#Complex Heart Surgery

[drpavankumarblog]

Understanding the Role of a Heart Surgeon in Cardiac Care

With regards to heart wellbeing, the mastery of a Heart Surgeon is significant. These specific clinical experts are prepared to carry out complex procedures that can save lives and work on the personal satisfaction for patients experiencing different heart conditions. Among the most basic methods they perform is Heart Bypass Surgery.

What is Heart Bypass Surgery?

Heart Bypass Surgery, frequently alluded to as Coronary Corridor Sidestep Uniting (CABG), is a system pointed toward further developing blood stream to the heart. During this medical procedure, a specialist takes a sound vein from one more piece of the body and uses it to sidestep an impeded coronary corridor. This reestablishes sufficient blood supply to the heart muscle, diminishing side effects, for example, chest agony and windedness.

The Significance of a Heart Bypass Surgery Specialist

Finding a Heart Bypass Surgery Specialist is urgent for anybody confronting the possibility of this medical procedure. These experts have broad information and involvement with performing sidestep techniques and overseeing pre-and post-employable consideration. They assess the patient's general wellbeing, think about the seriousness of the coronary illness, and foster a customized careful arrangement to guarantee the most ideal result.

A Consultant Cardiac Surgeon assumes a vital part in this cycle. They carry out the procedure as well as supervise the whole treatment venture, teaming up with other medical services experts to give complete consideration. This incorporates analytic testing, medical procedure, and follow-up care to screen recuperation and forestall entanglements.

When Would it be a good idea for you to Counsel a Heart Surgeon?

In the event that you are encountering side effects, for example, tireless chest agony, exhaustion, or windedness, counseling a medical services professional is fundamental. They might allude to a Heart Surgeon for additional assessment. Early mediation can fundamentally influence the progress of Heart Bypass Surgery and by and large heart wellbeing.

Conclusion

The job of a Heart Surgeon is essential in overseeing cardiovascular wellbeing and performing life-saving methods like Heart Bypass Surgery. Picking a certified Heart Bypass Surgery Subject matter expert or Specialist Cardiovascular Specialist is pivotal to guarantee viable therapy and an effective recuperation. Assuming you or somebody you know is confronting heart medical problems, make it a point to master guidance and care.

By understanding the basic capabilities these experts serve, patients can come to informed conclusions about their heart wellbeing and explore their treatment choices successfully.

[purplefiction-ao3]

I am still here and still going to get back to writing the fic.

I’m only about 3 weeks out from my most recent surgeries so I’m still healing. I’m still on some painkillers and some meds for the severe anxiety attacks, so those combined with my seizure meds is keeping me pretty lethargic and fatigued which keeps me mostly bedbound and sleeping. Hopefully my stamina will begin to come back over the coming weeks.

I can’t wait to share with you guys the next installment of Remus’ story. 💜 Thank you all, for all of your patience while I give my body the time it needs to heal and rest.

[swirlsncurlsnmanyturns]

thought back to season 4′s house’s head/wilson’s heart and I have A Question. yk how the whole catalyst of the episode was the fact that house had taken the bus because he was so drunk and couldn’t drive his cool biker boy motorcycle? yk how house always goes drinking with wilson whenever he has a crazy reason to celebrate or just another reason to be miserable? he always drinks with wilson. why did he, on this particular day, get SOOOO wasted without even telling wilson??? and then the rest follows of how he wants wilson to pick him up but then amber does instead and the rest is history (</3). but like, i’m so boggled as to why he was extra miserable and drinking alone that day.

[connorsui]

In Your Arms

Zayne x reader

Genre/warnings: pure fluff, boyfriend zayne wanting peace and you give it, manz wanna make u a wife, no warnings we don't die around here...

Synopsis: Zayne finds solace in the warmth of your presence amidst the chaos of his demanding career, and silently, he cherishes every moment, hoping one day to make your bond official

Note: I wanted doctor zayne to cure my heart ....so I made doctor zayne want to make me a wife ...

w.c: 1,070

Zayne’s footsteps echoed softly in the sterile, dimly lit hospital corridor, his mind still entangled in the complexities of the latest surgery he’d performed. His shoulders were tense, a slight frown creasing his usually composed expression as he made his way out of the building. It had been another long day, filled with the kind of high-stakes decisions that most people couldn’t fathom. But as soon as he saw you waiting for him by the entrance, your face lighting up at the sight of him, something in him softened.

The sight of you there, with your soft smile and eyes that sparkled just for him, made the world tilt back into place. The weight of the day fell away, and for a moment, he allowed himself to simply bask in the warmth of your presence. He didn’t need to say anything; the way his eyes lingered on you, tracing the curve of your lips and the gentle slope of your shoulders, spoke volumes.

“Hi, Love! ” you greeted him, your voice a gentle balm to his frayed nerves.

“Hello, Sweetheart” he replied, his tone low and warm, the single word carrying a weight of unspoken affection. His hands itched to reach out, to pull you into his arms right there in front of everyone, but Zayne had always been careful with his emotions, especially in public. Instead, he settled for a small, almost imperceptible smile that you had come to recognize as his version of a bear hug.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the soft rustle of your clothing the only sound in the quiet night air. It wasn’t until you were inside his car, the doors closed, and the world shut out, that he allowed himself the luxury of touch. His hand reached out, fingers lightly grazing yours before he intertwined them, the simple gesture grounding him in a way nothing else could.

“I would like to first apologize to you …” he murmured after a few minutes, his voice laced with the kind of guilt that came from too many late nights and missed dinners.

Surprised; you questioned. “What for exactly?”

“I just know I haven’t been around much.”

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, offering him a soft, understanding smile. “Zayne, It's alright… I know you’re doing everything you can…But…let's focus on the now.. is there anything I can do to make your night better?”

He turned his head to look at you, his gaze searching your face for any sign of fatigue or frustration. Instead, he found only warmth and concern, your eyes silently urging him to let you take care of him for once. The tension in his chest eased a fraction, and he released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Just being with you makes everything better,” he admitted, his voice rough with the weight of the day. “I don’t need anything else… just you.”

The ride to his apartment was filled with quiet conversation, the kind that flowed easily between two people who were entirely comfortable with each other. When you arrived, Zayne wasted no time pulling you close as soon as the door clicked shut behind you. His arms wrapped around you, his head resting on your chest as he exhaled deeply, finally allowing himself to relax.

“You’re so tense,” you murmured, your fingers instinctively threading through his hair, the familiar motion soothing both of you. “Why don’t you let me run you a bath? Or make you some tea?”

He tightened his hold on you, shaking his head slightly as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. “No, just… this is what I need. You’re what I need.”

The way he clung to you, as if letting go would mean losing the one thing keeping him grounded, made your heart ache with a mix of love and concern. He was always so strong, so capable, but even Zayne had his limits, and you could see that he’d reached them tonight.

“Let’s get you to bed, then,” you suggested softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “You deserve to rest.”

He nodded against you, and you led him to his bedroom, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm light over the room. Zayne moved with a quiet grace, his every action deliberate as he turned to face you, his hands settling on your waist.

“I’m sorry I’m not more… put together tonight,” he murmured, his eyes heavy with exhaustion as he leaned in to rest his forehead against yours.

“You don’t have to be anything other than yourself with me,” you whispered back, your hands coming up to cup his face. “I love you just as you are, Zayne.”

His breath hitched slightly at your words, and he pressed his lips to yours in a slow, lingering kiss that made your heart swell with emotion. There was no rush, no urgency—just the deep, abiding love that had grown between you over time, steady and unshakable.

When he pulled back, his hands moved to the hem of your shirt, his eyes meeting yours in silent question. You nodded, and he carefully lifted your shirt over your head, his hands warm against your skin as he undressed you with the same precision he used in surgery.

Once you were both stripped down; Zayne pulled you into bed, his arms wrapping around you as he settled you against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, a comforting rhythm beneath your ear as you laid together in the quiet.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, his lips brushing the top of your head.

“It’s perfect,” you whispered back, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin.

Zayne smiled against your hair, his hold on you tightening slightly as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. In that moment, with you wrapped up in his arms, he felt complete, as if all the pieces of his life had finally fallen into place.

“I’ve been waiting for this all day,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “ — to be here with you… it’s all I need.”

You nestled closer, your heart swelling with love for the man who had given so much of himself to others, yet asked for so little in return. “I’m here, Zayne. I’m always here.”

As you drifted off to sleep, Zayne couldn’t help but think about how much he wanted this—wanted you—every day for the rest of his life. And one day, he would make that dream a reality. But for now, he was content to hold you close, savoring the warmth of your body against his as he followed you into sleep.

Doctor zayne with a need for you is the only man I will ever need

[bamzies]

𝓑eauty things to script ꣑ৎ‎ ‎

(written in first person so it's easier to copy and paste)

⼺⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀ my beauty surpasses all beauty standards because it stands out in a way that makes superficial standards look less appealing

⼺⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀My beauty isn’t just visual—it’s an experience. The way I move, the way light touches my skin, the way my expressions shift it's all uniquely me

⼺⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀ my features are hard to attain/replicate, only I possess such beauty and no amount of surgery can ever imitate what only I possess

⼺⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀ i make beauty standards look stupid (optional but this is mostly for toxic beauty standards)

⼺⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀ my beauty is not tiring because it is so unique and otherworldly that people struggle not to look at me, a face that they've never seen before

⼺⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀ my beauty is hard to comprehend, its complexity makes people want to get to know me & truly understand my soul

⼺⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀ I make conventional beauty look basic because my beauty goes beyond superficial human-made conformity

⼺⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀ my beauty looks like it was carefully crafted by higher powers, i look more than just any average human

⼺⠀ ⠀𓈒 I have the type of face that makes a painter inspired, the kind of beauty that makes a poet want to write

⼺⠀ ⠀𓈒 I cannot be put in a box, no 'fox beauty' or 'bunny beauty' can describe my versatile individuality

⼺⠀ ⠀𓈒 my soul reflects my beauty in many ways, my kindness reflects in my eyes and the love in my heart seeps out into my skin, my beauty is a reflection of what is inside me

[someonegoood]

SUTURES & SCARS part 4 ✫ jeon jungkook

CONTAINS: medical!au, surgeon!jungkook x surgeon!reader, slow burn, teasing, mutual pining, enemies to lovers, fighting turned bonding, past and present love, fluff & angst :)

NOTE: thanks so much for reading, hope you enjoy it!! this work is not revised, and english is not my first language. this is the FINAL part!!!!

my main masterlist! ❀

taglist 🩺 @senaqsstuff @jjkluver7 @lovingkoalaface @khadeeeeej @pipipipiiiii @jungkooksmytype @jkxlvrr @whoa-jo @anemonatae @iviamagatitos @nerdycheol @thelilbutifulthings @banana-creampie @beomluvrr @user-190811 @mar-lo-pap @jiminismine4ever @boringmichelle @marilo11 @jenniebyrubies @kooeuphoria @rayyrayy10 @moonchild1 @littlestarstinyseven @tinyxrose @hagridshaircare <3

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4.

It was an ordinary day in the hospital, with Jungkook in the middle of a complex procedure. The sterile scent of the operating room lingered in the air as he focused on the delicate task at hand, his steady hands guiding the scalpel with precision.

But in the midst of it, a slight distraction—a brief lapse in concentration—caused the blade to nick his hand. It wasn’t a deep cut, but it was enough to draw blood, a crimson line marking his skin.

He winced slightly, clenching his fist before his mind could register the pain. He continued working for a moment longer, trying to ignore the stinging sensation, but it became too much.

You, noticing the small cut as it began to drip, quickly stepped in. Your presence was always a balm, calming and gentle. "Hey, let me help you," you said, voice soft yet firm.

You moved to his side, gently taking his hand, guiding it away from the bloodied surface. Jungkook froze, his usual composure faltering as you cleaned the wound, her touch tender and practiced.

Your soft fingers brushed against his skin, a contrast to the clinical environment surrounding you both, and for a moment, he forgot about the injury. The proximity, the warmth of your touch, made his heart beat a little faster than it should have.

"You're bleeding," you murmured, eyes focused on the wound as you carefully applied the antiseptic. He flinched, not from the sting, but from the vulnerability that seemed to seep into his chest. He didn’t want you to see him like this—weak, exposed.

“I’m fine,” Jungkook said, pulling his hand away abruptly. His voice was colder than he intended, his walls quickly rising again.

You looked up at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “Jungkook—"

“I said I’m fine,” he cut you off, more harshly than he meant. The words came out sharper than necessary, and for a moment, there was a dangerous tension between you.

His chest tightened. He didn’t know why it was so difficult to let you in. Why it felt like every time you tried to offer your kindness, he had to push you away. He had to keep everyone at arm’s length. It was safer that way.

He couldn’t lose anyone else.

The memory hit him like a sudden wave, catching him off guard. He was back in the hospital, but this time, the room was smaller, quieter.

It was a six years ago, when Dasom, a little girl from his internship, was in recovery. She was only eleven, with big brown eyes that never stopped sparkling, even in her hospital bed. Jungkook had always had a soft spot for her, especially after she’d asked him to play with her Bunny teddy bear while she was recovering from a surgery.

He had sat on the edge of her bed, Bunny in hand, telling her stories, anything to distract her from the pain.

"I promise you, Dasom," Jungkook had said, his voice soft but filled with conviction. "I’ll do everything I can for you to get better. You’ll be out of here in no time, and we’ll go get ice cream, okay?"

Dasom’s small hands gripped the stuffed animal, her face lit up with a smile that made his heart ache.

“Really?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, her dimples deepening as she gave him a shy but hopeful smile. The small gesture, so innocent and full of trust, made his heart tighten.

The sight of her, so genuine and unguarded, left him momentarily speechless. It was a simple smile, but in that moment, it felt like she was asking for more than just a promise—she was asking him to believe in something again.

“Really,” Jungkook promised.

But despite his best efforts, Dasom had passed away a few weeks later. The memory haunted him, leaving him with a feeling he couldn't shake—a deep-rooted fear of losing anyone again.

The memory snapped Jungkook back to the present, his breath coming in short gasps as he stood there, staring at you, trying to push away the pain that suddenly swelled in his chest.

"I'm not someone who can..." He trailed off, his voice hoarse. "I'm not someone who can let anyone in."

You didn’t say anything for a long moment, watching him closely. You didn’t push, but didn't walk away either.

And for the first time, Jungkook felt something shift within him. Maybe it was the cut. Maybe it was the tenderness in your touch. But something about your presence made it harder to keep his walls up, harder to ignore the ache in his chest.

He didn’t know how to make sense of it, but as you quietly finished tending to his wound, Jungkook realized that the fear of losing someone was never going to go away. Not until he allowed himself to love again.

The bar pulsed with energy, a mix of laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses filling the space as people moved around in loose, easy circles. The warm glow of the hanging lights reflected off the sleek wooden counters, casting a golden hue over everything. You weren’t sure why you had agreed to come.

Maybe because Aerum had insisted, her texts borderline demanding, or maybe because a small part of you needed the distraction—the chance to drown out the lingering sting of earlier.

The memory of Jungkook pulling away, his voice colder than it should have been, still echoed in your mind.

Aerum looped her arm through yours, her eyes alight with excitement as she tugged you toward the bar. “Come on, this is Chanwook’s big night! We need to start celebrating properly.”

Chanwook, the owner of the place and Aerum’s friend, was already behind the bar, expertly mixing drinks with a playful grin. “You made it!” he cheered, sliding two cocktails toward you and Aerum. “I was worried you’d bail.”

You gave a small smile, accepting the drink but not immediately taking a sip. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Before you could settle into the atmosphere, Aerum’s eyes flickered over your shoulder, and her lips curled into something unmistakably mischievous. “Well, well. Look who just walked in.”

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. You could feel it. That strange, electric awareness that always seemed to settle in your chest when Jungkook was near.

Still, you turned, your fingers tightening around the glass as your eyes landed on him. He looked effortlessly good, dressed in dark jeans and a fitted black button-up with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his forearms. He had that usual air of confidence, his posture relaxed as he talked to his friends, but you caught the way his jaw tensed slightly when his gaze swept over you.

Aerum nudged you. “Oh, this is getting good.”

Coco leaned in, her grin conspiratorial. “Okay, spill. There’s no way something isn’t going on between you two.”

“There isn’t,” you muttered, bringing your drink to your lips.

Aerum scoffed. “Please. The tension could be cut with a scalpel.”

You huffed, shaking your head, but before you could protest further, Jungkook’s friends made their way over. That meant he wasn’t far behind.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Jungkook said when he finally stood near you, his voice even, unreadable.

You took a breath before looking at him. “Aerum dragged me out,” you admitted, trying to keep your tone light, as if the memory of earlier wasn’t still lodged in your chest.

Aerum, completely oblivious to the undercurrent between you, beamed at Jungkook. “And what about you? Didn’t think this was your scene.”

Jungkook exhaled a small laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Chanwook’s an old friend.”

Chanwook leaned on the counter, wiggling his brows. “You two should really stop dancing around each other and just kiss already.”

You nearly choked on your drink. Jungkook stiffened beside you. Aerum, delighted, clasped her hands together. “Oh my god, yes! Just imagine, it could be the romance of the century.”

You forced a smile, willing yourself to act unbothered. “You guys have wild imaginations.”

Jungkook cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “Yeah. Wild.”

Chanwook and Aerum exchanged a look, undoubtedly about to keep pushing, but you were already reaching for your drink, needing something to do with your hands.

The worst part? You knew they weren’t entirely wrong. There was something there—something unsaid, something unresolved. And the way Jungkook’s gaze lingered on you, even when he looked away, told you he felt it too.

The teasing was relentless. Chanwook and Aerum kept nudging, throwing sly glances, and making offhand comments about something between him and you. Jungkook barely reacted, keeping his expression unreadable, but every single remark chipped away at the already fragile barrier between them.

He knew you were trying to deflect, dodging their comments with humor and indifference, but he could tell. The way you shifted in your seat, the way you kept avoiding his eyes—you felt the weight of the moment just as much as he did.

And maybe that’s why he said it.

"Alright," he interrupted, setting his drink down with a soft clink. His gaze locked onto yours, challenging. "Let’s settle this with a game of darts."

Your brows lifted. "What?"

"You keep avoiding the conversation," he said casually, "so let’s make this interesting." He grabbed two darts from the holder near the bar and held one out to you. "Loser buys drinks."

You stared at him, lips pressed together as if debating whether to take the bait. Chanwook let out an exaggerated gasp. "Ohhh, now this is a challenge I can get behind."

Aerum smirked. "Careful, he’s competitive."

Jungkook just tilted his head slightly, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Unless you're scared."

That did it.

You snatched the dart from his hand, stepping toward the dartboard with a confidence he knew was at least partly for show. "You wish."

The first few throws were playful, filled with teasing remarks and small victories. You were better than he expected, but Jungkook had always been calculated. He watched how you lined up your shots, how you readjusted after each throw.

When he landed a near-perfect bullseye, he heard you scoff. "Show-off."

He grinned. "Told you I was competitive."

But the teasing did nothing to distract from the real tension—the one that had nothing to do with darts and everything to do with what had happened earlier. When the game ended, you suddenly stepped back, your shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath. "I need some air," you murmured, already moving toward the exit.

Jungkook hesitated. He didn’t have to follow you. He could let you go, let the night smooth over whatever remained raw between them.

But he couldn’t.

So he followed.

Outside, the air was cool against his skin, a welcome contrast to the heat still lingering in his chest. The noise from inside the bar faded slightly, replaced by the hum of the city beyond—the distant rush of cars, the occasional burst of laughter from passersby.

You stood near the railing of the outdoor patio, fingers gripping the metal as if grounding yourself. The glow from the streetlights cast soft shadows across your face, highlighting the tension in your jaw, the way your shoulders rose and fell with each controlled breath.

When you heard him approach, you sighed. "You didn’t have to follow me, Jungkook."

"I know."

You turned then, arms crossing over your chest. "Then why did you?"

He swallowed, his hands slipping into his pockets. He had no easy answer.

You exhaled sharply, your voice quieter now. "What is this? You push me away earlier, but now you’re—what? Playing games? Flirting like nothing happened?"

Jungkook tensed. He had pushed you away. And yet here he was, unable to stay away. "I don’t know how to do this," he admitted, voice lower, rougher.

Your brows furrowed, frustration flickering across your face. "Do what?"

He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. "I don’t know how to want someone without being afraid of losing them." Your expression softened, but you didn’t speak. You were waiting.

So he told you.

Friday Night, 20:06 p.m. Six years ago.

The hospital smelled the same. Antiseptic, clean, but beneath it, the sickly trace of something that lingered—something that made Jungkook's stomach twist. He had been here before.

Not just tonight. Not just with Dasom.

Before.

His hands curled into fists at his sides as he stared at the bed, at the lifeless body of the girl who had once smiled at him like he could fix everything. Like he could save her. But he couldn't. Just like he hadn’t been able to save him.

His brother. It had been a case of malpractice. A rushed surgery that should have never happened the way it did. He still remembered the phone call—the way his hands trembled when he gripped the steering wheel, speeding toward the hospital as if sheer will alone could turn back time.

"There were complications," they had told him. "We did everything we could." But it hadn't been enough. The sight of his brother—still, quiet, wrong—was burned into his memory, a wound that never fully closed.

And now, Dasom.

Jungkook's fingers twitched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. She had been too young. Too alive to be reduced to a name on a death certificate. He had promised her."You’ll be out of here in no time."

Lies. The weight of it all pressed against his ribs, suffocating. Behind him, he felt your presence—hesitant, careful. You didn’t speak, but he knew what you wanted to say. That it wasn’t his fault. That he had done everything he could. That sometimes, medicine wasn’t enough.

But he couldn’t hear it. Not now. Not when grief was a raw, pulsing thing in his chest. His voice came out rough, almost unsteady. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he said quietly, his voice rough, almost shaky. “I promised her she was to live more years.”

Jungkook swallowed hard, forcing himself to look at her one last time before stepping away.

“I... I didn’t know how to handle it. How to...” His voice faltered, and for a second, he gave you a small, almost imperceptible smile. It was almost like a quiet admission, an offering of the piece of him that he kept hidden away—untouched by his usual walls.

And without another word, he walked past you, leaving you standing in the cold sterility of the room, watching as he disappeared down the hallway. Jungkook barely remembered walking out of the hospital that night. He only knew that by the time he reached his car, his hands were shaking.

The fluorescent lights in the parking lot buzzed faintly, casting a cold, artificial glow over the pavement. He gripped the edge of the car door, inhaling sharply, but the air felt too thin—like no matter how much he tried to breathe, it wasn’t enough.

His chest was tight. His head pounded.

He pressed his palms against his eyes, willing the image of her small, lifeless frame to disappear, but it was burned into him—just like the memory of his brother. The same helplessness. The same unbearable weight pressing down on him.

He had promised. Again. And again, he had failed.

Jungkook exhaled shakily, fingers clenching into fists at his sides. He didn’t know if he was angry or just empty. Maybe both. Maybe neither. When he finally slid into the driver’s seat, he just sat there.

He had to stop this.

Stop caring. Stop hoping.

Because the moment he let someone in, the universe took them away.

Jungkook inhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling with the weight of the words he had been holding back. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, strained with the ghosts of the past. "They both trusted me. And I still lost them."

You didn’t look away, your eyes soft but unwavering, understanding blooming within you like a quiet, delicate flower. His words—his guilt—cut deep, and you could feel the rawness in his tone, a wound that hadn’t healed, not even after all this time.

"Jungkook," you whispered, stepping closer to him, the distance between you closing with each step. Your hand lifted, not with urgency, but with a quiet certainty that you were there for him. Gently, hesitantly, you reached for his hand. But you didn’t pull, you simply held. "You were young. It wasn’t your fault."

His laugh, bitter and fractured, echoed in the stillness between you. It was a sound filled with so much anger and sorrow, as though the weight of the world had been poured into that single sound. "Maybe. But it still felt like it was."

His eyes locked with yours, and in that moment, you saw it—the fear, the unspoken pain that had been building up inside him all these years. The walls he had built, not just around everyone else, but around himself.

"And the worst part?" His voice was barely above a whisper, raw and unfiltered. "I can feel myself doing the same thing with you."

Your breath hitched, the words sinking into your chest, each syllable like a gentle, but insistent tug on your heart. He had been carrying this fear for so long—the fear of loving, of losing—and now he was finally allowing himself to voice it. You could see it in his eyes—the battle, the internal war between wanting to hold onto you, and wanting to push you away to protect himself.

"I want you," he confessed, the words escaping from him in a way that made the air feel thick with emotion. "But the idea of losing you—of watching you slip through my fingers the way they did—scares the hell out of me."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his vulnerability. You could feel it—the fear that had gripped him so tightly he hadn’t known how to let go. You took a step forward, your heart aching for him.

Silence stretched between you, but this time, it wasn’t cold. It was real. It was the kind of silence where everything unspoken was clearer than any words could ever be.

Then, your hand, still gently holding his, tightened ever so slightly, as if to ground him in the moment. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t need to.

"Jungkook," you murmured, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you, "I’m not going anywhere."

And as you spoke those words, you saw something shift in his eyes. The walls he had built were still there, but they were starting to crack. Just a little.

He didn’t respond immediately, but his gaze softened, a mixture of longing and uncertainty swirling in his dark eyes. The silence stretched between you both, thick with unspoken emotions, until it felt like the air itself was charged with the weight of it all.

Then, without a word, he stepped closer. The warmth of his body was intoxicating, the quiet tension in the space between you both palpable.

And when his hand gently cupped your cheek, you didn’t pull away. You didn’t even think about it.

His lips brushed against yours tentatively at first, like he was testing the waters, unsure of how much he could trust this moment. But the second your lips met, the hesitation melted away, and it was as if the world had shifted.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his kiss deepening with a sudden urgency that took your breath away.His lips moved against yours with a fervor that matched the storm inside him, the one he’d kept hidden for so long.

You responded, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your touch. The kiss was messy, passionate, raw—a release of everything that had been building between you both. When you finally broke away, breathless and with your heart pounding, you could see the vulnerability in his eyes.

"You don’t have to be afraid," you whispered, your voice shaky but full of conviction.

Jungkook’s lips suddenly curled into a smirk, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he couldn’t help himself. His eyes sparkled, a playful glint returning as the vulnerability faded into something lighter.

“You know,” he said, his voice dropping to a teasing tone, “I think you just broke down my walls... with one kiss. I guess I owe you a medal or something.”

The weeks that followed were a delicate dance—slow, tentative, yet filled with a quiet kind of hope. Jungkook had stopped keeping as much distance between you. Slowly, bit by bit, he let you in, though the scars of his past still clung to him like a second skin. But each time he pulled away, you were there.

You weren’t rushing him. You weren’t demanding anything from him. And in turn, he started to trust that you wouldn’t leave, no matter how hard it got.

For you, the days felt lighter. You could feel the walls between you both begin to melt. The teasing, the moments of playful banter, the tenderness in the way he looked at you—it was all there, quietly building, each small interaction a thread pulling you both closer.

But even with that progress, neither of you could fully escape the shadows of the past. Both of you carried your fears, your doubts. And it wasn’t long before those fears collided head-on, threatening to tear apart the fragile trust you had worked so hard to build.

The emergency came without warning. A patient—young, much too young—was rushed into the ER, clinging to life after a brutal accident. The severity of the injuries required immediate intervention, and the pressure in the room was palpable as everyone scrambled to stabilize the patient.

Jungkook worked quickly, his hands steady and efficient, but you could see the tension in his posture. You knew him better now. You saw the tightness in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched whenever things got chaotic.

This wasn’t just about the medical procedure anymore. This was about fear. The same fear that had haunted him after his brother’s death. The fear that, despite all his skills, despite all his efforts, he wouldn’t be able to save the person lying on the table in front of him.

"Jungkook," you said, your voice calm but firm, reaching out to him. "Focus. You’ve got this. We’ve got this."

He barely registered your words at first, but when you placed your hand on his arm, grounding him, he blinked and looked at you, his eyes wide, filled with that same fear that had haunted him for so long. The same fear that had made him push you away.

"I can't," he whispered, his voice barely audible, cracking under the weight of everything. "I can't lose another person."

Your heart ached for him, for the pain he’d carried in silence for all these years. But you refused to let him drown in it.

"Look at me," you said, your voice steady, your grip on his arm firm. "You’re not alone. Not now. Not ever." You paused, your eyes locking with his. "We do this together. We’ve come this far. Trust me."

For a moment, he just stared at you, the walls in his eyes crumbling just enough to let the raw vulnerability show through. And then, something shifted. He nodded, his shoulders dropping ever so slightly, the tension easing out of his frame. His hand found yours, a silent promise of partnership, of trust.

The minutes stretched, but you both held on—focused, determined. And when the patient stabilized, when the sound of their steady heartbeat filled the room, it felt like a weight had been lifted. The relief was overwhelming, a flood of emotion that nearly knocked the wind out of you both.

Jungkook exhaled deeply, a shaky breath that he had been holding in for what felt like an eternity. His fingers squeezed yours, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, there was no hesitation in his touch.

"We did it," he murmured, looking at you with something deeper in his eyes now. It wasn’t just gratitude. It was trust—pure and unshaken.

You smiled softly, knowing that, in that moment, something had shifted between you two. There was no more fear. No more walls. The trust that had once seemed so fragile was now unbreakable, built on shared pain, growth, and understanding.

"We did," you agreed, your voice soft, but filled with an unspoken promise. You would always be there.

The emotional growth that had started weeks ago had reached its peak. You had both learned the same lesson—trust—and it had been the foundation of everything that followed.

After the exhausting emergency shift, the quiet buzz of the hospital was replaced by a deep, aching stillness. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving behind a tiredness that settled in their bones. It was the kind of exhaustion that made everything feel heavier, like even the air was too thick to breathe.

"Let’s get some takeout," Jungkook suggested, his voice a little hoarse but still warm. He was leaning against the counter, his fingers running through his hair as if he could erase the weight of the day from his mind.

You nodded, grateful for the suggestion. "I think we both deserve something that doesn’t require us to think."

The order was quick, an easy meal—comfort food to settle the nerves. The two of you sat at the small kitchen table, side by side, the remnants of the long shift still clinging to the edges of the room. There was a silence between you both, but it wasn’t awkward.

It was the kind of silence that felt comfortable—like two people who had been through something together, yet didn’t need to say everything out loud to understand.

You noticed Jungkook’s posture had softened, his usual sharp edges now dulled by the quiet moments you shared after the chaos. He seemed lighter, almost like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. And that’s when you saw it. The humor that usually stayed locked behind his professional exterior.

“Careful with that,” you teased as he piled too much food onto his plate, the edge of his grin barely noticeable.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t think I’m capable of handling the challenge of a bigger portion?”

You snorted, catching him off guard. It was rare to see him let his guard down like this. There was a boyish charm in the way his eyes twinkled, in the ease of his laugh, something so refreshingly human and far from the stoic, serious man he usually was.

“I’m just saying," you grinned, leaning forward with a teasing smile. "If you eat like that, you might end up needing an emergency room after dinner.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I think I’ve seen enough of emergency rooms for one day.”

You chuckled softly, and for the first time in a long while, the weight in the room felt lighter. The exhaustion seemed to melt away as you both fell into a rhythm, talking like two people who had shared something important, something unspoken, but understood.

But as you leaned back in your chair, about to take a bite of your food, you heard the familiar sound of voices approaching the door. Coco, Aerum, and Seo Hana burst into the hospital caffe like a whirlwind, their energy immediately filling the space.

“Oh, look at you two,” Coco grinned, her eyes flicking between you and Jungkook as if reading something between the lines. “All cozy.”

Aerum smirked, crossing her arms. “Yeah, you two are practically glowing. Are we sure we’re not interrupting something?”

Seo Hana, always the more blunt one, grinned and pointed directly at you both. “It’s official. You two are definitely dating now, aren’t you?”

Your mouth fell open slightly, and you could feel the heat rise in your cheeks. Jungkook, equally caught off guard, blinked at them before finally clearing his throat.

“What?” he said, trying to play it cool, but there was an unmistakable softness in his voice now. He reached for his drink, avoiding your gaze for just a moment. “We’re just… eating.”

Coco raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Uh-huh. Just eating. And sitting together. Not totally obvious at all.”

You could feel the playful teasing in the air, but there was also something else—something comforting in the way your friends seemed to support you both without saying it out loud. It was like they already knew the truth, even if you hadn’t fully said it yet.

Jungkook looked at you, eyes soft and warm, and then back at your friends. “Yeah, fine. We’re together. Is that what you want to hear?

You met his eyes, gasping. You definitely didn't talk about that.

Coco let out a satisfied cheer. “Finally! We knew it all along.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling up without any self-consciousness. For the first time in a long time, everything felt right—like everything was falling into place.

In that moment, with the warmth of his hand brushing against yours and the world outside fading into nothing, you both understood that what you had built together wasn’t something that could easily slip away.

And in the end, that was all that mattered.

previous

[drpavankumarblog]

Vital Heart Surgeries You Should Know About

The heart is an unprecedented organ, working indefatigably to keep our bodies working. In any case, similar to some other organ, helplessness to different ailments can be perilous in the event that it is not treated in time. In this blog, we'll investigate Aneurysm Operation, Cardiac Myxoma, and the domain of Complex Heart Surgery, revealing insight into these basic methods that can save lives.

What is an Aneurysm Operation?

An aneurysm is an inflatable lump that happens in the mass of a vein, commonly in a corridor. It can shape anyplace in the body, however when it occurs close to the heart, it turns out to be especially hazardous. On the off chance that the aneurysm bursts, it can prompt inward draining and even passing. An Aneurysm Operation is performed to fix or eliminate this lump, keeping it from exploding.

The technique can shift contingent upon the size, area, and seriousness of the aneurysm. A few patients might go through customary open medical procedures, while others may be contenders for less obtrusive endovascular systems. The two methodologies plan to build up the debilitated vessel, reestablishing ordinary blood stream and limiting the gamble of crack.

Grasping Cardiac Myxoma

A Cardiac Myxoma is an uncommon yet possibly dangerous kind of harmless heart growth that normally creates in the left chamber of the heart. While the growth isn't harmful, it can block blood stream, prompting serious complexities like stroke or cardiovascular breakdown. Side effects of Cardiac Myxoma can differ however may incorporate windedness, tipsiness, and, surprisingly, unexpected swooning.

To treat Cardiac Myxoma, medical procedure is frequently expected to eliminate the cancer. Specialists cautiously remove the cancer to guarantee that blood stream inside the heart is not generally compromised. Early conclusion and convenient mediation are vital to forestalling further inconveniences. After the growth is taken out, patients by and large experience a huge improvement in their side effects and in general heart capability.

Exploring Complex Heart Surgery

The term Complex Heart Surgery alludes to cutting edge, high-risk methodology that imply many-sided procedure on the heart and its encompassing veins. These medical procedures frequently address numerous heart issues immediately or manage especially testing conditions, for example, innate heart surrenders, multi-vessel coronary course illness, or past bombed heart medical procedures.

Patients going through Complex Heart Surgery require a profoundly talented careful group and best in class clinical offices. These activities can incorporate systems like valve substitutions, sidestep medical procedures, and fix of intrinsic heart deserts. Given their intricacy, these medical procedures request broad preoperative preparation and postoperative consideration to guarantee a fruitful recuperation.

The Significance of Early Recognition and Treatment

Whether it's an Aneurysm Operation, the evacuation of a Cardiac Myxoma, or a Mind boggling Heart Medical procedure, early discovery is basic. Routine heart check-ups, high level imaging strategies, and perceiving side effects almost immediately can assist in diagnosing these circumstances before they become dangerous.

In the event that you're encountering any heart-related side effects, for example, chest torment, unexplained weakness, or trouble breathing, it's essential to quickly talk with a heart subject matter expert. Numerous heart conditions can be dealt with successfully with convenient clinical mediation, limiting long haul wellbeing gambles.

Conclusion

The heart is a fragile organ, and conditions like aneurysms, cardiovascular growths, and other complex issues require specific clinical consideration. Techniques like Aneurysm Operation, medical procedure for Cardiac Myxoma, and Complex Heart Surgery assume a fundamental part in treating these hazardous circumstances and reestablishing typical heart capability.

On the off chance that you or a friend or family member is confronting any of these circumstances, talking with a heart specialist is the most vital move towards powerful treatment and recuperation. Clinical progressions in heart medical procedures keep on developing, offering trust and further developed results for patients around the world.

[kirbmey]

psycho killer zayne !

💌: this won’t suit everyone, veeeery graphic descriptions of torture, gore, etc. it was inspired by american psycho, so you get an idea. don’t like it? leave, block me, whatever.

the relationship you had with zayne was soft, quiet and intimate. he was such a sweetheart to you, truly.

for example, calling you when he had a break between surgery and surgery, checking on you and asking you the most caring questions with a lovely tender voice.

“honey, how are you? I just got out of the operating room. couldn’t stop thinking about you since I left this morning.” he confessed in a tender manner, holding the phone between his head and shoulder while he took off his surgical gloves, sitting on a random chair in an empty hallway.

you expected his calls, always. pacing around his house impatiently, dressed in his big shirts as you sat by the window, looking at the city lights from above as you two held the conversation in almost whispers.

“you shouldn’t think of me when someone’s life is at risk, silly.” you giggled softly, placing your head in the hand you rested on the windowsill, viewing the streets you always walked next to your lover while holding hands. “I miss you, want you here with me.” you added with a pout taken over your lips.

the line went silent for a second as zayne started to come up with ways to excuse the reason why he wouldn’t make it home for tonight. “my dear, I miss you too, more than you can imagine. but I have to cover my colleague for the night, I won’t make it home today.” you were the silent one now, feeling the sadness you were too familiar with creep to your heart.

“I’m sorry, honey, I’ll make it up to you.” he stated after waiting for a response that never came, fidgeting with the discarded glove as he expected your sweet voice to reassure him from the other side of the line.

you shut your eyes in an attempt to make the tears roaming around your eyes disappear. “it’s fine, don’t worry. don’t forget to rest a bit and eat, please?” he hummed as a response to your request, keeping up the conversation until he has to leave, saying goodbye with a warm ‘I love you’ to which you replied the classic ‘I love you too’.

you would never know, but he was doing this for you, to protect you.

protect you from the zayne you had no relationship with at all, the one you never met. and will never meet.

you see, zayne’s always been a calm guy, so put together and collected. he always knew how to handle any complex situation, any angry patient, any of your tantrums complaining about not spending enough time together.

you thought you’ve already met the unleashed zayne when he fucked you for the first time, distancing from the caring one you loved. how he pounded into your cervix so fast, how he slapped across your face after spitting on your mouth, how he spoke those mean words in such a condescending manner, as if he was making you a favor. you loved this zayne as well.

that was all the mean he could get to you, when he felt like fucking you instead of making love to you. and you never worried too much about it either, he didn’t mean those words, he wasn’t like that.

your zayne wasn’t like that.

the zayne stalking behind a woman your exact age to push a cloth over her mouth and put her to sleep so he could lock her in a filthy basement was like that.

he doesn’t know why or when those thoughts started to mess up with his mind, but he got off to them. the image of women crying in fear, begging for their lives as blood covered their oh so beautiful breasts was better than any porn video online.

and hey, he’s been doing this for a while now, even before you two met. but his little sweet angel only made it worse, because now you were the one he imagined crying and begging, covered in blood. and he was scared as he didn’t want to hurt you like that, in a permanent way. not in a kinky way, in a deathly way.

he wished he could kill you again, again and again, and then make you come back to life to kill you once more. he wanted to take care of you in the tenderest way possible and wanted to kill you in the filthiest way possible too.

so he started to murder more often, and he got crueler each time. the latest victim in front of him, oh poor soul, was going to be a witness to the zayne you’ll never know.

the girl in front of his broad figure stood naked with both her wrists tied to the ceiling with the roughest rope ever made, making the soft skin brake into small droplets of blood.

zayne fucking loved blood.

she stir awake, her eyes adjusting to the white light as her heartbeat raced faster each passing second, screaming for help and squirming around to try and break free form the restraints.

“my fucking god, why you whores always react the same way?” he spoke calmly as he approached her shaky form, grabbing a fistful of her hair to then slap her, not even close as the kind of slaps he gave you, making the girl shut up instantly as she started crying and apologizing.

zayne couldn’t care less about what she had to say, towering over her and fixated on the red liquid decorating her soft skin.

he had to touch it. smell it. taste it.

so he did, he leaned into her smaller frame, making her take a few steps back as he grabbed her arm to lick down on it, grunting when the metallic flavor covered his tongue. he got hard immediately.

he tasted it. now he needed to fuck into it.

“see? you can be silent for a while.” he chuckled lowly as he wiped the remains from his lips, turning around to grab a small cart hiding in the shadows and pull it in front of her, standing behind it. “but I’m afraid it won’t last—”

when she saw the contents of the silver platter on top of it she started crying and screaming once more. come on, it wasn’t so bad, was it?

his favorite scalpel with his name craved into the side, a sharp knife, a few nails next to a rusty hammer, a gun (boring) and a wrench.

lord, she didn’t even see the bat and machete in the lower shelf of the cart. how unconsiderate.

“I always let everyone choose, is the least I can do.” he clarified as he cleaned each of the tools before him with a cloth, pink with flowers. a gift you gave him; he carried a piece of you everywhere. “but don’t worry, dead or alive, you’ll test them all.”

after a little bit of pushing, yelling and cursing she chose the gun (he had to get rid of it, everyone chose the goddamn gun). he laughed wholeheartedly at her choice as he grabbed it and loaded it with a singular bullet.

he pushed the cart away to stand closer to her, filling her mouth with said cloth when her yelling got to his nerves. he always washed it after each job as he did with all of his tools, don’t worry. through and through a real and hygienic professional.

zayne traces the curve of her body with the head of the gun, palming himself through his briefs as he leaned down to whisper to her ear. “you think I’m gonna shoot you in the head and call it a day? after all the effort it took me to bring you here? no, no.” the gun stoped its travel, pointing at her tummy, caressing her bellybutton with it as he rubbed himself against his palm.

he held her head down to make her watch how he pressed the trigger, the bullet going trough her stomach. blood everywhere. now the fun part.

his white shirt was splashed with it, as his face, his hands, don’t even bother to think of how the wall behind her looked. everywhere he looked at, there was blood, red, warm blood.

zayne dropped the gun to the floor, grabbing her hips to bring her decaying body closer to him. he pulled the now bloody cloth out of her mouth before dropping it to the puddle next to the weapon, licking and kissing her crimson lips like a starving dog.

grunts and moans filled the four concrete walls as he rubbed his leaking tip against the hole in her tummy, tugging at the base as the foreskin feared to push a bit too much inside of said hole.

he didn’t even care about the now dead body in front of him, too busy breeding the wound after mere seconds. it was always like that, hard to get and fast to finish.

the other tools were used too, don’t worry. he had the time of his life that night.

and when he came back home to you, late at night when you were already fast asleep, after he burnt her and all of the possible evidence as he always did, he took a steamy shower, whistling full of joy, smiling at the dry blood converting the transparent water into that shade of pink you loved to then disappear down the drain.

you’d wake up shortly after with his dark and soft locks tickling your naked thighs as he nibbled at your clit and humped the mattress, offering you the best head he’d ever given to you. ever.

squirt all over his expensive sheets, over and over. so fucking wet, squelchy. warm, he needed more.

the sunlight met your lord knows what number orgasm, his jaw numb from all the effort and his mind cloudy because of the lack of sleep. “I love you, I love you.” he mumbled as he traced kisses from your thighs to your mouth, letting you taste the sweet nectar he got from you.

you’d ask him what’s gotten into him, he’d tell you he loves you once again.

your soft, quiet and intimate zayne loved you and wanted to take care of you.

the other zayne wanted to fucking kill you, stab you and beat you to death <3

let’s hope you never never ever meet him !

💌: yes i love patrick bateman and gore, I’m just a girl >_<

[tortillamastersblog]

Back To You - Part 15 | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, death, blood, injuries, and swearing

Summary: When Sam left after turning eighteen, you were devastated. You’d been in love with her since you were kids and her leaving meant you never got to tell her how you truly felt.

Fast forward a couple of years, Tara gets attacked and Sam returns. . .

A/N: It’s big brain time, guys!

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

_______________________________________________

Liam. . .Hospital. . .In critical condition. . .Surgery. . .

With shaking hands I end the phone call with Paige and stare out of the window.

Now’s not the time to break down, Y/N. Focus on Gale.

Paige is on her way to the city. I told her not to come, but she’s coming anyway. She and I are Liam’s emergency contacts, and it’s better if she’s there for Liam when—not if!—he wakes up from surgery instead of me because I still have a target on my back.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asks softly.

I turn my head to see her twisted in the passenger seat, looking at me with furrowed eyebrows. Tara also looks at me through the rear view mirror, but she’s quick to look back at the road when she almost runs over a garbage can.

“It’s Liam, he’s been attacked by Ghostface,” I say quietly as I force myself to keep my emotions under control.

“What? Oh my God, is he—is he—“

“He’s in surgery,” I say quickly, ignoring the way my stomach twists at the thought of him not making it. “Paige is on her way here.”

Guild flashes through Sam’s eyes. “I’m so—“

“No,” I cut her off, my voice breaking. “Don’t apologize. He’s going to be fine. He’s going to be fine. . . Right now we have to focus on Gale.”

Both sisters seem unconvinced but they drop it and a minute later Tara pulls up next to Gale’s apartment complex.

We jump out of the car, getting some weird looks from pedestrians, and hurry into the building and into the elevator that takes us up to Gale’s penthouse.

Ghostface is here. Ghostface is going to kill Gale. He attacked Liam. Liam’s in surgery. Liam— No! Keep it together, Y/N.

I clench my jaw and tap my foot impatiently, ignoring the worried looks Sam and Tara shoot me.

After what feels like hours, the elevator finally opens on Gale’s floor and we rush out and into the apartment through the front door that is already wide open.

“No!” My heart drops and I freeze when we round the corner and I see Ghostface kneeling over Gale with a knife in his hand.

He raises it, ready to strike, but Sam jumps into action. She grabs a gun off the ground and fires it at him. Of course she misses because her hands are shaking so much, but it’s enough to make Ghostface scramble away from Gale.

Sam shoots at him a couple more times, but she misses again, and again, until he vanishes around a corner.

A groan from Gale snaps me out of my thoughts and I quickly take the gun from Sam and point it at where Ghostface vanished while she and Tara drop down next to Gale.

“Shit.” Sam winces when she presses her hands to Gale’s bleeding stomach. Blood seeps through her fingers and her panicked eyes flicker back and forth between her hands and Gale’s face. “I’m sorry, I should have known that he was gonna come after you,” she whispers which makes Gale shake her head.

“He didn’t get me,” she says weakly, and I slowly lower the gun. The chances of Ghostface coming back with all of us here, and with a gun no less, are slim to none.

“Tell Sidney he never got me,” Gale whispers, her voice barely audible over the approaching sirens. She’s pale, alarmingly so, and her eyes flutter shut a heartbeat later.

Tears prick at my eyes.

She’s not going to make it. . . Liam’s not going to make it. . .NO. They’ll both be fine.

I blink the tears away and swallow the growing lump in my throat.

Keep it together, Y/N!

“Gale? Gale!” Tara shakes Gale, but the older woman is passed out and I avert my eyes. I can’t bear to see her like this.

Paramedics and police officers hurry into the apartment a moment later which makes me square my shoulders and set the gun down.

“Out of the way!” One of the paramedics says. Tara gets up and move aside, but Sam stays kneeling next to Gale, her hands still pressing against her stomach.

“Come on, move!” The other paramedic says, but Sam doesn’t move.

She’s frantically trying to prevent the life draining out of Gale, but by not moving she isn’t helping anyone. The paramedics have to do their job and they can’t do it unless she moves.

Tara tugs on Sam’s shoulders, trying to pry her away, but Sam shrugs her off, whimpering, “No, no! Gale!”

The desperation in her voice makes it almost impossible for me to keep it together, but I know the paramedics need space to work, so I step forward and wrap my arms around her from behind, pulling her to her feet and out of the paramedics’ way while she thrashes and protests.

“No, Gale,” she cries. A moment later the fight leaves her body and she slumps back against me and turns her face so it’s hidden in the crook of my neck. “Please. . .”

Tara’s crying too, holding onto my sleeve as we all watch the paramedics work.

I’m can’t cry. Not yet because if I start now, I won’t be able to stop.

The police sweep the apartment, and I’m not surprised when one officer shouts that Ghostface is gone, but then another one says they’ve found a body and I don’t even have to see it to know that it’s Brooks.

I didn’t know him very well, but he was kind to us, and the fact that he’s dead makes it hard for me to breathe.

Keep it together, Y/N.

Gale is on her way to the hospital and we just spoke to Bailey and Kirby about what happened. They got here several minutes ago with the others and are now talking to the officers who arrived on the scene with the paramedics.

Bailey was not happy that we stole his car, but given the circumstances, he’s not all too mad.

Mindy, Chad, Tara, Ethan, Sam, and I are all perched on one of the couches in the apartment building’s lavish lobby, going over what happened tonight.

Well, Mindy, Chad, Tara, and Ethan are. Sam and I are silent.

Sam has been staring at her hands for minutes now, and I’m starting to get worried, especially when I realizes they’re still covered in Gale’s blood.

I glance at the others and at Kirby and Bailey who are still busy talking before pulling her to her feet.

She doesn’t protest, but she also doesn’t look at me. She simply continues staring at her hands.

“We’ll be right back, guys,” I mumble to the group before leading Sam to the bathroom behind the elevators.

Luckily it’s empty, and I don’t hesitate to lock the door behind us to make sure we have some privacy.

“Okay, come on, let’s get that blood off your hands,” I say softly, leading her to the fancy marble sink in the corner.

Sam doesn’t say anything and when I turn on the water she doesn’t move, so I pull up her sleeves and step behind her, taking her hands in my own and guiding them under the water.

“Talk to me, Sammy,” I whisper against the shell of her ear.

It’s a little difficult to wash the blood off since it’s dried to her skin, but I just keep scrubbing her hands.

“It’s my fault,” she whispers after what feels like an eternity. “All of this—Gale, Brooks, Liam, Quinn. . . M-Maybe I’ll just give him what he wants. He wants to punish me, so l I’ll just— I’ll give myself up. If this is what I have to do to keep everyone safe I—“

“Absolutely not.” I squeeze her hands and make sure I got all the blood off before turning off the water. “Look at me.”

Sam’s eyes are trained on the sink, her chin quivering, and she doesn’t meet my eyes in the mirror until I nudge the side of her head with my nose.

“You’re not giving yourself up. You did nothing wrong and there’s no reason for you to get punished. This is not your fault,” I say sternly. I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again and again and again until she finally believes it.

“You’re not going around killing people in a stupid mask and you’re not hurting anyone by posting conspiracy theories online. You are Billy Loomis’s daughter, yes, but just because he was a psycho doesn’t mean you’re one, too. We can’t change who our parents are and we’re not taking the blame for what they did, you hear me?”

A tear runs down Sam’s cheek and she closes her eyes, nodding hesitantly. I can tell she’s not fully convinced yet, so I continue while drying our hands with a paper towel.

“You killed Richie because he was going to kill you. He was going to kill Tara, and Gale, and Sidney and me, but he didn’t because you stopped him. That’s not a crime, Sammy, so please stop beating yourself up over the fact that you saved us. That you saved me. You’re the strongest person I know, and we’ve been through so much already, so why on Earth would you want to give up now?”

“I just. . . I want it to stop,” she says quietly, turning in my arms to hug me.

I sigh and press a kiss to her forehead. “I know. Me too, but giving yourself up is not an option. We’re going to get through this together, just like last time.”

“But what if something happens? What if you get hurt again?” she asks, her voice muffled against my chest. She curls her fingers around the hoodie on my back and pulls me closer as though even just the thought of something happening to me scares her.

I raise a hand to run my fingers through her hair and rest my chin on the top of her head. “I can’t promise that everything is going to be fine, that no one is going to get hurt, but I can promise that no matter what happens, I don’t blame you for anything, okay? I love you, no matter what.”

She sniffles, her grip on my sweater tightening. “I love you, too. So much. . . I can’t believe I actually get to say that now.”

I chuckle sadly and lean back to look into her eyes. They’re red and puffy from crying, but they shine with love and I can’t help but cup her face with my hands and kiss her softly.

“Me too. Sometimes I still think it’s a dream,” I admit against her lips which makes her smile ever so slightly before kissing me again.

It’s soft and slow, and filled with all the reassurance she needs.

When we finally pull apart, I use my thumbs to wipe away the last traces of her tears before guiding her back to the door.

Just as I’m about to unlock it though, I freeze, making Sam bump into me.

Why didn’t you tell me Y/N was such a snack, Sam?

“What are you—?”

“Quinn. . .” I breathe out, spinning around with wide eyes.

I know Ethan is one of the Ghostfaces, but he can’t have been the one attacking Gale because he was at the park with us.

It wasn’t the Ghostface from the bodega either because he’s taller, so that means there are three of them in total and the only person who ever referred to me as a Snack is Quinn. . .

She’s dead though. . . But what if she isn’t? What if it was all just a ruse? We never actually saw her dead body, she just stumbled into Anika, covered in blood.

But. . .why?

Why she’s doing this? Why’s she working with Ethan? And who the fuck is the Ghostface from the bodega? All of them are connected somehow, but how?

My mind is running wild and the touch of Sam’s cold hands on my jaw is almost not enough to snap me out of my thoughts.

“Hey, what’s going on? What are you talking about?” she asks when my eyes find hers.

Instead of answering, I take her hands off my face and step back, shaking my head in disbelief. “You have Instagram, right?”

She frowns. “I— Yeah, but—“

“Can I see?” I ask impatiently.

“I guess.” She looks at me weirdly, but takes out her phone and opens Instagram. “What are you—?“

“Just give me a second,” I cut her off and snatch the phone out of her hands.

I go through her followers until I find Quinn’s profile, clicking on it and going through her handful of posts before moving onto the posts she’s tagged in.

There’s nothing that connects her to Ethan or anything suspicious, so I move onto Ethan’s profile next.

At first, it looks like there’s nothing there either, but then my eyes get caught on old picture he’s tagged in.

The picture shows a young Ethan sitting on the hood of a shabby truck, smiling, while another guy, presumably his friend and the guy who posted the picture, is sitting on the roof of the truck’s cabin with a piece of straw between his teeth.

It’s a cute picture, but Ethan’s short hair and dimpled smile remind me of someone. I’m not quite sure who, but it’s making my chest tighten and the caption confirms my suspicions that Ethan and Quinn knew each other way before attending Blackmore.

My partner in crime, E.K.

(📸 Quinny)

August 2017

What the hell is going on? E.K.? Does Ethan have a middle name I’m not aware of?

“Y/N, what’s going on?” Sam asks, tugging on my sleeve, but again, I don’t answer.

I zoom in on Ethan, and narrow my eyes trying to figure out who he reminds me of.

Short, curly hair, thick eyebrows, narrow nose. . .

Oh my— Wait, no. That can’t be—

I go back to Quinn’s profile and look at her old pictures, my heart racing as my brain puts two and two together.

Same eyes, same hair color, same nose. . .

“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, finally looking up at Sam who’s chewing on the inside of her cheek in thought.

“What is it?” she asks.

I turn the phone and show her the two photos, also making sure to point out the caption under the post Ethan is tagged in.

“Quinn and Ethan are siblings! Quinn is the one who tried to kill Gale,” I exclaim, my hands shaking because of the revelation.

“What? No! That can’t be. Quinn is dead and—“

“Is she though?” I cut her off impatiently. “It was Ethan who attacked us at the apartment and we never saw her dead body. We also didn’t see her getting stabbed. All we saw was a bunch of blood. And look—“ I point at the picture of a young Quinn on the phone—, “they’re basically twins! And Ghostface called me a snack on the phone! Remember what Quinn said when we first met?”

Sam’s eyes widen and she visibly pales. “Why didn’t you tell me Y/N was such a snack, Sam,” she whispers and I nod adamantly.

“Exactly! It’s her and— Oh my fucking God. . .” My mouth goes dry and my heartbeat pounds in my ears.

“What?!” Sam takes the phone out of my hands and steps closer, tugging on my sleeve. “What is it?!”

“Detective Bailey is the Ghostface from the bodega,” I whisper, horrified. “H-He’s Quinn’s and Ethan’s dad and he’s got combat training and he knows how to use a shotgun. He stole the old Ghosface masks and all the other shit in the old theater out of evidence!“

“Holy shit.” Sam runs her hand through her hair and starts pacing, Gale and Brooks and Liam all momentarily forgotten. “We have to tell someone!”

I nod and exhale shakily. “We do, but we need proof first and we have to be careful. Bailey and Ethan can’t know that we know. And Quinn could be anywhere, so we have to stick together.”

Sam stops pacing and looks at me with determination, nodding. “We need a plan.”

I agree. We need a plan. This ends tonight.

_______________________________________________

Hi, everyone! I originally planned on making this part super long, but I promised I’d post something today, so I decided to cut it short. I’m also in a bit of a slump because I’ve been writing non stop lately and I need some time to plot the big showdown❤️

* NOT PROOFREAD YET

Tag list: @bella423 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @canyonyodeler @quadofthec @pussyydestroyer @rqizzu @pithod @morganismspam23 @idontliketoread2137

Also, to whoever may be interested, marathon training sucks sometimes! I went out for a supposedly easy 10k run yesterday and I felt like shit the entire time. I usually love running, but yesterday was just horrible. I was tired and hungry and I couldn’t wait to get back home and curl up in bed with some tea.

[catboybiologist]

Hey it's a life update that probably no one cared about or asked for

tl;dr: I'm likely quitting my PhD via mastering out, and leaving my program in June.

sappy, overly emotional vent/explanation:

I'm wrapping up my first quarter as an out-of-the-closet trans woman. I've had some serious conversations about where me and my work stand. This was always my intention after coming back from my summer hiatus/social transition: see how "reentry" works, and then assess from there.

For those that don't know, PhDs in the US take 5-7 years. Oftentimes, however, they either give you a master's along the way, or give you an option to quit halfway through with a master's. I'm in my 3rd year and have more than enough to use that option. I've toyed with this idea before, but it feels a bit different now. Last year, I was burned out from science, my project was failing, and I was under constant stress of boymoding and remaining in the closet. Now, I'm out and proud, and I deeply love my project and find it exciting. I fixed some things.

Unfortunately, I have a recurrent problem. Whenever something goes wrong in my life, the first thing to drop off is my ability to drive forward my own thesis project in a coherent way. What the actual problems are vary, but that motif stays the same. I could list off what's going on right now, but I think y'all can assume a bit of what a mid-20s, broke, recently transitioned trans woman in the US is going through at the moment. There's a lot of specifics, of course, but I'm not at liberty to say most of it.

So I'm looking around and realizing I have scraps of half finished projects, I've given support and help for other people's projects.... and then made little progress on my actual thesis. It's enough to pull together into a master's thesis, and maybe even another paper or two, but.... not a PhD.

And then there's the other side of it. The nicer reasons. Could I stay here, buckle down, maybe add years to my degree, and get through it? Probably. But honestly? I don't really want to put myself through that now. It used to be that academics was all I had. It was all my failures and all my successes. It's what I threw myself at, because I genuinely had nothing else going on. Since transitioning, the world seems so much more beautiful and rich, so much more complex and vast, with so much more to do in it. I've even had more negative experiences unrelated to academia, and while they've sucked, they've shown me that life is so much bigger than it was before.

To be blunt, to experience more of my life... it helps to have money, and it helps to have career stability. It's not the only factor by far, but certainly one defining moment when making this decision was trying to create a timeline and budget for transition related surgeries, and realizing that its near impossible in grad school.

Not to be dramatic, but I've also had a couple extremely jarring experiences in the past year that are reminded me that life is short. And I want at least some time to enjoy it.

My heart is honestly broken here, and I'm feeling extremely emotional about this. I love my lab, my colleagues, the environment of doing research, and my project. But I'm realizing that it might not be viable, or what makes me the happiest at the moment. I'm genuinely a bit distraught, and I've been crying a lot for the past few days. A lot of me feels like this is what I am, and this is what I'm good for. That I'm failing myself and every mentor that got me here. Some part of me knows that isn't true, some part of me can't let go of those feelings.

But, I know this doesn't mean "never". So many of the people in my program are significantly older than me, coming back later in life to get their degrees. I'm honestly almost positive that I'll come back to a PhD someday if I quit now. In my 30s or beyond, I think that I'll be able equipped to handle it much better.

So what's next?

Obviously, nothing is decided, and I'm just spitballing here. But I'm honestly shocked at how many viable options I have, in a very good way. A cursory scroll of Indeed was honestly therapeutic. As I said, I still love the academic research environment. I just need more money and stability, and would prefer to have a slightly different relationship to the work I do than a thesis project. Ideally, I would want to be a staff researcher in an institute or academic lab. That lets me keep a lot of the things I like about what I do now, while also making literally 2-3 times the money and having a more stable position.There's positions out there that maximize the contexts I'm the strongest and happiest with, while still being more steady and paying more. Hell, even if my responsibilities were identical, but I had more pay, I could probably more effectively address the personal problems I'm going through right now. I'm gonna stay in California for a lot of reasons, and I'm lucky that there's so many options within the state.

I have a bit of an oddball set of experience. I'll actually have two nonoverlapping master's if I do this. I already have a MS in bioinformatics, which was granted by a CS department. But my current program is in more "pure" molecular and cell biology. I'll have 5 years of grad school, 8.5 years of research experience if I include undergrad research, and instead of a PhD, 2 MSs. Which is kinda funny. But it think it helps represent my experience for what it is. I like to consider myself a "full stack" bioinformaticist- someone who can do both the experimental and analysis portions of experiments that produce large data. Hopefully I'll be able to put that to good use.

I have a lot of professional contacts that I'll slowly be reaching out to over the course of the next 6 months while I tie things up. I know this is a wildshot on tumblr of all places, but if anyone has any recommendations, advice, or contacts, I'm all ears- both for professional and job hunt related things, and also the emotional state I'm in right now.

Thank you to everyone that's made up this wonderful community we have online. I hope I'm not letting anyone down. I'll still be a biologist, I'll still be my trans self. I just won't be "Doctor" anytime soon.

[mariacallous]

For much of living memory, the United States has been a global leader of scientific research and innovation. From the polio vaccine, to decoding the first human chromosome, to the first heart bypass surgery, American research has originated a seemingly endless list of health care advances that are taken for granted.

But when the Trump administration issued a memorandum Monday that paused all federal grants and loans—with the aim of ensuring that funding recipients are complying with the president’s raft of recent executive orders—US academia ground to a halt. Since then, the freeze has been partially rescinded for some sectors, but it largely remains in place for universities and research institutions across the country, with no certainty of what comes next.

“This has immediate impact on people’s lives,” says J9 Austin, professor of psychiatry and medical genetics at the University of British Columbia. “And it’s terrifying.”

The funding freeze requires agencies to submit reviews of their funded programs to the Office of Management and Budget by February 10. The freeze follows separate orders issued last week to US health agencies—including to the National Institutes of Health, which leads the country’s medical research—to pause all communications until February 1 and stop almost all travel indefinitely.

The confusion is consummate. If the funding freeze continues through February, and even beyond, how will graduate students be paid? Should grant applications—years long in the writing—still be submitted by the triannual grant submission deadline on February 5? What does this mean for clinical trials if participants and lab techs can’t be paid? Will all that research have to be scrapped thanks to incomplete data?

Even if Trump fully reverses the freeze on research funding, the damage, multiple sources say, has been done. Although for now the funding freeze is temporary, the administration has shown how it might wield the levers of government. The implication is that withdrawing funding could be done more permanently, and could be done to individual institutions, individual organizations, both private and public. This won’t just set a precedent for the large East Coast or West Coast universities, but those located in both red and blue states alike.

While always an imperfect arrangement, science in the US is largely funded by a complex system of grant applications, reviews by peers in the field (both of which have had to be halted as part of the communications pause), and the competitive distribution of NIH funds, says Gerald Keusch, emeritus professor of medicine at Boston University and former associate director of international research for the NIH. According to its website, the NIH disburses nearly $48 billion in grants per year.

When it comes to medical research, America truly is first, and if it abdicates that position, the void left behind has global ramifications. “In Canada, we have always looked to NIH as an exemplar of what we should be trying to do,” says Austin, speaking to me independently of any roles and affiliations. “Now, that’s collapsed.”

Science is, in its very nature, collaborative. Many consortiums and alliances within scientific fields cross borders and language barriers. Some labs may be able to find additional funding from alternative sources such as the European Union. But it is unlikely that a continued withdrawal of NIH funding could be plugged by overseas support. And Big Pharma, with its seemingly endless funds, is unlikely to step up either, according to sources WIRED spoke with.

“This can’t be handed off to drug companies or biotech, because they’re not interested in things that are as preclinical as a lot of the work we’re discussing here,” says a professor of genetics who agreed to speak anonymously out of fear of retribution. “Essentially, there’s a whole legion of university-based scientists who work super damn hard to try to figure out some basic stuff that eventually becomes something that a drug company can drop $100 million on.”

The millions of dollars awarded to high-achieving labs is used to fund graduate students, lab techs, and analysts. If the principal investigator on a research team is unsuccessful in obtaining a grant through the process Keusch describes, often that lab is closed, and those ancillary team members lose their jobs.

One of the potential downstream effects of an NIH funding loss, even if only temporary, is a mass domestic brain drain. “Many of those people are going to go out to find something else to do,” the professor of genetics says. “These are just like jobs for anything else—we can’t not pay people for a month. What would the food service industry be like, for example, or grocery stores, if they don’t pay somebody for a month? Their workers will leave, and pharma can only hire so many people.”

WIRED heard over and over, from scientists too fearful for their teams and their jobs to speak on the record, that it won’t take long for the impact to reach the general population. With a loss of research funding comes the closure of hospitals and universities. And gains in medical advancement will likely falter too.

Conditions being studied with NIH funding are not only rare diseases affecting 1 or 2 percent of the population. They’re problems such as cancer, diabetes, Alzheimer’s—issues that affect your grandmother, your friends, and so many people who will one day fall out of perfect health. It’s thanks to this research system, and the scientists working within it, that doctors know how to save someone from a heart attack, regulate diabetes, lower cholesterol, and reduce the risk of stroke. It’s how the world knows that smoking isn’t a good idea. “All of that is knowledge that scientists funded by the NIH have generated, and if you throw this big of a wrench in it, it’s going to disrupt absolutely everything,” says the genetics professor.

While some are hopeful that the funding freeze for academia could end on February 1, when the pause on communications and therefore grant reviews is slated to lift, the individuals WIRED spoke with are largely skeptical that work will simply resume as before.

“When the wheels of government stop, it’s not like they turn on a dime and they just start up again,” says Julie Scofield, a former executive director of NASTAD, a US-based health nonprofit. She adds that she has colleagues in Washington, DC, who have had funding returned to their fields, and yet remain unable to access payment through the management system.

Austin says that already the international scientific community is holding hastily arranged online support groups. Topics covered range from the banal—what the most recent communication from the White House implies—to how best to protect trainees and the many students on international visas. But mostly they’re there to provide support.

“I’ve had a lot of messages from people just expressing gratitude that we could actually get together,” Austin says. “There’s just so much unaddressable need. None of us has the answers.”

Scientists, perhaps more than any other profession, are trained to “learn and validate conclusions drawn from observation and experimentation,” says Keutsch. That applies to the current situation. And what they observe during this pause of chaos does not portend well for the future of the United States as a pinnacle of scientific excellence.

“If people want the United States to head toward being a second-class nation, this is exactly what to do. If the goal is, in fact, to make America great, this is not a way to do it,” says the genetics professor. “This is not a rational, thoughtful, effective thing to do. It will merely destroy.”

This story has been written under a pseudonym, as the reporter has specific and credible concerns about potential retaliation.

[bethanysnow]

How I think Stray Kids Members would date a Plus Size girlfriend ~ Hyungline

Maknae line

-Bang Chan

This man deadlifts 350lb....do you think it's only for our benefit????? NAH this boy got an actually plus size gal in his minds eye. Large arms, soft shoulders, STOMACH, back???, calves???!?!?!?! Why does no one talk about calves!?! Where this man can man handle and grab and pull to his hearts delight and not break her. Lord knows one spank from him would probably break someone's pelvis if it didn't have padding.... Now I do think he would need to work on himself internally on some of his "complexes" and self image and self confidence?? I love this man to death, but you'd be reassuring him just as much as he is you. He went from the body checking capital of the world to the plastic surgery capital of the world at a formative age; it fucks with your head.

But he would love you, becoming friends would be faster than blinking, but I get the vibe it takes a while to fully trust? He trusts too easily and has been hurt by it in the past so he needs to know that you're gonna he there for him as he is you. He would 100% be the bf to make sure that there are clothes you can wear in his closet but not say anything. He's conscious of how he has insecurities and understands that it takes more than kissing it better and a love making session. It takes work. And he'd be there to remind you every step of the way how much he loves you.

-Minho

This quiet man might surprise you. Now I don't think he'd be the first to come to mind when possibility dating a plus size gf, but this man is a intelligent one. He is introspective, quiet, understanding. He is one of those people in life that either body size wouldn't even cross his mind when dating you, or he would be very conscious of it. Not in a bad way of course.

He is just very concerned about you in how people treat you because of your size, not liking that he gets treated so special cuz he happened to end up being traditionally handsome. Where he sees the mistreatment you deal with and feels protective over you. So he plans ahead, makes sure the restaurant has chairs without arms, would rather people look at him and how OH LOOK ITS LEEKNOW than make you uncomfortable that you think people are staring.

If diets and conversation around diets make you uncomfortable I can see him changing the topic even around the members if you're there. He wants you to be happy and comfortable around him. While he isn't very affectionate or loud about his love its just as deep.

Also.....you got the best ass even if its flat

-Changbin

I think for someone who goes to the gym as much as he does he would understand if someone was having bad experiences tied to it? Like he is paid to work out and have a nutritionist and a stylist and all these team members. Not everyone has that. So he wouldn't pressure you into going with him unless you wanted to go. If you did though he'd be the first one to brag to everyone that you can out-leg press him. It would be the first thing in the group chat in all caps.

Dating Changbin, it is so domestic? I imagine? Like you start dating and he is just this big ol' teddy bear and he would feel so honored if you let yourself be timid around him. Being plus size (insecure or not) you have to have a thick skin, you grow to defend yourself, you protect your heart because people have been cruel and society is a bitch. In doing so the walls are a bit higher, and the fortress is a bit more imposing. But with Binnie, he is a hug that is open anytime anywhere. The absolute pride in his man once you allow yourself to lean on him, or dare to lay on his chest while cuddling? ahhh thats the good stuff

I also think he would be the first one to defend you, knowing the boys love language is poking fun he wouldn't have it if it was you. Be prepared to be presented with one of the boys' heads in a headlock by Binnie if they say anything. He is your knight in shinning armor and will make sure you are laughing and smiling and having a good time. Also he like chan feels more at ease knowing you aren't gonna break if you two get up to something more rough or naughty in the bedroom. Even on a more innocent path just knowing you aren't gonna judge him for how he looks like he doesn't judge yours makes his heart soar.

-Hyunjin

Hyunjin I think would have the most obstacles in regard to dating someone of size. Not that I don't think he wouldn't, but I think with the Korean beauty standard he has a lot of internal stuff he needs to work out before he could be in a healthy relationship. He knows what its like to be judged on only by how you look. He wouldn't want that for you or any of his friends, so I think he would be friends to lovers? You are a great deal of a reality check for him, when he gets very internal and in his head about stuff he goes to you.

So by the time he figures out he has a crush on you his entire art book has already started to look like Renaissance drafts of plus-size women. Starts seeking out media and art that reminds him of you. I don't even think hes conscious that he's doing it? I think it feels like an itch he can't scratch just right and its driving him insane because he doesn't know how to pin down this feeling. Not in art, not in lyrics, it evades him. Till he is standing in front of you, at your apartment, with an Idol worthy bouquet of flowers. Opening his heart and hoping you don't reject him.

Which....would never happen? Your relationship is one of the ages, he writes songs about you, and draws you constantly. In-person he has to be near you, even as simple as playing with your jewelry or showing you memes on his phone while you eat silently side by side. It is a love that is comfort, its like warm clothes out of the dryer for hyunjin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@7ndipity @kaciidubs @itshannjisung @dreamescapeswriting @moonlightndaydreams @ldysmfrst

[a-shade-of-blue]

New Vetted Gaza Fundraisers from Palestinians that reached out to me (6-13 March)

13 March

Areej (@yasmens-things) (organizer: Saleh Aldaghma): Areej has 4 siblings. She has lost her sister Duaa, leaving behind three young kids, ages 12, 9, and 3.5. Another of her sibling has a 1 year old child. Areej wishes to finish her education. This is a fundraiser for 13 people including 5 children. (https://gofund.me/695cf410) (Vetted by association! They are a friend of @/nohagaza2 (Vetted by association through @/mahagaza5// @/mahagaza1 (#366 on @/gazavetters vetted list)) (€55 raised of €70K goal)

Rania Mahmoud (@raniagaza, @raniagaza-1): Rania has 2 children and is also supporting her elderly parents. She wishes to buy basic necessities like food, water and milk for her children. (https://gofund.me/5543975a) (Vetted by association! They are a friend of @/nohagaza2 (Vetted by association through @/mahagaza5// @/mahagaza1 (#366 on @/gazavetters vetted list)) (€105 raised of €4K goal)

Shams Shaqaqi (@shamsfamily12): Shams is 27 years old and has a 2-year-old child. Sham is a medical laboratory doctor while her husband is a pharmacist but there is no work and they cannot afford basic necessities. Their home has been destroyed and they are living in a tent. (https://www.chuffed.org/project/123972-gaza-emergency-appeal-save-shams-shaqaqi-and-her-family-from-starvation) (#535 on @/gazavetters vetted list, shared by @/bilal-salah0)

Mahmoud Jaafar (@mahmoud-223): Mahmoud is 24 years old and has 7 siblings, including his 6-year-old brother and his 2-year-old sister who has special needs. They are also living with their elderly parents and grandmother. His brother Ahmed was killed while trying to secure food for them, while his brother Adham was severely injured, requiring medical treatment they cannot afford. (https://chuffed.org/project/helpmahmoudfamily) (#388 on @/gazavetters vetted list)

10 March

Shahd Dohan, Badr (@shahddohangaza, @shahdmdohan77): Shahid is a uni student and her husband Badr is a pharmacist. They are newly married when this genocide occured. Their house has been destroyed and they are now displaced in a tent. (https://chuffed.org/project/119433-help-shahd-and-her-husband-survive) (shared by @/90-ghost, also here) (683 € Raised of 5 000 €)

9 March

Abedalrahman Alhabil (@abodgaza): Abedalrahman  is a 22-year-old graphic design uni student. He has 5 sisters. His father suffers from a heart condition and requires medical treatment! (https://gofund.me/ac0ab623) (his original (now deactivated) GFM is #81 on Operation Olive Branch vetted list. This is his IG: xg_abod, which I found on the Operation Olive Branch list and has his newest GFM in the account bio) (€240 raised of €28K target)

Mohammed Alhabil/ Mohammed Al-Habil (@emhaytham, @mohammeds-family1997): Mohammed and Lamees have 2 young children: Haytham (4) and Wateen (1). Their home has been destroyed. (https://gofund.me/55225986) (Vetted by association: they are relatives of @/safaaabeed (Shared by @/90-ghost, original fundraiser #241 on vetted fundraiser list vetted by el-shab-hussein and nabulsi)) (€15 raised of €30K goal)

8 March

Ahmed Wahdan (@ahmedwahdann): Ahmed is fundraising to provide food and water to the displaced people in the Al-Zuwaida area of Gaza. He aism to provide basic needs for more than 3000 families. Ahmed himself is a father and has 3 children. (https://gofund.me/261ae132) (#440 on the @/gazavetters vetted list) (€1,071 raised of €15K goal)

Salem Al-Anqar/ Salem Alanqar (@salem-alanqar): Salem has lost his ability to control his lower body due to an injury from a shrapnel. He used up all his money to move to Sweden for medical treatment. To attempt to restore function in his lower body, he needs to undergo a series of expensive and complex surgeries. (https://gofund.me/e2341964) (#395 on the @/gazavetters vetted list) (kr700 SEK raised of kr300K goal)

You can enter my freshwater pearl necklace raffle if you donate to fundraisers with their campaign progress highlighted in red! (deadline 31 March 2025)

Click here for my Google Doc with my complete masterlist of all the Palestinian gfm asks I've received

Info on how gfm campaigns are vetted:  See here, here, here, here and here.

See post here for other verified ways to send aid to Gaza.

Mutual Aid Funds: The Sameer Project: North and Central Gaza aid/ Refaat Alareer Camp Aid/ South Gaza Aid

Daily Clicks on Arab.org. Every click made is registered in their system and generates donation from sponsors/advertisers.

See links below for my Masterlists of Vetted Fundraisers from the Palestinians who sent me asks for if you want to help more people! As well as resources for palestinian students if you are a palestinian student!

Masterlists of Vetted Fundraisers

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 13 - 25 July.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 26 -29 July.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 30 July - 1 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 2 - 5 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 6 - 10 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 11 - 14 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 15 - 18 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundrasiers from 19 - 21 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundrasiers from 22 - 24 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 25 - 28 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 29 August - 1 September

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 2 - 5 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 6-10 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 11-14 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 15-18 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 19-22 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 23-26 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 27-30 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 1-4 October.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 5-9 October.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 10-14 October.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 15-21 October.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 22-26 October.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 27 October - 2 November.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 3-12 November.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 13-22 November.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 23-28 November.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 29 November - 5 December.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 6-11 December.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 12-17 December.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 18-26 December.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 27 December - 6 January

Click here for Masterlist for fundraisers from 7-12 January

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 13-27 January

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 28 January - 12 February

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 13 February - 5 March

Resources for Palestinian Students!

Initiatives and resources to support Palestinian students, academics and universities:

This is a list of initiatives and resources for Gazan students seeking to complete their studies, including initiatives, resources, training and scholarships. See list here.

Scholarships for Displaced Palestinian students:

Putting this here for the palestinians who follow me: If you are a displaced Palestinian student looking to fund your education, this document lists the scholarships available around the world for displaced Palestinian students.

[girlkisser13]

for the first time

"it's just like seeing her" "for the first time" "again"

pairings: amelia shepherd x fem!reader

warnings/tags: angst with a hint of fluff at the end. mentions of amelia having a relapse.

summary: you reunite with amelia after she comes back from rehab.

the corridors of grey sloan memorial hospital held a familiarity that felt like home. the steady rhythm of beeping monitors, hurried footsteps, and murmured conversations had been the soundtrack to your life for years. it was comforting, yet today, as you walked through the halls, there was an undercurrent of unease you couldn’t quite shake. maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t been back in seattle for a while, or perhaps it was the uneasiness that always seemed to follow you since things fell apart with amelia.

mark had paged you for a consult. another reconstructive case that needed your expertise. you were good at this— rebuilding, putting things back together. it was what you did best, even if you couldn’t always apply the same skill to your own life.

you turned a corner sharply, your mind preoccupied with the upcoming surgery, and collided with someone. papers flew into the air like a cascade of autumn leaves, and you stumbled back, reaching out to steady the person you’d bumped into.

"i’m so sorry! i didn’t see you," you apologized, dropping to your knees to gather the scattered documents.

"no, it’s okay, i wasn’t looking where i was going either," a familiar voice replied.

you froze, your hand hovering over a paper as the recognition hit you like a tidal wave. you slowly looked up, heart hammering in your chest, and found yourself staring into the eyes of amelia shepherd.

"hi," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of surprise mixed with something else— something you couldn’t quite place.

"hi," you echoed, your voice barely more than a whisper.

the hospital faded away, the bustle of nurses and doctors becoming a distant murmur as you stood there, looking at each other. she looked almost exactly the same as the last time you’d seen her. her hair was shorter, yes, but her eyes still held that familiar spark of determination and defiance. there was a vulnerability in her gaze, though, that hadn’t been there before.

for a moment, you were both back at johns hopkins, two young residents studying late into the night, navigating the grueling demands of your profession while also navigating the complexities of your relationship. she’d been your world back then, the anchor that kept you grounded when everything else felt like it was spinning out of control.

"amelia…" you began, but before you could find the right words, your pager buzzed, breaking the moment. you glanced down, seeing mark’s name flashing on the small screen. "i—i have to go," you stammered, taking a step back. "mark’s paging me."

"yeah, of course," she replied quickly, masking the disappointment that flashed across her face. "i’ll see you around?"

you nodded, still trying to process the fact that she was standing in front of you. "yeah, sure."

as you walked away, you couldn’t help but look back. amelia was still standing there, watching you go, a wistful expression on her face. a wave of emotions threatened to overwhelm you, but you pushed them down, focusing on the task at hand. mark needed you, and that’s where your focus had to be.

mark was waiting for you in the attending lounge, leaning casually against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. he looked up when you entered, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"what took you so long?" he asked, his tone teasing.

"i, uh, got held up," you replied vaguely, trying to shake off the encounter with amelia. "what did you want my opinion on?"

mark handed you a patient file, but his eyes stayed on your face, studying you intently. "i was looking at a complicated reconstruction case. thought you might have some ideas. but, you know, since you’ve been avoiding seattle like the plague, i haven’t been able to ask for your expertise in a while."

you knew he was baiting you, and you weren’t in the mood. "i’ve been busy, mark. you know that."

"sure," he said with a shrug, his expression still smug. "by the way, did you know amelia’s here?"

the file slipped from your hands, falling to the floor. you bent to pick it up, trying to hide the sudden rush of emotions his words caused. "yeah," you said, your voice more steady than you felt. "i ran into her in the hall."

mark’s eyes gleamed with amusement. "and? how was that?"

you shot him a glare. "she said hi. i said hi back. then you paged me."

"really?" he said, his voice laced with disbelief. "because she looked like she wanted to say more than just hi."

"do you know why she’s here?" you asked, changing the subject.

"nope," he said, shaking his head. "but she did say she was looking for you."

you felt your heart skip a beat. "looking for me? why?"

before mark could answer, a voice cut through the room. "mark." both of you turned to see amelia standing in the doorway, looking hesitant. "can i talk to you for a minute?"

mark straightened up, glancing at you before nodding at amelia. "sure, come on in."

you felt trapped, the walls of the small lounge closing in on you. "i should go prep for my surgery," you mumbled, quickly walking past amelia without meeting her eyes. as you left the room, you heard mark and amelia start talking, their voices fading as you made your way down the corridor. your mind was a storm of thoughts and memories, each one bringing with it a wave of emotion you weren’t prepared to face.

later that afternoon, you were in the lounge again, trying to focus on a patient’s chart when amelia found you. she entered quietly, her presence like a ghost in the room. you didn’t look up, your attention fixed on the papers in front of you.

"can we talk?" she asked softly, breaking the silence.

you took a deep breath before raising your eyes to meet hers. "what are you doing here, amelia?" you asked, trying to keep your voice neutral.

"i wanted to see you," she said simply.

you felt a flicker of frustration. "you flew three hours just because you wanted to see me?"

"yes," she replied, her voice unwavering.

silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating. you felt her eyes on you, searching, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her gaze. she took a step closer, and you saw her pull something from her bag. it was an envelope— the letter you had sent her when she was in rehab.

"i read your letter," she said, holding it out like it was a fragile piece of glass. "i’m sober now. i’ve been through rehab, therapy… i’ve done the work. but you weren’t there."

her words stung, and you finally looked up, meeting her gaze. the sincerity in her eyes was unmistakable. she looked like the same woman you’d fallen in love with all those years ago, and yet there was something different about her now— an openness, a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before.

"you don’t get to use my letter against me, amelia," you said, your voice tinged with anger. "not after everything you said to me."

her eyes filled with tears, and she took another step closer. you instinctively took a step back, the distance between you growing. the hurt in her eyes was palpable, and it mirrored the pain you’d carried for so long.

"i know i hurt you," she said, her voice breaking. "i didn’t mean those things. it was the drugs talking. i was scared and angry and broken. i wish i could take it all back."

you felt a lump in your throat, memories of those final days flooding back. the way she had looked at you with nothing but disdain, the harsh words that had cut deeper than any scalpel ever could. you had known she was spiraling, but you hadn’t known how to help. and then she had pushed you away, saying things that still haunted you.

"i know you didn’t mean them," you said quietly. "but that doesn’t make them hurt any less."

"i’m sorry," she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. "i’d do anything to take it all back, to make it right. i’m here now. and i’m sober. i came back to you. please, come back to me too."

loving amelia had always been complicated, a tangle of emotions you could never quite unravel. but standing here now, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes and hearing the sincerity in her apology, you felt something shift inside you. her presence brought back a flood of memories— late nights studying at johns hopkins, quiet moments stolen between surgeries, laughter shared over dinner.

but there was more than just nostalgia. there was pain. deep, lingering pain from the harsh words she'd said during her relapse. words that had cut deeper than any scalpel ever could. words you weren’t sure you could forget.

"amelia," you began, your voice uncertain. "i don’t know if i can do this again."

she looked at you, her eyes filled with emotion. "do you still love me?" she asked softly.

the question hit you like a freight train. did you? it felt like loving her was an inherent part of who you were, woven into your very being. but could you survive loving her again? you opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. instead, you stood there, silent.

amelia’s face fell, but she didn’t back away. instead, she took a tentative step closer. "because i still love you," she said, her voice trembling. "i’m still so in love with you. i don’t think i’ve ever… stopped being in love with you."

her words were like a balm to the wounds you’d carried for so long, but they also brought a new wave of fear. could you trust her again? could you trust yourself not to fall into the same pattern, the same heartbreak? "what are we supposed to do, amelia?" you asked, voice strained. "ruin each other all over again?"

she shook her head fiercely, determination shining in her eyes. "no. that’s not what i want. i want to love you the way you deserve to be loved. i want to be there for you, support you, make up for all the times i hurt you. and if you’re not ready yet, that’s okay. i’ll wait for you. as long as it takes."

you studied her, really looked at her, and for the first time, you noticed the changes. she seemed different, stronger, more grounded. it was like seeing her for the first time again, and it scared you. what if you had both changed too much? what if the love you’d once shared was gone, replaced by the scars of time and pain?

"i don’t know if we’re the same people we were before," you said quietly, voicing your fear. "we’ve changed, amelia. what if we’re too different now?"

she reached out, her fingers lightly brushing against yours, and the touch sent a spark through you, familiar and new all at once. "then that just means we get to fall in love with each other all over again," she said softly. "we get to learn each other’s hearts from the beginning. we get to build something new. something stronger."

her words resonated with you, and you felt the tension in your chest begin to ease. maybe she was right. maybe love didn’t have to be about holding on to the past. maybe it was about letting go, about choosing to believe in the possibility of something better. something real.

you took a deep breath, letting her words sink in. she was offering you a chance, not a promise that things would be perfect, but a promise that she would try. that she would be there. that she would love you.

"okay," you said finally, your voice barely more than a whisper. "okay, let’s try."

amelia’s eyes lit up with relief, a smile breaking across her face. she stepped closer, and this time, you didn’t move away. Instead, you let her wrap her arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. you closed your eyes, resting your head against her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her body against yours. and for the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of peace. a sense of home.