compressive environment.

Then I take a break and think about the role of Journalist David Pogue as people condemn him for poor reporting on his segment report, and look up his history in reporting and journalism

There's more I want to add to this later but for rn this is all I wanted to put down for rn.

[materialsscienceandengineering]

A protein mines, sorts rare earths better than humans, paving way for green tech

Rare earth elements, like neodymium and dysprosium, are a critical component to almost all modern technologies, from smartphones to hard drives, but they are notoriously hard to separate from the Earth's crust and from one another.

Penn State scientists have discovered a new mechanism by which bacteria can select between different rare earth elements, using the ability of a bacterial protein to bind to another unit of itself, or "dimerize," when it is bound to certain rare earths, but prefer to remain a single unit, or "monomer," when bound to others.

By figuring out how this molecular handshake works at the atomic level, the researchers have found a way to separate these similar metals from one another quickly, efficiently, and under normal room temperature conditions. This strategy could lead to more efficient, greener mining and recycling practices for the entire tech sector, the researchers state.

"Biology manages to differentiate rare earths from all the other metals out there—and now, we can see how it even differentiates between the rare earths it finds useful and the ones it doesn't," said Joseph Cotruvo Jr., associate professor of chemistry at Penn State and lead author on a paper about the discovery published today in the journal Nature. "We're showing how we can adapt these approaches for rare earth recovery and separation."

Read more.

[oilgasenergymagazine]

Silvercorp Metals: A Standout in Silver Mining Amid Rising Demand

Source: mining.com

Category: News

  

A Silver Surge Driven by Renewables and Geopolitics

Silvercorp Metals has capitalized on the remarkable growth in silver prices in 2024, with its price surging over 25% year-to-date (YTD). Industry analysts attribute this rise to a combination of factors, including increasing industrial demand, especially from electric vehicle (EV) manufacturers, and geopolitical uncertainties. The dollar index’s volatility and conflicts in regions like Ukraine and the Middle East further heightened the appeal of precious metals as a stable investment.

Beyond its traditional investment value, silver’s applications in emerging technologies have expanded. Its use in solar panels, electronics, and advanced healthcare technologies has supported demand growth. According to the Silver Institute, silver consumption for solar energy has more than tripled in five years, rising from 74.9 million ounces in 2019 to a projected 232 million ounces by the end of 2024. This aligns with the broader push for renewable energy and sustainability, positioning silver as a critical resource in the global transition to green energy.

Silvercorp Metals: Poised for Growth

Among leading silver mining stocks, Silvercorp Metals Inc. (NYSE:SVM) stands out for its potential in this thriving market. Industry experts foresee sustained demand for silver in renewable energy and electronics, offsetting uncertainties tied to global economic and monetary policies. Unlike gold, which sees only 10% of its output used industrially, over half of all silver production serves industrial applications. This diverse demand profile enhances silver’s long-term investment appeal.

In 2024, industrial demand for silver is projected to reach a record 700 million ounces, marking a 7% year-over-year increase. This milestone reflects strong growth in industrial applications, jewelry, and silverware. Meanwhile, mine production is expected to rise marginally by 1%, creating a favorable supply-demand dynamic for silver prices. Exchange-traded products (ETPs) tied to silver are also set for their first annual inflows in three years, fueled by anticipated interest rate cuts, periods of dollar weakness, and declining bond yields.

Production Outlook: A Global Perspective

Global silver production is expected to grow modestly by 1% in 2024, reaching 837 million ounces. Key contributors to this growth include Mexico, Chile, and the United States, offsetting reduced outputs from countries like Peru, Argentina, and China. Mexico, in particular, is projected to increase its production by 10 million ounces (a 5% year-over-year rise) to reach 209 million ounces. This uptick is driven by improved mill throughput and upgraded ventilation systems at Pan American Silver’s La Colorada mine, alongside a recovery at Newmont’s Peñasquito mine.

As silver continues to gain traction in industrial and renewable sectors, companies like Silvercorp Metals are well-positioned to capitalize on these trends. With industrial applications and investment demand soaring, the outlook for silver and leading miners in the industry appears promising, making stocks like Silvercorp an attractive consideration for investors.

[luminetti]

Overdue Apostasy ༺♡༻ preview/teaser

this is more of a test since i don't have any experience with tumblr so bear with me! Feel free to leave constructive criticism!

༘⋆ Summary:

In the nation of Faerûn, a new season of love begins for the upper echelons in the nation's capital Baldur’s Gate, gathering a plethora of unwed Lords and Ladies from across the nation. For Miss Tav Neredras, the season only promises another disappointing series of suitors and failed courting, until one night she suddenly finds Lord Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep on her doorstep with a gunshot wound through his stomach, seeking discreet refuge and recovery after a devastating duel.

༘⋆ Pairing: lord!gale dekarios x fem!reader/tav

Future chapters: brief wyll x reader and mentions of (previous) gale x mystra relationship)

༘⋆Warnings: blood and bullet wounds

Future chapters: predatory/pedophilic behavior (fuck mystra all my homies hate mystra)

༘⋆Notes: set in the regency era and very loosely inspired by bridgerton (I’ve never watched it)

more info to come when the full chapter is finished!

You cursed yourself for getting in such a position as you heaved a bloodied body onto your goose down bed sheets, dark sticky crimson clinging to your skin and the front of your white nightgown. The body landed with a soft flump, leaving a suspicious looking trail of blood towards the center of your bed. Normally you were against opening the door for strange men in the middle of the night, but a gunshot wound to the stomach usually prohibited acts of violence, unless the attacker wanted to bleed out to death, so you deemed it safe enough. You made sure to grab a fire poker from the fireplace on your way back from the medicine cabinet, just in case.

The blood was beginning to pool underneath the man, signaling that if you were to do anything, it had to be done with haste. Fighting back a gag at the tangy metal aroma of blood, you undid his vest and undershirt, pulling it off and discarding it somewhere on the floor. The bullet had thankfully wedged itself near the surface of his flesh making it an easy grab with a pair of tweezers. The wound itself proved to be more of a challenge. Stitches were required to stop the bleeding, but the needle slipped around between your fingers, and attempting to wipe the slick blood off your hands just made more of a mess. After a bit of adjusting, and a lot of wiping, you finally managed a messy line of seven uneven stitches.

For the first time in the past half hour, the thumping of your heartbeat began to fade from your ears, allowing you to process what had just happened.

You took a moment to look him over. He looked around your age. Around twenty– no, twenty-one? It was hard to tell with so much hair in his face. From what you could make out, he appeared to be a reasonably attractive man. Perhaps a bit unkempt, you thought, but as to be expected at this time of night. With his chestnut brown hair, he vaguely reminded you of Clyde, your childhood dog. Though intended as a compliment, you made a mental note to keep that one to yourself when–if ever–he awoke. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that was drawing you to the curve of his jawline, but with a start, you realize you had been staring for far too long. Blinking away your daydreams, you see the scene in front of you as it truly is.

There was a body in your bed.

You frantically reach over the bed to press two fingers firmly against his neck, feeling around for a pulse. Was he even still alive? A slow and faint periodical throb against your fingertips pulls a heavy sigh of relief out of your weary body, and you slump against the side of the bed. Thank the gods.

Unfortunately, the fact he was alive did not solve the strange-man-in-bed issue. Once he had been securely wrapped in several layers of bandages–any more and he may appear mummified–you weren’t sure what else there was to do. So, you recruited the only person in the household that could keep their mouth shut. Your older sister, Euphemia. 

***

“By Jove, sister… you’ve killed a man…” Euphemia looked pale-faced and wide eyed in horror at the seemingly lifeless body and blood adorning your room.

“Stop it.” You hissed under your breath, closing the bedroom door behind her. “He’s not dead. And would you keep your voice down?”

Euphemia looked from you to the body, then to your crimson hands and nightgown. “Are you to tell me he is… sleeping?” She asked, incredulously, her voice quavering.

You sighed, exasperated. You grabbed her wrist, much to her resistance, and forcefully pressed her fingers against his neck. “There. He is very much alive. Now will you please help me?” 

Your sister sighed in relief. “Gods… He looks mauled.” She eyed your butchered stitching. “Not a slight on your abilities, of course. Spoken from a place of love.”

“You can mock me all you want when we break fast, sister.” You toss her a wet washcloth. “Make haste and get the headboard. I’ll deal with the floor.”

“I merely jest.” She replied, rounding the bed beside the body.

As she approaches the unconscious man and freezes. The cloth falls from her hand and you hear a sharp intake of breath. Startled, you jump up from your knees.

“Hells, are you hurt?” You turn, expecting to see a splinter or bruise. Alas, Euphemia just stood shell shocked, staring down towards the body. You looked at the man yourself, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Euphemia leaned closer to the body and swept the hair from his face. “I’ve seen this man’s portrait before.” She crouched beside him, studying his features. “It was in a museum of art from other nations.” Closing her eyes, she recounted the museum. “So this must be…” Euphemia turned back to you, mystified. “This is the Viscount of Waterdeep.”

You stare at her. “Who?”

“Lord Gale Dekarios.”

Author's Note:

thanks for reading! I really appreciate it :>

do you have a preference whether the full fic should use y/n or tav? (or give the reader a nickname of my choice while still technically being y/n or tav)