Took a break from reviews for the Get To Know Ya #booktag! Thank you for the tag, @Hamad9626! Tagging: @alysinbookland, @pagesandcc, and @starryskyxandra

Heya! It’s my first time doing a bookish post that aren’t reviews and it’s going to be a book tag. I was tagged by Hamad of The Book Prescription and will tag my new mutuals as well!

I’ve been in the blogosphere for years, but have only decided to be SERIOUSLY active and interact with fellow book nerds like me for the past few weeks. To my new mutuals, hi there! Get to know me with the help…

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Somehow now I’ve cheapened delirium.

These days I float with a fever above

my bed, staring down at my husk in glum

humor. Dear foul body, I want to love

you, but damn! Even cirrhosis never

caused me this much grief and it was killing

me. Float and fret. Float and sweat in a blur

of noise that I can’t construe while passing

skyward. Once I thought consumption cool:

burbling blood just like Paganini.

Black-flecked spittle was so gothic. But now?

Niccolò, when I said, “Give me an old-school

death,” it wasn’t this; rather skag, filthy

deeds and all that deliria might allow.

][][

Notes:

Niccolò Paganini (1782-1840) was a violin virtuoso so astonishingly talented it was rumored that he had sold his soul to the Devil for his crazy skills. Like Dunbar, Chopin, Kafka, Keats and Robert Louis Stevenson, Paganini also died from TB (tuberculosis). Skag is an old nickname for heroin. On a personal note, I mention cirrhosis (a disease of the liver from chronic alcoholism) because I am a life-long alcoholic who would be dead right now if it weren’t for AA (this February 18 will mark four whole years of sobriety for me). While my doctor insists it was not Covid and just borin’ ol’ pneumonia, last year I was bed-ridden for months due to a painful, horrible cough that wouldn’t go away. With the coming of winter I can feel, once again, something in my lungs.

Whumptober Day 15

“I am not the nurse here, but I don’t think that your forehead should be that warm,” Juliet says.

“I’m fine,” Anna giggles.

Juliet grabs the thermometer from Anna’s dresser and swipes it across Anna’s forehead. “103.2. You are not. Let’s get you back to bed.” Juliet lightly pushes Anna back until she sits on the bed in the center of the room.

Anna curls up in her blanket and her mood immediately sours. “But mommy, I’m scared.”

“I’m– What are you scared of?”
“The monster behind you!” Anna buries her face in her pillow.

Juliet takes out her phone to ask Kai about what she was almost certain of–she needs to take Anna to the hospital.

Day 15: Feed a Cold, Starve a Fever

CW:Injuries, blood, hallucinations, delirium

Summary:Eleven’s not feeling so good after escaping capture with some pretty bad injuries to show for it.

Word count: 776

Day Two of being lost in ​the ​Heliodoran wilderness had gone about as good as Day One, if not a little worse.

For one, Eleven had stopped bleeding, although that did not prevent him from being terrified that he was still going to die.

He had never gone this long without healing magic nor a stable food supply​​. He guessed that, at his pace, he was making it about ten miles every day when he wanted to be going forty. It didn’t help that he was still pretty badly injured, with little more than the clothing on his back, the waterskin he’d snatched, and any random items he found in the wilderness that he thought might be useful, like berries.

He would have searched for the camp from before if he thought he could find it but backtracking in this snowy weather seemed like a bad idea.

He set out early the next morning, aiming for a leisurely, forgiving pace, although the fresh scars on his face felt like they were going to pop and start bleeding any moment. “Any progress is good progress.” That sounded like something ​C​halky had said once.

El licked his lips as his knees wobbled. He moved slowly through the underbrush— he was fortunate that most monsters scattered upon first sight of him though he still ached for a sword.

At some point, Eleven’s head began to pitch to one side. He stretched out his arms and caught himself before he’d fallen head-first into the dirt, landing on his knees instead, black spots clouding his vision.

Goddess, he was starting to see things. His eyes blurred and refocused on the foliage in front of him, reading a pair of shoes before they sharpened into browning leaves again.

Eleven rubbed the side of his face and pulled his hand away, seeing blood. His mind raced. Had he hit his head?

He yanked a strip of cloth from his pocket and dabbed at his face. The cloth came out a shock of red.

Panic coursed through him.

Calm down. Calm down. So the scabbing isn’t going so well. It’s fine. You’re still breathing. You’re still bleeding. No, breathing.

He shook his head and kept the cloth pinned to the spot that was bleeding as he walked onward. Now was not the time to be losing hope. He’d just become lunch for a hungry monster if he stayed out here much longer.

His thoughts became more nonsensical the longer he went until eventually he just stared ​a​t the brown strip of a ​dirt ​path in front of him, all other thoughts having left his mind. He didn’t remember when he’d found the path and didn’t know where the snow went. He just knew his feet inched forward on it and that his side screamed, hot and itchy, possibly of an infected wound.

When a hand tapped his shoulder, he jerked backward and almost fell again. A stranger grabbed him by his shoulders to steady him.

“Goddess! What happened to yourface?”

The stranger’s voice came out garbled, half sensical. Eleven looked up and frowned.

A tall man stood in front of him. He had some facial hair, although it blurred together on his face. Eleven pitched to one side again, leaning on the arms that anchored him.

The man gestured ahead. “Let me help you, ya poor thing!”

Eleven was in no state to refuse, so he bowed his head and followed. He was getting too good at following other people around.

The man had a carriage with one horse and a stack of hay bales in the back. He helped Eleven onto them and gestured for him to lay down, promising they were only a little distance from his home.

Eleven’s head exploded with pain as soon as he lay down, the scratchy hay working underneath his shirt to poke at his wounded side. It felt like a cruelcumber was stabbing him — both there and at his forehead.

The cart started moving, its creaky wooden wheels rolling across dirt. Adrenaline kept Eleven awake even though he was exhausted enough to sleep for days, his eyes fluttering closed as he stared at trees that twisted into figures and heard sounds he knewweren’t really there but still paralyzed him with fear.

TW: pet whump, dehumanization, heat stroke, heat exhaustion, conditioning, rescue, careless whumper, environmental whump, locked in a hot car, hallucinations, delirium

Tagging:@sideblogformindtrash@unicornscotty@tears-and-lilies@getyourwhumphere@cupcakes-and-pain@twistedcaretaker@heathenville@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi@cowboy-anon@springwoodscagedbird@thelazywitchphotographer

Heat of Summer

It was such a perfect day, not too warm but no longer as chilly as it had been the past few weeks. Niner lay happily sprawled out on the lawn, soaking up the warm spring sun. The door leading to the backyard opened and the greatest master and owner in the whole world came out of the house. It made the pet grin and scramble up out of the soft grass and crawl over happily.

“Hi Master!” Niner said warmly, pure admiration soaking the two simple words.

“Hey K-9, wanna go to the store with me?” Hayes asked, only now glancing up from his phone.

An eager nod quickly followed from the boy, he loved going on trips no matter how long or short. Soon enough Hayes had gotten the harness on him and they were walking to the car. He tugged eagerly on the lead, nearly dragging his owner to the car.

“Alright, alright. Relax!” Hayes snapped and yanked sharply on the harness, knocking Niner off balance and scraping up his hands and knees.

“I'm…I’m sorry, Master.” Niner said miserably, his heart hurt.

“Whatever, get in the car.” A scowl on Hayes’ face as he opened the car door.

Niner climbed in, curling up on the floor of the backseat, taking up as little room as he could in an attempt to make Hayes happy with him again.

The ride was bumpy, making the pet happy he couldn’t see out the window, it would’ve made him sick and that would’ve made his owner even more upset with him.

The car came to a stop and Hayes got out, the automatic locks engaged. Niner began to paw at the door, sitting up on his knees and watching his beloved owner walk into the store without him. A sad whine escaped his throat, he wanted to go with him.

Minutes passed, it started to get warmer in the car which made the pet start to sweat. Time seemed to drag on and he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or if the car seemed to warm up even more. He wanted to be good still, be perfect for the most perfect person in the world. Even though his brain was simple, he was beginning to struggle to think the most basic thoughts.

“Master?” He asked to the nothingness of the car interior.

“Yes I’m being good, just like you told me to be.” Niner said warmly, despite being alone.

He looked up at the window, sweat now pouring down his face and arms, it made him giggle. It was like a nice swim in the pool, the water cool against his skin and the warm sun overhead kept him comfortable and cozy.

The car door opened and cool air rushed in, hands grabbing his body and moving him. He laughed and couldn’t understand the silly words the blurry faces around him said.

——————-

“What the fuck in wrong with you?! You left your pet in the car on the hottest day of the year so far??!” The woman who’d dragged Niner from the car snapped at Hayes.

“I didn’t think it was that hot. It’s only spring,” Hayes said, clearly annoyed.

“Yeah and you could’ve killed him!” She yelled as Niner sang complete nonsense that no longer even sounded like words.

“Ugh relax, he’ll be fine.” The man snapped back.

The woman rolled her eyes and doused Niner’s body and face with cool water to bring his temperature down to something more reasonable. She really didn’t want to send the poor pet with this awful man.

Death & Delirium by Laura braga