#Emergency Services Coordination

[constructionsafetynetwork]

Emergency Response Planning for Construction Accidents

The gravity of emergency response planning for construction accidents can’t be overstated. It forms the backbone of proactive safety protocols, aiming to reduce not only the frequency but also the severity of accidents. Each plan is tailored to address the unique constellation of hazards present at a construction site, which could range from the risk of falls and equipment failures to electrical…

[bellmedicaltransport]

How to Choose a Perfect Wheelchair Transportation in NJ

Please consider your family member's physical limitations, medical requirements, and degree of mobility when selecting the best wheelchair transportation for them. Examine various wheelchair kinds, including power, manually operated, and transport-focused models. To lessen the financial burden of buying a wheelchair, consider insurance coverage and financing programs. To get the needed support, collaborate with medical professionals to find relieved pressure pillows, postural support, and designated seating options. For more details click:

https://bnewsnw.com/how-to-choose-a-perfect-wheelchair-transportation-in-nj/ 

[townpostin]

Jamshedpur Gears Up for Flood Preparedness

District administration outlines comprehensive disaster response strategies Jamshedpur’s district administration, led by DM Ananya Mittal, has initiated robust flood preparedness measures for areas prone to waterlogging near the Swarnarekha and Kharkai rivers. JAMSHEDPUR – Ananya Mittal, the District Magistrate, presided over a critical meeting that aimed to develop comprehensive flood…

[prozach27]

.

[northgazaupdates]

10 February 2024

After 12 days with no updates, the PRCS announced the deaths of 6 y/o Hind Rajab and the ambulance team who volunteered to go save her. Despite the PRCS working with the IOF to coordinate safe passage for the ambulance, the ambulance was found destroyed by IOF bombs, with both volunteer crew members Yusuf Zeino and Ahmed Al-Madhoun murdered inside. Hind was murdered inside the car, where she had been trapped for hours with the bodies of her family members.

Hind’s 15 y/o cousin Layan Hamadeh had called PRCS emergency services after the car in which she and her family, including her younger cousin Hind, came under heavy gunfire by the IOF. Layan was shot to death while on the phone with PRCS emergency dispatchers, a fact which is documented via recordings of the phone call. Hind then took the phone and begged the dispatchers to send help to take her away, as the IOF was still showering the car with bullets. Ambulance crew members Yusuf Zeino and Ahmed Al-Madhoun volunteered to go rescue Hind. Dispatchers soon last contact with the child. They then lost contact with Yusef and Ahmed when the ambulance arrived near the location of the vehicle by Fares petrol station in Tal Al-Hawa.

This point cannot be emphasized enough: the PRCS worked with the IOF, getting their agreement not to attack the ambulance as it arrived at the scene. The IOF agreed, and then knowingly bombed the ambulance anyway, while also knowingly killing 6 y/o Hind inside her family’s car. They knew there was a 6 y/o child inside that car, and kept firing until they murdered her. They knew the entire time what they were doing, and lied about cooperating with emergency services in order to maximize the number of lives they could take.

The depravity and impunity of the occupation is truly boundless. Hind’s final hours were spent in absolute terror, and Yusuf and Ahmed’s courage and selflessness were rewarded with their murders. The PRCS did everything right. They coordinated with the IOF and sought their permission for the ambulance to pass, something which was already required under international law. The IOF abused this attempt at cooperation by lying about their compliance, then deliberately murdering Hind, Yusuf, and Ahmed, in addition to Layan and her entire family.

We write this update in tears, having hoped and prayed for a different outcome like everyone else. This round of aggression by the IOF has already seen unimaginable cruelty, suffering, and impunity. The complete, deliberate, and flagrant violation of international law and human decency is a stain on the conscience of the Global North and every president, staffer, soldier, and bureaucrat who made this happen. May the recorded voices of Layan and Hind, begging for rescue before dying alone, haunt them for the rest of their days.

Remember Hind, Layan, Yusuf, and Ahmed. Do not let despair consume you. Fight for them, for a permanent ceasefire, for accountability, and for whatever justice can be achieved, even if it seems small and pointless. Tell the world what the occupation has done, share the recordings and the updates from people on the ground. No matter how bleak things are, it is always worthwhile to tell the truth and fight for what’s right.

Keep Hind’s mother, grandfather, and surviving relatives, and the families of Yusuf and Ahmed in your hearts.

Source

Source

Source

Source

Source

Recordings: Layan, Hind

Our prior post

[zvaigzdelasas]

“Very aggressive” homeless encampment sweeps, as recently touted by Mayor London Breed, began Tuesday morning in San Francisco following a major U.S. Supreme Court ruling.

The Standard witnessed aggressive enforcement action under the Central Freeway, carried out by police, the Department of Public Works, Department of Emergency Management, Homeless Outreach Team and San Francisco Fire Department.

Homeless people were not notified of the sweeps ahead of time, as has previously been the norm, according to a schedule of encampment clearings and a city official who was on the scene.[...]

“One of the DPW workers started hollering past me, ‘I’m taking everything today,’ ” Tannahill said. “They were adamant that there wasn’t going to be enough time to pack up the tent.”

By 10:30 a.m., all city workers who were clearing the encampment had moved down the block, to the corner of 13th and Harrison streets.

Brandon Cunningham, the fire department’s incident commander at the scene of an encampment sweep near 13th and South Van Ness streets, told The Standard he was unsure whether people living at the site were notified beforehand. Tuesday’s schedule of encampment clearances, obtained by The Standard, does not list the location.[...]

City staff have previously given notice to encampment occupants days before conducting a clearing.

In a video captured by The Standard, a police officer can be heard explaining to a person whose belongings have just been thrown onto a truck bed that encampments are “no more.”

“London Breed, the mayor, Gov. Gavin Newsom says no more on the streets, no more encampments. No more. This is what it’s come down to. This is our laws,” the officer said.

Max Gunn and Kara Sullivan, who have been homeless in San Francisco for roughly two years, told The Standard the city threw away some of their clothes. Gunn said members of the Homeless Outreach Team told him there were no shelter beds available.

“They got my clothes,” Sullivan said. “They laughed at me and did a mocking New York accent and acted like they were tough.”

A spokesperson for the Department of Emergency Management disputed the individual’s account, saying everyone was offered shelter during Tuesday’s action.[...]

Nisha Kashyap, an attorney representing the Coalition on Homelessness in the suit against the city, called the sweeps “alarming” and “unacceptable.”

“The city’s conduct blatantly violates the existing injunction against property destruction and disregards its own laws and policies that mandate advance notice and the provision of shelter and services,” Kashyap said in a statement Tuesday. “By ignoring the injunction, the city is not only acting unlawfully but also stripping people of their basic survival necessities, making it harder for them to exit homelessness.”

A statement from the mayor’s office said the city’s “street response will consist of offers of services and support on a daily basis, targeted encampment resolutions, and coordinated efforts to prevent re-encampments and new areas from being encamped.”

In a memo shared Tuesday by the mayor’s office, officials said they seek to prevent encampments from cropping up again once they have been cleared.[...]

The memo also outlines the consequences homeless individuals may face if they continue to camp on the city’s streets and refuse shelter. These penalties include citations and possible arrest.

“The goal is not punishment, it is compliance,” the memo reads.

30 Jul 24

[harridansibyl]

Personal associations/interpretations of the dark/mystical houses (4th, 6th, 8th, 12th)

4th house

twisted tree roots, cultural practices, heirlooms, photo albums, inherited features, traditions, the mother, past lives, generational trauma, picture books, garden beds, childhood homes, ancestor altars, hand written recipe books, hearth, squeaky wooden floorboards, genealogy archives, caves, oak trees, baby wrap carriers, emotional security, cultural heritage, building foundations, photo albums, genetics, laundry lines, swing sets, property, mines, crops, sanctuaries, the chest and heart, home steads, fields, farms, root cellars, harvests, pots on stoves, brooms, backyards, agriculture, vines on trellises, handmade blankets, grandparents house, laundry baskets, attachment styles, singing lullabies, history, deep emotions, instincts, the unconscious, summer, waxing moon, vase of flowers, bath time, picking berries, celebrating holidays, chicken coops, older sisters, family gatherings, stone paths, forest walks, ancient structures/buildings, ancestral languages, cupboards, staying in

6th house

vitamins and supplements, morning routines, pharmacies, tasks and lists, doctors offices, health food stores, stomach medicine, hygiene practices, journals and planners, schedules, herbal teas, personal rituals, emergency kits, dog walks, lymphatic drainage, caregiving, donating blood, examinations and checkups, meditation, colour coordination, sticky notes, gastrointestinal problems, folded laundry, labels on everything, retirement homes, hand washing, braided hair, herb gardens, filing cabinets, face masks, kombucha, detailed diagrams, volunteer work, medicine cabinets, cleaning supplies, shelves, acts of service, skin care, organic linen, gauze and stitches, stress-induced illnesses, essential oil/herb baths, house plants, instructions, repetition, holistic medicine, giving advice, yoga studios, "gut feeling," bone broth

8th house

altars, divination, near death experiences, candle wax, feeling crushed by a heavy weight, grave dirt, red/dim lighting, funerals, double income, control, the underworld, cheques, insurance, heirlooms, ghost sightings, power imbalances, crime documentaries, ouroboros, bank accounts, grief and loss, shadow work, the womb, manipulation, scrying mirrors, Russian nesting dolls, keys, mortuaries, tests from the universe, pendulums, crime scene tape, the phoenix, projections, credit scores, animal bones on a forest floor, blood stained sheets, metaphysical shops, spiritual attacks, deep emotions, snakes, dead flowers, late autumn, wedding veils, envelopes, full moon, muddy boots, shadows at the corners of your vision, scarab beetles, inner processing, experiencing crisis, inherited possessions, natural disasters, sexual trauma, psychological studies, ancestral connections, cracked dolls, veil between realms, mental illnesses, deep connections, intimacy, reincarnation, torture devices, keys, whirlpools, the sound of sirens, unconscious fears, intense first impressions, pushing limits, feeling bound, scratches on walls, ten of swords

12th house

abandoned places, liminal spaces, long winters, shadowy figures, reoccurring dreams, repeated patterns, fog-filled forests, self analysation, inner worlds, cave systems, unfinished basements, hallucinations, solitary confinement, empty parking garages, spiral staircases, substance abuse, trapped in purgatory, hidden beneath the surface, maladaptive daydreaming, hospital hallways, confines of society, waning moon, moths, wandering aimlessly, disconnection from the world, psych wards, healing others, tired eyes or dark circles, chronic mental illness, suppression, addictions, hiding places, overnight shifts, unexplainable experiences, past life karma, exhaustion, cobwebs, others projections, catacombs, bird cages, premonitions in dreams, prescription bottles, self destructive patterns, late night walks, misty lakes, the feeling of walking out of the movie theater at night, identity crises, blurred faces, empty public transport, astral projection, comas, diary entries, dissociative episodes, shape shifting, generational trauma, observing people, mirrors, padded rooms, the afterlife, chain link fences, paradoxes, feeling misunderstood, repression or memory loss, hikikomori, the freeze response, disappearance, waiting rooms

[starkeysmuse]

Good Graces | 02

Rafe Cameron x Princess!Reader | series masterlist.

summary; Being the son of the President of the United States came with its fair share of responsibilities, but none as infuriating as this. To secure his father's re-election, Rate Cameron was forced to spend weeks under the same roof as the Princess of England. Diplomacy, they called it. Torture, he thought. The last thing he needed was a spoiled royal ruining his summer. But between gala events, unexpected conversations, and stolen glances, Rafe realized the line between hate and attraction was thinner than he'd ever imagined.

warnings; no smut. reader is two years younger than rafe. english is not my first language. the images are for the aesthetic. 'forced marriage au' by @rafecameronssl4t inspired<3

authors note; requests are open!!! comments and reblogs are really appreciated<33, alsooo this chapter has some scenes inspired by Kate and Anthony from Bridgeton.

The summer sun was relentless, casting a golden glow over the sprawling polo grounds. The Royal Family’s arrival had been announced well in advance, ensuring that every camera and paparazzi lens was trained on their convoy the moment it pulled up to the grand entrance.

You stepped out of the sleek black car, immediately hit by the flash of dozens—no, hundreds—of cameras. The crisp, tailored dress you wore was as regal as it was practical, a soft pastel shade designed to complement the bright day. Paired with sensible but elegant flats and a wide-brimmed hat to shield you from the sun, you looked every bit the composed Princess the world expected you to be.

"Smile." your mother murmured as she adjusted the brim of her Town Hat. The Queen's tone was gentle but firm, her own gloved hand briefly brushing your arm.

You forced a simple that was as close to genuine as you could muster, nodding at the crowd as you walked reside your parents.

Your father, the King, was already in full statesman mode, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with organizers of the even. His deep voice carried over the hum of the crowd.

As you followed them, your focus stayed locked on the path ahead, carefully avoiding eye contact with the cameras. The sun was unrelenting, and you were already regretting not demanding a fan when your mother leaned in again.

"Remember, you're representing more than yourself today," she said softly, her lips barely moving as she waved to the crowd. "Stand tall. Don't fidget."

"Understood," you replied quietly, keeping your voice neutral.

The three of you moved as a unit, exuding the kind of seamless coordination that only years of royal protocol could teach. The crowd adored it, of course. To them, this was a glimpse into a fairytale—perfect, untouchable, and beautifully polished.

But your attention was drawn away from the adoring fans when a second motorcade pulled up.

The arrival of the President of the United States and his family was nothing short of theatrical. The gleaming black limousine rolled to a stop, its polished exterior reflecting the midday sun. Uniformed Secret Service agents stepped out first, scanning the area with precision before Ward Cameron emerged from the vehicle, radiating charm and authority in equal measure.

And then there was Rafe.

He exited the car a beat later, adjusting the cuffs of his navy-blue suit as he stepped into the light. Rafe’s navy-blue suit looked designed to steal sighs—but not yours. To you, he was nothing more than an irritation in human form. Yet when his eyes found yours, it was impossible not to notice that spark of defiance, as if he were daring you to react.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction.

You quickly looked away, turning back to the crowd and raising your hand in a graceful wave. The moment was fleeting, but it left a strange tension in its wake—a silent acknowledgment of your shared disdain.

As Ward and Rafe made their way toward your family, the cameras shifted focus, eagerly capturing the moment when two of the world’s most influential families would finally stand side by side.

Ward extended a hand to your father, his grin as polished as his shoes. “Your Majesty, thank you for hosting such a splendid event. It’s an honor to be here.”

“Mr. President,” the King replied warmly, shaking his hand. “The pleasure is ours. I trust the journey wasn’t too taxing?”

“Not at all,” Ward said smoothly before turning to your mother. “Your Grace, it’s always a privilege to see you.”

The Queen inclined her head graciously, her smile measured. “Welcome, Mr. President. I hope you enjoy the day.”

And then Ward turned his attention to you.

“Your Highness,” he greeted you with the same charm, his handshake firm but not overbearing.

“Mr. President,” you replied, your smile perfectly practiced.

And then came Rafe.

“Princess,” he said, bowing his head just enough to meet the bare minimum of decorum. His voice carried a teasing edge, as though he found the formality absurd.

“Mr. Cameron,” you replied, your tone cool as your eyes locked with his.

The air between you was thick with unspoken tension, a mixture of irritation and something you refused to identify. For a moment, you thought he might say something snide, but he simply smiled—a slow, knowing curve of his lips that made your skin crawl—and stepped back.

Your father, ever the diplomat, gestured toward the viewing area. “Shall we? The match is about to begin.”

“Of course,” Ward agreed, falling into step beside him as the two families made their way to the private box.

You could feel Rafe’s presence behind you, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back. When you glanced over your shoulder, he was already looking away, his hands shoved casually into his pockets as though he had all the time in the world.

_

The private Terrace for both families, strategically decorated to reflectante luxury and elegance. But for you, no matter how glamorous the setting was, the real Challenge would be enduring Rafe Cameron's company.

When you were seated on the terrace, the carefully arranged seating plan unfortunately placed you and Rafe next to each other. You tried to keep you composure, focusing on the game, but Rafe had a particular talent for turning your irritation into pure.

Arthur, however, seemed to have other ideas. Your loyal Corgi made it his personal mission to make Rafe’s life miserable, letting his tail repeatedly brush against his polished shoes or positioning his body just enough to block Rafe’s view of the field.

Rafe shifted in his seat, exhaling audibly. “Does your dog take after you, or is this a personality defect all his own?”

You didn’t look at him. “He’s discerning. He doesn’t like trouble.”

“Oh, I see. So he just naturally despises me, then?”

“Smart, isn’t he?” you replied, finally turning to meet Rafe’s annoyed stare. His tie was slightly askew, and the sunlight highlighted the sharp angle of his jaw. It should’ve been an infuriatingly good look—if it weren’t attached to him.

Rafe leaned closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you’re trying to insult me, Princess, you’ll have to try harder. I’ve been called worse by better people.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, settling instead for a withering smile. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I bother speaking to you.”

Before Rafe could retort, Arthur huffed and shifted his weight, his tail swiping Rafe’s leg again.

“Seriously?” Rafe muttered under his breath, glaring at the dog as if he’d personally offended him. “Doesn’t royalty come with obedience training? Or is that just for the pets?”

Arthur growled softly, and you reached down to scratch behind his ears, your voice deceptively sweet. “Careful, Mr. Cameron. He doesn’t take kindly to people who insult his intelligence.”

Rafe leaned back in his chair, smirking as he gestured toward Arthur. “I think he just has bad taste. Like his owner.”

The nerve. You opened your mouth to respond, but your mother’s quiet but pointed cough silenced you. Glancing at her, you saw the slight arch of her brow—a warning. This wasn’t the time or place for sparring matches, as much as you longed to wipe that smirk off Rafe Cameron’s face.

The polo match began with the rhythmic pounding of hooves against the earth, drawing the attention of the crowd. You watched the game unfold, pretending to be engrossed in the action. Every now and then, though, your focus wavered—thanks to Rafe shifting beside you, his presence impossible to ignore.

He leaned closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “Enjoying yourself, Princess? Or are you counting the minutes until you can go back to pretending I don’t exist?”

Your lips pressed into a tight smile as you replied without looking at him. “Why pretend, when ignoring you is so easy?”

He chuckled, a sound that was equal parts infuriating and... no, just infuriating.

A sharp whistle from the field momentarily drew both your attention. One of the riders—a particularly skilled player—maneuvered his horse with such precision that the crowd erupted into cheers.

“Impressive,” Rafe murmured, though his tone lacked sincerity.

“It’s called talent,” you replied dryly. “Something I wouldn’t expect you to recognize.”

Rafe turned his head to look at you, his smile sharp. “Careful, Princess. Your crown’s slipping.”

You met his gaze with equal intensity, the proximity between you suddenly feeling closer than it was. “And here I thought Americans were supposed to be charming. Must’ve skipped you.”

Rafe chuckled again, shaking his head as he leaned back in his seat, his arm brushing yours in the process.

You straightened your posture, shifting slightly away from him, but your heartbeat betrayed you, its rhythm annoyingly quick. It wasn’t attraction—you refused to believe that. It was irritation. Nothing more.

The match continued, and while your parents exchanged polite commentary with Ward Cameron, you focused on Arthur, letting your hand absently run through his fur. It was grounding, a way to keep yourself composed.

Rafe, on the other hand, seemed far too comfortable, lounging in his seat as if he owned the terrace. Occasionally, you caught him glancing your way—not in the heated, passionate way you’d read about in novels, but in a calculating, almost amused manner.

And you hated that it made you feel like you were constantly being challenged.

When a particularly exciting play had the crowd erupting into applause, you noticed something peculiar. While everyone else clapped or cheered, Rafe barely reacted, his attention instead flicking to you.

“What?” you asked sharply, keeping your voice low.

“Nothing,” he replied, though his grin said otherwise. “Just wondering how someone so polished can look so... annoyed.”

“I’m sitting next to you, aren’t I?”

His laugh was quiet, almost genuine, but it only made you more irritated. “Don’t worry, Princess. The feeling’s mutual.”

STARKEYMUSE — do not plagiarize, translate or post my work.

reblog and comments are really appreciated!!

hope you like it<3

dividers by @cafekitsune

[probablyasocialecologist]

The Spanish Meteorological Agency had warned of the severity of this DANA (isolated high-altitude depression) days in advance, yet the government of Valencia–led by Mazón from the Popular Party (PP), which allied with the far-right VOX in the last election–did not raise the alert level or inform residents of the impending danger until it was too late. These climate change-denier parties made dismantling the Valencian Emergency Unit one of their first actions in power, scrapping a unit established by the previous left-wing government to coordinate emergency responses. Such a response could have saved hundreds of lives, as only after five days were fire brigades from other parts of Spain finally allowed to respond, despite being ready from day one, some stationed only a couple of hours away. The staggering dysfunction was made clear when a team of French firefighters, arriving voluntarily and without permission on Saturday, discovered they were the first responders in the area. Employees who received warnings from family and friends about river overflows upstream were not allowed to leave work. Consequently, when the worst of the flood came, countless people were trapped in their cars on the way home, many of them returning from industrial parks on Valencia’s working-class outskirts, caught at the end of their full shifts. Those workers now still lie trapped in their cars, waiting for rescue–if they survived–or decomposing. Meanwhile, the areas hardest hit by the torrent are mostly working-class neighborhoods, built on floodplains near the river’s overflow zone. Construction was permitted there for developers–many friendly with politicians–in a region known for government corruption, particularly under the right-wing Popular Party’s administrations between 1995-2015.

[...]

Capitalist employers put profits before their workers’ lives. Testimonies abound of employees spending the night at work, unable to leave until it was too late. A video has gone viral showing a Mercadona supermarket lorry, owned by a tycoon notorious for ruthless business practices, stuck in the floodwaters–though the servile Spanish media pixelated the logo to protect its reputation. The same employer, while making a show of charitable donations for the flood-affected, has forced affected employees back to work since the very next day. The underground car park of the Bonaire shopping center, one of Spain’s largest, is feared to hold many bodies, as the center stayed open despite the red alert from the Meteorology Service. Public institutions like Valencia’s University sent staff and students home hours before, as did the Valencia government, which sent its workers home because of “a high risk for the population”.

4 November 2024

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

req'd by @decadelongsummer

understood, trucks have been dispatched

text: Emergency Services: Please give your coordinates

Cat: Meow!

[reasonsforhope]

Augusta Mayor Garnett Johnson watches at right. (AP Photo/Carolyn Kaster)

Vice President Kamala Harris announced Wednesday that President Joe Biden has approved Georgia Gov. Brian Kemp’s request for 100% reimbursement of local costs of responding to the aftermath of Hurricane Helene during remarks in Augusta, Georgia.

Harris said the federal reimbursement will cover costs for services like food, water and shelter provided by local governments, debris removal and emergency services...

Augusta, which is around two hours away from Atlanta, was one of the cities hit hardest by the onset of Hurricane Helene last week...

Sponsor

Augusta, which is around two hours away from Atlanta, was one of the cities hit hardest by the onset of Hurricane Helene last week. 

She also announced that FEMA is providing $750 for people who have immediate needs.

Harris thanked first responders, who she called “the heroes in moments of crisis.”

“Most of them, as it relates to the local folks, are folks who have personally and their families have personally experienced loss and devastation, and yet they leave their home and leave their family to go to centers like where I was earlier to do the work of helping perfect strangers,” she said. “And it really does highlight the nobility of the kind of work that these public servants have dedicated themselves to, which can be in moments of crisis like this so selfless.”

She also thanked Kemp for his leadership and coordination through the storm.

Richmond County is one of the 41 counties in Georgia for which FEMA has approved a disaster declaration. Kemp announced Wednesday that residents of these counties can apply for disaster assistance. FEMA has received more than 60,000 assistance applications, according to FEMA."

-via WABE, October 2, 2024

[opencommunion]

"The extent and severity of violence in the occupied West Bank have been increasing exponentially – especially with the lack of health services and the long distances taken to reach medical care – inflicted by settlers and facilitated by the IOF.

A report by Doctors Without Borders (Médecins Sans Frontières) reflects on the situation via testimonies by residents starting with Mahmud Mousa Abu Eram, a Palestinian man from al-Khalil, who said, 'We walk for hours to reach the health facilities. Sometimes we use the donkeys to transfer sick people to the hospital or to the clinic.'

'There hasn't been transportation in this area for a long time, and even if there is a car to drop us to any clinic, the Israeli army confiscates the cars,' he added.

The level of violence in the occupied town of Masafer Yatta has been instilling an increased amount of fear in Palestinian homes. An anonymous MSF patient said, 'Most of the time it is forbidden to stand at the window. One day when I was standing at the window, a settler saw me and complained to the soldiers,' adding, 'The soldiers stormed my house and destroyed everything in it.'

Last month, the report confirmed that a volunteer paramedic was shot in the Tulkarm and Nur Shams camps, and it took almost seven hours for him to reach the hospital. Meanwhile, a separate incident showed that MSF staff members were unable to save the life of a 16-year-old child after being shot in the head. Itta Helland-Hansen, MSF project coordinator in Jenin, said, 'His father, also a paramedic trained by MSF, learned the news of his son’s killing while working in the ambulance.'

A medic from the al-Arrub refugee camp between al-Khalil and Beit Lahm said, 'Most of the time, ambulances are blocked at checkpoints. Even in cases of medical emergencies and when we have the siren on,' noting, 'How long they stop us for does not depend on the medical emergency, it depends on the mood of the soldiers.' 'They make us wait for one or two hours... Or they make us take another road. If the patient has a gunshot wound from the Israeli army, they can arrest the patient and even confiscate the ambulance. We don’t know what will happen to the patient then, if they will bring him to a hospital or to a prison and if he will receive medical care in the prison,' he expressed."

16 May 24

[thedemoninme141]

Her Heartbeat; Chapter 15: Her Pain.

Summary: Wednesday doesn't understand how she had let this happen...

Warnings: EmotionalOutOfCharacterWednesday! A bit blood! But mostly Angst...

Parings: Wednesday x Fem reader. A bit of Wenclair friendship.

Chapter 1 ------- Previous Chapter

Her Heartbeat's Chapterlist.

Worklist

It had all happened so fast. One second, she’d been on the verge of…something. A confession, a kiss, a surrender—she didn’t know, and now it hardly mattered. Now she stood in front of the mirror and she hardly recognized herself.

Her dark hair, usually so perfectly groomed, was disheveled, with stray locks framing her face in a way that felt uncharacteristically wild. Her pallor was more pronounced than usual, the ashen tone of her skin bordering on sickly.

But it was her eyes that held her attention—wide, rimmed with a redness that betrayed the tears she refused to shed. She hated them, hated the weakness she saw staring back at her.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the sink so tightly that her knuckles turned white. The world around her had descended into chaos the moment you collapsed in her arms, and now…now you were in this hospital, surrounded by strangers and medical equipment, your fragile body fighting to survive. And Wednesday was here, staring at herself, useless.

“Turn off the damn smokes!” she had screamed, the desperation in her voice so raw and unguarded that it startled even her.

Through the haze of panic, she saw Enid’s ears perk up from across the dance floor. The werewolf immediately darted to the sound booth. In seconds, the artificial smoke dissipated, but it didn’t matter anymore. The damage was already done.

“Wednesday, what the hell happened?” Enid’s voice was panicked as she skidded to a stop beside her. Her wide eyes darted between you, limp in Wednesday’s arms, and the crowd forming around them.

“Get an ambulance, RIGHT NOW.” Wednesday snapped, her voice trembling with fury and fear. She barely noticed the shocked expression on Enid’s face as Ajax fumbled for his phone, dialing emergency services with shaking hands.

Wednesday tried to lift you, her arms wrapping around your frail form. But as she strained to lift you, something inside her cracked. It wasn’t physical weakness—it was deeper, more insidious. Her knees buckled, her body trembling as the crushing weight of helplessness bore down on her.

“Damn it,” she hissed under her breath, her arms refusing to cooperate. The feeling of you slipping from her grip was unbearable, a visceral ache that clawed at her chest. She was strong—she’d always been strong. But now? Now she felt like nothing, like a hollow shell incapable of protecting the one thing that mattered most.

“Let me,” Enid said softly, kneeling beside her. Without waiting for permission, the werewolf scooped you into her arms with surprising ease, cradling your unconscious body as though you weighed nothing.

Wednesday followed her outside, her legs moving mechanically as her mind screamed at her to do something—anything—but there was nothing to be done.

The other students had gathered at the gates, forming a worried, murmuring crowd. Wednesday barely registered them. Her entire focus was on you—on the way your head lolled against Enid’s shoulder, your skin unnervingly pale in the moonlight.

“Wednesday, what happened?” “Is she okay?” “Is she breathing?”

“Quiet!” Luckily it was Weems who silenced them all before Wednesday snapped. She looked at Wednesday, but said nothing. She already understood that words would be wasted. Instead, she focused on the task at hand, her phone in one hand as she coordinated with emergency responders.

She remembers the paramedics rushing to take you from Enid’s arms, their movements swift and efficient. Wednesday tried to follow, her feet moving of their own accord, ready to climb in after you. But the paramedics stopped her.

“You can’t come with her,” one of them said, his tone apologetic “Only family members or authorities are allowed to ride along.”

“I’m more than—” Wednesday began, her voice rising in anger, but Weems cut her off.

Weems intervened immediately, her tone brooking no argument. “I am the Principal of this school. I’ll go with her,”

And just like that, the ambulance doors slammed shut, the wail of its siren tearing through the night as it sped away. Wednesday stood there, rooted in place, her fists clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. You were gone, and she was powerless to do anything about it.

“It’s okay,” Enid said gently, stepping beside her. “Ajax is getting his car. He’ll be here in thirty minutes tops, and we’ll go to the hospital together.”

Wednesday didn’t respond. She barely heard her friend’s words over the deafening roar in her own mind. Thirty minutes felt like a lifetime, and every second that ticked by was another moment where something could go horribly wrong. And she feared she wouldn't be there.

When they finally reached the hospital, it was Weems who met them in the waiting room.

“They’ve taken her to the ER, The doctors are doing everything they can"

And now here she was, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at a version of herself she barely recognized.

God, she was weak. How had this happened? How had she let herself become so vulnerable? So…pathetic? She had spent her entire life building walls, shielding herself from anything that could make her feel this way. And yet, here she was, unraveling piece by piece because of you.

Her reflection mocked her, its hollow eyes and trembling lips a stark contrast to the composed, unflinching image she usually projected. She hated it. Hated herself. How had she let this happen? How had she allowed herself to care so deeply that the thought of losing you made her chest feel like it was caving in?

Her breathing was ragged, her chest heaving as she struggled to remain in control.

How had she become so weak? So…human?

With a growl of frustration, she slammed her fist into the mirror. The glass shattered instantly, cracks spidering out from the point of impact. Pain shot up her arm as shards embedded themselves in her knuckles, but she didn’t care. The blood that dripped down her hand was nothing compared to the storm raging inside her.

The door creaked open behind her, and she stiffened.

“Wednesday?”

It was Enid.

“I’m fine,” Wednesday snapped, her voice like a whip.

But Enid ignored her. The werewolf stepped into the bathroom, her gaze softening as it landed on Wednesday’s bloodied hand. "Oh Wends..."

“Don’t,” Wednesday warned, taking a step back.

But Enid didn’t listen. In one swift motion, she closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around Wednesday in a firm, unyielding embrace.

“Let go,” Wednesday hissed, struggling against her. “Enid, I swear—”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Enid interrupted, her voice steady.

“Get off me,” Wednesday hissed, her voice laced with venom. She shoved at Enid’s arms, but the werewolf didn’t budge. “I can rip you apart,” she muttered, her voice low and dangerous.

“I know, but I’m not letting go.” Enid said simply, tightening her hold.

Wednesday’s struggles slowed, her strength waning as the weight of her emotions finally broke through. Her hands, bloodied and trembling, fell to her sides.

“Why?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Why did this happen?”

Enid didn’t have an answer, but she held her friend close, her own tears silently falling. “We’ll get through this,” she murmured. “You’re not alone.”

For the first time in her life, Wednesday didn’t push the comfort away. She allowed herself to lean into it if only for a moment, her face pressed against Enid’s shoulder as she struggled to breathe through the ache in her chest.

And for that moment, she wasn’t Wednesday Addams, the girl who thrived on darkness and chaos.

She was just a girl terrified of losing the one person who had managed to break through her walls.

As she followed Enid out of the bathroom, she barely registered her surroundings until she stepped into the waiting area outside the ER.

Her hand still bleeding from her earlier outburst, but she paid it no mind. There were more pressing matters, you.

First, her dark eyes immediately landed on your father, who was speaking with Principal Weems.

But then, just past them, Wednesday’s gaze fell on a cluster of people she did not expect to see.

Her therapy group.

What the hell were they doing here?

Wednesday strode toward them. Blood dripped from her injured hand, leaving small crimson spots on the tiled floor as her fists clenched tighter with every step.

The group turned toward her, their expressions ranging from surprised to concerned.

David was the first to step forward, his gaze landing on her bloodied hand. He let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Wednesday…”

“I don’t want your sighs, David,” Wednesday snapped, her tone dripping with irritation. “I want answers. Why are you all here? Who called you?”

“I did.”

The voice came from behind the group, and Wednesday’s dark eyes narrowed as Brooke stepped into view. She was wearing an intern’s scrubs.

“You?” Wednesday’s voice was sharp with disbelief. “You work here?”

Brooke shrugged nonchalantly, “Yeah. I’m an intern here. Surprise.”

“Why does this matter?” Wednesday demanded, gesturing toward the rest of the group. “Why are they here?”

“I was working the ER when they brought her in,” Brooke explained, her voice softening slightly. "Then after a while I saw you, looking all worried and...I thought I might need some backup so I just called them I guess."

Wednesday opened her mouth to argue, Enid, standing a step behind her, finally found her voice. "Wednesday, who are all these people?”

“The therapy group,” Wednesday muttered, her tone laced with disdain.

“What?” Enid blinked. “These are the therapy people?!”

“Unfortunately.”

“Look,” David said, running a hand through his hair, “we might just be a group of angry psychos who meet in a circle every week to complain about our lives�� but Y/n is part of our little group of angry psychos.  And when one of us is in trouble, we show up. She’s one of us. And…” He hesitated, glancing at Wednesday. “Like it or not, you are too.”

“I’m not—” Wednesday began, her voice cold and biting, but Rick interrupted her.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. I am Batman, darkness incarnate, blah, blah, blah, ” Rick said, waving a hand dismissively. “But here’s the thing, Addams: you’re stuck with us. And if that means standing around a hospital waiting for news, then that’s what we’re gonna do.”

“Also, I got a new car,” Rick added, jingling his keys. “So, Brooke, maybe don’t burn this one if we need to give someone a ride home, yeah?”

Ashley hit Rick with her elbow “Now’s not the time, idiot.”

“Let me see your hand,” Brooke said firmly, her tone more doctor than therapy member now.

“It’s fine,” Wednesday snapped, instinctively tucking her injured hand behind her back.

Brooke raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “That’s not going to fly here. Sit down, or I’ll have security drag you out for bleeding all over the hospital floor.”

Enid put a hand on Wednesday’s shoulder. “You should let her, Wends. I mean, you wouldn't want Y/n seeing that."

With a huff of annoyance, Wednesday relented, sitting down stiffly on the bench as Brooke began cleaning and bandaging her knuckles.

“I still don’t understand why you all care for people you barely know so much.” Wednesday muttered as Brooke worked.

“Like David said,” Brooke replied without looking up, “we take care of our own. You might not like it, but you’ve somehow become part of this dysfunctional little family. And like it or not, we care about you.”

Wednesday was about to retort when the door to the ER opened, and a doctor stepped out. Her sharp eyes immediately locked onto the man, and for the first time that night, her breath caught in her throat.

The doctor’s expression was professional but grave as he approached.

“Are you here for the young woman brought in from Nevermore Academy?"

“I am. How is she?” Wednesday asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor hesitated for a moment, then said, “She’s stable, but…”

“But what?” Wednesday demanded, her voice sharp and trembling.

“She’s in a coma,” the doctor said gently. “For now, her condition is critical but stable. We’ll be monitoring her closely, but it’s too soon to say anything definitive.”

The words hit Wednesday like a physical blow. She felt the air leave her lungs, her vision narrowing as the weight of the doctor’s words settled over her.

A heavy silence fell over the group. Enid placed a tentative hand on Wednesday’s shoulder, but she barely felt it.

“Can I see her?” Wednesday asked, her voice barely audible.

The doctor nodded. “Only one visitor at a time for now. But you’ll need to address that hand of yours before you go in.” His gaze flicked to Brooke, who was finishing up the bandaging.

“It’s taken care of,” Brooke said smoothly, giving the doctor a pointed look.

The Doctor nodded before walking back into the ER.

As soon as he was gone, Brooke handed Wednesday a pair of disposable gloves. “Hide the bandage. You’re not sneaking past anyone with blood all over you.” She gave Brooke a small nod before taking the gloves.

As Wednesday followed the doctor into the ER, the rest of the group exchanged quiet glances. David sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s not gonna take this well,” he muttered. Enid, her gaze fixed on Wednesday, let out a small, humorless laugh. “When does she ever take anything well?”

[Author's note: Back to writing again but its kinda hard to manage time nowadays, Comment how you guys feel about this chapter.]

NEXT CHAPTER

[rewrittenwrongs]

No thoughts just emergency services working with the bats. Police using a radio frequency they know the bats listen in on to tell them about a car chase so they can keep track of the vehicle. Batman talking to firefighters and checking how many people are left in the building. Batgirl helping people come out of shock. Nightwing doing CPR until the paramedics arrive. Red Robin fishing someone out of the bay and keeping them warm while they wait. Spoiler giving information to detectives and working with undercover cops. Robin comforting children while they wait to talk to police. Red Hood treating drug overdoses and calling for ambulances. Orphan dragging people out of car wrecks before their vehicles explode. Signal transporting supplies for ambulances and hospitals. All of them coordinating with emergency services after tragedies: working with police and fire fighters to find people and bodies, using flares and flashlights to guide people out of danger, recovering pets and documents from collapsing homes, dragging debris off the roads so ambulances can reach people, helping aid relief hand out food and water and blankets and baby formula

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Cryptid's Keeper | Yandere Obanai Iguro

When you were called to bring aid to an isolated village you were prepared to execute a minor cryptid that was probably picking at crops occasionally. It would make sense for a small town to consider that an emergency: it’s there supply. What you weren’t expecting was the threat to have been ravenously feasting on the residents of the town itself. The town was far too afraid to meet you at the border of their land without all of them linked to one another by each other’s hands. Elders and children, women and men, teens, and young adults alike tightly grasping at each other while they bowed in greeting.

They told of a mighty beast wrapped in pearl white scales with eyes red as the blood of it’s victims. Swallowing hordes of men armed with pitchforks and torches in one single night. The tales they told of this cryptid varied in all matter of atrocities–from swallowing the living to strangulating children to crushing those lucky enough to flee. But the stand-alone trait of ever story told to you was of the ghost eyed witch that’d walk the streets of the town. Without fail this witch would wear a thin veil that had the pattern similar to that of a zebra. They suspected their ghost eyes which they must have plucked from the peach trees themselves and an stone of jade from some treasure hidden deep in the forest. It would appear that any who crossed paths with the witch would be dead before morning on account of the beast, sometimes it’d be their whole family as well. 

The townspeople were willing to pay a hefty sum for your services, practically begging you to save them. Naturally you agreed. This was your job to hunt and trap troublesome cryptids in a world that knew nothing better. The aspect of the witch intrigued you the most. In your many travels you found that witch was just a word to label humans more in tune with their mystical side. Heck your sure if you hadn’t made a career of it you’d be labeled one yourself.

It was easy to track the beast, the clear mark of scales and muscle slithering on the ground led into the forest on an unmarked but used path. It made you wonder if they attempted to investigate at all. Trudging onward you prepared for the hassle it’d be to subdue a creature with track marks so much bigger than yourself.

It led to a cave near a river; a peaceful place for the horror that supposedly lived there. You head in, stepping over a wall of bones sticking up like spikes. Eyeing a few human skulls creating a path deeper inside. This place clearly has a human’s touch, while the decoration was dismal and dark there was clearly a sense of pride present. Navigating with the skulls it eventually led to a large opening where you found the cryptid culprits. 

Wrapped around itself was a giant white snake which reflected the minimal light given by one lone torch on the wall; giving it an orange glow. In the middle of it was a man, with long black hair a scar across his mouth and a single loin cloth draped between his legs. Feeling the heat on your cheeks, you knocked your staff on the rocky floor to alert them. You felt as though you were intruding on something private. Sure enough they startled awake both on the defense at your unexpected arrival. 

“Hello there! I’ve heard you two have been giving the town quite a few problems!”

You smile while dodging the giant snake’s strike, somersaulting over the expanse of their tail. It set you up to parry the primitive spear jutting at you from the wild man. He only responded in grunts and shouts that helped the snake coordinate attacks at you. But none of it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle; ultimately analyzing their teamwork.

“You two seem close,” you made an aerial over the snakes striking maw delivering a kick to the wild man who was charging a new weapon, “Makes me wonder why you’d bother the people in the village in the first place.”

An orange and green pair of eyes widened at that, standing a ways away while the snake hissed at you before attempting to strangle you again. This was getting more and more interesting. “So you can understand me? Then tell me why?”

The snake was getting tired and the man was getting irritated. This–by your prediction–would be ending very soon.

Once again taking the man head on you blocked with your staff as you egged him on. Despite not having the technique you did he had strength and a swiftness that rivaled the snake’s.

“All…deserved to be punished.” 

The voice that came was hoarse, like it wasn’t used often. The voice was so sudden it caught you off-guard, leaving you barely enough time to block and kick him back. The look on your face must’ve said enough.

“All of them deserve death!”

“Why? What did they do?”

He paused his attack, his pupils shaking with the answer to that question–looking down to compose himself. Sensing his distress the snake slithered from you curling around the man to comfort him. You also lowered your defenses your heart preparing for the pain he would hopefully share.

“They made me this way,” he sounded like he was fighting tears as he tightened his fists, “by trying to sacrifice me…for this they all must pay…Including You!”

He launched at you on the head of his snake, using the speed of snake and his own jumping to aim at your head. Like before you dodged this time shoving your staff into the ground. Without your staff occupying your hands you weaved underneath the snake and through it’s coils to strike at the reptile’s pressure points. The cave shook as the snake slammed limply on the ground. Rolling off to safety the wild man shouted running to cradle the snake’s snout, “Kabamaru!?” 

Hearing the light sound of sniffles you cursed yourself for going too far. Sitting down on the ground you leaned along the rocky wall opposite to the two. Pulling out a bottle of sake and two cups you brought with you, setting them down. 

“He’s not dead. Just sleeping.” he turned to look at you his eyes softening from a glare. You continued,”I figured without him egging you on you can tell me a bit more about yourself.” 

Offering a cup to him you took a sip of yours, letting out a happy sigh as the liquid tingled down your throat. Showing him that it was safe you let him down his zebra skin and come in closer to you. 

There you were able to piece lesser rumors with his own testimony. Apparently the town used to be ran by a tribe of women who idolized a giant snake in the forest. Organizing gatherings and practices to honor said snake. This tribe of women for generations had daughters to uphold it’s legacy of a matriarch loyal to this snake. Alas when they birthed a boy those in town deemed him a curse making the women decide that his death at the hands of the snake would be their blessing and atonement for his existence. Part of the ceremony included slicing his mouth wider and tying him with the carcass of the exotic creature—the zebra—in the forest to be eaten by their deity: the White Snake. Come to find that the snake was a peaceful creature that was truly infuriated at finding the poor boy in the state he was. Sheltering him, feeding him, protecting him, and one day attacking the people he identified as revenge for him. 

“I see now, why you attack them so viciously. What you went through was awful.”

You took another swig from the bottle looking at the man who was leaning on a sluggish Kaburamaru. He was watching you intently probably gauging your reactions to his story, it made you wonder when was the last time he spoke with any one properly.

It is then you yawned, standing up and stretching. Disregarding both their suspicious looks you walked to your staff, resting it on your shoulders casually as the both got into a defensive stance. You walked up that rocky path, waving over your shoulder with a smile.

“Tomorrow Iguro. I’ll bring you something sweet from the town. Until then.”

Just like that you returned to the townspeople all eager to know if you’ve slain the beast. Only for you to yawn in their faces and say your still investigating, retreating to the inn you were gifted for your stay here.

As expected violent cryptids were never just that in a world that knows no better. 

And as such it was your job to help.

Whether that was teaching the world or the cryptid themself.

In this case the cryptid and his keeper.

_____________________________________________________________

Obanai Iguro didn’t kill for no reason. 

When he walked through the town he was being gracious. An olive branch extended to an unforgiving people. All he was asking was that he be able to walk into town without injury or insult. Without fail though someone in town would either yell obscenities or attempt to attack him. 

He vowed the day he could freely walk in town would be the day no one would suffer his wrath. 

That day had never come. 

But the day someone looked in his eyes with no fear for him had come. A missionary with dyed hair and smile brighter than the sun was the first. She happened to catch him by his lonesome, asking for directions to the town. 

He cursed himself for letting his naivete consume him. 

Doing as she asked he hoped foolishly that the townspeople could learn. Take the missionary’s optimism and kindness as a symbol for peace. That when they saw the absolute vision of beauty hand in hand with a freak him they’d have a change of heart or at least touch the hearts of a few.

He was wrong.

So so wrong.

The collective gasps were a precursor to the violent screaming that followed. Rocks, fruit, eventually knives were thrown at both of them. He remembered taking the brunt of it turning the nun away from the spiteful horde. Looking down at her, even in the face of their berating she was smiling up at him. It warmed his heart. It made him willing to forgive. Until she caught sight of her convent, fellow missionaries standing silently aside, running to them with renewed vigor. She happily proclaimed that she’d found her mission aiming to help bridge the gap between the misunderstood and the collective. She recited different teachings looking pridefully as she waited for their response. Dropping her smile when they finally spoke.

“You’ve transgressed for the last time, Mitsuri. We had such high hopes.”

They pulled at her hair, they stripped her of her robes before encouraging the town to bring all their aggressions to her. Claiming it was a just punishment for the young and unruly nun who continued to fail with every task they gave her. 

He doubted he could’ve waited for Kaburamaru if he tried. Using his bare fists to pummel anyone who’s hand was raised to attack Mitsuri. Fighting them as best as he could but he was only one man. 

Strong but not strong enough.

By the time Kaburamaru arrived and had begun to swallow majority of the fleeing mob, it was already too late. Poor Mitsuri. The sun in Iguro’s night had set, giving him one last smile and an indirect kiss on the scar across his face. 

It broke his heart further. 

Shuffling his already broken heart, he took it’s shards and made a wall. A thorny wall that took his graciousness and shrivelled it to nothing. Now transgressions he would have chosen mercy for invoked his wrath all the same. Calling on Kaburamaru to help quell his fury. 

Once again returning to his precious solitude with Kaburamaru by his side. 

But fate would refuse this again sending a monster catcher to disrupt his peace. Agile, sly, and a powerful fighter the monster catcher was like no one he’d met before. Iguro did have a few encounters with unexplainable creatures and violent entities but none were like them. Never had he and Kaburamaru been brought to their knees (coils?) by  a single person, all who casually invites him to chat over a drink. 

“Come come its a creation of my own. This game is going to get us drunk so fast!”

Mitsuri was casual too but the interaction was surface. It was their first and last time meeting after all. The monster hunter spoke much more often, returning with another alcoholic beverage and cups to share while talking about nothing in paticular. Once again that estranged normalcy was creeping up again and Iguro refused to fall for it again.

“Oh wow that came out of nowhere, Iguro. Now let’s get back to drinking shall we?”

Holding the tip of his spear between two fingers the monster hunter continued to smile at him. Thwarting his attempts to chase them away or at least save himself the pain he was bound to feel. Even Kaburamaru wasn’t attempting to fight anymore, only watching when Iguro attempted to attack. 

He hated how little it offended them. And how much it hurt him. Already he was feeling the same warmth he felt back then. When he wasn’t trying to attack, the smile they shared was like the moon. Reflecting the light given to him so long ago. But he feared he’d lose it again. Like Mitsuri they were far too kind when regarding the people in town.

“At least the kids don’t know any better. Leave them out of it, okay Iguro?”

The night-terrors would start again picturing his hunter bloodied and defeated at the feet of an angry crowd. Hand-in-hand with Mitsuri as they both smiled up at him with incomplete smiles.

“You’ll forgive them, right?”

“For us you’ll be kind, right?”

He was tired of seeing that image again. The one where the only lights in his world were doused by the same people that bred hatred with every generation. It didn’t matter that the hunter was strong, that the hunter planned to leave. Iguro needed to keep them by his side, away from the darkness that had always engulfed his life. 

“I refuse to let them have you.”

To block out the new sun he needed the warmth of. It didn’t matter that the sun may burn or their anger would be his–they’d be safe. That was all that mattered at this point.

“The rest don’t deserve to feel your warmth.”

__________________________________________________________

You didn’t expect such an adverse reaction. Your plan to finally leave the duo with a warning and spend your time changing the town was going to be shot. You wanted to spin whatever narrative you needed to, to fix the town for good. Give them a healthier outlook and some mock defense against other cryptids would do the trick. But iguro didn’t seem to like that. More seriously neither did Kaburamru, hissing at you as he curled into himself.

“Look Iguro if you’d prefer you can come with me! Leave this town behind and find a place worthy of you both!”

“Not before I end it. They’d never let me have you if they can help it!”

He instructed Kaburamaru to slam his tail near you making you dodge further away from the exit. Already sensing where he was going with this, you stood your ground.

“Iguro. Stop this.”

Kaburamaru was curling around itself blocking the entirety of the single exit, with Iguro standing on his head. He was wielding his spear pointing it at you with a twisted smile. 

“I know we’re no match for you on our own. But you’re so eager to protect those rotten meatbags even you’d have trouble fending me off.”

“Iguro!”

He seemed to laugh to himself as he ducked down low, sliding on the snake’s back as the reptile slid through the exit en route to the town.

“By the time you arrive (Y/n) you’ll find we’ll be on the same level or they’ll all be dead. Either way I can’t wait to see how brightly you’ll burn!”

You immediately followed their trail falling behind; you were amazed at the speed they made darting through the forest. He planned to defeat you, by taking advantage of your divided attention. Running with nothing but the forest around you, you had to applaud him. 

“I’ve got to give it to him he’s greedier than any cryptids I’ve met. The world’s definitely going to learn about him if they survive him first.”

[witchofthesouls]

Humans not only from viruses can get sick but from stress alone too

Try to to do something about invisible threat (poor bots)

Funnily enough, they do understand stress-related illness and injury, especially with education on the line, but there's still a huge cultural clash (and arising misunderstandings).

On Cybertron, medical-related frames are regulated to a mid-to-higher caste in the system as Golden Age Cybertron highly values them and those fields. It stems from the Quintesson Occupation since their conquerors greatly valued intellectual pursuits (and ways to control Cybertronian biology and keep the population docile to their leverage).

That doesn't jive well with American business practices. To the Autobots, June Darby is their equivalent of a highly skilled medical practitioner, especially since she's acting as a trainer or as a head of a specialty unit. On Cybertron, she would be afforded more privileges in accordance with her rank and responsibilities: greater pay, final say on her core staff or floats, better access to fuel grades and a greater vareity of flavorings, off-premise housing on a discount, vacation pay, emergency/sick pay, access to parks, libraries, and more places dedicated to pure recreation (like amusement parks or plays), an allowance to decorate her hab to her preference, greater priority if she wanted to mentor a newframe or a sparkling from the Well (granted it had to share her own medical-frame), seating on public transport, discounted/free items and services through the hospital and university networks, and priority on networking and trade within the system.

Shoot, it's how Ratchet kept his clinic in the Underground alive for that long. He utilized all the privileges afforded to him as one of the best of the best until it couldn't be overlooked. Even then, Ratchet was afforded a heads-up about the raid long before it happened so he could clear out and wrap up any illegal treatment or training.

If Ratchet found out how poor the state of medical care in the U.S., especially the mockery it was twisted by insurance and private equity, the mech would be so infuriated that he would skip English and go back into Neocybex to the point all of his 'strongly worded letters' to many local, state, and federal committees would be in Cybertronian.

Plus, Ratchet is incredibly salty, bitter, and frustrated at the current state of the war... so he'll channel those emotions into the political and social scene on bettering healthcare and patient outcomes by coordinating many advocacy groups... and curating ties to organizations and individuals that have beef to pick over the state of things or have no qualms in upsetting social polite fictions.

Bottom line, Cybertronians are very familiar with stress-related injuries and illnesses, but they're absolutely astounded on how Earth (let's be honest, the U.S. since the Autobots seems to only sole ties to them) can be so forward, yet incredibly backward on things.