she/her
A writer who is trying to get used to people seeing her work.
I am a great enjoyer of whump, angst, hurt/comfort, sci-fi, fantasy,
and so much in between!
I hope to publish a book one day!
Formerly silvercrystalwhump
TW: implied past noncon body modification, medical setting, disassociation, implied past medical whump, conscious surgery/sedation
-
The University of Cawthorne has one of the best funded Academic Medical Centers on the east coast. One of two hospitals in the city, its famous for its professors and doctors with niche specialties. It was one of the few hospitals that could also assist meta-humans, having specialized facilities for accommodating them. It was a beautiful campus. Now, one of those talented professors reserved an operating room in an eerily empty floor with a patient with “spinal-muscular problems”. Gail doesn’t know how Miriam is able to just claim an operating room overnight, but she’s laying on the table nonetheless.
The entire surgery is a series of odd solutions to an even odder patient.
Gail can’t handle general anesthesia. Half of the medications don’t work properly with her modifications and the other half she came out of violently. Even if this wasn’t an under the table surgery, the last thing Gail wanted to do is electrify Miriam the moment she woke up. Miriam’s solution ended up being epidural anesthesia. It was one shot, at least that’s what Gail believes. She can’t feel anything under her neck. Her back, arms, and legs are a sea of blissful numbness. It took away most of the ambient pain and tingling that her mangled wires gave her.
She can almost fall asleep.
From the parts of her body she can still feel, the medical table is almost uncomfortably cold. The surgical center is kept at a temperature Gail swears is just below room temperature. Enough to be perfectly comfortable when clothed, but significantly less so in the paper dress patients wear. The hairs across the back of her neck stand on end and she assumes the rest do as well. The gentle deft from the air vents brush across them. She fights off a shiver. The fans above her head hum faintly.
Those things keep her awake.
Gail focuses instead on Miriam’s quiet noises as she works on her back. A part of Gail is morbidly curiosity to see her exposed muscles. She knows that her wires weave through the muscle, dip into tendons, and poke holes in her spine. Today’s surgery is an attempt to pull some of them off her cervical spinal nerves. If Miriam’s theory is correct, which Gail really hopes it is, shifting some of those wires off them should reduce the pain spikes across her back. It is a Hail Mary neither she nor Miriam want to admit, but the only person who knows her endosuit well enough to make any true changes is the same man who installed them in her spine.
She would rather deal with chronic spinal pain her entire life than ever see Dr. Reinhardt again.
Dully, Gail acknowledges the odd pressure of Miriam’s gloved hands working up her body. The tension in her skin as it sits pulled apart form her body throbs painlessly in the back of her mind. Vaguely, she feels Miriam’s scalpel carefully split the muscle anchoring her wires down. A pinpoint of pressure pokes at Gail as Miriam pulls one of the wires free from her flesh and reattaches it slightly southward. Pull and push. Over and Over.
While Gail can’t feel anything painful, blood still has a smell. Its irony and sweet reek floats past her face into the ventilation system. This operating room smells like sterility locked in a constant war with copper wires. The faint sound of muscle and metal moving also ripple from her back. Its a sound so subtle that if she wasn’t well versed in its hymns she’d never notice it. The lack of taste in her mouth didn’t help either. She understands with a certainty why surgeons prefer general anesthesia. The complete deprivation of the senses, or at least their mark on the memory, helps ward away panic in ways most people will never comprehend.
She’s a bit grateful that Miriam refused to feed her morbid curiosity and let her watch.
Then, poking through Gail’s daze, Miriam’s voice presses through the surgical mask, “You’re doing great.”
“Thanks,” Gail says, her voice farther from her than she can acknowledge until the words are already floating between them.
Out of sight, sitting somewhere that would normally be used by medical students, Lillian speaks up, "Are you almost done, Miriam?”
"Almost," she answers, sounding deeply focused. "I just need to stitch up these wounds and we'll be done."
Gail slowly turns her head around. An odd ripple of sensations that aren’t pain but are not pleasant travels up the base of her skull. She cranes it around, catching the corner of the observation area with her peripheral vision. Gail tries to project her voice, "I'm fine, I've been through worse surgeries."
While Gail doesn’t see it, she knows that Lillian's brow furrows, but she doesn't retort further.
"If it helps," Gail continues with a light chuckle, "If this goes well, some of my pain will die down."
Miriam speaks from behind her, "It should, you sit very well for a conscious patient! Most of these wires are also separating from your tendons very politely."
Gail lets out a breath that makes do for a replacement laugh. “I’m glad they’re behaving.”
Lillian gives her own chuckle, but it has that shallowness that laughter caused by mimicry does. Gail tries to shoot Lillian a comforting look, but the angle of the operating table makes that difficult.
"Let me finish bandaging you up, Gail," Miriam hums, "And we'll be done."
"Do we have painkillers for her recovery," Lillian asks, relief twinging the edge of her voice.
"I don't think I'll need anything stronger than ibuprofen,” Gail adds, more consciousness returning to her voice.
"I’m giving her a epidural steroid injection," Miriam answers, shooting me a playfully scolding look. “It should help manage the pain in the following weeks.”
"We appreciate it, Miriam," Lillian says with an authority that Gail doesn’t push back against.
Miriam finishes and Gail can barely feel the edges of the bandages as she wraps them across her back. Habit keeps Gail perfectly still as Miriam stands. Her latex gloves snap off and fall into the trash. Gail tenses up and looks up, trying to count ceiling tiles. Miriam’s initial clean up and steps into postoperative care feels longer than the surgery in itself. A panic that simmers like barely boiled water starts to turn up the heat. The room feels less and less like Cawthorne Medical Center and more like a facility hidden behind white-lies and bribery.
Come on, Gail. Get it together.
“Luckily,” Miriam starts as she begins to unlock the bottom of the medical table, “Your epidural shot should be wearing off soon. In about an hour you should be able to walk.”
Miriam spins the table around so Gail can see Lillian. She flashes Lillian a weak smile and focuses on her face. Her angular features, her braided hair, her good, but not too good posture. It’s grounding. Lillian smiles back and stands. Gail watches her make her way towards the door separating the observation station and the waiting area.
Gail wonders what lies that Lillian and Miriam had to spin for this surgery to happen. She can sense that the cameras that hung around the room are disabled. The hum of electric current that sat in the back of her mind is noticeably absent from them. Her electrokinesis pricks along her wires and she can feel the changes in numb flesh. Sensation of being suspends over a sea of nothingness. She hears Lillian speak, but the syllables don’t make sense. There’s only the faintest ring of electrical pulses.
She doesn’t remember getting into a wheelchair.
She doesn’t remember getting out to Lillian’s car.
Her senses are hers again as she apparently allows Lillian to help her back into the car. Dawn is starting to creep over the horizon. Pinks and reds start to stretch across the sky. Miriam stands behind Gail as Lillian takes most of Gail’s weight and moves her into the car.
“It’s morning already?” Gail asks as she rests onto the passenger seat. Her voice is still at that odd distance she can’t quite place. The medication is slowly beginning to wear off. Her torso is now a quiet buzz of sensation. Instinctively, she wiggles her toes. On old ache inches back into her spine and the edges of her fingers. Its not as loud as it could be, but its certainly present.
Nerve damage is an odd thing. Gail internally marvels at how the internal circuitry of the human body could unwind like the very wires in her body.
Miriam nods, “I know, time flies when your focused.”
“I thought it was when you were having fun?” Gail lazily chuckles.
“I would hope I would enjoy the thing I spent almost a decade studying,” Miriam says with a playfulness in her eyes.
“Miriam,” Lillian almost cuts her off.
Miriam pauses and gives Gail an apologetic smile.
It’s silent as Lillian finishes helping her into the car. Normally, it would bother Gail that the silence is in homage to her condition. However, she’s in no condition to talk or even think about why that is. She flexes her fingers, pressing her head into the headrest. Gail closes her eyes and feels around for the broken electrical system in her nerves. Her electrokinetics aren’t so fine-tuned for her to actually pull and manipulate it. But, if she really focuses, it could feel like a hair resting on the skin of her artificial meta-gene.
A few sparks pop off her skin. A reflex.
Gail watches Lillian say her goodbyes to Miriam and walk around the side of the car. Lillian opens her car door and steps inside. Gail hears the key slide into the ignition and she feels the electrics in the car roar to life. Biting back the urge to reach out and play with it, Gail lets herself settle into the seat.
“How are you feeling?” Lillian asks as she starts to drive off.
“Numb,” Gail answers as the hollowness begins to leave her voice, “But that’s normal after stuff like this.”
Lillian exhales, “Is it better than before?”
Gail smiles dryly, “We’ll find out.”
“Gail…” Lillian says, “You can advocate if you don’t want to go through these procedures if they’re too much. Miriam won’t be offended.”
“I appreciate the thought, but I’m fine.”
“I mean it,” Lillian says with a comforting authority, “If this is too much like your time as Conduit—”
“I don’t want to think about that right now.”
Lillian goes silent and Gail catches the furrow of her eyebrows. Thankfully, she says nothing further as she drives them back home.
It's been awhile since I've put a song verse on here, huh? This came about from me wanting to draw Garroth and Vylad in his Shadow Knight form at the same time, making me combine the ideas :3
1993: Andrew Fox was only looking to make friends. After a full year floating through day to day life at St. Acacius, he's determined to pad out his social circle. When achieving that goal involves an eighty-year-old ritual and saddles him with something not of this world, Andrew has the choice to run away or face it head on.
St. Acacius' Preparatory had been a fixture of the Midatlantic Region since 1799. Founded to serve and shape the children of the local elite, the academy has developed generations of forward-thinkers guided by core values of integrity, equality, community, and stewardship. Beyond the brochure, St. Acacius has been the epicenter of local lore, of rumors and strange happenings; hauntings, witchcraft, monstrous sightings, and unexplained disappearances.
Available for purchase on Gumroad, and on Amazon for Kindle and now Paperback!
Thank you so much for your support! If you enjoyed, please leave a review or a comment — I would love to know what you think!
I know this isn't my standard fare anymore, but I do still write original fiction and -- occasionally -- publish it! This is pretty much a shame-filled self reblog, but if you like shorter stories, gothic/southern gothic vibes, and high schoolers messing around with ghosts, then this might be for you.
2087
izzy806
prguitarman
andulkaphoto
dailybridgerton
