#3 Degree Burn Treatment

[swastikacancerfoundation]

Cosmetic Surgeon In Lucknow

Dr Nikhil Puri offers a comprehensive suite of Hair Transplant in Lucknow services, using cutting-edge methods to ensure precision, safety, and effective results. Our key services include:

[a-shade-of-blue]

Urgent: Help Mahmoud's 17 Family Members Escape from Frequent Bombings!

Hi everyone. Mahmoud (@mahmoudfamily1) is trying to raise fund to evacuate 17 members of his family (including no fewer than 5 children!), and he has asked me to share his story.

Mahmoud found out the bombing of her sister Tasnim’s husband’s house, the house his entire family was staying at, on the news. He could not contact his family for 3 days after that. He knew that several people had died and several more injured, but he did not know whom among his family survived, and who didn’t.

When he finally managed to reach them, he found out that a close relative, named Alaa, had been killed, along with her children: Ahmed and baby Iman who was not even one month old yet. Alaa was a beloved member of their family. She was optimistic and tried hard to cheer everyone else up. For the longest time, Alaa believed that the world would not turn away from their suffering and the war would end soon. But an airstrike took her and her children’s lives, the bombing continued, and the world remains indifferent.

Mahmoud’s sister Tasnim, was severely injured in the bombing. The attack happened while the family was sleeping, and Tasnim woke up to find her body injured and broken, bleeding heavily with bones sticking out of her leg. She found her 6-month-old daughter under the rubble, severely injured, but thankfully still alive. Tasnim's leg was fractured in multiple places, so severely injured that they all thought it had to be amputated. Tasnim’s husband and her 6-month-old daughter, her father-in-law, her brothers-in-law and Alaa’s husband were all severely injured by the bombing.

A few days later, Mahmoud’s family narrowly survived a second bombing on the street, as the people behind them, too slow to escape from the attack, were killed. They hid in their car, watching the plane flying above dropping bombs, praying that it would not target their car.

Given Tasnim and her 6-month-old daughter’s severe injuries, the family used a lot of money and exhausted all means to get them out of Gaza to receive the essential medical treatment they require. While Tasnim and her youngest daughter managed to evacuate, the rest of Mahmoud’s 17 family members, including Tasnim’s 2-year-old daughter who sustained first degree burns from the bombing, are still trapped in Gaza.

Mahmoud’s 17 family members (including no fewer than 5 children!) risk being killed and injured from the frequent airstrikes every day. They have narrowly escaped death no fewer than 5 times. On 31 August, the IOF dropped bombs on the tent next to theirs, killing 9 young men and women, and Mahmoud’s family woke up to their broken bodies.

Look at the photos Mahmoud sent me. These children, they are all trapped in Gaza where bombs may fall on them anytime. Please do not look away. Please help Mahmoud’s 17 family members reach safety!!

Mahmoud’s campaign is vetted by association. Mahmoud is @hazempalestine's friend, see post here for proof. @hazempalestine is vetted by @/el-shab-hussein and is listed as #281 on the verified fundraiser list by @/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi.

I’ve been trying to boost Hazem’s campaign, but we are both worried about Mahmoud’s campaign as donations are coming in really slowly for him. I hope you will support Mahmoud’s campaign and help him evacuate his 17 family members as well!

Extremely Low Funds! As of 3 September, Only $147 CAD raised of $80,000 goal! Last donation was 19 hours ago!!!

Please follow Mahmoud on @mahmoudfamily1 to get updates on his family's situation! And also, please, please, share/reblog, and donate if you can! Every donation helps!!

[honeybuckin10]

Hospital Beds - a Hawks x fem!doctor!reader One Shot

Summary: Hawks heals more than his wings after the Paranormal Liberation War attacks [wc: 4.6k].  

Warnings: mentions of mental health struggles, mentions of character death, descriptions of wounds, swearing, angst, fluff, comfort, potentially unpopular Hawks opinions. characters slightly aged up.

a/n: started writing thinking this was gonna be cute and flirty, ended up taking a kind of serious turn (still otherwise cute and flirty with happy-ish ending). might do a spicier part 2 at some point. as always, don’t be a ghost reader pls and ty <3

Hawks’ eyes were focused on the window, lost in thought. There was a crowd gathered outside Central Hospital. From the muffled voices through the glass, it didn’t sound like they were there for support. He felt the span of his back against the hospital bed, a sensation both foreign and grounding. The space where his wings once were stung slightly at the contact, despite the heavy nerve blockers he assumed were administered earlier.

“Back again so soon?”

You broke him from his trance as you shut the door behind you. Your eyes immediately scanned his monitors, a pleasant smile never leaving your face.

“At some point, we really do have to get your heart rate checked out.”

He didn’t actually have a high heart rate. But the machines he was hooked up to always went crazy whenever he got sight of you. He was too embarrassed to say anything, though he wondered if you noticed why his charts never reflected any underlying conditions when his vitals were checked by others.

“You’re not a very good patient, you know. Though now that you can’t talk, perhaps you’ll actually listen.”

He tried to respond, but quickly remembered he couldn’t open his jaw, not very much at least. No sound came out of the small gap between his lips.

You had treated Hawks on several occasions now, usually after incidents involving fire. Most were minor. He’d come in and joke that he’d done it on purpose to see you. You’d roll your eyes, every now and then you’d even dignify him with an actual response: ‘nice try’. But his injuries now were unlike anything you’d ever seen. You knew it was bad when he didn’t try flirting with you. Then again, it’s not like he could even if he wanted to.

Your tone was light and breezy, but the furrow in your brow betrayed your façade.

“I’m only joking, of course. But in all seriousness, your trachea was severely damaged from the smoke inhalation during the attack. Fortunately you narrowly avoided respiratory failure, but you won’t be able to use your voice for a couple of weeks. Lucky for you, technology has advanced enough that you won’t have to carry around a notepad everywhere you go. We recommend using the voice app on your phone.”

You handed him his cell phone, when Hawks noticed a plastic bag of personal items behind you with unknown origins. You followed his eyes to see what was distracting him.

“Oh yes, a young man named Tokoyami brought you a change of clothes and some other things you may need while you were out. Said he was your mentee.” You paused, searching for some kind of reaction. You thought it might brighten his spirits. His eyes widened somewhat, but there was still no smile. “It’s clear you’ve had a big impact on him.”

Tokoyami. His mentee. A child. More memories of the battlefield came flooding back. Twice. Dabi. He knew you hoped that bringing up his pupil would put him at ease. But Hawks was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt that he had put the student is such a dangerous situation.

“I also spoke with Dermatology. They informed me that sixteen percent of your body is covered with third degree burns, another twenty percent second degree, and twenty-two percent first degree. Given the severity and location of the burns, you’re also at risk of developing contractures that could compress your airways in the future so we’ll need to keep a close eye on that. Once your wraps come off, they’ve prescribed you a topical treatment that you’re to use three times a day until everything is healed. You’ll also be started on an oral antibiotic immediately, which you’re to take for three weeks.”

He attempted to use his new voice.

“What about wings?” You took a deep breath. Not good.

“I’m getting to that. I’m going to adjust your bed a little first. Are you able to lean forward?” He nodded as the bed rose up and the angle of his back moved more upright. He winced, unable to hide his discomfort but did as you instructed.

“I’m sorry, I know this is painful for you. I’m going as quickly as I can.” You talked through how you were examining his dressings, that his biggest risk at the moment was that the wounds would get infected, and that the dressings would need to be changed again before the end of the day.

“I think they will grow back. But it will be painful and it will be slow. You must be patient during this time and you’ll have to stay out of the field for a while. I’d recommend taking a well-deserved break until they’re fully healed.”

Bedrest sounded like Hawks’ personal hell. He only nodded his head. He didn’t have the energy to protest.

“You’ll also need to go through a psychiatric evaluation before rejoining field.”

Hawks let out a muffled groan. You let out an exasperated laugh.

“Really, you didn’t make a peep when I was examining your open wounds but you draw the line at psych eval?” You watched as he typed out his next thought.

“Waste of time.” Your eyes softened.

“First of all, this is standard procedure. Endeavor, Mirko, Eraserhead, all those UA students are going to have to get one too. Second, even if it wasn’t, what you – what you’ve all gone through would cause even the strongest soldier some kind of stress. We want to make sure that you’re all in the right headspace so that you’re the most prepared you can be going against whatever this enemy is. You have to take care of yourself first before you can take care of others.”

Hawks sat there a moment in silence, absorbing your words. Wondering whether you would be so sympathetic and kind if you knew the truth. He began typing.

“I killed someone,” the unnatural voice said. It came from him, but it didn’t feel like him. It echoed against the walls of the sterile room, void of emotion.

You pulled a chair next to his bed so that you were slightly below his eye level.

“I heard. That must be a lot to carry.”

“You hate me.”

“I don’t.”

“I’m a bad person.”

“You’re not.” You paused, choosing your next words carefully for the fragile hero. “I don’t know what your world is like. I wasn’t there so I don’t know exactly what happened. But I do know that we are both in the business of saving lives, albeit in different ways. My guess is you made a split second decision on what was in the mission’s best interest to save the lives of your colleagues and ultimately the lives of civilians. Nobody has a crystal ball to know whether that was the best or right choice. But it was a life or death situation, and you did the best you could in the moment. It’s natural to feel remorse and guilt, but you can’t let it debilitate you for the rest of your life either.”

What right did you have to comment on such things?

“You’ve never killed someone,” he countered.

“I have. In my OR. There are some people that can’t be saved, no matter how hard you try.”

“I think he was a good person,” he typed, wondering if that negated everything you just said.

“Good people do bad things all the time. It doesn’t make them bad people.” He sighed, swallowing the searing pain as harsh air passed through his lungs. You watched closely as the hero studied his bandaged hands, refusing to make eye contact. “For now, the best thing you can do for yourself and Japan is rest. We need you.”

He sat with your words. It didn’t dawn on him until long after you left the room that you weren’t just talking about Twice.

-

As you warned, the days passed at a glacial pace. He didn’t enjoy how quickly he acclimated to talking through his phone. He had growing pains from the nubs of his wings that began to poke through his skin. Each day brought a revolving door of doctors and healers and other specialists, by whom he was constantly poked and prodded and observed. Hawks hated every minute of it. Almost every minute.

You came in daily to monitor the progress of his wings. It was the most painful part of his recovery. But you entered his room with a smile and sunny disposition, like you weren’t about to inflict torture on him for thirty minutes. The air hurt his exposed back when you removed the old bandages. It stung when you applied antiseptic to cleanse the area. It felt like he was going to pass out when you ran your gloved fingers along the growth that was coming in. He felt all the more pathetic laying on his stomach as you did your work.

But you did your best to distract him with bad jokes and hospital gossip. Not that you had to put in that much effort. Your presence was distracting enough.

On the fourth day after the battle, you finally got a chuckle out him. What’s black and white and black and white and black and white? He shrugged as you applied ointment. A penguin falling down the stairs. You quickly realized that your methods may have been faulty as his laugh devolved into a coughing fit, his lungs still weak.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Try to remember your box breathing.”

He held his breath at the top of his inhale. Four, three, two, one. Exhale. Four, three, two, one. He repeated this for a minute before his breath finally returned to normal. He gave a thumbs up. I’m ok.

Relief washed over your face. “I’m sorry I made you choke on air. But glad to see you in better spirits today.” He began typing.

“I’m always in good spirits when you’re around.” You bit back a smile no one could see as you started redressing the incoming wings.

“Ah, there he is. Yeah, you’re definitely starting to feel better.”

“Can’t you tell? I’m the pinnacle of health.” The gallows humor was hard to miss despite the monotone robotic voice, the statement in stark contrast to his fully bandaged and hospitalized body.

“You will be, soon enough.” You finished applying new bandages. “That’s it for me today, unless there’s anything else you want to share.”

“Capricorn. 27. Single –“

“Yeah, yeah, very funny.” You pulled off your disposable gloves, turning to hide the blush creeping up your neck. “I already knew that from your chart. Nice try,” you teased.

“Didn’t know you were stalking me.”

“Goodbye Hawks, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You knew your faux sternness was hardly believable, as you caught him wink before you closed the door.

-

Two days later you bumped into Hawks and Best Jeanist in the hallway. You broke into a wide grin when you noticed the two heroes, pleasantly surprised to see just how much progress your patient had made in such a short time.  

“Good morning gentlemen.”

“Good morning Dr. y/l/n,” Best Jeanist said with a small bow. Hawks was visibly confused about his formality.

“Please, there’s no need for that. It’s just good to see you back in the land of the living.” Best Jeanist helped fill in the gaps for his perplexed cohort.

“Hawks, Dr. y/l/n was part of the team who developed the drugs to put me in a temporary death-like state to convince Dabi that you’d killed me. We can thank her for setting us up for success to get you undercover.” Hawks knew he missed out on a lot during his covert mission, but had no idea how many parties were involved outside the ordinary network of hero agencies and the Commission. You blushed at the praise.

“It was nothing, really. You guys are the ones doing all the hard work.”

“Truly, we are in your debt,” Best Jeanist piled on. You weren’t used to so much flattery and you had a job to do so you tried to end the conversation.

“Anyways, I have to get to my next patient. Jeanist, keep an eye on your partner. It’s good for him to walk around a little bit but make sure he doesn’t overdo it.”

“I won’t let him out of my sight.” He gave another bow.

“I’m right here,” Hawks typed, unamused by the turn of the exchange.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, Hawks,” you yelled over your shoulder before disappearing down the next corridor.

The session later that day was nothing out of the ordinary. The nubs sprouting from his back had formed into tiny but well-defined wings and he was able to sit up during exams as opposed to lying face down on the hospital bed. All signs of positive progress.

He watched wistfully as you documented your observations, swaying his legs off the side of the bed like a child.

“They’re coming in quite nicely, I’m really happy with where you’re at.”

“Great what do I need to sign to get out of here?”

“Ahhh not so fast. You have to stay at least another two days and even once you’re discharged, you most certainly are not ready to return to active duty.” He pouted underneath his respirator mask.

“You’re no fun.”

“Sorry, just doing my job.” You proceeded to check his other vitals before heading out. First you took off his mask to check his lymph nodes, pressing your fingers firmly against the outer side of his jaw, moving down his neck. He was acutely aware of the lone thin layer of latex that separated you. He couldn’t stop the warmth that crept up his face, thankful that most of it was still covered. His flushed cheeks may have been under wraps, but he couldn’t hide his quickened pulse from you. You put on your stethoscope and instructed him to breathe deeply a few times, the cold metal circle moving from his upper back, to lower back, to his chest.  

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Your lungs are sounding better but your heart’s beating like crazy.”

He feigned surprise, which was much easier when he didn’t have to control his own voice. “Really? That’s odd, no one else’s said anything.”

You pulled up his chart again to check the inputs of all the other practitioners who’ve treated the hero since his arrival at Central Hospital. All values normal.

“On a scale from one to ten, how much pain are you in at this point?”

“Two or three.”

“Are you feeling nervous about anything?” He chewed his lower lip trying to think of a way to get out of this, knowing that if he said no you would run more tests which would be unnecessary and prolong his stay.

“Yes,” he lied. Kind of. He actually was a little nervous, though definitely not for the reason you likely thought. You brought your chair next to his bed again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” A loaded question.

“No.” The good thing about talking through his phone and the mask was that he could get away with saying less. Sympathetic people tended to not ask follow up questions.

“Okay. Well, you know I’m always here if you ever want to talk.” You spoke slowly, your reassuring voice laced with uncertainty. It was difficult to get a read on him when you couldn’t hear the tone of his voice or see his face. “Do you have any questions?” He nodded.

“Will you go on a date with me?” You almost choked on your own saliva. You blushed, but forced yourself to remain stoic.

“I’m very flattered, but there are strict protocols against physician-patient relationships.” Your stern message was undercut by your stammering, high pitched squeak.

“What if I promise to never get hurt again?” You tried not to smile, knowing it would only egg him on. You were failing.

“You shouldn’t be making promises you can’t keep.”

“What if I find a different doc?”

“You’ve gotten awfully good at talking through your phone,” you muttered under your breath.

“Can’t hear you.” Despite his mostly covered face, you could tell from the crinkle around his eyes that he was enjoying every moment of this interrogation.

“I-I’d have to take it up with the Board of Ethics.”

“That’s not a no.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Can I say one more thing?” You sighed, bracing yourself for whatever nonsense he was about to spew.

“I’d rather you didn’t but legally I think I have to say yes.” You watched as his thumbs frantically moved over the keyboard.

“Thank you for taking care of Best Jeanist. This operation wouldn’t’ve gotten so far without him or you.”

“Oh.” Your felt your heartbeat in your throat. “Again, just doing my job. Glad I could help.” You fiddled with some papers. “Let’s try this one more time. Do you have any other questions… about your health.”

Hawks shook his head, looking exceptionally pleased with himself. Despite the fact that you wanted to scold him for the bizarre interaction, you were reassured by his pleasant disposition, one you hadn’t seen since he arrived.

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

-

Tomorrow rolled around but you entered an empty sterile room, bed ready for a new patient. After a few seconds your confusion passed and you saw red.

You stormed down the hall in search for any hospital staff, until a poor resident had the unfortunate luck of being in your path.

“Where the hell is my patient?”

“I-I’m sorry?”

“Room 3409. Yesterday my patient was there and today the room is empty. He wasn’t ready to be discharged so where is he?”

“I-I-I don’t know ma’am, I’m sorry.”

“Dr. y/l/n, this is a hospital, not wrestlemania if you could keep it down please. And stop traumatizing the junior residents.” Hawks’ pulmonologist emerged from his office and tried to placate you. You glowered at the first young doctor as he silently excused himself from the conversation that was definitely beyond his paygrade.  

“Please tell me he got moved to a different wing.”

“I’m afraid not.” He spoke again before you could let out another outburst. “I warned him of the risks of a premature discharge, to which he insisted he was feeling fine and that those were risks he was willing to take. I had him fill out some paper work and a consent form and he left this morning.” Your nostrils flared as you silently seethed.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that so I don’t have to report you. Oh, and one more thing…” The doctor took a deep breath before proceeding, worried he may end up the subject of your wrath. “This is probably terrible timing, but – he requested to take you off his care team,” your eyes widened “…and should he be re-hospitalized that you not be involved.”

“WHAT?” You continued mumbling a string of profanities under your breath. The doctor continued slowly and calmly.

“He made it very clear it had nothing to do with the quality of care he received from you. But he uh, mentioned something about a potential conflict of interest.” He took a step back as you burned an imaginary hole through his head with your retinas. “I cannot emphasize enough how much I do not want to know any more information about this.”

“There is no more information about it because it doesn’t exist!” You wanted to scream. “Fuck him. Fuck you. Fuck this hospital. I’msosorryItakethoselasttwoback.” You stomped your foot down like a petulant child before storming off. “FUCK!”

-

By the next day you had cooled off, that is, until you saw Hawks loitering outside Endeavor’s room as you were making your rounds.

“YOU!” you boomed. Hawks’ excitement to see you was quickly replaced with fear as you approached and you were close enough that he could see the rage steaming off you.

“Hey doc,” he said sheepishly.

“Don’t you ‘hey doc’ me.” You were very close to his face. He was sure he would’ve felt your breath if he didn’t have the stupid respirator mask on. For a split second he thought about taking it off but realized that would only further enrage you. “What the hell were you thinking?”

He began typing but you swatted his hand before he could answer. “Ow.”

“And you –“ Best Jeanist would be the next recipient of your verbal lashings. “You said you would keep an eye on him. Liar.”

Hawks had never seen his colleague scared before, but there was a first for everything.

“He just wanted to come for a ride-along, I promise he stayed in the car the whole time!”

“I have never been more disappointed,” you said in a low voice. Best Jeanists bowed.

“I am very ashamed and deeply regret my actions. I am sorry.” That seemed to pacify you momentarily. You returned your wrath to Hawks.

“I told you you’re not ready to return to the field. And now I hear you’re refusing to receive treatment from me? I cannot explain to you how embarrassed and insulted I am.” You allowed him time to type this time as Best Jeanist stood there as witness, desperately wishing for the floor to open below and swallow him whole.

“You’re right. I’m not ready. But this enemy is moving too quickly, time is of the essence. I’m in good enough shape that I can help off the field. I’m sorry I went against your professional judgement.” You continued to glare at him with pursed lips.

“And?”

“And I was being proactive. I’m taking you on that date.” Your face flushed immediately while the avian hero somehow remained shameless. You did your best to maintain your composure.

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.” You crossed your arms defensively.

“After a stunt like this, I wouldn’t be so sure. Plus, since you’ve already taken it upon yourself to be discharged I’m not sure why you’re even here.”

“Now that we know about the Todoroki family connection to Dabi, we need to gather intel. Also need to consolidate info from those at the Jaku Hospital attack. Off-field work, if you will.” Your eyes narrowed, only to be met with undeterred playful golden irises.

“Fine, I’ll allow it. But I feel the need to make it known that I’m not happy about it.” The injured hero smiled again.

“Thanks, doc.”

“Again, our sincerest apologies for the mishap.” Best Jeanist did his best to make up for his companion’s clear lack of repentance.

You only gave the heroes a parting glare as you walked away.  

The rest of the day passed, otherwise uneventful but long and exhausting. You kept a professional and pleasant face for the benefit of your patients, but it was getting hard to maintain after all you’d seen in the last seven days since the attacks. Yes, there were cases of miraculous recoveries in the face of overwhelming trauma. But far more frequent were lives that were forever altered by all that had transpired, not just for patients themselves but all the other souls connected to those individuals. The hospital was at capacity, and each bed represented not just one person but a web of lives that now had to face a new crippling reality. If you thought about it too much you could cry – which you did, in the nearest break room or supply closet if had even just two minutes between appointments. Thus, your favorite part of the day became doing paperwork in your office at the end of your shift. It was methodical and soothing, and allowed you to disassociate.

It was at that moment when you were enjoying your oasis that an intern rushed into your office, disturbing your peace.

“There’s an emergency on the top floor, you need to come quick.” You immediately got up and followed her down the hall and up the elevator, asking clarifying questions about the situation.

But when you entered the room in question, all you saw was a picnic blanket on the hospital bed, two champagne flutes, a bottle, and the number two hero. The intern shrank in the doorway.

“I’m really sorry, he said he would send me a bunch of merch if I could get you here.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” You rubbed your temples, hoping it would transport you to another dimension where you never went to medical school and thus would not be here. “You are not to accept a single thing from him, do you understand?” The intern nodded aggressively. “Now go, I’m sure you have better places to be, ideally with a patient who actually needs help.” The intern scurried away without another word.

“And you,” now turning to Hawks. “Bribing medical professionals? Super illegal.”

“Sorry.” His mischievous eyes said otherwise, clearly undeterred by your scolding. You scoffed.

“No you’re not.” He shrugged. You took a closer look at the set up. “Seems kinda wasteful, doesn’t it? You can’t even drink.”

He turned the bottle to show the label. Sparkling nonalcoholic cider. The corners of your lips tugged upwards, threatening to betray your steely exterior.

 Any semblance of a smile quickly vanished, however, when he removed his respirator mask.

“What are you –“ He spoke before you could protest or before he lost his nerves.

“I’m going to be gone for a really long time after today. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Or if I’ll be back.” He cautiously grabbed your hands. “Regardless of which it is, I really want to make sure I don’t break any promises.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in when he paused. You suddenly found it hard to keep eye contact.

“This is a hospital, not the Make A Wish Foundation.” Despite your icy response, you made no effort to pull your hands away from him. He gently rolled his thumb over your knuckles, trying to memorize every ridge and crease.

Most of his face was still covered in bandages, but you liked that you could now see how his lips curved into a lopsided smirk, punctuated by laugh lines that formed around the corners of his mouth. You liked knowing that you were responsible for it. Your mind concocted imaginary circumstances of other things you could do to get him to make the same perfect expression.  Your eyes lifted to meet his when you were done daydreaming.

“I thought they were one in the same.” He was insufferable. His arms fell to his sides when you separated yourself from him. For a moment he almost looked like the defeated shell of himself that was in your care a week ago. But it was quickly washed with relief when he saw you grab the bottle.

“You are the worst patient I’ve ever had.” A satisfying *pop* echoed in the room. He knew your words were hallow, as your acquiescence was rewarded with the hero’s bright eyes and heartfelt smile that made your heart beat in time with the little bubbles that evaporated around you. You handed him a glass of cider, his fingers ghosting over yours as he took the flute from you that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not your patient anymore.”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Realistic Injuries (pt. 3)

Hostile Environments

It’s not uncommon for your characters to find themselves stranded somewhere with less than ideal conditions.

Cold

There are the obvious risks of hypothermia and frostbite.

The time for these to set in can vary drastically with temperature and windchill.

In both cases, warming should be done slowly or risk blistering of the skin and other complications such as shock.

Like burns, frostbite is classified into degrees of severity:

First degree frostbite – Numbness and whitening of skin.

Second degree – Outer layer of skin frozen, blistering likely when warmed.

Third degree – Skin is white or blue and blotchy. Skin and the tissue beneath it is hard and cold.

Heat

Risk of heat exhaustion or heat stroke.

Heat exhaustion is caused by insufficient water and salt intake. It is easy to develop without realising it.

Heat stroke is more severe and often follows untreated heat exhaustion. It is extremely dangerous and can be fatal.

Symptoms of Heat Exhaustion

Headache

Dizziness, faintness

Confusion and irritability

Thirst

Fast and weak pulse and breathing

Clammy skin and cramps

Additional Symptoms of Heatstroke

Hot, dry, flushed skin

Sweating stops altogether

Nausea

Disorientation up to and including hallucinations

Abnormal blood pressure

Elevated temperature

Unconsciousness

Treatment focuses on lowering the body temperature and rehydrating the person as quickly as possible.

Oxygen Deprivation

Apart from the obvious – lack of oxygen is rather bad for you (6-8 minutes for permanent brain damage) – the reason for the lack can have side effects of its own.

For example smoke, chemical or water inhalation can do physical damage to the lungs making breathing difficult even when the person is removed to a safe place.

Exposure to Vacuum

In short, your major problems would be…

Oxygen deprivation

Exposure to extreme cold

Expansion of gases within the body – meaning that holding your breath would be a Big Mistake, but not one you’d live to regret for very long

In a sudden decompression there would also be the risk of decompression sickness (the bends) and of getting hit by flying debris during the decompression itself.

Assuming you survived the initial decompression you’d have about 10 seconds of consciousness to do something about it and about one and a half minutes to live.

Parts of the body exposed would suffer from swelling, frostbite, and interrupted circulation.

Leaky spaceships

50% atmospheric pressure is enough to have people suffering from hypoxia (oxygen deprivation).

15% and you more or less, may as well be in vacuum.

Source: Leia Fee (with additions by Susannah Shepherd) More: Part 1 ⚜ Part 2 ⚜ Word Lists (Sick) (Pain) ⚜ Drunkenness ⚜ Autopsy

[watermelllonarchive]

Blogs On Tumblr

These accounts have reached out and requested I share their Tumblrs and Go Fund Me campaigns. So once a week, I will try to post a list of blogs here on Tumblr that are documenting their lived experiences in Gaza. I'll be updating this post weekly but if you're seeing an older version, .

Posted: July 29, 2024; updated September 8, 2024.

Check my tag #on tumblr to see the latest

Check out these Tumblr blogs and Campaigns:

@siraj2024 - shares frequent updates from Gaza on his blog. There is a GFM for helping him and his family rebuild. (Link)

@alaakh99 - is a mother of two who has been sharing updates on the conditions she and her children are experiencing. She has a to raise money to evacuate. (Link)

@mohammed-atallah - is in northern Gaza. He suffered a major injury to the hand and wrist in February when going to pick up aid from a relief truck. His GFM is to afford surgery and to rebuild his home. (Link)

@israa-elazaiza - and her family are trying to evacuate Gaza. You can donate to their GFM (link.)

@amjadshiltawu - shared that his wife Suha lost her parents and siblings in the genocide. You can donate to their GFM to help them evacuate (link).

@marwanalhabil is fundraising to help his family evacuate Gaza. (link).

@ahmedabuyamin - Ahmed and his wife welcomed a baby girl this summer (2024). He is trying to get his children, his wife, and himself to safety. You can help them here. (Link)

@mahmoudkhalafff - Mahmoud is a doctoral student in Ireland whose family is trapped in Gaza. He is raising funds to help his them escape to safety. He shares his story here. You can donate to help his family here. (Link)

@tamer200333 - Mahmoud's sister Maysaa is suffering from advanced fibroids in her lungs and desperately needs treatment. You can donate to their Go Fund Me here. (Link)

@fahedshehab-new : Fahed and his wife Reem are parents of 5 children with the oldest being 14 and the youngest 18 months. They, along with Fahed's mother, are trying to evacuate and have a Go Fund Me (link)

@free-gaza : Doaa is a seamstress specalizing in traditional Palestinian agriculture embroidery. She has evacuated to Egypy but needs a sewing machine to re-start her business and keep this cultural practice of embroidery alive. (Link)

@abdullahgaza - Abdullah Salem Alhabil's family is trying to evacuate Gaza and his father, who is suffering from heart disease, is in need of an urgent operation. Their Go Fund Me can be found here. (Link)(Campaign has been verified by Operation Olive Branch master list line 81; Project Butterfly Effect line 625)

@supportmyfamily - Ahmed AlSaidi has recently started his Go Fund Me to evacuate his wife, children, and parents. (Link)

@rem096 - Reem, her husband, and their sons Malik and Hassan are trying to evacuate. They plan to move abroad and for her husband to pursue a doctoral degree. (Link)

@save-salam-family - Salam is raising funds to help family escape. She and her husband Ahmed have two young children. (Link )

@noor-y-ashour - The focus of Noor's campaign is her young son Muhammad. He is disabled and unable to walk. They are raising funds in hopes he can evacuate for medical care. (Link)

@aya2mohammed - Mohammed and his family (wife, 3 kids, and his parents) are trying to survive. Their tent burned down recently and the children have contracted scabies. (Link)

@yousefbanna - Yousef and his family are struggling to endure the war. He lost his home as well as his business. (Link)

@helplamyaafamily - Lamya, her husband Mohammed, and their infant daughter Hoor are raising funds to evacuate to Egypt. They hope to go once the borders are open (Link)

@ahedalshaer - Ahed is a dental student from Rafah. She and her family are raising funds to evacuate and for her to continue her education. Campaign verified by The Butterfly Effect Project, line 407. (Link)

@Mahmoud-Sharif - Mahmoud and his wife Soha are parents to 4 young children. The youngest child was born this August (2024). They have a GFM to evacuate their family (Link)

Disclaimer: The purpose of this blog is to archive social media (at this point just Instagram) posts from everyday (not journalist, celebrity, or large influencer) Palestinians in Gaza sharing their day to day life experiences (things we don't typically see on the news, how they are living). Though I share Go Fund Me accounts for creators whose content I post to this page, the core purpose of this account is to serve as a digital archive. I am not able to independently vet and verify blogs shared in this list but most have been verified by other Tumblr users.

[gojuo]

why is people mad bc SH took Aegon's penis away? /gen

1. Him losing his manhood was a rumor that came from Mushroom. It was also confirmed to be false because Aegon was set to marry Cassandra Baratheon after the war and he explicitly said he expected to have many children with her. If he didn't have a penis, GRRM would not write these two facts down.

2. Aegon and Helaena have 3 children in the canon. In the show, only two have appeared: the twins Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. They have a younger brother, the little Maelor who is supposed to be 2 years old when the Dance starts. Many believed that since the writers messed with the timeline, Maelor would be born during the war instead of before. So Aegon's cock being burned off means that they're doubling down on Maelor being cut. Which has now been confirmed by GRRM.

3. It makes no biological sense for that to have happened. Outside of the technical issue (armor protecting him + only his upper left side being burned and not his lower area + the fire psychically unable to reach his groin on account of him sitting in the dragonriding position iow his dick is smushed against the saddle so Vhagar's fire is not reaching his wiener man c'mon now), if his penis "exploded like a sausage" like Sara Hess just had to put it, Aegon would now be dead from all the blood loss, necrosis and the 7th degree burns all over his legs, groin, hips and stomach.

4. The scene and just the overall decision to put it in the canon is downright disrespectful and reeks of the writers' spite against his character instead of it having any sort of meaningful purpose in the narrative or to his character development at all. The scene of the reveal about what has happened to Aegon was played for laughs; it was meant to be taken as a joke and more importantly it was meant to make the viewer feel like haha the rapist gets castrated lol lmfao rofl kekw etc. etc. This body mutilation should be handled with the emotional weight and care that it demands to be treated with just by virtue of it being such an absolutely horrific thing to have happened to anyone, yet instead the authorial intent of his penis burning off is humiliating him and having the viewer laugh at him. Just hateful treatment of Aegon by the writers, and nothing more.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Perfect Score - Chapter 3 - Goosebumps | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: You perform your first match with Aemond, and things are beginning to heat up in the figure skating business | Word Count: 6.8k~ | Warnings under the cut~

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: sexual tension, masturbation (f), reader having racy thoughts but nothing crazy, mentions of medical treatment for trigeminal neuralgia, mentions of an open relationship

A/N: shoutout to @asumofwords for giving me inspo for the 'stretch'. Also we love a slow-burn enemies to lovers moment, but we're heating up! 🔥

Comments, reblogs & likes are always appreciated in this household. I love u 😚

“Again”

You were covered in sweat, visible in the black tank top you were wearing and by the harsh lights that illuminated the ice rink. Your chest heaved noticeably as you placed your hands on your hips, the remaining momentum having you glide across the ice as you looked at Aemond, who stood tall, arms crossed and looking as stern as the day you met him.

In the weeks training with him everyday, you’d managed to at least try to be civil (save for a few choice words over dinner which had either of you leave the table instantly. One time you both tried to leave at the same time, and had a staredown, which delighted Aegon immensely). Aemond had not changed his attitude, neither had you.

Nor had Aemond apologised for what he’d said. And so much time had passed now, you were unsure if he ever would.

Anytime you would both pass one another in the hallway, every shared look at the dinner table felt like striking a match and depending on the day, it would catch and spread, and erupt into a fully blown argument. A clashing of personalities that were perhaps too close to one another to truly get on.

You straighten up, sucking in a breath, “Aemond, it’s late”

He checked his watch, the look on his face confirming that it was indeed late but that he didn’t care. He shrugged, “Again”

With a sigh, you get back into position, trying to ignore the way he so blatantly stares and picks apart quite literally everything you do. Even if he is right sometimes, it doesn’t make it any less annoying.

You can feel every muscle begin to ache from the everyday rigorous training you’ve been doing, and icing your muscles in between is helping but not entirely. Every night, you sleep like a freaking baby, since it takes all your brain capacity to tiptoe around Aemond wherever you go. You appreciate it’s his home and he can be wherever he wants in it at any given time, but not being on good terms is starting to drain the very energy out of you.

For what feels like the thousandth time you build up some speed (wanting nothing more than to just push him over on those stupid skates he’s wearing) and jump into a spin, stretching your leg as far and as high as it will go without assisting it with your hand.

“No, no” Aemond says quickly, shaking his head and gliding over, making you stop.

He stops behind you again, his skates crunching to a halt.

“Don’t bend your knee” he comments, “did you stretch?”

You throw him a pointed look over your shoulder, “I always stretch”

Aemond hums, which is becoming increasingly annoying as the weeks go on.

You gasp in surprise when his hand reaches for your leg and lifts it, his hand encircling the legging-clad skin near your knee, grasping with minimal pressure. It momentarily tips you off balance, not having expected it, and his other hand goes back around your waist, palm flat on your middle between your ribs to keep you standing straight, as it had been the first day you practised together.

“Don’t bend your knee” he repeats, lifting your leg higher, tightening his other arm around you to keep you level and inadvertently tugging you closer to him, so much so you can feel his leg against your hip. “That’s it”

He lifts your leg so that it stands at a 45 degree angle, as straight as your leg will allow. But aside from the way your leg is stretched, your brain feels like it’s short-circuiting. His fingers curl around the meat of your thigh, pressing lightly to keep you up.

He is so close to your back, that you’re sure you can feel the puffs of air out his nose as he breathes, making the hair around your face sway somewhat in your periphery. And more than anything, his other hand, firmly on your torso, presses in, drawing your bodies almost flush with your back against his hardened chest.

All this makes your skin go all warm, in spite of the harsh air conditioning, your chest entirely too tight and everything about what he’s doing, how close he is, how his stature looms behind, all serves to make you realise how small you feel in comparison. You swallow anxiously at the thought, hoping he doesn’t realise how your breathing is suddenly heavier.

Your leg firmly on the ice wobbles slightly off balance, and he moves his hand to your waist, squeezing tighter.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you” he says, hushed, probably the softest his voice has ever seemed.

You turn your face only slightly when he says that, not having to move much to look back at him behind you. Almost as soon as you do, Aemond lowers his face, his eye meeting yours.

He’s worn his hair down today, as he sometimes does, but several strands are tucked firmly behind his ear, swinging softly in the gentle breeze. It makes your skin tingle and goosebumps form on your arms.

His eye flits around your face, and you know he must be able to see the slight flush you feel in the centre of your features, spreading down your neck, all the way down to your belly. In the closeness of the gesture, he stands tall behind you, and you see his eye run over your tank top, from his angle the shadow of your cleavage just visible.

He looks back at you quickly again, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, which have now stolen your attention. They stay parted, and he breathes ever so slightly heavier out his mouth.

It’s so miniscule, the gesture, that if you weren’t paying attention you’d miss it. But his hand slips from your mid-thigh just that little bit lower, and both of his hands squeeze tighter, until he skates backwards, gently letting you go. Something tugs about your core at the action. It felt so intimate. So sensu-

“Good, that’s good” he says weakly, clearing his throat.

You lower your leg almost as soon as he retreats, the place where he had touched burning significantly, feeling like you’d touched a hot kettle.

The session ends like this. Like there's something unspoken, and a hammering in your chest that won't cease as you walk up the cobbled path back to the house. Now that you're outside, you feel cold from having exerted with the soft sheen of sweat over your body. Aemond looks the same, his shirt sticking to the front of his chest and the hem around his biceps.

Aemond walked quickly ahead, helped by his long legs, but he was walking faster than usual, as if in a hurry to get back inside. He threw the glass doors open and rushed through the kitchen, not bothering even to say hello to Helaena who was leant by the counter, idly eating cereal.

Helaena looked at him and then at you as you stepped through the door, "What's wrong with him?" She asks, gesturing with her head. It was a common question since your arrival.

You can still feel the colour to your cheeks. But at least you could blame the fact that you were training just now. Even so, Helaena looked at you with a mischievously suspicious look.

You shrug, trying to be as convincing as possible, "Don't know. We just finished training"

Helaena raises an eyebrow, looking at the clock on the wall, "At 10:30 at night?"

"Yeah?"

Helaena smirks, as if she's not convinced.

"Sure"

You sigh, opening the fridge for a cold bottle of water, "Don't be like that, he hates me"

"He doesn't hate you" she insists, "He's just…antisocial"

You look at her sharply after a good sip, "That's neither true or an excuse"

Helaena bites her lip, desperate to say something, but she shakes her head and looks back at her bowl.

Sighing you check your phone, seeing an email from Hightower Management. It must have come in while you and Aemond were on the ice.

"What's this?" you ask, showing Helaena the screen.

"Oh, we've got a match in a few days. It decides who goes on the championship tour and Otto is just giving us the details. What to wear, which routine we'll do etc"

You scroll through the email absentmindedly, taking in the more important details, "I'm supposed to wear white?"

Helaena nods, "Aemond always wears black. Me and Aegon always wear variations of red"

You bite your lip, "I'll have to see if I have anything white"

"If you don't, we'll go shopping," she smiles.

"I can't afford that"

She furrows her brows, "Babes, Hightower Management will pay for it"

There's something about them paying for everything which, deep down, doesn't sit well with you. But you suppose, now that you're working for them, they really should pay. It just feels wrong. Especially after all those years where you had to make your costumes yourself, bent over the desk at ungodly hours only to be awake training the next morning.

You quickly bid Helaena goodnight, feeling the sudden hit of fatigue in your muscles as you drag your feet up the stairs.

You're barely on the landing as you hear Aegon murmuring lowly in the hallway, barely standing over the threshold of his bedroom. Aemond is leant against the doorway, one hand gripping the frame at the top, his lips pressed together as he chats with his brother lowly. So quietly in fact you can't tell what either of them are saying.

Hearing your footsteps approach your room, Aemond looks over, the conversation grinding to a halt when he sees you.

Warmth and embarrassment blooms across your skin, settling deep in your gut. He's clearly had a shower, as his hair is loose and damp around his shoulders, his skin ever so slightly flushed from the hot water.

As much as you don't want to admit it, you can't deny that you sneaked a peek at his grey sweatpants, hanging loosely on his hips, which you can only see since the black shirt he's wearing is riding up slightly with one hand on the doorframe, the grip now tightened somewhat.

Just like that everything is hot again and something akin to dull excitement settles between your legs.

Stop it.

You can remember his firm grasp on your thigh.

Stop it.

His eye flits over you again, jaw tensing noticeably. Your breathing noticeably heavier.

You gather your breath, willing the heat to disappear from your face and quickly retreat into your room, finding solace in the quiet, cool sensation of being away from Aemond, thoughts having a moment's reprieve.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

It surely can’t be the birth control. Your hormones have never been out of whack before? They had been on that pill, but that was ages ago...

So why does it feel like all of a sudden, you feel like you haven’t fucked anyone in a while? And why does it suddenly feel so urgent?

You try and think of the last time you slept with someone. Gods, it must have been several months ago with that guy from Highgarden, the one who came in about forty seconds and spent the rest of the evening crying.

It was unsatisfactory, yes, but you don’t have time to date! There’s no room for someone else in the busy schedule that is being a professional figure skater. None whatsoever.

You briefly think if you packed your vibrator with you and realised very quickly, that you didn’t even think about it when you moved out, thinking that you wouldn’t be gone long.

So once you’re showered, hair dried and laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, eyes tracing the patterns of the ceiling-rose with the domed light sat ornamentally in the middle, your stomach still carries that warmth you felt earlier.

The way his grasp lowered on your thigh.

The way his hand squeezed your waist.

The way his words had been whispered softly into your ear, warming your neck.

You shake your head in frustration, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. What the hell is going on? He’s a twat! It is against every moral cell inside you to find this man even somewhat attractive, after the things he’s said to you, nevermind his terrible attitude on top of that.

But as you have thought before. He can be both a twat and attractive right?

This is how you rationalise it, as your hand slips beneath the hem of your underwear, bringing yourself that dull buzz of pleasure as your middle finger teases your bud, aided with the surprise that you’re already wet. Your head tips back against the pillows, pressing your lips together to keep your sounds low in your throat, the other hand dipping beneath the oversized sleeping shirt you were wearing to cup your breast.

Not at all imagining they were someone else’s.

No, that would be weird.

It happens faster than usual. Your finger speeds up over your bud, pressing lightly as your hips move with the rhythm only slightly, and your orgasm sneaks up on you quickly, rolling through your body so fast that a quiet whisper of moan manages to slip out. By the time your hand makes it up to your mouth to cover your lips, the muted high is beginning to dissipate into your limbs.

You pull your fingers back, feeling the tiredness lingering in your body now that your orgasm has subsided, and close your eyes to sleep, just hoping, praying, that whatever you were even thinking about that asshole, would disappear by morning.

It absolutely hadn’t disappeared.

That said, there was still a lingering annoyance in the way your partnership brewed in this murky state. Not speaking properly to one another, not even really looking at one another, and just marching through your training together, having to be the kind of intimate that is more indicative of lovers than business partners.

The match was taking place at Summerhall. A sort of halfway point for all the contenders of each region of Westeros, to come together and determine who most deserved to go on the tour of Westeros, competing for the championship title.

Your body was filled to the brim with nerves the entire journey there, your stomach doing flips with every speed bump the minivan struggled to overcome.

That morning, Aemond had been entirely irritable until he was summoned to a closed off portion of their family home, confined to a room for several hours. You sat in the doorway entirely confused, until Helaena had the heart to explain once Alicent was out of earshot.

"He's having his injections" she had said.

"His what?"

Trigeminal Neuralgia. It was explained as.

As a result of this accident, which you still knew nothing about, Aemond had suffered with severe facial pain as the damage had interfered with the nerve. As a result, he endured glycerol injections in the side of his face, which provided relief for a few months, even stretching to a year.

But when the pain flared, Helaena explained, he was impossible to be around.

Your heart aches with a kind of sympathy, knowing that Aemond has to deal with this pain and recurring painful injections to keep it at bay. And as he finally comes out, with a plaster taped to the side of his face, he at least looks a bit more relaxed.

Or as relaxed as Aemond can be.

It results in neither of you speaking the entire journey to Summerhall. He'd put in his airpods, blasted his music and fallen right to sleep, his head only moving when the minivan took a sharper turn than expected.

Part of you can't help but look at him when he was asleep, stealing glances where you otherwise wouldn't get away with. Admiring the sharp angles of his face, his aquiline-shaped nose and most notably, the sharpness and definition of his jaw and cheekbones.

It was a shame he was a dick.

Knock knock.

You shake yourself from the trance, looking up at yourself in the vanity when you hear someone behind the door of the changing room, their knock signalling their presence almost so soft you didn't hear it.

"Come in"

Alicent peeks round the door, smiling in a way only a mother does, her hair pulled back into a ponytail.

"How are you feeling?" She asks, once she's closed the door.

"A bit nervous, but fine" you reply, trying to sound convincing. But it clearly doesn't land, as Alicent smiles softly, sitting down next to you.

"Come, let me put on your skates" she suggests softly.

In the end, you'd misread the email from Hightower Management that you should wear white. In fact it said would, and they provided you with an all white outfit, some of it decorated with rhinestones, and a flowy leotard, very much indicative of the usual sportswear. It looked more expensive than any outfit you'd worn, and it made you feel strange wearing it now.

Alicent tugs at your laces, tying them expertly like it was muscle memory, "You know it always makes me emotional. Watching Helaena skate" she muses, her attention on her task, "Reminds me of myself"

You swallow, unsure of what to say at first, "Helaena is a wonderful skater. You should be proud" you smile.

Alicent returns it, patting your skate-clad feet and plopping then on the floor, "And I am sure I will be very proud of you also, my darling"

Your heart squeezes. She says it with such sincerity and emotion, with not an ounce of patronisation behind it.

"You look beautiful" she praises, tucking a hair behind your ear. Your hair was half up and half down, with waves put into it (courtesy of Helaena, as you'd previously mentioned you had no idea what to do with it). And your makeup, as you've always done, is bright and non-descript. A 'barely-there' approach.

You smile in thanks, taking a calming breath as you follow Alicent out the dressing room, meeting the rest of the team on the benches near the rink.

All of the other competitors also wait by the side lines, talking to their coaches. A few you recognise based on their house colours, grey for the Starks, a brother and sister duo, Cregan and Sara. As well as gold and red for the Lannisters, Jason Lannister and his partner, Johanna (who he totally isn't cheating on).

More than anything, the one that pops out the most are the Dornish, with their dark hair contrasting with their bright yellow costumes. Qoren Martell, lovingly nicknamed 'The Scorpion' and his Dornish girlfriend Mara. They were known for being unbelievably cocky, and put on quite the suggestive shows with their moves out on the ice. For this reason, they always made it to championships, giving both of them alike a big head.

In the distance you can see Aemond, all dressed and ready entirely in black, including some brand new looking black skates. Unlike in training, he wears his hair down around his shoulders, looking somewhat mythical leaning against the wall, arms crossed and receiving a bit of a grilling from Otto.

"Miss! Miss! A word for the White Worm?"

"Is it true Hightower Management had you sign an NDA?"

"Could you tell us about your troubled childhood?"

A slew of reporters seem to block your path, each of them shoving whatever microphones or recorders they have in their hands right into your face. You're so taken aback, that you don't even have the brain capacity to say anything. Your mouth is just open, with only unintelligible sounds coming out.

Otto materialises, pushing several of the reporters away while Aemond wraps his fingers around your arm, gently tugging you away while they're dealt with.

"Ignore them" he says lowly.

You take yet another calming breath, suddenly hit with the sinking feeling that the arena is jam packed full of important people, and the judges are lined up at the front, looking stern as anything. It never fails to make you wince to see their expressions.

Your breath is almost taken away though when you look back at Aemond.

Where his glass eye would usually sit, nestled between the angry scar down his face, sits a sapphire, glimmering in the harsh lights of the hall. Your lips sit parted in utter fascination.

You shake your head when you realise you're staring, "Sorry, I-"

"It's fine" he replies quickly, "I wear it for competitions"

You nod, eyes flitting to both his good eye and the sapphire, as if transfixed, "It's…nice". You almost cringe at yourself for the way you've said it. But truthfully, it's so distractingly pretty, it's difficult to not be speechless.

He stands still for a long time, looking around awkwardly not knowing what to say, "Thanks"

The announcement over the speakers echoes that it's almost time for your performance, and you swear you feel cold all over. Your eyes scan the crowd, rubbing your hands together nervously, spotting Rhaenys at the very back with Rhaena. Upon spotting you they wave widely, and you return it with a grin, feeling your heart swell to see they've gone through the effort to come to see you.

Nerves eat at you, remembering the routine, the jumps, the landings. The incessant coaching of Otto doesn't go amiss either. You slip your blade guards off your skates, watching as several cameras pan around the rink, and the commentators up in the box talking into their microphones.

"This is the first match from famed Aemond Targaryen, aptly nicknamed 'The Ice Prince', since his former skating partner, Floris Baratheon, was injured significantly. His new partner has yet to perform in any championship deciding matches"

"Yes, an unconventional choice for the Targaryens, to have such a green skater to be paired with. Time will tell if she will crack under the pressure"

You're the first to skate out, doing a few laps to warm up and adjusting both your hair and your outfit, making sure your laces are tight and secure before Aemond also skates out, having had a few words with Otto.

Coming to a halt in the middle, you take another steadying breath, shaking the nerves from your arms, ankles crossed as Aemond stops behind you. The crowd goes quiet when you assume position, his hand splayed on your middle, with yours covering his, trying to ignore the way it stokes the fire within.

Mahler's Symphony, Adagietto begins to play. Part of you can't help but find it a boring choice, but now in front of everyone, the crowd as quiet as a whisper as you and Aemond begin the routine, it feels more magical.

With his hair down and the sapphire on show, he looks utterly majestic on the ice, donned entirely in black, contrasting starkly with your white outfit. You can't help but look over at him every now and then, enraptured by his appearance.

"Technically, wonderful performance so far. The couple seem distant though, which I wonder if it will tie into their performance"

The first several jumps and spins go perfectly well, by the book, landing with balance. All building up to the one jump that you can tell, everyone is holding their breath for. The jump you'd been practising with Aemond for the last few weeks, was now being watched and streamed for everyone to critique and see.

The throw triple lutz.

Your chest inflates, as you both skate backwards, Aemond's hands wrapping around your waist as he skates behind you.

"Will they land it?"

Aemond throws you in the air, twisting you slightly and aiding in your airborne triple spin. The crowd immediately erupts in applause and cheer when you land it, your foot stable, both you and Aemond skating and joining hands in the next move.

"They've done it!"

"She's mastered the landing"

"Wonderful performance technically"

You breathe out finally, relief and pride blooming in your chest as you complete the last few spins and moves with Aemond, who doesn't let a single thing show on his face. As stoic and stony as ever.

It isn't until the routine is over that you see Aemond breathe what could be a sigh of relief that it's over. He doesn't spare a look in your direction as you skate off, greeted instantly by an excited Alicent and Helaena, who are congratulating you in heightened vibrant voices. Aemond earns a pat on the back as he stalks off with Aegon, speaking lowly.

"That was amazing!" Helaena praises, looking the part herself in her red outfit, "such a good landing!"

"Thank you!" You respond, seeing both Aegon and Helaena taking off their blade guards for their turn, "Good luck" you smile at her, making your way over to the bench to get off your jelly-like legs.

Otto gives you a nod, showing his wordless appreciation. In that way, you suppose Aemond is a lot like him, using few words to convey what he thinks.

You sit beside Aemond at the side lines, watching the board and waiting anxiously before the scores come in. He sits still, only his left leg bouncing to show how he's feeling, his tongue poking his cheek.

Aemond murmurs something, so quiet that at first you don't even hear it.

"What?"

He turns his head slowly, his sapphire greeting you before his good eye does, stealing your breath for a moment.

"You were good" he repeats, clearer this time, "out there"

You bite your lip to hide your smile looking down into your lap, knowing it's hurting everything inside him to compliment one thing you've done.

He huffs a quiet laugh through his nose, turning away again, "Don't make me regret that"

You can feel the cameraman in your periphery move to angle in on both of your nervous faces as the scores come in.

With the exception of a few with some points knocked off, it's a clean score. The crowd erupts, and your heart hammers excitedly, the adrenaline making it feel like fire in your veins.

"A respectable score for her first pairs match. No doubt helped by her perfect landing of that triple lutz"

Alicent pulls you into a hug, offering her congratulations as you barely hear one another over the cheers. Your face burns from smiling so widely, relieved that you had done your bit and a damn good job of it as well. She moves on to hug her son, who offers a quick embrace, whispering something you don't hear to her.

"There she is. The Sweetheart of Oldtown offering her support to her son"

"The Targaryens make it to the championship tour yet again, Aemond Targaryen representing the Crownlands"

The last thing you see is Rhaenys and Rhaena in the crowd, clapping dramatically with wide, proud smiles. Your vision blurs with happiness for a moment, giving them a wide wave.

Turning to Aemond, you're not sure what to do to congratulate him. So you settle on offering your hand for him to shake. He eyes it for a moment, his brows pulled together, before shaking it, nodding in mutual thanks.

The camera doesn't miss it though.

Figure Skating is as much about performance, teamwork and performing for the cameras, aside from technical ability. You hate this fact more than anything. But every match, you're reminded it's true.

"Not a full house, but they have potential as a duo. No doubt points knocked off for performance"

"Let's hope the icy couple warm up once the championship tour rolls round"

Some of the nerves had begun to wear off by the time the after party rolled around. You bit your lip as you watched Helaena in the reflection, stood behind you and pulling the curling iron from your hair, making sure it was waved in the right direction.

She met your eyes in the mirror, smiling, the highlighter around her eyes twinkling, "Excited for tonight?" She asked, squirting some finishing oil into her hands and running it through your hair.

"For the free food? Yes" you smirk at her, "however, wearing heels, no"

When you arrived in the hotel after the match, the dress was already laid out with the heels and jewellery in a box on the bed, kindly paid for by Hightower Management once again, accompanied by a congratulatory note.

It was an all black outfit, a bit sexier than you otherwise would have picked, with a slit up one leg. But wearing something you wouldn't usually was kind of exciting and you touched the gold necklace around your neck, a simple chain with no pendant, and admired the neckline of the dress in the mirror.

"Done" Helaena chirped.

You stood, smoothing down the front of the dress, trying to get used to walking in the black heels, "How do I look?"

Helaena had helped to curl your hair at the back, fixing in place a gold hair accessory as she did so, "Gorgeous. Everyone won't be able to take their eyes off you"

Something flutters in your belly when she says that.

"Anyway, see you down there, I've got to go with Aegon" she smiles, slipping out the door in her fitted cream dress.

You look yourself up and down in the floor length mirror, fiddling with the ring on your pointer finger. Helaena had done a fantastic job with your hair, sitting in waves down your back. But you also couldn't help but feel weird wearing such a strappy dress, as it wasn't what you'd go for at all.

With a breath to psych yourself up, you swing open your door, going to step out, gasping back in surprise to find Aemond had his fist outstretched with the intention of knocking. Unlike you, he didn't move or say an inch, he just stares down, dressed in a black suit (this time with an off white shirt underneath), his sapphire still lodged in his left eye socket.

His eye briefly runs over you making your heart rattle faster, clearing his throat as he tucks his hand into a pocket, "Uh, Otto said I should come and collect you"

You swallow thickly, closing the door softly behind you, "Did he say we should go together?"

Aemond nods, rolling his eye somewhat as you make your way to the lift, pressing the button, "Everyone attends with their business partner" he says simply.

Oh, right. Just business partners.

The ride down the several floors is quiet, and feels longer than it actually is because of it. Aemond briefly adjusts his tie, trying to disguise the look he gives over the outfit you wear. Black to match him. Something flutters deep in your gut at the proximity, able to smell whatever aftershave he'd spritzed on himself as it clouds around your head, making your mind all foggy.

You both pause at the entrance to the event, absolutely heaving and bustling with the figure skaters, their managers, journalists and other important people, all dressed to the nines to impress. The classical music is barely audible over the chatter, laughter and clinking of glasses. The room has a smell about it, a sweet, saccharine floral scent flooding from the various expensive vases placed around. Lilies, you think. It's almost too overwhelming.

Suddenly, the slit in your dress makes you feel a tad self-conscious and you pick nervously at the fabric.

"Stop that" Aemond whispers, his fingers gently pulling your hand away, "Put on a brave face. It'll be over sooner"

Despite your skin burning where he'd touched, you nod once, taking a breath for courage.

Looking straight ahead, Aemond offers his arm, presumably to appear amicable. And you take it, barely putting pressure on the inside of his arm as you walk in together. Aemond keeps his steely stare, looking entirely uncomfortable in this environment.

The first people who approach you, arm in arm as you both are, are the Dornish couple, their dark hair curled and slick with gel. Qoren flashes a toothy grin at you, Mara on his arm looking somewhat doped out with her eyes hooded and kohl thick over her eyelids.

You surmise they must wear their rich yellow-orange colours all the time, judging by their outfits. And that the stereotype must be somewhat true, based on both of their plunging necklines.

"Here he is. The One-Eyed wonder!" He chirps. And you feel the way Aemond tenses up at the rude comment.

"Qoren" he greets flatly, biting his cheek.

Seemingly happy with his reaction, Qoren turns to you, "And who is this gorgeous flower?" He adds, hand outstretched for yours.

Politely, you offer your hand, introducing yourself and skin prickling when he kisses it for a little too long. Mara looks entirely indifferent, in fact she even has a smile on her face.

"So nice to see a fresh face in figure skating. I hope you are coping well with the Targaryens! Not everyone can handle their fire" Qoren muses.

What's that supposed to mean?

You're not quite sure what to say, so you settle for, "Thank you. Nice to meet you"

Otto appears suddenly on Aemond's left side, whispering something and easing him away. You feel somewhat apprehensive of being left alone when the two of them find a quiet corner to talk.

But when you look back at Qoren, your heart goes faster to find Mara on the other side of the room, chatting up Jason Lannister, which briefly makes your lips part in shock.

Qoren smirks, "Mara and I are open"

You shake your head quickly, "I didn't mean to stare I-"

He laughs, "It's alright. Really"

Luckily at that exact moment, a member of staff stops by your side and you quickly pull a flute of champagne off of it, sipping it slightly to take the edge off. You look at Aemond and Otto as you do. Aemond looks white as a sheet, staring at one corner of the room with a gaze that implies panic, with Otto still whispering in his ear.

When you follow their panicked looks, there's a woman standing alongside the strange brown-haired man from the schmoozing event, the one with the limp whose name you still don't remember. She is the epitome of beauty, with dark raven hair and blood red lips, her body filling out the emerald green dress with her hourglass physique and her neckline accentuating the fullness of her breasts.

"That's Alys Rivers" Qoren states, seeing your stare.

You look back at him quickly, cheeks burning from being caught looking, "Who?"

"Before our time. Retired figure skater. Represented the Riverlands"

"Retired?" You repeat, "she doesn't look very old"

Qoren scoffs, "She's older than she looks"

He points his pinky in her direction, leaning in to utter something quietly, "See that necklace?"

You follow his line of sight, eyes squinting in the low light. It’s true. A necklace hangs daintily in the middle of her chest, with a small pendant at the bottom.

"Sapphire" he tells you, "A gift from your One-Eyed partner"

What.

You look at Qoren, utterly dumbfounded. He just chuckles, seeing the supposed trouble he’s caused.

"Once upon a time" he says, gulping down the rest of his drink, "Not until mummy found out anyway"

You can't find it in yourself to reply. Too stunned into silence.

"Pretty thing like you shouldn't be stuck with him" now this does catch your attention, shocked at the blatancy of it, "If you ever find yourself bored of him. Mara and I are looking for someone else to sleep wi-"

"Oh no, no!" You reply quickly, forcing a laugh out, "No thank you, I uh - besides Aemond and I aren't -"

"There you are!" Helaena blurts loudly, coming to your aid, her eyes wide as if she knows exactly what she's breaking up.

She tugs you away before you have a chance to say anything, and you instantly feel relieved, "Thank you" you mouth.

She smirks, "It's alright, Aem shouldn't have left you alone with them hanging around"

You can't help but look back at the black-haired woman called Alys, now finding that Aemond has approached her. She leans close to him, speaking in a hushed and intimate manner, biting her ruby lips. Aemond on the other hand has his signature look, giving nothing away.

You want to ask.

You so want to ask.

"Do Alys and Aemond know each other?" You finally ask, giving in to curiosity.

Helaena snaps her head to you quickly, panicked almost.

"Qoren said something?" She asks, to which you nod, "They were together a few years ago, not for very long. That's probably all you should know"

Together…

The sapphire necklace.

It all makes sense. The urgency.

Otto was warning Aemond she was here.

Your lips part in wordless shock, "But…isn't she…"

"A fucking dinosaur? Yeah" Helaena says annoyed, sipping her own champagne and turning her back to them, "Disgusting is what she is" she mutters under her breath.

Dread descends on you, clouding the otherwise warm atmosphere of the after-party.

You look back. Aemond is watching Alys saunter away from the event hurriedly with a less-than-enthused look on her face. He looks visibly annoyed. Uncomfortable even.

It didn't look amicable.

So why would she wear the necklace?

Even when Alys has left, his jaw remains tense and you can't help but feel like he looks smaller, shrinking into himself with his shoulders rolled slightly forwards. His gaze briefly meets yours before you turn back, sensing you’d been caught, seeing how Helaena is also being tugged away by Aegon to chat with Cregan and Sara.

"You look nervous"

You jump out of your skin, almost dropping the flute as that Lars-Larry-whatever guy leans uncomfortably close, his eyes glinting with mischief as they roll over you.

Gods, this man is fucking creepy.

“You looked marvellous on the ice earlier” he praised, standing beside you, watching as you tapped your fingernails on the glass nervously, “Larys Strong. Skating Journalist” he introduced, allowing himself to briefly shake your hand.

You gave as polite a smile as you could muster, “Yes, I have seen you around” Lurking around, more like.

He hummed with a small wry smile, his blue eyes darting around the room, meeting Aemond’s, who was looking at them as if wondering what they were talking about.

“Are you enjoying your time with the Targaryens?” he asked in what seemed like an innocent way.

“Yes, thank you” you reply, clearing your throat, “they are very accommodating towards me”

Larys leant against the table to take the pressure off his leg, “It is a wonder…”

“What is?” you turn to him, confusion ebbing into your tone. He smiles, eyes looking elsewhere, apparently pleased that he’d managed to capture your curiosity.

“...it is a wonder why Hightower Management approached you, over say, an experienced Pairs skater.”

Your lips part. Where do men get this innate fucking audacity?

“...Jeyne Arryn. Maris Baratheon. Even Netta, of no notable house, would be good choices. Better even”

“If you have something to say to me, just say it” you reply, jaw tensed and eyes trained forward on him. Entirely sick of the patronising manner of speaking.

Larys meets your eyes, still smiling “I have some information that may be of use to you. Regarding your employment with Hightower Manage-”

“Excuse us”, Aemond’s tall form appears beside you, standing between yourself and Larys, whose face falls significantly into a stoic frown once he realises the conversation is over.

Your annoyance towards the so-called journalist is stunted somewhat by Aemond’s hand on the small of your back, pushing you away from the conversation, making colour bloom to your face and neck.

Even several paces away, his hand remains there, the contact making your skin erupt in goosebumps as it trails slightly higher up your spine. His body bends to whisper in your ear, “Stay away from him. He likes to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong”

Tell me about it.

“What did Qoren want with you” he asks, his voice low in a whisper, his hand moving to your arm to pull you along. There’s something angered about the way he asks it, his fingers somewhat digging into the meat of your flesh.

The warmth is tainted somewhat by all the frustration of feeling as if secrets are being kept from you as well as the flat, demanding manner of his voice.

You bristle away from him, the warmth of his hand disappearing, “I’m not your fucking girlfriend, Aemond. Stop treating me like one” you hiss, turning to look at him, “just business partners. Right?”

Aemond stands there, briefly confused. But the longer your eyes look at one another, the more his expression shifts into something that you’ve seen only a handful of times. Like that time he saw you training for the first time. And when he assisted your leg stretch only a few days ago.

He half blinks. Trying to hide the passing of his gaze over your form with it.

“You look nice”

Instead of feeling flattered, rage only floods through your veins. Who does he think you are? Some vain, empty-headed woman who can be so easily swayed with a compliment? Throwing yourself at his feet just because he said the most basic nice thing he could even muster?

“You fucking-”

Otto Hightower steps in, unapologetically breaking up whatever it was that was happening (but his face seemed like it couldn’t care less anyhow), hands behind his back, “There you both are”

You and Aemond hit pause on whatever argument was brewing.

“I’ve spoken with the staff. You shall both be on tour together in a week. Alone”

What.

Neither you or Aemond are capable of a cohesive reply, staring blankly at Otto, who just smiles, nods his head once and turns away.

Alone. On tour. With him?!

Fuck.

Taglist 1 (Bold means I could not tag!)

General Taglist: @blairfox04 | @hb8301 | @jamespotterismydaddy | @natty2017 | @randomdragonfires | @risefallrise | @theoneeyedprince | @thelittleswanao3 | @tsujifreya | @urmomsgirlfriend1 | @valeskafics 

Aemond Taglist (1): @asp3nxx | @avidreader73 | @astroswift | @bellaisasleep ​ | @boofy1998 | @cathy1514 | @dahlias-and-marigolds | @fan-goddess

[bookwormbynight]

Do you have any death note fic recommendations? :3

I'VE BEEN GETTING SO MANY ASKS idk if y'all are different people or just one or what but either way I love blabbing on the internet about my opinion so I am NOT mad about the attention 💖

When in doubt, pretty much anything in my AO3 bookmarks page. I'll link straight to the death note ones for ya.

I'm currently in the process of rereading Rabbit Holes. I basically read that one in two sittings the first time. Light is the first sentient AI and L figures out that he's alive. The whole thing is kind of an exploration of trust, consent, and personhood v being human.

Other than that, let's do a top ten list so I don't spend three hours listing fifty different fanfics, shall we?

Ah fuck this constraint is gonna hurt me though 🫠

THESE ARE ARRANGED BY WORD COUNT NOT FAVORITISM DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD IT WAS TO WHITTLE THIS SHIT DOWN

Memento Mori - Light confesses to being Kira after getting raped just after he gets off the chain in order to cash in on that execution check L promised. L doesn't know what the fuck is going on, but he's gonna keep Light alive until he feels satisfied with the answer.

Offer Me My Deathless Death - L is a vampire who met Light the first time hundreds of years ago. Every time Light dies, he's born again more twisted than he was before. This affects the canon storyline.

Gag Order - L's team finds Light underground in Italy with his jaw wired shut. It's very found-family with a hint of shinigami magic.

Degrees of Freedom - L and Light fall in love during the Yotsuba Arc, and L's desire to keep it trumps his desire to meet Kira again, so he fucks some shit up himself. The age gap is emphasized.

all in a day's work - Light is a porn star and L is a "very demanding top" (he makes Light come twice while Light's actively trying not to).

Sola Fide - Light didn't get to Naomi Misora before Naomi got to L, so he gets the Misa treatment.

Light Yagami Doesn't Have A Fire Extinguisher In His Room (& Other Cautionary Tales) - Light's DESK BOMB goes off and burns the notebook and Light's memories, and the rest of the fanfic is a fucking comedy exploring the consequences.

Atheists - It's an AU but it's canon compliant. But also not. You just have to read it dude I swear.

The Desire of Gods - I can't summarize this one either read it coward. Yotsuba Arc shenanigans.

catch a falling knife - L shaves Light's face and somehow it fucks me up.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Kinktober Day 3 - Branding

PriceGhost

CW: Branding/burning, D/s dynamics, marking, discussion of wounds, wound care

The steel in Simon’s hand is the culmination of half a year of preparation. Two smithing classes, each interrupted numerous times by missions, an interesting sort of internship with a vet, and three quick and dirty lessons on burn treatment with a nurse on base have lead to this.

“Sure about this Skipper?”

Price rolls his eyes and shucks off his jeans. “Can’t dish it out if I can’t take it.”

And there’s not much Simon can say to that, so he fires up the propane torch while Price wipes down the patch of his leg that he’s shaved with an alcohol wipe. He leans in to have Simon light his cigar, then leans back against his work bench.

For his part, Simon starts heating the the low carbon steel that he’d taken three months to shape and carve into the emblem of The 141. It was small, and full of fiddly details, certainly more difficult than just using the numbers as Price had suggested. But if Price was going to let him brand a mark into his skin, he’d wanted it to be worth the effort.

It’s only when the brand is purple all over, cooling down to the correct red-brown, that Simon feels a shiver bolt down his spine. Price was going to allow him to push hot steel into his flesh and give him a third degree burn. Price had attended every class, learned every skill with him. He’d bought the steel, helped him find a forge to rent, gotten fresh aloe and bandages and antibiotics. They were lined up on the bench next to the cling wrap, ready, waiting.

Price was going to let Simon brand him. All because Simon had asked to have Price’s mark on him, for real. Something permanent, a scar he’d chosen for himself.

The metal is a uniform red brown. Simon kneels at Price’s feet. “’S ready, sir. Solid?”

Price grins and removes his cigar from between his teeth. “Solid.”

He doesn’t hesitate, because he can’t. He lines up the metal and pushes. Price grunts, a solid hand coming down on top of Simon’s head, but he doesn’t pull. The two of them share breath for a beat, two, three. Simon realizes he’s half hard as he removes the metal, staring at the bright red and blistering skin of his captain’s thigh.

He gulps, holding the still hot part of the iron away. Jesus. He did that. “John?”

“None o’ that,” Price rumbles. This time, he does clench a fist in Simon’s hair, making him look up into hard, blue eyes. “Put that away, get the aloe, bandages, and cellophane.”

“Yessir.”

The brand hisses as it goes into the oil they have on hand, but doesn’t flash. The aloe vera is already cut and ready to be applied, so he slathers on a generous glob before applying a non-stick bandage. Price grunts a little, unable or unwilling to hide the pain. Because it hurts worse than anything they usually go through? Or because it’s them, together? Is he thinking of when he’ll do this to Simon?

Wrapping cellophane around his thigh feels impossibly intimate. Simon has to resist the urge to bury his face into Price’s leg, and makes due by tucking his face into his own shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut. Price lets him hide, for a minute, before coaxing his eyes up.

“Six months,” he rumbles down. “And then we start the process for you.”

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

By Adam Piore

There’s still no cure for the debilitating condition. But some front-line clinicians are finding ways to help patients feel better.

Until Elizabeth Kenny shuffled into Dr. David M. Systrom’s clinic at Brigham and Women’s Hospital in May 2022, she’d pretty much given up hope.

Two years earlier, the 50-something actress took to her bed with COVID-19, feverish and exhausted, to wait for her body to repair itself. Instead, Kenny’s 101-degree fever lasted 70 days and left behind a series of life-altering symptoms that perplexed every doctor she’d consulted. She’d stopped sweating. Her body fluctuated between feeling hot and freezing cold. She had so much trouble digesting food that she became malnourished. She developed a stutter. Bright lights made her vision blur. The back of her head often felt like someone had whacked it with a frying pan. Her heart raced. But the worst part was the relentless, soul-crushing exhaustion.

Systrom, she recalls, “was the first person that when I was describing my symptoms, wasn’t going ‘weird,’” said Kenny, who lives in Arlington. “He was like, ‘yep.’ And then asking me questions that nobody had asked.” Systrom told her that “obviously” Kenny had long COVID. Then he introduced her to a series of unfamiliar words that she would come to know intimately in the weeks that followed: “dysautonomia,” “small fiber neuropathy,” and “mast cell disorder.” It was the beginning of a new phase in her illness. One with hope.

The US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimates almost 7 percent, or close to 18 million Americans, are afflicted with the mysterious condition known as long COVID, a syndrome that is so heterogenous, elusive, and difficult to treat, it took a year for some doctors to even acknowledge it was real. In the years that followed, the federal government has doled out more than $1.6 billion to study it, helping to make it one of the most researched diseases in any four years of recorded history. Yet we have little to show for it.

In July, the National Academies of Science, Engineering, and Medicine, at the behest of the Biden administration, published an official definition of the condition. Long COVID occurs after a COVID-19 infection, lasts for at least 3 months, affects one or more organ systems, and includes hundreds of possible symptoms and diagnosable conditions, scientists wrote. But there are still no approved blood tests to diagnose long COVID, no clinically validated treatments, and no cure.

The news is not all bad. Five years in, a small but growing cadre of front-line clinicians such as Systrom are beginning to unravel some of long COVID’s most vexing mysteries. In the process, they are achieving something that once seemed impossible: they are finding ways to help patients, including Kenny, get their lives back.

Doing so requires improvisation, experimentation, and a willingness to work at the edge of medical knowledge. Systrom and his colleagues discuss promising scientific papers and trade tips at conferences, on Zoom calls, and in email chains. Their growing well of anecdotal experience is pointing the way toward the groundbreaking research and clinical trials that will be needed to develop a standard of care in the years ahead as we grapple with a slow-burning public health crisis that shows no sign of abating. While the incidence of long COVID has dropped from roughly 10 percent at the peak of the pandemic to about 3.5 percent among the vaccinated, only about 25 percent of those who develop the condition recover, according to Systrom and other front-line clinicians.

In September 2021, Systrom was among the first clinicians in the nation to demonstrate a measurable change in the physiology of patients suffering from long COVID — and explain how those changes might account for the crushing fatigue that is among its most debilitating symptoms. The study helped establish long COVID as a legitimate condition and overcome the skeptics, said Dr. David Putrino, who runs a long COVID clinic at New York’s Mt. Sinai Hospital.

The study grew out of his experiences with patients: Prior to the arrival of COVID-19, Systrom, a critical care physician who runs a pulmonary clinic at Brigham and Women’s Hospital, had spent years studying chronic fatigue syndrome, also known as myalgic encephalomyelitis, an illness afflicting more than 3 million Americans. When Systrom saw his first long COVID patients — before the condition even had a name — he recognized their symptoms immediately. They were similar if not identical to those reported by patients with chronic fatigue.

To prove it, Systrom had 10 patients don masks and threaded thin, flexible tubes into their jugular veins and major arteries in the forearm to measure the concentration of oxygen absorbed into the lungs, passed into the bloodstream, and taken up by the body’s muscles as they underwent rigorous workouts on stationary bicycles.

Patients who reported symptoms of long COVID absorbed just as much oxygen into their lungs as those without it. But the amount reaching their muscles — oxygen needed to produce the energy required by the exercise — was dramatically reduced, Systrom found.

A growing body of research suggests that both long COVID and chronic fatigue are post-viral syndromes that result in chronic, low-grade inflammation that can damage healthy tissue and, in some cases, the production of auto-antibodies that can attack it.

Systrom and others have begun to catalog the scope of the microscopic carnage caused by the immune system’s friendly fire. Using skin biopsies, Systrom has identified damage to the vast microscopic network of small nerve fibers responsible for sending a wide array of sensory information to the brain. The brain uses that information to regulate involuntary physiologic processes including heart rate, blood flow, temperature, breathing, digestion, and sexual arousal. The result is a condition called “dysautonomia,” a failure of the autonomic nervous system often associated with diabetes as well as autoimmune and degenerative nerve disorders.

They have also identified reductions in mitochondria, the microscopic powerhouses that produce the chemical energy needed to perform basic cellular functions.

For many patients, these findings have been a revelation.

“He’s taken me from feeling completely lost in the woods to at least now just being on the edge of the woods,” Kenny said. “At least now I have a partial understanding of what’s happening to me.” Perhaps more important, Systrom and others have begun to find ways to blunt the condition’s most debilitating symptoms.

Most front-line treatments are still “anecdotal, based on our hunch and experience that we’ve amassed in the clinic over the past several years,” said Ziyad Al-Aly, a clinical epidemiologist at Washington University in St. Louis and leading long COVID researcher, who runs a long COVID clinic.

To tamp down the toxic low-level inflammation, Systrom often prescribes a low dosage of naltrexone, an anti-addiction drug. He and others recently launched a randomized clinical trial to demonstrate the success they have seen in the clinic. He uses Midodrine, a drug that can cause blood vessels to tighten, to increase blood pressure, which can fall dangerously low due to the problems with autonomic nerve signaling. And he offers Mestinon, approved to treat a chronic autoimmune neuromuscular disease called myasthenia gravis, to improve communication between the small nerve fibers and the brain.

Other promising off-label therapies listed by Al-Awy, Putrino, and others include emergency opioid medications that seem to attenuate brain fog, transdermal patches that deliver mitochondrial supplements, and antihistamines, which can be used to tamp down the overactivation of the immune system’s mast cells in tissues.

These treatments have not been validated by the Food and Drug Administration and the success rate varies by patient type, symptoms, and clinical practice. While Putrino and Systrom both believe the transdermal patches have helped their patients with mitochondrial dysfunction, for instance, Al-Awy has less confidence in their efficacy and is thus far less likely to prescribe them.

For Kenny, these medications make a difference. Today, she can move around her house and do things for five hours a day, instead of just two. Her brain fog has lifted enough that she can write for small windows of time. She no longer suffers from intestinal distress so severe she has to use the bathroom five times a day.

Her disease feels like a disability, not a death sentence.

“There’s this huge difference depending on which doctor you end up with,” she said. “I could have just as easily been put with a different doctor who doesn’t have Systrom’s background, who would give me that speech: ‘This is a brand new disease. We don’t know anything. This is all emerging. We still don’t know.’ I got lucky.”

[solaria-creates]

‏Hello, can you please reblog or publish a post for my campaign? Due to the weakness of donations, they pass slowly as ice. I hope you can help me. A small amount like $10 will be more than useful to help me and my family. Thank you for everything💔🙏

‏Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundrais‼️💔🍉🍉🍉

Farah is #310 on the Vetted Fundraisers List‼️

‏Right now, donated money is being used to help us survive this war. Food is very expensive and my family has to pay rent for the land that our tent is on. However, I want to save up enough money to evacuate my family to a safer place where we can rebuild our lives. I dream of returning to university to finish my computer science degree. I want to provide a better life for my family than is possible in Gaza. My family and I have many dreams we would like to fulfill after this war. We are grateful to everyone who donated and helps us during this time of suffering. Thank you for reading

‏https://gofund.me/73d4b003

Please go support Farah's campaign in any way possible!! Whether that be reblogging this post, donating whatever you feasibly can, contacting your local politicians about ceasefire, or spreading the word in your circles, we can all do our part to help these people experiencing something I can barely fathom. Below is the description pulled directly from the linked gofundme, please read and reblog!

Currently £2,839 raised of £50,000 goal

Right now, donated money is being used to help us survive this war. Food is very expensive and my family has to pay rent for the land that our tent is on. However, I want to save up enough money to evacuate my family to a safer place where we can rebuild our lives. I dream of returning to university to finish my computer science degree. I want to provide a better life for my family than is possible in Gaza. My family and I have many dreams we would like to fulfill after this war. We are grateful to everyone who donated and helps us during this time of

suffering. Thank you for reading.

Hello everybody.

"Hello, I am Farah. I want to tell you about my suffering from the beginning of the war from October 7th until today. We spent the first week in Gaza. During this short period, we were subjected to many threats of evacuation due to the bombing that took place near us. After that, we were displaced on October 13th to the south of Gaza, specifically in the Khan Yunis area. We were displaced in a place affiliated with UNRWA for a period of 3 months. We slept in a large number of people, 12 people, in a place 3 meters by 3 meters on a mat on the ground. There were no mattresses or headrests (pillows). We suffered from a lack of drinking water and pollution in the place, and overcrowding and crowding to use the bathroom. We waited an hour until we could use the bathroom.

We also suffered from the lack of meat or chicken, and all we ate was canned. Our children suffered from the lack of food for them, such as milk and eggs. We also suffered from the high prices of diapers and their lack of availability, to the point that the price of a pack of diapers ranged from $50 to $70. Despite the fact that it was a place affiliated with UNRWA, we were subjected to a siege for 10 days, and the Israeli army bombed the barracks and fired live bullets at the place. The place was evacuated..

Until now, the army has bombed areas near where we are in Al-Zawaida and we are suffering from hearing the sounds of explosions and clashes day and night. When we get sick and the children get sick, there is no treatment for us, no medicines, no hospitals, and my nephews and I suffer from skin allergies, toothaches, etc., and the scorching sun rays have caused us skin burns.

We also suffer from transportation and its high cost. We have started riding a cart pulled by an animal. People have started putting vegetable oil in their cars as fuel instead of gasoline and diesel, and this pollutes the air. Also, using firewood to cook food due to the lack of gas causes cancer, asthma, and difficulty breathing.

[wilsons-three-legged-siamese]

I have this really weird non-slash House & Wilson AU I made up last September, I feel like it's time to share it-

Wilson lost his parents when he was 4, leaving him on the streets without any where. After a day or so, House happens to find the young boy at only 14. House panicked obviously, but ends up taking the toddler in. He shows Blythe and John Wilson, but the two end up getting kicked out, so they both lived on the street. They managed to survive, off of Houses part time job, where he snuck Wilson in the back. At 5 and 15, Wilson managed to get lost. He looked everywhere, but as a 5 year old, he stumbled into a wild bonfire. Being curious, he touched it, resulting in his hand getting 3rd degree burns. House managed to find Wilson and took him to the ER, getting treatment but running off without paying the bill. But they used fake names obviously. At 16, House managed to get an one bedroom apartment, where they lived for a bit until House was offered a place at John Hopkins University at 18 because of his intelligence. He took Wilson with him.

Wilson was also offered a place at Hopkins at 14 as he'd been in the lectures anyway, so he became an oncologist at 20, where he and House both worked. Wilson ends up calling House dad, as they work in the same hospital. Nobody knows their background, so they kinda just accept that Wilson calls House dad for a strange reason.

For Wilsons scars on his hands, House always treats them <3

Don't ask where I got this from-

[callmeengels]

HELP THE FARH FAMILY EVACUATE FROM GAZA!

£1,883 raised of £50,000 goal

Vetted by @apollos-olives here

The story of Farah and her family, in her own words:

Right now, donated money is being used to help us survive this war. Food is very expensive and my family has to pay rent for the land that our tent is on. However, I want to save up enough money to evacuate my family to a safer place where we can rebuild our lives. I dream of returning to university to finish my computer science degree. I want to provide a better life for my family than is possible in Gaza. My family and I have many dreams we would like to fulfill after this war. We are grateful to everyone who donated and helps us during this time of suffering. Thank you for reading.

Hello everybody.

"Hello, I am Farah. I want to tell you about my suffering from the beginning of the war from October 7th until today. We spent the first week in Gaza. During this short period, we were subjected to many threats of evacuation due to the bombing that took place near us. After that, we were displaced on October 13th to the south of Gaza, specifically in the Khan Yunis area. We were displaced in a place affiliated with UNRWA for a period of 3 months. We slept in a large number of people, 12 people, in a place 3 meters by 3 meters on a mat on the ground. There were no mattresses or headrests (pillows). We suffered from a lack of drinking water and pollution in the place, and overcrowding and crowding to use the bathroom. We waited an hour until we could use the bathroom.

We also suffered from the lack of meat or chicken, and all we ate was canned. Our children suffered from the lack of food for them, such as milk and eggs. We also suffered from the high prices of diapers and their lack of availability, to the point that the price of a pack of diapers ranged from $50 to $70. Despite the fact that it was a place affiliated with UNRWA, we were subjected to a siege for 10 days, and the Israeli army bombed the barracks and fired live bullets at the place. The place was evacuated..

Until now, the army has bombed areas near where we are in Al-Zawaida and we are suffering from hearing the sounds of explosions and clashes day and night. When we get sick and the children get sick, there is no treatment for us, no medicines, no hospitals, and my nephews and I suffer from skin allergies, toothaches, etc., and the scorching sun rays have caused us skin burns.

We also suffer from transportation and its high cost. We have started riding a cart pulled by an animal. People have started putting vegetable oil in their cars as fuel instead of gasoline and diesel, and this pollutes the air. Also, using firewood to cook food due to the lack of gas causes cancer, asthma, and difficulty breathing."

Tagging for reach (dm me if you want out): @daegu-based-terrorist @determinate-negation @daily-click-reminders @decolonize-the-everything @daegu-based-terrorist @txttletale @palipunk @plaidos @heritageposts @maowives @notchainedtotrauma @komsomolka @charlott2n @patricia-taxxon @comicaurora @anneemay @aristotels @chexcastro @appsa @afro-elf @tittyinfinity @estrogenesisevangelion @feluka @kropotkindersurprise @karlmarxmaybe @bloglikeanegyptian @butchniqabi @butchmartyr @buttonpoetry @canidae-dyke @clementine-kesh @lesbutcher @soon-palestine @rgrectangle @sayruq @cutejessieemerald @schoolhater @fairuzfan @read-marx-and-lenin @rebecca-levin-art @transmutationisms @transhuman-priestess @mushroomjar @nabulsi @neptunerings @newsfrom-theworld @newsfromstolenland

[projectbluearcadia]

Notes on my Lucifer Smut

I am on my knees for this man. Seriously, Lucifer rasping, “Spread your legs before I spread them for you” does things to me that I cannot explain. I.e. For me to write Lucifer as a submissive mess is rare. Not impossible, but rare.

I generally write the foreplay but not the actual sex. There’s only so many ways you can write, “he pounded into her/him with savage abandon, trying his damndest to break his bed again.” Not that I won’t do it.

I like to give Lucifer extra authority with "sir", "Master" and even "Daddy," though the latter is used exclusively for the purpose of humiliation rather than the Daddy kink (the age play thing personally makes my skin crawl).

On the topic of kinks, I have a thing for spanking and praise, so if they pop up a lot, I am genuinely sorry.

Unless otherwise noted, I write on the assumption that the reader has female anatomy. Single biggest reason: I have female anatomy. For any Male!MC NSFW I write, there will be a written apology at the top of the fic.

Feedback is appreciated if you feel comfortable with providing it. Reblogs, likes, comments, asks, etc. all count as feedback.

You can submit a request, but please keep in mind that I am not guaranteed to accept it. Request Policy HERE

THE "SPICE RATING"

For reader convenience, I will be trying to rate my smut based on how "spicy" I feel it is. To do this, I will be using a (hopefully fairly intuitive) 4 point scale. Below are general guidelines I plan to use.

1/Eh, It's Mild - Can fall here because: sexual acts aren't that detailed, the post is more focused on plot / character development, or just because I don't think it's that spicy.

2/Kinda Spicy - Probably still more plot-focused, but there's a little more attention paid to the hot stuff, e.g. plot, dialogue, and 1 nice, in-depth piece of smut.

3/Don't Burn Yourself - Alright, now we're talking. May or may not follow a story, but it's mostly hot girl on boy shit.

4/HOLY F*CK THAT'S HOT - This is reserved for either 1) posts that go into describing the sex itself or 2) posts that manage to turn me on when I re-read them.

BDSM Rating [ Added 6/14/24 ]

Since Lucifer is a sadist, I will also be trying to rate a vague degree of the type and severity of dom treatment Lucifer exhibits towards the reader. (Also applicable for dom readers to sub Lucifer). Not meant to replace content warnings, just indicate their severity.

0 - Softie, no talking down to the sub, tormenting the sub, etc.

1 - Dabbling, taking adventurous steps but nothing extreme. Light on all forms of BDSM.

2 - Kinky, BDSM acts used as a feature of the smut, but they are not the main focus.

3 - BREAK ME. BDSM play is the entire focus, and the dom has complete control over their sub.

Supplementary "attitude" ratings that may be paired with 1-3:

F - False comfort, the dom is cruel but pretends that isn't the case

O - Object, the dom treats the sub as their sex toy

C - Condescending, the dom talks down to the sub (as a person, not an object)

[chaotic-orphan]

The Hero and the Infant: part 3

part one here!

part two here!

I am back to writing my favourite pair, but it’s a short one this time. Still enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*

Hero’s arms were spread wide as they strut onto the roof in a gesture of questioning: “hey! What the fuck are ya doing?”

That got Villain’s attention. Violet eyes snapped to theirs, floating a couple metres off the roof. Out of reach for Hero.

“Silent treatment? Really? You just tried to kill a kid, Villain.”

“Superhero’s new sidekick. I did warn them about the mortality rate of such a job before I dropped them,” Villain said with a shrug. Hero looked back at the sound of the roof door opening and Sidekick stepping out, fury winding all of their limbs tight.

“See?” Villain said, getting Hero’s attention again. The Villain’s hand was spread to Sidekick’s appearance. “They’re fine!”

Hero rolled their eyes, scoffing. “Is that supposed to be a justification for attempted murder?”

Hero felt the strong invisible hand wrap around them and yank them up into the air straight into Villain’s awaiting arms.

“Maybe I just don’t like the company they keep,” said Villain, grabbing Hero by the lapels of their duster and pulling them close.

Villain’s nose crinkled up as they said: “you smell like whiskey and cigarettes.”

“It was never a problem before. In fact I think I remember you enjoying the smell at one point,” said Hero with their dashing smile reserved for only Villain.

“Why are you running around with Superhero’s new scapegoat?”

“Why are you disturbing these good people just trying to do their jobs?” Hero shot back.

“I am a Villain, my dear. It is what we do.”

“And I am a hero, at your every public beck and call. To make sure you don’t do irrevocable damage. Such as killing a child,” Hero admonished and yelped as they felt Villain’s power vanish from under them and they were falling.

Villain held them with one hand over the precipice in their usual showmanship of power. Hero narrowed their eyes and shifted their weight so they were almost a perfect 45 degree angle to the ground thirteen stories below.

A challenge coated their words as they spread their arms wide, “if you want to kill anyone Villain, do us both a favour and kill me.”

Villain searched Hero’s face for any weakness. Any sign that they were lying and found none. The next thing Hero knows their back is cracking off brickwork and they gasped for the air that was wrenched from their lungs.

“Hero!” Sidekick yelled in surprise from the opposite roof.

Hero barely had time to stand again before Villain was in front of them, fist bunching in the collar of their shirt. Villain threw a solid left hook. Hero countered, taking the brunt on their forearm before an invisible hand grabbed Hero’s yanking it above their head and keeping it there. Hero’s toes barely scraping the roof below them.

“No fair,” said Hero with a grunt, levelling Villain with a knowing scorn.

Villain’s smile was more of a snarl as they said: “when have I ever played fair?”

Suddenly Hero’s hand was released and they dropped to their feet, knees bent. Villain was recoiling to the side, hand on their cheek as a once invisible Sidekick became visible again.

“You alright?” Sidekick asked and Hero nodded.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You looked like you needed help,” Sidekick said.

Hero fixed their jacket, rolling their neck as Villain’s gaze turned to face the pair. “I had it handled.”

“Sure you did,” and Sidekick was invisible again. Villain’s eyes burned like the cold fires of hell down at Hero and Hero shrugged with a smirk.

“Kid’s annoying,” said Hero. “But sure, what can you do?”

“Drop them off a building again. Maybe it will work this time.”

“Probably not,” Hero said with a flash of their teeth. “Not as long as I’m here.”

“Well then perhaps I will force you to watch,” said Villain as they shot their hand out. Hero sucked in a breath and felt the pop in their ears as they reappeared behind Villain. They whistled and Villain turned. Hero threw a punch which Villain caught, clenching their hand down around Hero’s fist and stepping forward, pushing Hero back. “You always did think I relied too much on my power.”

“Eh,” Hero shrugged with tired eyes. “It’s an off day.”

Villain’s eyes narrowed, their tone dipping dangerous as they turned Hero’s arm. “Maybe you should have answered my texts then and we could have arranged a non-drinking day for you.”

“Come on, Vil. You know me better. They are no non-drinking days.”

Villain pulled Hero in and brought a sharp knee to Hero’s stomach. Hero gasped, as Villain leaned in. “We’ll sober you up yet. Just like our academy days, huh Hero?”

“No wait, Villain—“ Hero protested and there was a resounding crack over the roof. Hero screamed bloody murder as Villain kicked them back, their head hitting off the stone roof. White spots burst behind their vision as Hero shuffled back on their good arm. “Motherfucker!”

Hero looked down at their hand, their index and middle finger bent backwards. A deep purple and black colouring the battered flesh. They had to get off the ground.

Hero sucked in a sharp breath closing their eyes. Then a boot came to their chin and Hero cursed as their head hit the ground again. Villain stomped on Hero’s ribs, and Hero’s eyes shot open. Their good hand pushing at Villain’s ankle to alleviate the pressure.

“No jumping out if your brain’s clouded with pain, ain’t that right Hero?”

“Normal people just say: I missed you,” Hero hissed. “They don’t try and kill you.”

“What can I say? I’m not normal people,” said Villain with a smile of their own. Then their hand shot out on instinct and Sidekick reappeared, gasping on no air. Hero sat up, but Villain just put more pressure on their leg keeping Hero pinned. “No. No. Don’t get up. Stay down.”

“Let them go, Villain!” Hero cried. Sidekick dropped to their knees, face going purple as they choked on nothing, hands clawing desperately at their throat.

Villain tilted their head at Sidekick’s struggles. Hero reached their hand into their pocket, taking out their lighter. “It’s not everyday I don’t kill someone first try. The last one that happened with…” Villain turned back to Hero. “Well, was you, dearest.”

Hero shot their hand out, setting fire to Villain’s trouser leg that was currently weighing on Hero’s ribs. Villain gasped, stepping back and Sidekick sucked in a lungful of air. Hero looked at Villain. “I’ll be back,” they said as they lunged for Sidekick’s arm, hand clamping around their wrist. Hero closed their eyes, sucking in a breath.

Then pop.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Taglist: @d-cs

[awkward-tension-art]

Puppet on a String Chp.4 (Fives x Reader)

Chapter 3. Chapter 5.

The Galaxy Moves On

cw: Fives x Reader, Reader is a medical practitioner, Crying, Grief, angst, swearing, anti-jedi sentiment, Death mentioned, violence, injury, Theres substantial time skips to get to the plot LMAO

tag list (Tyyyyy <3): @spicydonut25 @amazonian-bae @notgonnaedit @tentakelspektakel

Third degree blaster burn to the calf, gastrocnemius muscle damaged. Sural communication branch damaged. Limited movement in the calf until nerve and muscle heals.

Your eyes roamed the datapad screen that had the details of your treatment. The bounty hunter certainly didn’t hold back. You should be thankful that he didn’t kill you though.

Commanders Fox and Thorn had stayed with you until Captain Rex could arrive. Apparently it was known among the soldiers that there was an ARC trooper in the ranks that was in a relationship with a nat-born.

However, no one knew who his romantic partner was. He had done well to hide your identity, so there was plausible deniability in case an irate General wanted a reason to decommission him.

Well, at least until you opened your mouth in a fit of emotional panic.

Maybe it was your relationship to Fives that gave Fox a reason to have a Coruscant guard posted outside your door specifically when he increased more security for the entire building. 

You looked up from the datapad once there was a knock on your door. Captain Rex had a worried expression as he approached. Behind him was Commander Fox.

“Commander, Captain.” You nodded, giving a small, tired smile, “I’d stand and salute but I’ve been told my leg needs a couple more days.”

“No need to get up,” the Coruscant guard approached, “I wanted to confirm some details of the attack.” 

“I…I’ll do my best to answer,” your memory was foggy at best. Now that you were calm and it had been a rotation already, details were fuzzy. Your brain had erased certain events to save you. Protect you and your mind. You’ve had patients in similar situations, “But…I don’t know who or why this happened.”

Rex got to your other side. He had a look of understanding in his eyes, “The one who attacked you was a bounty hunter named Rako Hardeen.” He explained to you, “Someone had put a bounty on your head.”

You swallowed and nodded, “Do you know why?” So this was confirmation, these were planned murders. And you were nearly added to the list of victims…

Your colleagues weren't so lucky…

“Separatist plot,” Fox had his arms crossed, “When the killings originally began, it was Rex who thought the entire situation was suspicious. The attack on you had been the confirmation needed.”

Separatist plot…

That didn’t settle the disquiet in your mind. 

You were about to speak when the door to your hospital room opened. In the doorway was a panting, disheveled looking Fives. “Mesh’la!” He yelped, dropping his helmet and rushing to your side. His armored arms were around you instantly, “When I got the message you had been attacked I finished the mission as quickly as I could to get here.” 

“Fives…” You croaked, hugging him tightly. Your eyes closed, keeping back tears.

He pulled back to hold your face, “What happened? Who did this!? I’ll kill them.”

Fox and Rex both replayed what happened to your lover. They treated it like a report, telling him everything they knew about the bounty hunter and plot. You also gave whatever details you remembered about the attack specifically. 

By the end of it, Fives brushed his thumb over your cheek, brown eyes a storm of worry, “All of this…to make the Republic look weak? The Seppies are willing to go so low to kill…to kill healthcare workers? Doctors and nurses?”

“Seems so.” Fox, his arms crossed and his helmet on, spoke calmly,“Now that we know, I’ve increased security in this sector and will have some of the guard patrol inside the medical facility.”

“That's not enough!” Fives snapped.

“It has to be,” The Commander in crimson kept his voice steady. Monotone even, “Unless you want to pull some more security droids out of your ass, this is the best I can do.”

Your lover deflated and you grabbed his hand, “I’ll be fine.” you reassured him, “I guess this gives you a reason to teach me how to use a blaster.”

Bright side. Look at the bright side. You told yourself.

That seemed to work slightly. He sighed and looked back at you, giving a small smile. “Right…but mesh’la…” 

Before anything else could be said, Rex shook his head, “We’ll leave you two alone.”

The Commander and Captain filed out of your room, leaving you and Fives to have your privacy. 

“I should have been here.” Fives mumbled, “I mean, I should have known something was going on…I should have…” 

“Fives,” You squeezed his hand, “It's not your fault. It's the Separatists fault. You have a duty as an ARC trooper to go where you're needed. Just like I have a duty to the patients in this medical facility.” 

Your lover planted a soft kiss on your forehead, “I’m staying here.” he mumbled, “Until it’s time for a mission off world. I’m not leaving your side again.”

As it turns out, he had been telling the truth. Fives didn’t leave you, even when you recovered and stepped out of the hospital. He escorted you back home, hand hovering over a pistol the entire time. 

Your attack spooked him. Sent his mind into overdrive. And no amount of reassurance could calm him. As promised he taught you how to shoot. How to defend yourself. He even recruited another trooper, Tup, to help you when he couldn’t. The training helped ease his worry, but there was still a hint of anxiety in his motivations.

That anxiety got better as time went on. Your routine returned to normal, melting back into your work as a neurologist and doctor. Fives returned to his duties as an ARC trooper, leaving you for rotations on end again. But when he set foot in your home, it was domestic bliss. 

Days filled with love. Nights filled with sweet nothings. 

You calmed him from his nightmares. Of battles. Of death and destruction. He held you as you wept over lost patients. Of blood and gore left on the soldiers. 

But the Galaxy moved on. 

Until Rako Hardeen reappeared, killing Jedi Obi-wan Kenobi before getting arrested.

You felt relief, and then dread. You were familiar with some of the men of the 212th. They often worked closely with the 501st, so Fives was well known among their ranks. Not to mention you’ve treated many of those soldiers in the medical facility…

“Mesh’la,” Your lover had called you on the holo, “Can you come to the barracks? Some of my siblings are in crisis.” 

Without another word you got a speeder and rushed to Military Headquarters. Fives met you outside, and led you to the barracks. You were clearly out of your element, being the only white coat among armor and blacks. 

Yet, when you made it to the 212th barracks, no one seemed to notice. There was heartbroken sobbing. Clones in sunburst orange hugging each other. Soldiers in blue and white trying to calm their emotional vode. Among them was the 501st field surgeon. The only other nat-born there. 

Fives looked to you, “I’m sorry, but some of the troopers…”

“I understand,” You responded kindly. When the word ‘crisis’ had hit your ears, you shifted to that of a medical professional. Now, those who needed it were your patients. You gave your mental health services to ease some of the emotional turmoil. 

…until Obi-wan turned out to be alive. He traumatized his men for a mission to save the chancellor! The day you found that out was the day you managed to snap a scalpel in your hands.

Fucking Jedi! Your thoughts were enraged, Playing with people's emotions like that?! His troopers were devastated!

If you were a Jedi, you would have left the order for such a brazen display of apathy.

But the Galaxy had to move on. The war continued. On and on…

Until the Jedi Temple had been bombed. Ahsoka Tano, a commander Fives adored, was blamed. 

“She didn’t do it!” He was agitated right before her trial, “Ahsoka would never do something like this!” he paced back and forth in your apartment. 

You grabbed his hand and squeezed, “She’s innocent. The trial should prove that.” You went with him to watch the trial carefully. 

The poor togruta looked terrified and upset. She was just a young girl and she looked so tiny and alone. 

Isn’t there a rule about Jedi not being alone? You thought to yourself, She has no support…

To Senator Amidala’s credit, she tried her absolute best to convince the jury that the former padawan was innocent. Despite the evidence against her, Padme did a decent job because you noticed a shift in spectators. A substantial amount weren’t so certain of Commander Tano’s guilt.

It didn’t matter, because as dramatic as ever, General Skywalker interrupted the trial with the true culprit. A fellow Jedi named Barriss Offee.

She stood in front of thousands and spoke the truth with conviction, “I did it. Because I've come to realize what many people in the Republic have come to realize!” Her words shook the foundation of everyone watching, “That the Jedi are the ones responsible for this war. That we've so lost our way that we have become villains in this conflict. That we are the ones that should be put on trial. All of us!” 

You looked to Fives, putting a hand on his upper arm. He was trembling. In rage over the attack? In relief of Ahsoka’s innocence? You weren’t so certain at the moment.

The Jedi didn’t falter as she continued, “And my attack on the Temple was an attack on what the Jedi have become. An army fighting for the dark side. Fallen from the light that we once held so dear. This Republic is failing! It's only a matter of time!”

With horror, you realized she had a point.

Of course, you hated the attack. Too many innocent lives were lost. She had the blood of civilians on her hands. Clones, Jedi, temple employees…too many people hurt and killed.

But the Jedi had fallen. Pong Krell was a prime example of that. 

Later that night, Fives broke down. Ahsoka had left the jedi order, and you couldn’t fault her for her decision. So you went to the 501st barracks, and held the troopers in blue as they wept. You were one of the few nat-borns the clones showed such vulnerability to. They trusted you.

All you could really feel was an increased bitterness towards the Jedi. And based on the propaganda, posters and rising protests, you weren’t the only one to feel such ire.

It was too soon when the 501st was called for a mission on Ringo Vinda.

“I’ll be back, mesh’la.” He stole your lips into a passionate kiss before pulling away, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you responded softly, “Stay safe and come back soon.”

Your lover stepped away, and left for the ship that would take him to Ringo Vinda. 

Now, several rotations later, you were looking over data and medical reports from the latest battalion that had been brought to the GRMF. 

Losses, burns, amputations, head injuries…all expected from a battle. You were typing on the datapad, when a nurse called your name. Your eyes landed on them, “Yes?” 

“There's a holo for you.” 

You furrowed your brow but nodded, and took the call in your office. Panic filled your system when Fives appeared, “Mesh’la, I need you.” He sounded scared. Terrified. 

“Fives…what's going on?”

“It’s Tup,” He explained panicked, “He killed a Jedi.”

Tup killed a Jedi!?