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multch · 21 days ago

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Caught.

Art the clown x Reader [18+]

CW: Smut\ afab Reader

Pt.1 (Thoughts)

Art just caught you red-handed pleasuring yourself but he doesn't seem to react… at first.

There stood Art the clown, leaning up against the wall with a shit eating grin- Oh God no.

Oh God no.

It was in this moment, you felt as small as a starved mouse. Has he always towered over you?

Holding your breath, your gaze hesitantly lifted to meet with his eyes.

Surely he couldn’t hear you in there… And obviously he couldn’t have been waiting outside the whole time.. right?

But what if he had. Would he be disgusted? His face contorted into a disturbed grimace. Could it change your relationship? Would he be so enraged as to consider you his next victim- ready to skin you with his bare hands. Gosh why did you ever think that was a good idea!

Your lust was your hamartia- the trigger that would spiral into your gruesome demise; a death without an ounce of dignity.

It was as if that doorway was a picture frame holding- you- a moment frozen in time. Your face was flushed bright red and your chest heaved up and down as if you had just ran a marathon.

Your eyes were wide in shock and pure terror.

As your gaze met his, you couldn’t help but sigh as he walked right past you. How could he be so calm? His smirk dropped as he practically shrugged you off as if you were translucent- as if you weren’t there…

What the hell?!

There it layed unfinished. It would only take you a few minutes to stitch back up the final rip.

Across your desk were numerous tools you used throughout the night; The jacket you worked on mere hours ago, several pairs of sharp fabric scissors and an array of pins and needles strung with thread.

Despite the busy crowd of your work-station, you remained alone.

Where could he be?

You looked up at the cheap clock sitting on the wall; 2:15am.

Clutched carefully in your hand, you carried his newly repaired costume with you. When you would return it to him, you would finally be able to go home- that is if you could find him…

It was your 4th time circling around the store and only one thought remained in your mind;

Where on earth was that damn clown!?

Walking into storage, you were met with the familiar dark and dusty sight you dreaded seeing so often. Luckily, since meeting Art, you were able to evade stock retrieval long enough during your shifts to delegate it to him at night. Unfortunately, every once in a while you would still have to venture out back during the day when issues were too urgent.

It wasn't rare for liminal spaces to creep you out so the avoidance was understood with a few simple honks of a horn.

“Hey Art… you in here?” You shivered.

The room was cramped and lined with unstable wire shelving overflowing with cardboard boxes of various sizes. As there were no windows, who knew what could be hiding in the shadows.

As your eyes adjusted to make out shapes within the darkness, your hand crept around the wall beside you for a light switch.

Aha! There it was.

As you went to flick the switch your heart suddenly dropped.

That’s not the switch…

Two cold hands grabbed your arm in an instant, pulling you towards a firm chest.

Shit!

“Art! Oh my goodness I am so sorry,” you blurted, “I was just looking for the lightswitch, I didn’t mean to-”

While what you could see was limited, what you knew was abundant. Your cheeks burned up as you realized what you just did. You didn’t flick the lightswitch, you just hit Art’s nipple- god that’s so embarrassing! You practically screamed at yourself.

What did you drag yourself into! First you think he caught you finger fucking yourself to the thought of him. Now you're in a dark storage cupboard and he's completely naked!

It's not even his fault, you sighed. You're the one carrying his repaired clothes- Damn it! You should've given him something to wear- you work in a costume shop for christ’s sake!

There, you continued to ramble on and on. Uttering something about an extra Santa costume. Suddenly, you gasped as Art pulled you closer towards himself.

Oh.

Seems like Art noticed your distraction and gave you something else to think about. Yes, he was naked but that didn't interest you when you knew you could lean into the tenderness of his sharp touch.

It ran through you- that burning, stinging sensation everywhere his skin touched yours. He was frozen. He kept pulling you closer into his chest like he needed you to survive. Like your warmth was addictive.

His arms wrapped around you like a snake while he tucked your legs between his thighs.

You looked up at him only to be met with the same shit-eating grin as last time.

What a pervert.

He was infectious. Once you had laid eyes on those disgusting tar black teeth and dark doe eyes, it was as if a command came over your soul. The corners of your lips unconsciously lifted into a smile. Maybe you would take advantage of this proximity for once…

Laying a quick peck on his bottom lip, you chuckled as you knew his facepaint had transferred to your own.

Art always knew how to make you laugh as he reared back to make an exaggerated shocked face. Quickly, he returned the offer by giving you a toothy grin before smashing his lips into yours.

Driving your bodies forward and away from the initial wall, Art bites your bottom lip as a plea for entry. Your back arches against the shelving as he pushes into the kiss. You let him- loving each and every second of pure bliss.

His tongue explored every inch, every tooth, every surface. It felt like you two stayed like that for eternity. It was as if once you would open your eyes, the night would be long gone.

You winced when you were forced to pull yourself away- heaving large gasps for air.

You couldn’t believe it. First thing you’re working a simple 9-5 and next thing you know you’re making out with the most infamous murderer in all of New York. The thought was enough to send a surge of energy rising through you.

But is this all? It’s been 3 whole years where you’ve spent countless nights fantasizing about and being subject to his mindless antics. 3 whole years.

You swallow the lump in your throat as you turn back to Art, placing your palm against his hollow cheek.

Whatever, you were happy to finally show your devotion to him at last…

As your lips hover over his, you gaze into his eyes. Pitch black with not a soul in sight, yet a carefulness he held while looking back at you. Back at you until…

You felt a strange sensation graze against your thigh.

It was in the moment you learnt it was possible for the white clown to turn a subtle shade of pink.

His eyes dodged down as he seemed to shuffle slightly further away. Choosing to hide in the shadows again, Art took a couple hefty steps backwards until all you could make out was the outline of his prominent features within the shadows.

“Oh shit..” you uttered under your breath. Art was hard. Oh my goodness, Art was hard and embarrassed.

Weighing up the pros and cons, you quickly bit the bullet and made up your mind. You were going to take that risk even if it could cost you your life. Art was everything you wanted and more. He had been so helpful over the past few years, you thought he deserved a small favor in return.

Stepping across the small storage room, you land in front of him- placing your hands on his chest. His skin was frigid and without a pulse.

“I can help you with that,” you whisper into his ear.

Despite the quick shocked expression Art played with, it was as if you caught his sincerity for a second before he snaped back into miming an over-emphasized swooning motion; fanning himself with his hand before pretending to faint.

His eyes stare far into yours as if seeking reassurance before acting on his own accord.

You nodded. Falling to your knees, you steadied yourself with both hands holding onto his legs.

There it was.

While you had seen it plenty of times, you had never imagined it from this angle. It was ample in length and wide in thickness. The sight was enough to make your mouth water.

You carefully grip the base and work your hands up and down his shaft before placing it in your mouth.

Paying attention to every ridge and bump, you slide your tongue across his length. As you begin bobbing your head back and forth, you look up to find Art’s embarrassment is long gone.

His eyes are shut tight and his mouth gapes open like he's lost for words. (if he had any, that is)

While you pulled closer and closer towards the base of his cock with every thrust, Art put his hands on the crown of your head, pulling you further into him.

Sliding down your throat, you gagged as Art thrusted his shaft into the roof of your mouth.

For someone so shy before, he’s taking control of this alot more than you expected..

Drool pools at the corners of your mouth, dribbling slowly down your chin. Art takes notice and drags his hand down to wipe it with his shaky thumb.

Fuck- he was so far down the back of your throat, you swore it was a miracle you were till breathing by now.

Thick white ropes coated the walls of your mouth. The action sent you bucking back as it forced you into a coughing fit. God was he bitter tasting.

He flung back before patting your head. It felt degrading- almost as if you were his pet in need of praise after completing a trick.

Lifting your gaze to look up at him, he sends back a dramatic shocked face before shifting to his usual wide grin.

As you stuck your tongue out, you chuckled before swallowing his seed.

Zipp! And that was the last of it. All that was left was to lock up the store and you were done. Your desk was cleaned, your repairs were finished and your clown friend was very happy.

While you loved your job, you were terribly excited to finally go home and have a long rest (maybe even a sweet treat too)

You let out a chuckle as you watched the live footage displayed on the security cameras. Despite being colorless and grainy, the expression on Art’s face was clear as day. There, he waved into the camera- his face imitating the pure joy of a small child* in a candy store; with a large smile and immense energy radiating from him.

(*As pure as he can get considering he’s a murderous hell spawn, but we won’t talk about that…)

He tipped his tiny top hat towards the camera, then swiftly turned on his heels to face the exit.

Ding! Ding! Ding! The bell rang out as Art made his exit, and it was as if he had suddenly vanished.

You couldn’t wait for tomorrow…

Maybe work could be a bit more exciting from now on, you thought.

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raepliica · 2 years ago

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(content warning: blood)

Sewed Up Heart

[ID: A Trigun comic done in grayscale with red accents. First, an anatomical heart gushes blood, forming a puddle which shifts into Vash's coat. Vash's gloved hands can be seen sewing up a tear at the hem.

Vash raises his hands, which are now bare and covered in blood. He looks sweaty and distressed, and he raises his coat to his face and cries into it. His clenched hands rip the sewed portion apart, and the red thread leads to a heart whose own stitches are tearing apart. The background gets darker and darker, and the red looks brighter and starker against it.

Then the background returns to white, and brown-skinned hands using embroidery scissors snip a red thread. Wolfwood holds up Vash's repaired coat, grinning proudly, and does a happy thumbs-up in Vash's direction. Vash lifts his head, seeming distant.

Wolfwood holds out the coat. As Vash puts out his hand to take it, the cloth is replaced so Wolfwood is dropping a sewed-up heart in Vash's hand. Vash rubs the coat against his face with a teary smile. End ID] ID CREDITS

#trigun #trimax #cw blood #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #vashwood #my art #his coat as an external representation of his emotional wounds🤌#a coat riddled with bullet holes tells so many stories #also wolfwood hc of him being good at sewing bc he probably had to patch up many clothes when he was at the orphanage #and now his hands are bloodied but he still has this one thing -this one skill- that helps him make things a little better for once #and it doesnt fix everything but at least he's giving back a bit of the kindness he's being shown #ww actions over words love language *explodes*#i cant stop rotating these thoughts in my head i need to make a comic focused on his pov #image described #thank you for the id!!#raepliica_art

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nymphofnovels · 8 months ago

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How to Make Replicas of Your Own Teeth: A Cosplay Toothtorial

This is a method to safely use a molded mouth guard to make duplicates of your own teeth without destroying a potentially expensive piece of dental equipment. Everything that goes into the mold—clay and mold release aid—must be nontoxic/edible so you can wash your mouth guard at the end of the process and continue to use it as normal.

Benefits: No mold-making or casting experience required Lightweight end result Adds a truly personal touch to your project :)

Downsides: Must own a molded mouth guard/retainer End result can be fragile and needs proper sealing for durability

Supplies

Molded mouth guard/retainer (referred to as “mold” from here on)

Cornstarch

Soft/fluffy brush

Non-toxic white air dry clay (I used Crayola Model Magic)

Craft knife

Jewelry wire (I used 20 or 22 gauge)

Pins/yarn needle/any various household implements you can sculpt or smooth small details with

Acrylic paints and a variety paint brushes

Clear glossy top coat (I used Mod Podge (satin) and UV Resin)

Prep

Brush or otherwise clean your mouth guard if you haven’t already, especially if there’s build-up.

If you’re using your container of cornstarch for cooking, set aside a small container specifically for crafting. No accidental cross-contamination here!

Dip your fluffy brush into cornstarch and brush into your DRY mouth guard. Lightly coat the entire mold and distribute any clumps. This coat of cornstarch will make it easier to remove your teeth from the mold.

Molding

Firmly press clay into the mold so that approximately half is in the mold, half is sticking out for root sculpting. Make sure there are no air pockets or you won’t pick up the details.

Use detail scissors/craft knife to cut away excess material and indent to mark out the divisions between teeth as visible on the gum lines (see above)

Reference a tooth diagram like the one below and separate out the roots for each tooth. Front teeth tend to have 1 leg, middle teeth have 2 legs, and some molars have 3+. I personally found that my limit was 2 roots. Sculpting 3+ roots on a single tooth was more difficult and more fragile than anatomical accuracy was worth.

Demolding

You can demold immediately after sculpting or wait up to an hour. The faster you remove the teeth, the easier they are to reshape. The longer you wait, the more they resist unintentional denting BUT the more touch-ups you'll have to do to clean the edges between teeth.

Gently lift the full row of teeth from the mold. If it won't release when you tip the mold or or push at it, try using a pin to stab one of the end teeth and use that to pry up the teeth. The rest of the row should follow. If they don't, try repeating for the other side. If they're still not lifting, set aside to dry and try again ~15-30min later.

Gently cut apart the u-shape into individual teeth.

Press raw cut edges in and smooth with various tools, like a yarn needle. Use a craft knife to help trim off any excess clay.

Touch-ups

In the case of air pockets or if you accidentally remove a root, wet some clay and use a very small amount to fill in gaps or add on roots. Don't forget the water! It makes the clay stickier and smooth out better. This is where tools come in handy, wet clay sticks less to smooth objects than your fingertips!

Once repaired, set aside any wet pieces to dry for at least 15min before doing any more sculpting work.

Set all teeth aside to dry for several hours on a wax paper or other non-stick surface. Make sure it's not textured or it will leave an imprint on your teeth!

Flaws like the chip on the top left tooth and the cracks on the middle bottom teeth are great candidates for smoothing out with a little extra clay.

**PAUSE HERE AND CLEAN YOUR MOUTH GUARD**

I personally like to rinse it out with water and clean it with a dissolving denture cleaning tablet to make sure it’s fully sanitized. It also doesn’t hurt to properly brush the mouth guard to make sure there’s no clay or cornstarch residue stuck in the crevices.

Holes

Test a tooth to check if it’s dry to the touch and doesn’t immediately deform to your touch. If it’s holding shape, you can move on.

Bore a hole into the tooth with a pin or jewelry wire. Consider how you want them to hang. A) For the central dangling teeth on Harrowhark’s choker, I punched holes as close to the tip of the root as possible without tears, perpendicular to the teeth so I could hang them on jump rings directly from the center brooch. B) For the teeth intended for Harrow’s tabard, I punched two sets of holes parallel to the jaw to prevent teeth from flipping around. One set just under the tooth cap, approx. 1/8in down, and one set about the same distance from the roots.

Once a hole has been punched with a pin, wiggle it around a little to open the hole or thread it on a piece of jewelry wire.

Leave teeth on a piece of wax paper or strung on a thread/wire to dry for ~48hr (or as recommended for your clay).

Painting/Weathering

Mix a small amount of yellow-brown paint with water to create a wash (middle palette above). Paint all of your teeth with this first to establish a base color and help define any hairline cracks.

Paint with less diluted yellows and browns (right palette above). Refer to photos like the below for reference (try searching "teeth" and "archaeology"). NOTE: The root tends to be darker and more weathered than the main tooth because it isn't protected by enamel.

Dry brush ivory or white mixed with some yellow/brown onto the tooth cap to bring out highlights.

Finishing

Your air dry clay teeth and paint job will need a top coat for protection. I highly recommend a glossy clear top coat to give the look of enamel. Below is a comparison of the two sealants I used, but there's many more options out there!

UV Resin (Left) Pros: Harder/more durable Cures faster Cons: Need to work during daylight or use a UV light Harder to get a thin even layer Requires more set up and safety precautions

Satin Mod Podge (Right) Pros: Can be applied with a brush Air dries Cons: Takes longer to dry Teeth tend to stick together unless kept below room temp or kept from touching each other (I solve this by storing unused beads in an old pill bottle in the fridge. Yes it's cursed and Yes I've had comments from my housemates.)

As mentioned earlier, thread teeth on a wire or pin down to dry. This method also works well to set up for spray painting a clear coat.

Now, go forth and enjoy everyone's reactions when you tell them that you're wearing your own teeth! :D

#cosplay #cosplay tutorial #crafting tutorial #cosplay ref #harrowhark cosplay #the locked tomb #harrowhark nonagesimus #the locked tomb cosplay #locked tomb cosplay #craftblr #tutorials #tutorial #Nymph rambles #the scraps of NoN #I'm accepting my fate to potentially be know as the Tooth Harrow to a swath of people slkdfskljfsdlf #teeth #cw teeth #juuuuuust in case

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viperwhispered · 18 days ago

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Random Emi & Jamemi scenes, part 2

You can find more information on my yuusona Emi and her relationship with Jamil here on the masterlist.

Emi cuts her bangs herself. During the SDC training camp, Vil’s gonna be quite appalled to find out that she's using the kitchen scissors for it.

And it's like...

I mean, Vil's a forceful presence, to say the least. And if this was the Emi who first arrived to NRC, she would just slink away (she might still cut her hair, eventually, just away from Vil's eyes).

But at this point and with what's been going on so far (4 overblots, adjusting to a whole new world, all that jazz), Emi's kinda just running out of fucks to give. And like Vil's scary but also at least he doesn't have a bunch of snakes flitting about his head so...

So I can definitely see Emi just holding eye contact with Vil while bringing those scissors to her hair.

She's definitely one of those people where the more you tell she has to do something, the less likely she is to relent. Like, she might not argue with you, if it seems pointless (or if the conversation gets too loud / uncomfortable otherwise), but she'll just keep on doing her own thing.

(I can't remember if I said this somewhere already, but I kinda keep on thinking of her like, soft on the surface, but sometimes when you think you're digging soft earth you might find yourself hitting bedrock very quickly. If that makes sense.)

To be fair, Emi and Vil definitely have a hard time seeing eye to eye on most things. Though Emi will definitely gain a lot of respect for him during book 6. And at least she doesn't mind the Vil-instigated diet too much? (Especially since nothing's stopping her from hopping over to an unbirthday party or two when time permits.)

Sometime after book 6, during the "let's repair Ramshackle" ordeal, where Jamil's helping Emi with getting that whole thing sorted out:

Emi: sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing a spare school uniform shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her hair tied back on a messy bun. She’s totally focused on putting together some drawers, looking at the assembly instructions and getting her pieces in order, quite unaware of her surroundings, in total concentration / troubleshooting mode.

Jamil: standing there, just came in and was about to say something, kinda got stuck watching instead, doesn’t even realize he’s staring. (He's totally just waiting for a good moment to speak up & get Emi's attention. Totally.)

Grim: waltzes into the room, clocks Jamil idling. “Mrah! If you’ve got time to stand around, you’ve got time to help my hench-human!”

Cue Jamil protesting and making excuses for himself, and Emi lifting up her head like "huh, you're both here, great, I kinda could use a hand here".

Cue successful co-operation and romantic brushing of hands while putting pieces of furniture together.

This scene may or may not have been inspired by me putting some furniture together just the other day.

Tagging @scint1llat3 @diodellet @moonyasnow @bibi-cha

If anyone else would like to be tagged for Emi things, just let me know!

#ner talks #twisted wonderland #jamil viper #twst yuusona #twst oc #twst oc x canon #jamiyuu #jamemi #emi lind #vil schoenheit #twst grim #(I keep on forgetting to tag others than jamil and emi on these posts oop)

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middleearthpixie · 1 year ago

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Living Proof ~ Chapter Five

Summary: When he puts himself between the Uruk-hai and Merry and Pippin, Boromir knows it means sacrificing himself. But it also means redemption for his near betrayal of Frodo and the Fellowship, and so it is a price he is more than willing to pay.

Kaia has been on her own for as long as she can remember, having escaped a terrible life in a village not far from Mordor. When she hears the sounds of battle, she knows what it means and when she ventured forth and finds a gravely wounded man lying amongst the leaves and debris, she takes him in, not knowing he is actually the son of the steward of Gondor.

Angry at himself and faced with a long road to recovery, Boromir does not make things easy on Kaia and it is only through her own sheer will that she does not give into the urge to hit him over the head with something on a daily basis. That refusal to give up brings about changes neither one of them could have foreseen. She just wanted to save him. She never thought he would save her in return…

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (AU, Boromir lives)

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Kaia

Warnings: orc death

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.6k

Tag List: @sotwk @heilith @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @emmyspov @finnofamerica @lathalea @ass-deep-in-demons @quiall321 @mistofstars @justfollowtheroad @guardianofrivendell @glassgulls @doctorwhump @kmc1989 @estethell @emrfangirl

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

At night, the cabin was at its most peaceful. Especially when Kaia knew no orcs would be passing by, when the only sounds she’d hear were those of nighttime creatures and other than orcs, she feared none of them.

Supper that night was simple—a hunter’s stew with vegetables she’d grown in her small garden—but it would fill Boromir’s stomach and she had the feeling it had been a while since he’d last had a meal of substance.

He was asleep once more, but finally he slept peacefully. As the stew simmered, Kaia sat at the table, mending a pair of her trousers that had gotten torn several days earlier, when she caught them on a low branch. When she finished, she moved to the chair where Boromir’s ruined tunic and trousers lay, and lifted the heavy scarlet tunic. It was a fine garment, of rich wool, the embroidery on the sleeves and about the collar some of the most exquisite she’d ever seen. Whoever this man was, he was of high rank, judging by the finery of his tunic and by the fine wool of the heavy black trousers she’d cut from him. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen garments of such quality.

The trousers were beyond repair, but she’d cut the tunic along seams and thought it possible to mend, so she brought it back to the table, where the light was the best, and bent over to examine it closer. It would not be perfect, as it had been before she took her scissors to it, but she could repair it.

So, while Boromir slept, she stitched. And by the time she’d finished, he was just sitting up slowly, rubbing his face with both hands as he mumbled, “What time is it?”

“Nearly seven.” She knotted the thread, cut it, and stood, bringing the tunic back to him. “This is lovely.”

“I thank you. It was a gift.”

“Who from?”

He offered up a wistful sigh. “My brother, actually. Last Yule.”

“You have a brother? That must be nice. I always wanted a brother or a sister, but sadly, it never came to pass. Is he older or younger than you?”

“Faramir is younger by five years.”

“And where is he now?”

Boromir’s eyes darkened slightly and he shook his head. “I know not. I’ve not seen him in nearly a year.”

That was not what she’d expected and she couldn’t help but stare. “Why so long?”

“It matters not,” he replied in a somewhat flat tone. “And I’d rather not speak of them now either way.”

Although his voice held no emotion, Kaia felt decidedly upbraided and her back stiffened. “Of course. I’ll not mention it—or him—again.” She draped the tunic over the arm of the chair. “Even so, I am glad I could salvage it. And, I also found your pack. I’ve not gone through it, but I’m hoping you will tell me you have other trousers in there.”

He looked up, his eyes no longer quite so dark, his expression no longer quite as brooding. Instead, he almost smiled as he nodded. “Aye, I have two pair, to be precise.”

“Oh, good.” She couldn't hold back her relieved sigh. “I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to figure out how I was coming up with a pair of trousers for a man your size.”

“You needn’t worry. They should be rolled into the bottom of the pack. And in all honesty, I look forward to wearing trousers again. I confess to feeling a bit underdressed in your presence.”

She shook her head. “You needn’t. I would not have cut them from you if it wasn't of utmost importance to tend those wounds.”

“I understand and I apologize if I fought you over it.”

“No apology necessary.” She couldn't resist a smile of her own. “You were unconscious when I removed them anyway.”

The rich, peppery aroma of the stew wafted their way and she met his eyes. “I hope you’re hungry. You’ve not eaten much since you’ve been here, and I made a stew for us.”

“I actually am a bit hungry,” he said slowly, glancing over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “And I hope you will allow me to put on trousers in order to sit at the table.”

“Are you up to sitting up?”

“I am, yes. I’ve grown weary of lying on my back, staring up at the ceiling.”

“Then, as long as you will accept my help, we should be able to do just that.”

“Good.” He reached toward the pack propped against the chair. “Shall we?”

“Now?”

“Please. I feel a bit—ah—conspicuous in only my undergarments.”

She didn't miss the hint of color that rose along his cheekbones above his scruffy-looking stubble. “Very well. But you will be careful, so you don’t bunch the bandage or roll it.”

“You have my word.”

She crouched alongside his pack and unlaced it, waiting for him to protest her pawing through it.

When no such protest came, she opened it and reached in, past several wrapped packets of something, to the rolls of clothing at the bottom. Wrestling one roll free, she stood up and unfurled another pair of heavy black wool trousers. “Will these do?”

He looked up and nodded. “They will, indeed.”

“Good. Very well,” she gestured for him to stand, “up you get, then.”

He braced a hand on the sofa’s arm and she moved closer as he started to slowly rise. His arm trembled as he did, and she did not miss his sharp inhale, nor did she miss the way his injured leg trembled as well. A hiss of pain leaked through his clenched teeth as he sank back onto the cushion with a muttered oath.

“It was foolish of me to do this,” he muttered, his knuckles going white as his fingers clenched the sofa arm.

“No, no, it wasn’t. I should’ve known better than to try to do it this way.” She patted his knee lightly. “Let me get your feet into the legs and we can take it from there. But rest a minute.”

He swore softly beneath his breath again, but nodded, and waited as she snagged his trousers and crouched before him to slip first one foot, then the other, into the trouser’s legs.

As she eased the wool up along his calves, she looked up to find him watching her. “Are you all right?”

He nodded. “I’m fine. Just a bit shaky still, is all.”

“Think you might stand?”

“In a minute or two.”

“Take all the time you need.”

His stomach growled then, which was so unexpected, it made her laugh. She promptly clapped a hand over her mouth, her, “I am so very sorry,” muffled. “I was not expecting that.”

To her surprise, a low chuckle rose to his lips. “Nor was I. I’ve not been hungry for a while and it seems it has caught up with me.”

“When was the last you’d eaten?”

“What day did you say this was?”

“Thursday.”

“It was at least a day before that. I had not much of an appetite prior to—well, I hadn’t been very hungry.”

“Why?”

He cleared his throat. “I think I might be able to stand now.”

She held his stare for a long moment, but didn't press the issue. Instead, she nodded. “Very well. You stand, and I will draw them up.”

He nodded, drawing in a deep breath as he rose once more onto visibly unsteady legs. She gripped the waist of the trousers and tugged, easing them up along calves and thighs laden with muscle, taking care not to move the bandage she’d wound about his left thigh.

She slowly rose, easing the trousers over his hips, and paused as she straightened before him, suddenly very aware of where her hands where and where she was in relation to this half-naked man before her. It as wrong, and she knew it, but at the same time, she couldn’t help but notice how broad his shoulders were and how wide his chest was. He was a warrior, no doubt, for heavy bands of muscle wrapped about his legs, about his shoulders and arms, across his chest.

The air stirred as she peered up at him, warmer than it had been only minutes earlier, and she realized then that his eyes were not as pale as she’d thought, but were more of a gray-blue, off-set by the honey-gold color of his hair.

“I think I might manage this on my own.” His low growl—almost a purr, really—broke the thicken tension swirling between them.

“What?” She glanced down at her hands, only a fraction of an inch from his bare skin, and let go of his trousers to step back. “Oh, of course. I beg your pardon.”

A hint of a smile curved his lips as he fastened his trousers, while embarrassed heat swirled through her. “Y-yes, of course. You have this,” she stammered, gesturing to the pot simmering over the fire. “I’ll just let you—that is, I’ll get supper on the table while you… well… I’ll get supper.”

With that, she stepped around him and without looking at him, hurried into the kitchen area before her face burst into actual flames. What the deuce was wrong with her, ogling him that way? He was wounded, for pity’s sake. He’d almost died. And there she was, gaping him as if he was no more than a fine horse or a side of tempting beef.

A low groan bubbled to her lips, but she managed to hold it at bay, concentrating on moving the pot from the hook to the table without dropping it or spilling its contents all over the floor. Then, she looked up to see he’d sunk back onto the sofa, so she said, “I’ll be there in but a minute.”

“Take your time.”

She hurried back into the great room. “I should see about fashioning something for you to lean on, until your strength returns. Or, if you prefer, I can bring you your supper and you can eat in here.”

“I’ll manage just fine.” As he spoke, he started to get back to his feet, only to stumble slightly.

Kaia caught him as his knees buckled, unable to hold back her grunt as she bore the full brunt of his weight. “Easy.”

“Stop telling me easy,” he growled, his arm limp about her shoulders.

“What should I say, then, when you refuse to heed my advice?”

He didn't answer and she rolled her eyes before glaring up at him. Stubborn mule of a man. He took a hesitant step, almost squashing her to her knees from the force of his weight. He was only a few inches taller than she was, but he was definitely far broader and more solid.

“Can you put any weight on your wounded leg?”

“We shall see.”

She braced herself for his first step, but even so, his injured leg only barely supported him and he leaned heavily against her. A hot sting swept down along the side of her neck, through her shoulder, and she was fairly certain her spine was slowly collapsing beneath his weight.

But, slowly, haltingly, they managed and while Boromir was as pale as a cloud when he sank into the nearest chair, he still remained upright. She held her breath to see if his nausea would return, and although sweat beaded his forehead, he seemed all right, more or less.

Rubbing her shoulder, she moved to the cupboard nearest the washbasin and took down two bowls, and brought them to the table. Then she fetched spoons and set one of each before Boromir. “I have wine as well.”

“I thought you said it was more vinegar?”

“You recall that?”

He nodded slowly. “Vaguely, but yes.”

“I’m impressed.” She ladled stew into his bowl. “But, that was when I first brought you here. Since then, I’ve happened upon more.”

He arched one brow. “Happened upon?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Understood.”

A slightly smile accompanied his words and she moved to the cupboard to take out one of the bottles she’d found on one of her more recent sojourns from the cabin. As she poured wine into two goblets, she said, “I’ve been here a bit now, but I still have plenty of exploring to do. I’ve learned that when an orc pack, or in your case, an orc army, passes through, they generally leave nothing but death and destruction in their wake.”

She brought the goblets to the table, setting one before him. “And I figure since the dead cannot make use of things like this, I might as well.”

He stared first at the goblet, then up at her. “You took these things from the dead?”

She nodded slowly. “Some of it, yes. I take what is important. Herbs and supplies when I find them—such as cloth or sewing items—food if it hasn’t spoiled. I had a chickens for a while, but… well… they wandered too far at some point and something got them, so there went any eggs or chicken.”

At his long look, she drew herself up to her full height and squared her shoulders. “Why do you look at me that way? I’m no thief and they’re dead. I bury them if I’m able and then make certain their legacy lives on.”

“Their—I’m sorry, but legacy?”

She scowled at the humor in his words. “Yes. Their legacy. That way, they’ve not died in vain. Orcs kill just to kill. They thrive on it and live for it and enjoy nothing more than snuffing out a life, no matter how small or large.” She shrugged. “I feel it best to honor the lives of those who fall prey to orcs by making use of their things if I can.”

“Anything to sleep at night, then?”

Her first instinct was to argue with him, to insist she slept just fine at night. But the truth of the matter was he was right. Scavenging did trouble her. She still wasn't comfortable with going through pockets or drawers or cabinets in search of what she might take for herself.

Then, she sank into her chair across from him, tracing the tip of her forefinger about the goblet. “I suppose, yes. I… it’s not something I like to think about, to be honest. But, they aren’t using it and I need it and—”

Boromir held up a large hand. “You need not explain to me. I pass no judgment on you.”

“I pass it on me, though.” She stared at the plain goblet, at the red wine that filled it. “But at the same time, if it weren’t for some of the things I’ve found in my travels, you would not be sitting here with me.”

“Is that so?”

She nodded. “I found the needles and thread I used to stitch up your wounds in the wreckage of a farmhouse not far from here.”

“How did you know how to do that?” He winced as he reached for his goblet and lifted it to his lips.

She hesitated. It had been a long time since she’d last had anyone to talk to, a long time since she’d shared a meal with someone else and heard a voice other than her own. But at the same time, she did not know this man at all and had no way of knowing whether or not she could trust him.

Then again, she didn't know she couldn't trust him, either. So, after a sip of wine, she replied, “I was raised on a farm and some of those who toiled for my stepfather injured themselves on occasion. When that happened, I was the one they sought for care.”

“A farm?” He set his goblet down. “Where?”

“Far from here,” she told him slowly.

“Gondor?”

“No. I am not from Gondor, but from much farther north.”

“Where, then?”

“It matters not. Just know I was raised on a farm and had plenty of opportunities to patch people back together.”

His eyes narrowed slightly and for a moment, she thought he’d press harder. She had no idea what she would tell him, if he did, for she did not wish to divulge too much about herself.

But to her relief, he let the matter drop and picked up his spoon. All conversation was forgotten then as he dove into the stew and she realized it was the most he’d eaten in at least four days.

“What about you?” She dipped her spoon into her bowl. “Where do you call home?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You’re the only one here.”

He let out a slight laugh and nodded. “True, it was a rather foolish question. And to answer it, I call Minas Tirith home, thought it’s been some time since I last saw it.”

“And what brings you to this part of Middle Earth? You’re quite a way from your home.”

“I am, yes.” He sat back, reaching for the napkin she’d set alongside his bowl to wipe his mouth. “And if you will excuse me, I’m feeling a bit tired and my wounds ache a bit. I should like to back and lie down.”

“Of course.” She pushed back her chair and moved about the table to help him up, bracing herself for the weight against her shoulder.

He did not disappoint. She gritted her teeth as he rose, leaning heavily on her, and they made their way back toward the sofa. As she carefully lowered him, he let out a low groan that turned into a hiss when he clenched his teeth, and by the time he settled back, he was almost ghostly white.

“I can brew you some tea for the pain, if you wish.”

“I would appreciate it.”

Expecting him to turn her down, Kaia stared at him for a long moment, unable to believe he’d actually accepted it. Then he grimaced as he tried to shift on the sofa and that spurred her into moving.

“Wait one moment while I put the kettle on, and then I’ll help you get comfortable.”

His eyes closed, he said nothing, but then slowly nodded as the muscle in his jaw relaxed and he exhaled heavily through his still-clenched teeth.

Kaia went back to the kitchen, where after making certain the kettle had water in it, she hung it over the fire. She quickly cleared the mess from the table before going back into the great room, where she found him asleep.

Not wanting to wake him, she leaned over to carefully tug down the blanket he’d been using, and let it settle about him, then she returned to the kitchen to finish cleaning up the mess while the water heated.

He did not stir and a quick look in on him told her he still slept, and far more peacefully than he had since she’d found him, so she lifted the kettle from the fire and set it on the table instead. Little by little, exhaustion crept over her, so she double checked the bar on the front door, the one on the kitchen door, and blew out the candles before retreating to her small bedchamber as well.

It wasn't much, only a narrow bed and battered table alongside it. There was a small chest on the far wall, but the top drawer was jammed shut and the bottom was falling out of the bottom drawer so she stacked what meager wardrobe she owned neatly atop it.

The door sagged a bit on its hinges, and it did not lock, but since Boromir was not about to sneak up on anyone any time soon, she just closed it by before she undressed and slipped into the one chemise she held onto as a nightdress before crawling into her own bed.

The sheets were scratchy, and she’d patched up the holes as best she could, but they were clean and smelled of sunshine. Drying her laundry was the worst part of living the way she did, for it took an entire day for everything to dry and she always lived in fear of an orc pack spying her washing and investigating it. As far as she was concerned, no fate existed that was worse than falling prey to an orc pack. She’d seen what they did, what they were capable of, and they terrified her more than anything else in all of Middle Earth.

She blew out the candle before settling back on a pillow that had seen far better days. A muffled rumble reached her ears and she smiled into the darkness.

Boromir snored.

Kaia jolted awake as if someone had shouted her name in her ear. Her heart racing, she stared up into the darkness, which seemed to grow thicker the longer she stared. For a moment, she thought perhaps her cabin had been found and its simple defenses breached, but as she lay there, trying to will her heartbeat to return to normal, she realized that the sound she’d heard was neither her imagination nor orcs of any sort.

It came from the great room—a low wail, heavy with sorrow, with anguish—rolled toward her and she threw back her meager covers, lit the stump of candle on her bedside table, and slid from bed to make sure Boromir was all right.

The floorboards beneath her bare feet were cold, and that cold seeped into her as she hurried across the room, hand cupped before the small flame to keep it from going out. “Boromir?”

He did not answer. Instead, he drew in a shaky breath and let out another moan. As she knelt at his side and twisted to set the dish on the table, he mumbled, “No… the little ones… they’ve taken them… please… please, forgive me…”

Gently, she caught him by the shoulder, mindful of his wound, and gave him an even gentler shake. “Wake up,” she murmured, leaning in so her lips almost brush his ear. “You are having a nightmare.”

“They took the little ones…” Anguish, raw and primal, rang through his words and without warning, he tried to lurch up.

He let out a howl that made her hair stand on end and she lunged to wrap her arms about him before he tried to stand. “No, it’s all right, you are but dreaming,” she told him, smoothing her hand along his back as he shook against her. “You are but dreaming…”

He went limp against her, an arm draped about her shoulders, his face buried in her neck, and his voice cracked as he whispered, “No… it was no dream…”

“Shhh…” she murmured back, her palm still gliding along his back. “It’s all right. I promise you it is.”

He said nothing at first, but just went limp against her, his breathing rough and ragged, as if he’d run a great distance. She didn't press, but just held him, the way her mother held her when she was a child and nightmares plagued her sleep. An image flashed through her mind, one she did not want and winced at seeing, and without thinking, she reached up to stroke his hair as he slowly calmed against her.

“See?” Her fingers slowed on his hair. “It’s all right, just as I said.”

“It is not,” he insisted, his voice somewhat stronger now. “You have no idea… none whatsoever…”

“I know it was a dream that plagued you,” she drew back, and although that candle gave off only a bit of light, her eyes had adjusted to the point where she could just about make out his features, “and if you wish to tell me who the littles ones are, perhaps I might help you.”

He let out a bark of humorless laughter at that, untangling himself from her as he said, “You cannot help, lest you deem me well enough to leave this place. That would be the only help you might offer.”

“Have I the power to make you stay?”

“Power?” He shook his head. “No. But my wounds are too fresh for me to care for, so I need your skills. I’m not a fool, you know, nor do I not realize the extent of these blasted wounds.”

“I see.” She nodded, although she didn't know if he could see her as well as she saw him. “Very well, you are in no condition to leave this cabin as yet, so I suggest you go back to sleep.”

“Sleep is that last thing I wish,” he muttered even as he sank back into the pillow beneath his head. “And before you ask, I’ll not tell you why.”

“Good.” She stood and tugged the blanket back over him with a bit more force than she’d intended. She didn't know exactly why his refusal to tell her anything aggravated her, especially considering she wasn’t exactly forthcoming with him either, but it did aggravate her. “For I am not interested in why, thank you very much. What I am interested in, is getting back to sleep myself.”

“I did not ask you to come to my aid, you know. You took it upon yourself to check up on me as if I was a child.”

“No, you did not ask, I’ll give you that and nor do I think you a child. However, you did make sleeping impossible, so I took it upon myself to come and check on you, to make certain you were all right, which I now realize was a mistake.” She stood up. “So, if you’re back to yourself, I am going back to bed.”

“I’m fine.”

“Good.”

As much as she wanted to just turn and march out of the room, she was still concerned for him, for what caused his nightmare. But, pressing him on the matter was bound to lead to an argument and fighting with him in the middle of the night was not something she felt much like doing. Even so, she was reluctant to leave him and so just stood there, arms folded, just glaring down at him.

He met that glare. “I thought you were going back to bed.”

A sense of idiocy shot through her and she bent to snatch up the candle with such force that the flame flickered and almost went out. “I am going back to bed.”

“And yet, you’ve not moved.”

She made a face at him and then spun about. However, as she did so, the flame went out, plunging them into darkness and she’d spun fast enough to make herself slightly dizzy. The last thing she wanted, or needed, was to stub a toe on something or trip over her own two feet as she marched away, but thankfully, she managed to avoid any and all obstacles.

Back in her room, she closed the door by firmly and leaned against it, scowling into the darkness. Whatever happened with those halflings, he seemed to carry great guilt over it, and though she was annoyed with him for being so evasive, the primal cry he’d let out haunted her almost as his dreams haunted him. A low sigh bubbled to her lips. How aggravating that she wanted to ease his guilt the same way she’d eased his pain, only to find that there was nothing she could do. Helplessness was not a feeling she enjoyed, for it brought her back to memories of her own she’d much rather forget, and as she slid beneath the blanket once more, she had the feeling it would be some times before she fell back to sleep.

#Lord of the Rings #LOTR AU #Boromir #Boromir fic #LOTR fanfic #Lord of the Rings Fanfic #Fan fiction #LOTR fanfiction #AU #Boromir x OC #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Sean Bean #Everybody Lives #Sons of Gondor

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drpriya · 8 months ago

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Laparoscopic surgery, also known as minimally invasive surgery, is a modern surgical technique where small incisions are made in the abdomen, through which specialized instruments and a camera are inserted. Surgeons use the camera to visualize the internal organs on a monitor and perform the surgery with precision.

This approach typically results in less pain, shorter recovery times, and smaller scars compared to traditional open surgery. It's commonly used for procedures such as gallbladder removal, hernia repair, and appendectomy.

The procedure for laparoscopic surgery typically involves the following steps:

Anesthesia: The patient is given general anesthesia to ensure they are unconscious and feel no pain during the surgery.

Creation of small incisions: Several small incisions, usually around 0.5 to 1.5 centimeters in length, are made in the abdomen.

Insertion of trocars: Trocars, which are narrow tubes with valves, are inserted through the incisions. These serve as ports for the insertion of surgical instruments and a camera.

Insufflation: Carbon dioxide gas is pumped into the abdomen through one of the trocars to create space and lift the abdominal wall away from the organs, providing better visibility and working space for the surgeon.

Insertion of laparoscope: A laparoscope, a thin tube with a camera and light source, is inserted through one of the trocars. This allows the surgeon to view the internal organs on a monitor in real-time.

Surgical procedure: Specialized instruments, such as graspers, scissors, and cautery devices, are inserted through the remaining trocars. The surgeon performs the necessary surgical steps guided by the images from the laparoscope.

Closure: After the surgery is completed, the instruments and laparoscope are removed, and the carbon dioxide gas is released from the abdomen. The small incisions are closed with sutures or surgical tape.

Recovery: The patient is monitored in the recovery room until they wake up from anesthesia and are stable to be discharged or transferred to a hospital room for further observation.

Throughout the procedure, the surgical team works together to ensure the safety and success of the surgery.

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medimagination · 1 year ago

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After a Morning walk, a Group of Doctors were standing at a road-side Restaurant enjoying a Cup of Tea..

They saw a Man limping towards them..

One Doctor said, "he has Arthritis in his Left Knee.."

The second said, "he has Plantar Faciitis.."

The third said, "just an Ankle Sprain.."

The fourth said, "see that Man cannot lift his Knee, he looks to have Lower Motor Neurons.."

"But to me he seems a Hemiplegia Scissors Gait," said the fifth..

Before the sixth could proclaim his Diagnosis, the Man reached the Group and asked,

"Is there a Cobbler nearby who can repair my Slipper.?"

This is exactly how the Experts talk in Social Media & Television on all issues in these days..!!😂

#med school #medstudyblr #medstudentlife #medstudentblog #medical student

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scribblesoul-20 · 22 hours ago

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Job title: Senior Technician Company: Sundus Recruitment Services Job description: Job Title: Senior TechnicianLocation: Sharjah, UAECompany: United GulfWe are seeking a skilled Senior Technician to join our team. This role is essential for ensuring the optimal performance and maintenance of our equipment.Job Summary:The Senior Technician will be responsible for the inspection, troubleshooting, repair, calibration, and testing of various types of Mobile Elevated Work Platforms (MEWPs) and their components. This includes Boom Lifts, Scissor Lifts, Telehandlers, Spider Lifts, Forklifts, and Truck-Mounted Lifts. The role requires a high level of technical expertise, flexibility, and commitment to quality.Key Responsibilities:1. Inspection and Diagnostics: Utilize diagnostic tools and specialized software to inspect, troubleshoot, rectify, calibrate, and post-repair test MEWPs, including Boom Lifts, Scissor Lifts, Telehandlers, Spider Lifts, Forklifts, and Truck-Mounted Lifts.2. Hydraulic Systems: Inspect, diagnose, troubleshoot, rectify, overhaul, calibrate, and post-repair test hydraulic systems and components such as Cylinders, Valves, Pumps, Motors, Accumulators, Actuators, and Hydrostatic Transmissions.3. Hydraulic and Electrical Schematics: Read, interpret, and design hydraulic system schematics and electrical circuit diagrams to ensure accurate repairs and maintenance.4. Mechanical Systems: Inspect, diagnose, troubleshoot, rectify, overhaul, calibrate, and post-repair test mechanical systems and components, including Diesel and Petrol Engines, Brakes, Clutches, Turbochargers, Fuel Pumps, Gearboxes, Axles, and Cooling Systems.5. Electrical and Electronic Systems: Inspect, diagnose, troubleshoot, rectify, install, program, calibrate, and post-repair test electrical and electronic systems, including Starter Motors, Alternators, Switches, Solenoids, Harnesses, Sensors, Coils, ECMs, PCBs, Control Panels, Wirings, and Batteries.6. Flexibility: Adapt to flexible work schedules and be available for extra working hours as needed.7. Cost Efficiency: Employ cost-effective methods to minimize repair time and costs.8. Parts Management: Inspect, report, and repair used parts to ensure their reliability and longevity.9. Reporting: Generate and maintain detailed work-related reports, including Field Service Reports, Job Cards, Material Requests, Root Cause Reports, Parts Failure Reports, and other relevant documentation.10. Customer and Team Relations: Build and sustain professional relationships with customers and colleagues to enhance service quality and collaboration.11. Communication: Demonstrate fluency in English, both verbally and in technical written communication.12. Travel Requirements: Be prepared to travel within the country and internationally as required for job assignments.Qualifications:- Proven 5 (year) experience as a Senior Technician or similar role, with extensive knowledge of MEWPs and their components.- Strong technical expertise in hydraulic, mechanical, and electrical systems.- Ability to read and interpret technical schematics and diagrams.- Excellent problem-solving skills and attention to detail.- Strong interpersonal skills and the ability to work well with customers and team members.- Flexibility to adapt to changing work schedules and additional hours.- Fluency in English, with effective technical communication skills.- Willingness to travel as required. Expected salary: Location: Sharjah Job date: Fri, 25 Oct 2024 00:08:55 GMT Apply for the job now!

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voltz321 · 3 days ago

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VOLTZ TY42 All-in-One Automatic 12V Scissor Lift Jack Set

The VOLTZ TY42 is your ultimate solution for quick, safe, and convenient tire changes. With a robust 3-ton lifting capacity and innovative all-in-one design, this scissor lift jack set is perfect for handling emergencies or routine repairs on sedans and SUVs. Equipped with double saddles and a remote control, this portable tool kit ensures seamless operation and peace of mind wherever you go.

Key Features

1. High Lifting Capacity

Lifting Power: Supports up to 3 tons, making it suitable for sedans, SUVs, and other vehicles within its weight limit.

Lifting Range: Designed to lift vehicles efficiently, ensuring proper clearance for repairs.

2. Convenient All-in-One Design

Multi-Functionality: Includes a scissor jack, impact wrench, and an air inflator in a single kit.

Compact Storage: Comes in a sturdy storage box for easy transport and organization.

3. Easy-to-Use Remote Control

Wireless Operation: Simplifies lifting and lowering, ensuring hands-free convenience and user safety.

Effortless Setup: Simply connect to your car's 12V DC socket for instant power.

4. Double Saddle System

Universal Fit: Double saddles ensure compatibility with different vehicle types and provide enhanced stability during lifting.

5. Emergency Ready

Built-in LED Light: Illuminates your workspace for nighttime or low-light use.

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Specifications

Lifting Capacity: 3 Tons

Power Source: 12V DC (Car Lighter Socket)

Lifting Range: Suitable for standard sedan and SUV clearance heights

Kit Includes:

Scissor lift jack

Remote control

Impact wrench

Air inflator

Carry case

Why Choose VOLTZ TY42?

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Power Connection: Plug the jack into the 12V car socket.

Positioning: Align the jack saddle under your vehicle's lift point.

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Safety Guidelines

Always park your car on a flat surface before use.

Ensure the scissor jack is correctly positioned under the lift point.

Do not exceed the 3-ton capacity.

Get Ready for Any Roadside Challenge

Stay prepared with the VOLTZ TY42 All-in-One Automatic Scissor Lift Jack Set. Perfect for emergencies or DIY vehicle maintenance, this versatile tool is a must-have for every car owner.

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docktechnik2 · 4 days ago

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Scissor Lift Table

DockTechnik offer a range of Loading Bay Scissor Lifting Tables. Our range includes Loading Bay Lifting Tables, Goods Lifting Tables, Scissor Lifting Tables Repairs, Scissor Lifting Tables Service, Scissor Lifting Tables Sales and Design.

Scissor Lift Table

Click Here For More Info-

https://www.docktechnik.com/scissorliftingtables

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surgicaltools · 4 days ago

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The Versatile Uses of Surgical Scissors ✂️💉

Surgical scissors are an essential tool in the medical field, but their utility goes far beyond what meets the eye. Designed for precision, these scissors are crafted to meet various needs during surgical procedures, medical applications, and even beyond. Here’s a breakdown of their uses.

1. Tissue Dissection

Surgeons often use surgical scissors to carefully cut through soft tissues, enabling a clear view of the surgical site. The sharp blades ensure minimal trauma to surrounding tissues.

2. Suture Removal

Specially designed suture scissors make removing stitches a breeze. The small hook on one blade helps lift the suture without pulling on the patient’s skin.

3. Cutting Surgical Materials

From gauze to dressings and bandages, surgical scissors are indispensable for precisely trimming materials to size during a procedure or post-operative care.

4. Microsurgery Applications

Tiny, delicate surgical scissors are used in microsurgery for precise cuts in procedures like eye surgery, vascular surgery, or nerve repair.

5. Specialized Surgeries

Different types of surgical scissors serve specific purposes:

Mayo Scissors for cutting heavy tissues.

Metzenbaum Scissors for cutting delicate tissues.

Iris Scissors for fine, detailed work.

6. Non-Medical Uses

Did you know surgical scissors are also popular outside the OR? Crafters and hobbyists often rely on these sharp, precise tools for intricate projects.

💡 Quick Tip: Always keep surgical scissors clean and sharp for optimal performance. Proper sterilization is critical when using them in medical settings!

Whether in a hospital, clinic, or even your creative workspace, surgical scissors prove their versatility time and again. What other uses have you discovered for this incredible tool? Share your thoughts below! 🩺✨ Find the comprehensive guide to surgical scissors.

#SurgicalScissors #MedicalTools #SurgeryEssentials #Healthcare

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nicsnort · 5 days ago

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The Bookworm and the Beast [part 6]

A dark Scarecrow/Fem!OC romance fanfic

Intro First Previous

Isabel was on the floor cautiously handling the delicate book in her hands. Its deep red cover was hanging on to the spine by mere threads. Slowly, Isabel raised her scissors and cut the remaining threads. Now with the cover removed, she pulled the stray strings out of the cover and picked up her needle. Carefully leveling the pages, Isabel ran the needle through the cotton paper just deep enough to bind them together. When that task was complete she picked up the cover and placed the pages inside, good it still fit properly. Placing the book on the floor, Isabel retrieved the jar of adhesive. With the steadiest hand, she could muster Isabel brushed a thin and even layer of glue onto the inside of the spine. Quickly, before the glue dried, she pressed the pages against the binding and wrapped the book tightly in string to hold it in place.

Isabel smiled softly and set the book down on top of the two other books that she had repaired in the same manner. She began humming as she retrieved another book from the pile. Suddenly the door opened causing her to gasp lightly as the movement and noise broke her restful focus.

"Good morning," Isabel said cheerfully as Dr. Crane stepped into the room. He halted in surprise and one of his thin eyebrows lifted with intrigue.

"Morning," he finally replied setting the tray of food down on the coffee table. "You seem to have gotten a lot done, have you been working long?"

Isabel tilted her head up thinking, "I believe I've been up all night, at least I think so, I have no idea when I woke up. Most of the night then."

"You must be tired," Crane said picking up the tray from last night.

"Not really, you look tired though."

"Being a genius means a lot of sleepless nights," Crane responded immediately.

"That must be nice."

"Insomnia must be nice?"

"No, being a genius."

"It has its high points unfortunately when one is a genius one is often misunderstood."

"That's a cliché," Isabel said moving from the floor onto the couch where she was slightly more equal with Crane.

"A misunderstood genius may be a cliché but intelligence often frightens people and those who know how to use their intelligence even more so."

"I've always found people to be more jealous of intellect than afraid of it." A smirk crossed Crane's lips and he set the tray back down.

"You are correct they are jealous but their jealousy is just an expression of their fear. You see intellect is knowledge and knowledge is power, people fear those who have more power than them and they want to have power over others. That is why they are jealous."

"Then all of Gotham must be jealous of you."

"Most of Gotham is too idiotic to recognize my genius but they have learned the proper fear of me."

"How? You must be one of those costumed criminals I've heard about, but I've never heard of you. What have you done to the city to make them fear you?"

Crane's lips curved up in a smile, "What haven't I done is a better question."

"I'd like to hear."

"You'd like to hear my story?"

"Yes, I feel rather bad that I haven't heard of you before, I would like to hear what you've done." Isabel smiled softly. She was genuinely interested in what Crane had done, not because she felt bad but because hopefully, it would tell her what she could expect from him. He said that he wasn't going to hurt her unless her father displeased him yet somehow she didn't believe that. Crane was obviously intelligent and she didn't trust that he didn't have something planned for her. The clothes, the access to books, why would he give them to her? She had thought about it while she had worked but she didn't know enough about Crane to come up with a conclusion, perhaps knowing his crimes would help with that.

"I'll have to sit it is quite the tale." He settled down in the chair he had occupied yesterday. "Let's see…Gotham City University, that's where it began, I was a professor of psychology and I was conducting my research on the undergrads. They were receiving credit for their work with me and the effects of the gas were far less permanent than they are now, there was nothing unethical with my research everyone gave consent but the College Board misunderstood the strides I was making and they fired me. The fools didn't realize what they were unleashing. Free from the bonds of employment I allowed myself to pursue my experiments without interference and after a year I returned to the University to show them the fruits of my scientific labors. A fear toxin to drive them to suicide, at least it would have if Batman hadn't interfered."

"I'm sorry," Isabel said softly, "but Batman is real?"

The surprise on Crane's face was obvious, "of course. As I was saying, Batman interfered and brought me to Arkham Asylum. Little did I know though that Arkham would be the place of my enlightenment. It was there that I realized that it wasn't only the College Board who needed to be taught the power of fear but all of Gotham. From the idiotic doctors who pawed at my psyche like a cat against glass, to the men working two jobs to keep bread on the table and all the sheep in between, they had to be educated on the driving force of life: fear."

Isabel bit her lip she wanted to interrupt again. She wanted to ask him how fear was the driving force of life but at the same time she had already interrupted once and Isabel didn't think he would take kindly to it again.

"Thus I began my work anew. Escaping the Asylum I have…" Crane's eyes flashed up towards the ceiling as he counted on his fingers. "Oh dear it is quite the list I'll just summarize then, poisoned the water main, twice, gassed several public buildings, and spread general chaos after releasing my toxin through the Gotham streets, not to mention all of the test subjects I have taken to improve my formula. That is how Gotham has learned to fear me, through practice." Crane smiled broadly his small teeth showing for the first time.

"It seems like you get around, what are you…never mind."

"What am I planning this time?" Crane said finishing her question. Isabel nodded and he wagged his long bony pointer finger at her. "Now, now, I can't spoil the surprise. But I've given enough exposition it's your turn now Isabel, as Dr. Lecter said to Clarice, "quid pro quo"."

"Understandable." Isabel's shoulder muscles tightened; what would Dr. Crane want to know about her?

"What, since you seem to be so woefully uninformed about the villains and their counterparts, do you know about Gotham?"

"Alright, it's the second-largest city in America right under Metropolis; however, it is the most dangerous city in America for violent and petty crime, outranking Metropolis by miles. The crime rate has drastically reduced in the past four or five years due to the introduction of the Batman, whom until just now I believed to be a codename for a secret police force to scare criminals, not a real vigilante. Umm…what else…oh, the city's main threat comes from the madman Joker who is the leader of the so-called "Rogues Gallery", which I'm assuming you are a part of as well. Despite its crime-ridden streets Gotham is home to twenty or so Fortune Five hundred companies, including Wayne Industries, Ace Chemicals, and Soder-Cola, making it an excellent place for innovators and inventors to find employment."

"How very textbook," Crane said crossing his legs and leaning back into the chair, "one major thing wrong though. The Joker is not the leader of the Rogues, yes, he has the highest body count and has conducted the most schemes, but he cannot lead what does not exist. The "Rogues Gallery" as it is so eloquently named is simply the media's way of categorizing a certain type of criminal in Gotham, another common term is costumed freaks. We might call ourselves Rogues in passing but none of us have anything in common except that we've all recreated ourselves in a new image. Examples: I, Dr. Jonathan Crane, am the Scarecrow, Edward Nygma is the Riddler, and Jervis Tetch is the Mad Hatter; there is Poison Ivy, Two-Face, Penguin, etcetera, etcetera."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know. Would you prefer me to call you Scarecrow then?"

She had never heard such a chilling laugh before. Somewhere between a cackle and a full-out belly laugh the pitch and rhythm of it made Isabel's spine stiffen with apprehension. Isabel had thought the question entirely appropriate yet when Crane began to laugh she became completely unsure. Could a good question be answered with such a disturbing noise?

Finally, after what seemed like minutes the laughter stopped. "No," Crane said the amusement still etched on his face. "You don't need to call me Scarecrow Dr. Crane is fine, it has been a while since someone has called me that."

"Well then, Dr. Crane, I was wondering, what did you mean fear is the driving force of life?"

Crane's smile widened, "Perhaps next time, I have work to do and so do you." He stood and took the empty tray. "I'll be back later Isabel, maybe then."

Out in the hall, Crane locked the door behind him. This was going better than he thought it would. Isabel was already sympathizing with him, a major step in all Stockholm syndrome cases. It was almost disappointing how easily she had given in. Perhaps the week in the room had broken her more than he thought. Crane's lips curled in a smile if he was further along in his experiment than he thought maybe he could bring the subject beyond mere Stockholm syndrome.

He chuckled again as he let himself into his quarters. Yes, that would be interesting. test. She already had the right mindset inquiring about the power of fear. Oh, she was so innocent, bright-eyed, and curious. It would be such a pleasure to see that corrupted.

The plasticware clicked softly against the tray as Isabel set it down. Her mind was turning to what Crane had told her, she was trying to process the information she had gained. Crane was not only a doctor but he had been a professor as well, of psychology no less, if he was a psychologist Isabel was starting to doubt that she would be able to trick him into giving her information he didn't want to give. She wasn't that good at tricking people, to begin with anyway. To learn that he was a patient at Arkham though caused Isabel to shiver. Crane was legitimately insane and he was an escaped mental patient.

If there was one other thing she knew about Gotham it was that the Arkham Asylum was the residence of the most fearsome criminals. Psychopaths, maniacs, rapists, and all other sorts were held there while doctors attempted to treat them. What kind of mental illness did Crane have? Isabel wondered. Something including narcissism as he obviously thought very highly of himself, he had called himself a god on the first day and how he talked about the poor souls who received his toxin, calling them specimens. Isabel shivered. It was so dehumanizing, perhaps Crane truly was a monster. If he was a monster though, why was he being moderately kind to her?

Isabel groaned cradling her face in her hands. There it was again. That blasted question. Why? Why was he allowing her to have this whole area to herself? Why did he indulge her questions? Why was he allowing her to fix his books and materials like needles and scissors to repair them? Perhaps Crane didn't see her as a threat. If so that was rather offensive. Why couldn't she be a threat? She was smart; she could figure a way out of here.

Instantly Isabel stopped that train of thought. No, Crane had told her that if she tried anything he would drive her father into madness with that toxin; a madness that would kill him. Crane didn't see her as a threat he had no reason to and Isabel wouldn't give him a reason. Whatever his motive was for being "kind" she shouldn't concern herself with it. All Isabel needed to do was not get in the way of anything.

Finished with her meal and, trying to distract herself from any more dangerous thoughts, Isabel picked up one of the books that she had repaired earlier. Unwrapping the string, she checked her work; the binding was perfect, and if it wasn't for the slight discoloration between the original cover and the thread she used to fix it, you wouldn't be able to tell it had been broken in the first place. Flipping the book open with a content smile Isabel began to read.

_________

Masterlist

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