#causes of chronic wounds

[kbkhospitals]

treatment for chronic wounds in hyderabad

Effective Care for Chronic Wounds at KBK Multi Speciality Hospitals offers top-notch treatment for chronic wounds. Heal faster with our expert care.

[spacebugarts]

New character idea: multiclass bard that everyone else thinks is just a really good actor/jack of all trades type character but they're actually a system and each of their different classes is one of their alters :) could also be fun as a changeling so their appearance changes to reflect who's fronting!

[orcsexual]

Man working night shift unfortunately leads to night time revelations, which is the worse time to have revelations

[hayatheauthor]

10 Non-Lethal Injuries to Add Pain to Your Writing

New Part: 10 Lethal Injury Ideas

If you need a simple way to make your characters feel pain, here are some ideas: 

1. Sprained Ankle

A common injury that can severely limit mobility. This is useful because your characters will have to experience a mild struggle and adapt their plans to their new lack of mobiliy. Perfect to add tension to a chase scene.

2. Rib Contusion

A painful bruise on the ribs can make breathing difficult, helping you sneak in those ragged wheezes during a fight scene. Could also be used for something sport-related! It's impactful enough to leave a lingering pain but not enough to hinder their overall movement.

3. Concussions

This common brain injury can lead to confusion, dizziness, and mood swings, affecting a character’s judgment heavily. It can also cause mild amnesia.

I enjoy using concussions when you need another character to subtly take over the fight/scene, it's an easy way to switch POVs. You could also use it if you need a 'cute' recovery moment with A and B.

4. Fractured Finger

A broken finger can complicate tasks that require fine motor skills. This would be perfect for characters like artists, writers, etc. Or, a fighter who brushes it off as nothing till they try to throw a punch and are hit with pain.

5. Road Rash

Road rash is an abrasion caused by friction. Aka scraping skin. The raw, painful sting resulting from a fall can be a quick but effective way to add pain to your writing. Tip: it's great if you need a mild injury for a child.

6. Shoulder Dislocation

This injury can be excruciating and often leads to an inability to use one arm, forcing characters to confront their limitations while adding urgency to their situation. Good for torture scenes.

7. Deep Laceration

A deep laceration is a cut that requires stitches. As someone who got stitches as a kid, they really aren't that bad! A 2-3 inch wound (in length) provides just enough pain and blood to add that dramatic flair to your writing while not severely deterring your character.

This is also a great wound to look back on since it often scars. Note: the deeper and wider the cut the worse your character's condition. Don't give them a 5 inch deep gash and call that mild.

8. Burns

Whether from fire, chemicals, or hot surfaces, burns can cause intense suffering and lingering trauma. Like the previous injury, the lasting physical and emotional trauma of a burn is a great wound for characters to look back on.

If you want to explore writing burns, read here.

9. Pulled Muscle

This can create ongoing pain and restrict movement, offering a window to force your character to lean on another. Note: I personally use muscle related injuries when I want to focus more on the pain and sprains to focus on a lack of mobility.

10. Tendonitis

Inflammation of a tendon can cause chronic pain and limit a character's ability to perform tasks they usually take for granted. When exploring tendonitis make sure you research well as this can easily turn into a more severe injury.

This is a quick, brief list of ideas to provide writers inspiration. Since it is a shorter blog, I have not covered the injuries in detail. This is inspiration, not a thorough guide. Happy writing! :)

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors!

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[inspiredrawaw]

A Fae’s Magic. My take on how magic works and headcannons

And here we are!! My take on how I imagine the fairies magic working as well as my interpretation of Peris physical disability headcannon. I went with MS due to me getting optic neuritis last year and doing a shit ton of research into MS just in case! And now I get to show that research here! text below

IMAGE 1: A Faes Magic.

a fae get their magic from the Big Wand that gets stored as its own unique "information" in the fae's nervous system. Magic helps a fae's nervous syetm send signals to their wings to move and function as well as enhance the other functions of their nervous syetm. Leading to faster wound healing and immortality, gives them a 6th sense to other magic beings, greater balance and coordination when they change forms, and enhancement to their memory, learning, and thoughts.

big wand magic go into brain, magic becomes signals, magic gets stored in nervous system

IMAGE 2:

now wands, everything must be done in moderation. A wand can help a fae have control over their magic, be more precise in casting magic, and for storing extra magic. Due to this a wand becomes an extension of a fae even to a point where a wand will float with their fae.

A fae will receive a rattle wand at birth due to their immature nervous systems causing large uncontrolled magic outbursts.

IMAGE 3:

As a fae gets older it becomes more difficult to expel that magic. It's easier to control but magic back up becomes a real problem. Similar to how a nervous system can be overloaded with chronic stress, their nervous system can be overloaded with magic. This magic overflow will cause butterfly nausea, rainbow vomit, and a build up of confetti in their lungs and sinuses.

The most common occupation a fae will pursue is as a fairy godparent. Human kids wild imagination is a great way to expel extra magic. People will work in this field for selfish reasons but that's a different problem.

IMAGE 4:

what about our pal Peri? Peri has magical Multiple Sclerosis.

Magical MS or M-MS similar to human MS, the immune system will attack the protective layer on nerve fibers causing communication problems for the nervous system.

This in fae's can cause the magic a fae can store to be decrease overtime. Fae with M-MS have weaker wings typically floating lower then their peers, numbness in limbs, lack of coordination no matter their form, slower recovery time, fatigue, and increased magic back up risk.

helps with magic, coordination, nervous system can’t hold a lot of magic, bad leg gets worse of MMS flareups

IMAGE 5:

For Peri he first discovered this only a few years prior to the show after getting optic neuritis in their right eye.

Peri switched out his wand for his cane wand. A mobility and magic aid. By enclosing the star of his wand in a sphere it acts as extra storage for his magic decreasing his magic back up risk. It also helps with slowing down the process of his nervous system getting attacked by his immune system to ensure a fae's immortal life. He has an easier time floating and casting magic.

[teaboot]

I seriously hope you can job hop to something else cause you're not chaotic neutral man.

You're still a white Canadian whose actions and job help more the megacorps keep the status quo.

I really looked up to you but that's on me.

And yeah, I know security, cop shit and military pay good money but at the cost of my people? Fuck no.

Listen. I feel you. But there's a lot of cold, power-tripping bastards in this line of work and if I stick where I am then they don't get to have that.

I'm not a cop. I am not beholden to the justice system. Sometimes I get contracted out to people who say shit like "addicts should be put down, if you see any crackheads drag them out" and I nod and say "yes sir", and then I take their money and use it to buy those people coffee and a sandwich and tell 'em when free lunch days are at the church.

Boss sees me walking with someone and thinks I'm kicking them out, gives my boss great reviews. I'm having a great conversation with Connie, who used to by a stylist and wound up on the street after an accident that left her with chronic pain and a heroin addiction. Connie learns that there's a gap between two property lines nearby where technically nobody can call to have her removed.

There's a really sweet guy in town who's normally very nice, but sometimes flies into paranoid rage and yells slurs at people. Sometimes he forgets he's been banned from places and wanders in looking for a wife he hasn't had for nine years. Owner sends me to kick him out, and I ask "hey Mike, how are you?" And see where we are today.

One time there was a guy whose abusive ex kept following him to work, and I got to walk him to his car at the end of every day to make sure she couldn't get him alone.

Another person had a stalker who kept asking receptionists when she was gonna be there, when she was supposed to leave, if she was in today. I'd keep record of every time he came in, every time someone saw him, every time he violated his restraining order or damaged her things.

And when I wonder if I'm actually helping or not, or if I'm part of the greater problem, I remember that other people who work with me call homeless people wildlife and talk about how bad they wanna get an excuse to fight someone and I remember that I'm the one who knows where the blind spots on the cameras are, and thank God it's not him.

My position is fundamentally different from that of the military or law enforcement. I don't *need* to be buddy-buddy with most of these dickheads- I don't *need* to send people into the justice system.

I do single-person foot patrol. Nobody cares how I get the job done. They say, "Hey, faceless goon number three- make that bastard disappear" and I say "on it, boss" and give him tickets to disney world.

I once asked another guard if he knew that one of our regulars used to be an airplane technician. He said, "No, I don't talk to them". Blanket "Them". "Them" as in street people. "Them" as in addicts, or shoplifters, or ex-cons, or sex workers.

I asked why, and he told me, "it's easier if you don't think of them as people."

Anyhow, now I get calls to "watch that sketchy lady who just came in" and I say, "yes, sir" and leave her the fuck alone, 'cause that's Jolene, and people always think she's on drugs and aggressive but she's just deaf in one ear and slurs cause she has brain damage, you dickhead

so yeah, don't worry, I've spent a lot of time weighing the pros and cons of my vocation, and I still think I'd rather be in charge of my locations than someone like Darryl, who dreams of "cuffing a perp" and drives a car with Punisher decals on the hood

Also it's minimum wage but that's kinda tangential

[martyr-inthedark]

Make your Whumpee tired.

Whumpees that have been deprived of sleep by Whumper, so much so that they don't remember how to walk in a straight line and can't figure out whether the recent appearance of little black bugs in their cell are real or a hallucination.

Whumpees that can't get a full night's rest. They doze off, only to be jolted awake by their own anxiety of not knowing when Whumper would come back. Perhaps they are awakened by phlegm-coated coughs induced by their illness. They are awakened by nightmares, or by Caregiver who is worried they may succumb to hypothermia, or by a thunderstorm, or the rough blanket scratching their open wounds, or so on.

Whumpees who pull all nighters to protect their friends or lovers.

Whumpees whose eyes burn when they finally can close their eyes. Whumpees whose muscles twitch, who can't stop yawning no matter how hard they try to stifle it. Whumpees with dark, glassy eyes. Whumpees who are slow to react or have a hard time keeping up with the conversation. Whumpees with throbbing headaches. Whumpees with brain fog and memory loss.

Whumpees who have been on the run and have over exhausted their bodies. Their muscles and joints continue to scream long after its over. Whumpees with extensive blood loss. Whumpees who are malnourished.

Whumpees whose survivor's guilt keeps them awake, wondering what they might have done differently, whether it was all their fault, or why they were the ones to live.

Whumpees whose bodies are in chronic pain or illness and who have to hide it, causing muscle and mental fatigue. They keep going with a smile until they collapse or pass out.

Whumpees who break down in tears, begging to be left alone so they can rest. Whumpees who sob when they are told that the bed in front of them is theirs to use whenever they want.

[valtsv]

you seem like the guy for this and google isnt turning up good answers. got like. a list of types of wounds or something

laceration (cut through skin, muscle, and/or tissue), avulsion (partial or complete tearing of both skin and tissue beneath, often exposes bone), incision (cut made intentionally, usually during surgery), puncture (deep hole made by the act of puncturing), abrasion (wound where skin is scraped off), burn (this one is self explanatory, abrasions can lead to friction burns), bruise (self explanatory), bite (bite), abcess (infected wound which builds up pus beneath the skin), sore (a slow-healing and painful, often chronic, open or partially healed wound, frequently caused by pressure), ulcer (similar to a sore, can be internal, typically recurring), internal bleed (a bruise is technically this, but internal bleeding is generally used to describe more severe and health-threatening conditions), shrapnel (foreign object which causes and then remains embedded in the wound), entry wound (entry point of a foreign object), exit wound (exit point of a foreign object)

[kbkhospitals]

Understanding Chronic Wounds: Symptoms, Causes, Treatment, and Recovery Tips

Chronic wounds are injuries that do not heal within the usual timeframe, often lasting weeks or months. These wounds can severely impact a person's quality of life, making early detection and treatment essential

Symptoms of Chronic Wounds:

Persistent pain, redness, or swelling.

Slow healing or wounds that remain open for over four weeks.

Signs of infection like pus, foul odor, or warmth.

Discoloration of the surrounding skin.

Causes of Chronic Wounds:

Poor Circulation: Conditions like diabetes or venous insufficiency hinder blood flow.

Infections: Bacterial or fungal infections can delay healing.

Pressure: Long-term pressure, especially in bedridden patients, can cause ulcers.

Underlying Health Conditions: Diabetes, obesity, and weakened immunity contribute to chronic wounds.

Treatment for Chronic Wounds:

Debridement: Removing dead tissue to promote healing.

Advanced Dressings: Special dressings to maintain moisture and prevent infection.

Medications: Topical antibiotics or antiseptics.

Hyperbaric Oxygen Therapy: Increases oxygen delivery for faster healing.

Recovery Tips for chronic wounds

Keep wounds clean and follow medical advice.

Eat a balanced diet rich in vitamins and proteins.

Manage underlying conditions like diabetes.

Regularly change dressings as directed.

Watch for signs of infection and seek medical help if needed.

Proper care and early treatment are vital for managing chronic wounds and ensuring a successful recovery.

KBK Multi Speciality Hospital provides advanced, non-invasive treatments for chronic wounds, using cutting-edge technology like hyperbaric oxygen therapy and specialized dressings. We focus on early intervention and personalized care, addressing underlying conditions to promote faster healing and improve patients' quality of life.

[crescenthistory]

while we're both here; part three

Synopsis: Your chronic illness makes you a frequenter in Madam Pomfrey's infirmary – at some point you're bound to make a connection with her other favourite patient. After bonding and growing closer over the weeks, it's only natural you eventually wind up seeing Remus at his weakest – or, as he would call it, at his worst.

Words: 4.1k

Tags: fem!reader, undisclosed chronic illness that causes you pain and fatigue (writer has EDS and POTS), reader pov, remus' lycanthropy and all the drama and self-hatred entails, gashes and wounds, mentions of blood, the marauders enter the picture, intense mutual yearning, hurt/comfort, physical affection, maternal!pomfrey

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Remus Lupin was on your mind all the time nowadays; you could feel the heat of his touch linger on your cheek long after it departed.

Any awkwardness or hesitation that had been hanging over your developing friendship, the discomfort of being seen at your worst and the odd sensation of meeting a classmate outside the classroom, melted away as the weeks passed. You came to know Remus not as the quiet, lanky friend to the boisterous Potter and Black, but rather as the quick-witted, kind-hearted boy he was. The one who would call you the sweetest of names, lend you his jumpers and apparently was becoming a walking encyclopedia of your conditions. 

You’re not quite sure how he managed to do the last one, with the limitations of the medical section of the Hogwarts Library. That was another thing you had learned about Remus; no matter what, he made it work.

Though you hadn’t admitted it out loud yet, he made you feel safe. 

As you walked up towards the castle entrance from your last lesson of the day – Care of Magical Creatures – you were debating whether to stop by the infirmary. You were walking alone, having to stop for breaks on the long trek and feeling increasingly poorly. You were running low on your daily potions, though, the ones that replenished your hydration, vitamin and electrolyte levels, and helped calm your pains. Whether it be today or tomorrow, you must stop by soon.

But you were bone-tired and knew that when you laid down somewhere, it might not be possible for you to get back up until morning. Usually, you would say you preferred for that to happen in the safety of your own bed, but there was one variable that had begun to change your answer.

Was it crazy of you to only stop by the infirmary in hopes that Remus might be there? Maybe. If he wasn’t, you would prefer your own bed, but unfortunately you were beginning to realise that he might be worth the risk.

As you debated with yourself upon entering the castle, you saw a sight that usually might have made you steer clear but now actually provided you with answers. 

Ahead of you, walking in the opposite direction of the infirmary, was Potter, Black and Pettigrew. Where one went, so did the other three and they were missing a member of the quartet.

You promptly decided that today was actually a perfect day to pick up more potions for your supply.

Still, you had no intention of speaking to Remus’ friends. There had not yet been a natural point for him to introduce you to them – maybe there never will be, you reminded yourself – and so they only knew you from passing in class or the infirmary entrance the few times they went with him. 

You were polite enough to give them a tight-lipped smile without meeting their eyes, as is common for near-acquaintances, and you made to sidestep them. Sirius Black, apparently, had other plans.

“Whoa, hey, wait!” He backtracked a few steps, entering your field of vision and blocking your path. You couldn’t help but look up at him with furrowed brows and a confused-bordering-on-displeased look on your face. “You’re infirmary girl, right?”

Your brows went from furrowed to raised. “Infirmary girl?”

James Potter intervened. “Great tact, Pads,” he said, putting his arm around Sirius’ shoulders. “He meant to ask if you’re the bird Remus has been talking to in the infirmary.”

You were torn between feeling indignant at the way they spoke to you or flushed at the idea that Remus might have talked about you. You landed on merely shrugging. “I honestly don’t know how to answer that.”

Sirius made a scoffing sound, but judging by the look on his and his friends’ faces, it wasn’t necessarily meant to be rude. “I’m pretty certain you are, babe. Anyways, ‘m only asking because we should warn you that today is a pretty good time to steer clear of the infirmary.”

His voice was aloof, carefree even, as if that was a perfectly normal thing to ask of someone. If you were confused before, you were now dumbfounded. You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned on the wall beside you, feeling unsteady from standing upright and trying to figure out if they might be making fun of you. “What?”

Peter piped up at that, walking closer to the friends he seemed to have been debating whether to pretend he didn’t know just a few seconds earlier. “We are not telling you to neglect going to the infirmary if you need to go. Just that, if you can help it, Remus might need it to himself today.”

It felt like being the voice of reason was a put-on role for Peter. Perhaps it was in Remus’ absence.

You looked warily between all of them. “Alright… why might that be?” You bit back an “is he okay?” but judging by the softening of James’ eyes, he might have seen it on your face anyway.

“Yeah, no, he’s fine, it’s just – he’s got such a massive headache. Like you know those thunderclap ones or whatever? It’s ruining him, so any sound or movement or whatever could really hurt him.” It was clear James did not have much medical jargon in his vocabulary, but he was trying. An icy squeezing sensation spread in your stomach at the thought of Remus in pain like that. “He’ll be fine, but we know that you two sometimes sit and chat, so yeah, just figured you should know to avoid that today.”

Something about the way three out of the four most notorious pranksters at Hogwarts were forming a human wall before you, urging you to avoid their friend in the infirmary, made you feel suspicious. It might have even shown on your face, judging by Peter’s increasing nerves and Sirius’ shaking leg. 

You wanted to ask how they knew you and Remus would sit and chat but decided not to comment on it.

Instead you breathed out a sigh and looked between them. “I–  alright then. Since you insist. Thank you for telling me?”

Sirius seemed unaffected by the questioning tone. “You are utterly welcome, gorgeous. Thank you for socialising that old hermit.”

Just like that, he grabbed James’ hand and tugged on it, as if the conversation had ended just because he decided it had. James let himself be dragged away but flashed you an apologetic grin. “Good luck with him some other day, though!” he called over his shoulder.

Peter was the only one who remained for a few seconds longer, looking like he wanted to say more. “They’re just being dramatic,” Peter whispered to you, as if in confidentiality. “Remus hasn’t said too much about you, and certainly not anything bad like calling you ‘infirmary girl’. We’ve just inferred.”

It seemed like he was trying to reassure you, but you weren’t entirely sure if he was successful. He disarmed you nonetheless and you smiled more genuinely at him. “Thanks for that, Pettigrew. Have fun… inferring, I guess.”

Peter smiled half-heartedly and nodded before scurrying off after his friends. He was easy to like, you thought.

You continued down the same way they had come, in the direction of the infirmary, even though it would be a detour on the way to your dormitory. Because you had more or less been ushered away from the infirmary by his friends, and thus the logical conclusion was to go to your dorm. That’s where you should be heading.

It was a complete surprise to you when your feet brought you to the entrance of the infirmary.

The stone archway, with embellishments that were marvelous compared to your own home but modest by Hogwarts’ standards, stood before you like both a gravestone and a welcome home hug. Without Madam Pomfrey in sight, it did feel more daunting, though.

Once there, you at least had the decency to stop for a minute and consider. Most of the walk had been thoughtless, instinctual, your mind neglecting advice as you followed an urge. You couldn’t explain why, at least not well, but you wanted to see him. You needed to see him, even more now that you knew he was hurting.

It would be impossible to see into the long-term wing from just the entrance – that was largely why Pomfrey let you stay there. Had it not been for that, you might have been satiated by just a glance of Remus, curled up in darkness, swaddled in cooled towels. 

What would otherwise be your saving grace was now your obstacle. 

James, Sirius and Peter were much closer with him than you were and likely ever would be. If they said not to interfere, they were probably right. There was nothing you could do for him, except risk triggering his headache further. You should probably leave. 

You enter the infirmary with gentle steps, easing your way towards the long-term wing. 

Voices warred within you, but the one that kept speaking loudest was adamant that Remus would have checked up on me. If he heard from my friends that I was worse than ever, he would show up. You were so certain of it, it almost made you nauseated. 

The walk to the long-term wing, the place you and Remus had begun jokingly referring to as your shared second dormitory, was practised. Your legs pulsated with a weary form of pain, running down your thighs and circling around your knees like punishing snakes. It faded into a whirring burn as you remained hyper aware of making as little sound as possible.

You slipped beneath the curtain that separated your innermost corner of the infirmary from the rest, careful not to move it lest the metal-on-metal sound of the curtain rod be too jarring. Your eyes flickered up to the bed Remus had taken to staying in lately – the one that was right beside yours.

It was empty. 

Only one bed was inhabited in the room. It was the furthest one away from your usual bed and from the entrance, surrounded by white curtains. You realised with a sinking sensation in your stomach that this was the bed you had seen him in on that first night. You barely remembered it, having been deep in a flareup yourself, but you had seen Remus splayed out and clearly torn up, surrounded by his friends and their panicked voices.

That night had never come up between you and Remus. You had been adamant about gifting him privacy, and with all the time you had spent together since, it had slipped from mind. When was it? Two months ago? 

You walk towards him quietly, but stop halfway through the room. The uncertainty flowing through your mind was too rapid and varied for you to get a firm grasp off.

What yanked you back to your body was the same woman as always; Madam Pomfrey.

The faint rustling of her apron is all that warned you of her approach as you turned around to see her carrying bandages in her hands. She stopped in her tracks and looked at you, scanning you quickly.

“Are you alright, dear?” she whispered.

Her speaking signalled to you that it was safe, at least in small bursts. “Yes. I’m just… picking up potions.” Your voice was barely audible and certainly not very convincing. You cast a look over your shoulder before turning back to her. “Is he alright?”

Something about being around Pomfrey made you feel younger than you were. Maybe it was the fact that she had seen you at your most vulnerable for years on end, maybe it was because she could see right through any put-on maturity or bravery anyway. Nonetheless, her gaze softened, reading you like one of her reports.

A brief nod confirmed your question before she motioned for you to follow her as she resumed her path to Remus’ secluded bed. “He just had visitors, so he might be too out of it.”

The lack of context or explanation didn’t help the building nerves in your body, but your mind, at least, felt soothed by her presence. Her steps were still too hurried for your liking. 

You followed suit, like one of the puppies in her litter or maybe a duckling attempting to float after its mother. With rapt attention, you watched as she snuck between two of the cubicle curtains, copying her motions to jostle them as little as possible.

Despite your precautions, the soft gasp that escaped you at the sight was inevitable.

In some ways it was like taking your memory from that first night in the infirmary with him and zooming in, seeing every detail. Remus’ usually gorgeously messy hair was now matted, curls looking as weak as he did where they were pressed against the infirmary pillow. He was asleep, shirtless with the sheets pulled halfway up his chest, showcasing the strikingly white bandages littering his body. A rather large one covered the left side of his chest, while multiple smaller ones were scattered down his arms. There were even some adhesive strips closing a wound near his hairline.

It wouldn’t have surprised you if all these injuries would give him a massive headache, but that was certainly not at the top of the list of what ailed your Remus.

You immediately looked to Pomfrey with furrowed brows and you saw a quick flash of emotion – surprise, maybe? – before she stowed it away. Instead, she took your hands and cast a disinfectant spell over them. “Here, love,” she murmured and gave you a warm cloth. “Would you clean the wounds on his hands? Haven’t the time yet, I’ve prioritised the rest. Too small to bandage, just clean and dry. it”

You nod without hesitation, taking the cloth and clinging to it perhaps a bit too much. It felt like a relief to be able to do something. 

All else went from your mind as you zeroed in on Remus. You eased down onto a free spot of space on the side of his bed, unable to stand for much longer. Your fingers circled around Remus’ wrist, bringing his hand closer as you began to clean it attentively, thumb brushing back and forth over his pulse point soothingly. There were many tiny cuts on his hands, small scraps like he had tumbled down an entire hillside and caught himself on his hands. 

Pomfrey was doing something at his bedside table that you didn’t quite catch. Judging by the bandages she had carried over, you assumed she was preparing to change some of his bandages. 

Your eyes were focussed on his hand that you were cleaning, wondering how long he had been here. You hadn’t been in for a few days – had he been here the whole time? How often is he here this injured? He had told you of broken bones and you had picked up on his bad hip, but that wouldn’t explain the cuts marring him at this minute, or the scars you hadn’t been privy to until now, always hidden behind his comfortable jumpers. 

“D– dove?”

Remus’ voice is hoarse as it breaks through your run-on thoughts, your gaze automatically flashing up to meet his. There was drowsiness and confusion in his eyes, along with something softer you didn’t dare name.

You squeezed his hand. “Good morning, love,” you murmured, trying to make it easier on him. “How’re you feeling?” Obviously, he couldn’t feel great, but it still felt pertinent to ask. 

“I– what are you doing here?” 

The sting in your gut spread rapidly throughout your bloodstream, a sense of rejection in his words, but you didn’t let up dutifully cleaning the dried blood and grime off his hands. “Pott– I mean, James told me you were here.”

This time his eyes flashed with a very distinguishable emotion; panic. “He told you?” His voice was strained, eyebrows furrowed.

Your thumb kept brushing over his freckled skin, hoping to soothe. “Well, he told me you were having a thunderclap headache. Are you?” You forced an air of humour into your voice.

It took Remus a few seconds to catch up, a tension in his shoulders slowly dissipating as he gave you a wrung out half-smile. “Oh. Maybe not quite a thunderclap one, but yeah, sure. My head hurts.”

Pomfrey had let you and Remus talk as he came to, but this is the point where she entered the conversation. She stretched out a hand, brushing the back of her fingers over Remus’ cheek. “More pain potions then, dear?” 

Her voice was impossibly soft, as seemed her touch, and you felt your heart grow as you watched Remus melt a little more as he nodded. Even you had never seen Pomfrey this doting, at least not when you’re awake. Then again, you had never gone through a paper shredder like it seemed Remus just had.

You finished cleaning Remus’ hand, and knew you should move over to the other, but you kept holding it for a few seconds more. Your other hand rested with the cloth on top of his, as if to hide the true nature of your touch, but there was no denying how you wrapped your hand properly around his while you studied his face.

He took an almost imperceptible deep breath before looking over to meet your gaze. There was always a certain air of reservation about him, but he seemed shier than ever now, like this was a level of vulnerability he wasn’t prepared for. 

You squeezed his hand once more and smiled at him reassuringly. Remus returned it without hesitation this time – and squeezed your hand back. 

“Is there anything I can do for you, love?” It was not the question you wanted to ask, but you remember vowing to yourself not to pry, not to ask the questions you yourself hated being asked. It turned out to be much tougher now that you had grown to care for him.

You could practically watch the internal struggle in Remus’ eyes before he relented. Silently, you praised him for it. “If you’re not all that squeamish, you could… stay for a while. If you want.”

He loosened his grip on your hand, as if giving you an out. You doubled down on your touch, reaching out for his other hand resting on his stomach, the one you had yet to clean, to grab that one as well. “What a terrible infirmary-dormmate wouldn’t I be if I left you alone, hm?”

“And your old lady is nothing of significance, I see,” Pomfrey muttered while shaking her head admonishingly. 

“Sorry Poppy, I just know you are such a popular lady, you can hardly remain by Remus’ bedside all day.” You saved face, smiling as she poked you in the thigh with her wand.

“What a hero you are, saving Poppy from being stuck with me,” Remus added. You could see some colour coming back to his face, even as his eyes remained rather dark. “Aren’t you tired though, dove? You really don’t have to stay.”

You began cleaning his second hand, which was thankfully less scraped up than the first one, focussing intently and shaking your head as if this is the craziest suggestion he has ever made. “Me? Tired? I would never.” You looked up enough to catch his grin. “Lucky me, I’m in the infirmary, so if I need to lay down, I’ve got at least 12 beds at my disposal.”

You realised that you counted Remus’ bed as one of the available beds and felt your cheeks heat, even as you chose to ignore it.

The three of you engaged in gentle conversation as you finished cleaning Remus’ hands and Pomfrey began changing the bandage on his chest. Those on his arms were small enough to not need as frequent changing, she said, but the big one she wanted to keep closer tabs on.

Remus eventually urged you to sit down properly on his bed, with your legs curled up beneath you. “If you insist on staying, do it proper, love,” he whispered, moving over in the bed to make space for you despite both your and Pomfrey’s tuts.

You were right in your assessment – Pomfrey did have to come and go, especially as night drew closer. She had the usual slew of types of patients – the seasonal flu, pranks gone wrong, magical creatures – that she had to help and send away. 

With her gone, you and Remus were swaddled in a comfortable silence with the approaching dusk. 

You moved up the bed to sit closer to his side, tender hand cupping the side of his face, steadying him. You waved your wand to re-wet your cloth from earlier with colder water this time and slowly, giving him ample time to prepare, you brought it up to clean the side of his face. Remus heaved a sigh and leaned into your touch and the cooling cloth, relieved at the sensation. 

“I hate when people ask and I know you do too, so I’m not actually asking, just inviting…” you began, voice hushed but hopefully communicating the openness you wanted to share with him. “If you want to tell me what razorback you picked a fight with to end up here, you can. You… you’re always safe with me, Remus.”

After seeing the wounds and healing ingredients Pomfrey used up-close, you might have been beginning to piece some theories together, but you tried not to let it show. They didn’t matter; he did.

His amber eyes felt magnified in the creeping darkness, the multicoloured speckles shining as they flickered over your face, taking in your words and your expression at his own pace. Remus’ hand slowly eased up to rest on your hip, thumb brushing over the fabric of your uniform vest. “Thank you, dove. I… I know that, I think.” He gave you an apologetic smile while you brushed the cloth over his forehead, avoiding the strips. “Maybe one day.”

Slowly you put the cloth down but you didn’t move from his side, nor did you remove the hand from his cheek. Instead, you brushed it backward to comb your fingers through his matted hair, keeping the calm and steady motion up. The way his eyelids fluttered at the sensation didn’t escape you. 

Maybe one day.

You sat with Remus as he fell asleep, his hand falling from your hip to lay beside you on the bed. And you stayed even after that, admiring the boy beneath you who was becoming increasingly more complex before your eyes without you being scared away. On the contrary, your soul felt as if it was pulled towards his.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

As Madam Pomfrey closed down the infirmary for the night, saying goodbye to the last visiting students and making her rounds on the few that were staying overnight with various coughs and ailments, her mind kept straying back to you and Remus.

She felt relief seep into her bones when she was finally able to return to Remus’ bed in the corner, to check up on her last patients of the day – arguably her favourite, though she wouldn’t admit that to anyone but you two.

The sight she was met with when she pulled the curtains back was one that made her stop and stare for a minute.

Remus had fallen asleep, as she expected, always worn out and sleeping more after a full moon, especially one as rough as this one. It was something she had seen hundreds of times over her years of knowing Remus, watching the boy that would always be small in her eyes, curled up and looking miserable.

Except the misery was subdued for once. Because not only had Remus fallen asleep – so had you. 

Beside Remus on the bed, you had fallen forwards in a position that surely wasn’t good on any of your joints, sleeping soundly beside him. As if you couldn’t have left, even if you tried. Your hand still rested beside his face, having fallen limp while petting his hair.

It wasn’t rare for Pomfrey to see the Marauders – as she knew the silly bairn liked to call themselves – piled onto the bed around Remus, but he usually sent them away after a while, wanting the space. Or, she expected, wanted to hide. 

You, though, he hadn’t sent away. Thus, neither could Poppy. Gently, dotingly, she rearranged your limbs into a more comfortable position, using magic to her advantage to widen the bed and spread the sheets over you both.

Her two children laid side by side on one of her beds.

After checking on them, she looked for one moment more, wondering when they would realise they were in love. Then she bid them a whispered goodnight and went to her own solace.

part four

[kittyotics]

ASTROLOGY OBSERVATIONS

NOTE: haiiii guys! this is my first tumblr blog - post - whatever lol. i am chronically on here looking at astrology stuff and cute mood boards, so why not participate in both lol. lmk how i did for the first time; k bye!

best viewed in dark mode.

|ᝰ.𖦹 i've noticed that gemini suns are soooo unpredictable to guess in terms of physicality. like you'd have to go through your whole astrologer questionnaire lol. idk they just don't have "a look", they're fluid asf too!

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|ᝰ.𖦹 pisces suns are high liability CRASHOUTS... well all pisces placements; but they're like the elders who lived a long life & don't gaf about the tide cause they've been here for so long (or least it feels like it lol). 

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|ᝰ.𖦹 ya wanna know who the real yappers are venus/mercury 3rd housers (*giggles*). i would know as my venus is in the 3rd house lol. of course this varies by the aspects/associations with other planets.

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|ᝰ.𖦹 having jupiter 12th house can make the 12th house less... 12th housey? the 12th house being whats hidden, old age, subconscious mind, karma, & endings while jupiter being the planet of expansion, luck, & philosophies can really uncover the 12th house persona in everyday life. whether its in karma, lessons or with elders. think of jupiter as a big ass magnifying glass or highlighter.

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|ᝰ.𖦹 cancer suns can either come off two ways: calm, observant, & nurturing or vain, disciplinary & sharp (which is capricorn; cancers sister sign). i have an aunt who's a cancer but she talks like an capricorn with livid emotions. her daughter too is a cancer but that is my BABYYY like i fight real good for her- fists n all!

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|ᝰ.𖦹 chiron 2nd housers may have wounds/issues around their valuables in life. in early childhood they've may have been in a lower class position or found themselves in a lower class positions regarding money, valuables, & income. (like different pay rate than other coworkers)

edit: so someone commented that they actually had a really good relationship with money & this can be the case too! you can heal the wounded with your valuables or personal assets too!

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|ᝰ.𖦹 venus aspecting pluto (conj. sq. sextile- all aspects) in your natal chart can be applied to the native in two MAIN ways: KINDNESS! now i say this all the time; there's a diffrence in being kind and in being nice... this placement either just makes the person super kind, i mean like "kill 'em with kindness" type kind or they could be power hungry in terms of vanity or praise... like the fishing for compliments type or mean popular girl/guy type. it just depends on the native & the charts aspects aswell!

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END NOTE: ok! now i know this is a lil short, but again this is my first attempt at posting stuff like this lol. hopefully you guys like it... or find it even. im going to sleep its 5:01 AM rn.

thank you for reading, until next time!

[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 16 (The End)

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

Penultimate chapter! Bashing of like...every IC member, though we have now reached the point where Rhys and Cassian are the good guys, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Accidental Baby Procurement

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

Which one of you blabbed? he seethed mentally to Rhys. Guess who came to a visit.

Azriel was seething with rage. He could sense Zahra's hurt, her anger, the emotional turmoil simmering beneath her calm exterior. She was protecting him, defending him, shielding him from her sisters...and it only fueled his anger further.

He wanted to step in, to shield her from everything, to protect her from the harm her sisters were capable of causing. But Zahra was standing tall, her gaze steady, as she faced her sisters. Let her have this moment, Rhys' voice whispered in his mind. Cassian and I are on our way. 

"We don't want to take anything from you," Feyre broke the silence, her voice wavering. "That's not..."

But Zahra shook her head sharply. "No. It doesn't matter what you want," she said coldly. "What matters is what you have been doing. You have spent the last few years ignoring me. You have all but disowned me. You have constantly reminded me that Ia m nothing to you. The constant reminders that I am nothing to you. You have all but disowned me. And now, you come here and expect me to give everything up? For what? For you? For the family that never once treated me as one of them?"

The words hung heavy in the air. Zahra's voice was unwavering, her gaze unwavering. Azriel's chest ached with the need to protect her. His hands itched to shield her, to hold her, to comfort her. But he stayed back, his body rigid with restraint. 

This…This she had to do on her own. He knew that she was strong enough for it. Zahra was so strong. So utterly strong. So resilient. She could do this on her own, she needed to proof to herself, that she could do this on her own. 

Elain's eyes were watering, her hands clutching at the fabric of her dress. "I...I didn't know," she whispered.

Azriel really wondered what Elain was thinking to keep insisting on this. He didn’t believe for one moment that there hadn’t been signs. That Zahra had succeeded in hiding away every single bruise, every single injury so well that her sisters couldn't have noticed if they actually cared about. 

Zahra snorted at that moment, the sound harsh. There was no true amusement in her voice as she answered: "Of course, you didn't," she said dryly. “I did everything so that you wouldn’t find out. I was willing to take that secret to the grave with me.“

“Why?” Nesta demanded

“Because I shouldn’t have to sacrifice myself to make you act like you care,” Zahra snapped.

It was so obvious from her tone…the pain, the anger…a wound that had cut deep, that had never healed. 

Zahra stepped towards her sisters, her eyes burning with a fire that Azriel had never seen before. "You never once asked," she said, her voice rising. "You never once tried to even act like you cared about me. You buried your heads in the sand while I went through hell alon.."

Her words echoed in the silence that followed, the weight of her pain and her anger palpable in the air. Elain was openly crying now, soft sobs escaping her. Feyre was pale, her hands trembling. But Zahra's gaze was fixed on Nesta, a glare laced with bitterness and anger.

"You have absolutely no idea what I went through," Zahra continued, turning her gaze upon Nesta. "The pain, the shame, the humiliation. You never once even wondered why I should have an affair with him. Instead you made fun of me. Instead you treated me even worse. You never once wondered where I got the money from. You should have known that Feyre’s hunting wasn’t enough to sustain us! If I didn’t do what I had to, we would have all starved!“

Azriel's heart ached with each word that came out of Zahra's mouth. The pain, the anger, the years of pent up emotion was finally coming out, the dam broken.

She was not holding back, her words sharp and scathing, aimed directly at her sisters. The air was thick with tension, the silence broken only by Elain's soft sobs.

Nesta's mouth had dropped open, her eyes wide with shock. "You...you did that for us?"

Zahra laughed bitterly. "Who else, Nesta? Who else would it have been for? I did what I had to do to keep the rest of you alive."

Elain's sobs had escalated to loud, hitching gasps. Feyre's face was ghost-white, her hands twisted together in a white-knuckled grip. But Nesta looked as if Zahra had slapped her, the words a blow to her very core.

“Even when you never treated me like your sister, you are mine.”

Everything wrapped up neatly in one single sentence. It was a death knell. 

A killing blow. 

And he loved her all the more for it. He couldn’t help but marvel at the strength she possessed. She was the strongest, bravest person he had ever met, and the knowledge that he was hers filled him with a sense of possessive pride.

Elain was openly weeping now, tears streaming down her face. Feyre was silent, her eyes wide, her hands clutched to her chest. But Nesta's face was a mask of shock, pain, and shame.

"I did it all for you," Zahra continued, her voice cracking slightly, "and yet, not once did you show me a shred of care. You never once even asked if I was alright."

Her words echoed in the silence, the truth of them hanging in the air like a thick, suffocating fog. The pain, the loneliness, the rejection. It was all there, laid bare for her sisters to see. And it was clear from their stunned, guilty faces that they were seeing it all for the first time.

No one spoke. No one moved. The only sounds were Elain's sobs and Zahra’s ragged breaths. Azriel wanted so badly to cross the room, to hold her in his arms, to take away the pain he knew was coursing through her.

So he did.

Just in time to feel more than hear the arrival of Cassian and Rhys.

Azriel's eyes met Cassian's, and he saw the surprise and concern written on his brother's face. Rhys' expression mirrored the same emotions, his eyes darting between his mate and Zahra.

Azriel pulled Zahra against him, wrapping her in a tight embrace, shielding her from her sisters' gazes. He could feel the tremors running through her body, the aftershocks of the emotional storm she had just weathered.

“I thought I told you to leave her be,” Rhys said, his voice even.

Azriel didn't loosen his hold on Zahra, his arms still tight around her. He felt her sag against him, weary and emotionally drained.

“We just wanted…” Feyre protested weakly. “We were worried."

“Zahra was with Azriel. What was there to be worried about?” Cassian said drily.

“She’s our sister,” Elain burst out, tears still streaming down her cheeks. “We were just worried for her.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. Worried for her, now? After all these years? It was too little, too late.

"Now you're worried," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "And where was this worry all those years when she was suffering?"

“Az…” Zahra murmured, her voice soft and broken and he pressed a kiss against his wife’s head

Azriel's anger faded slightly at the sound of her voice. The vulnerability, the sheer rawness of emotion in her words made his heart ache. He held her tighter, his eyes still fixed on her sisters.

“I said it before and I’ll say it again,” Rhys said sharply. “She doesn’t owe you anything and respecting her choices is the least you can give her, if you ever want her to actually talk to you again. If you truly, actually want to try and make amends.”

Elain and Feyre looked stricken, their eyes filled with guilt and remorse. Even Nesta was looking at Zahra, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“But we…we never meant...” Feyre started, only to falter under Rhys’ glare.

“You never meant?” Rhys repeated, his voice hard. “You never meant to hurt her? You never meant to ignore her existence, to never once show any care for her? You didn’t meant to disrespect her choices? Again? For cauldron’s sake, Feyre!”

Zahra flinched at Rhys’ raise voice.

She’s waking, the shadows whispered at that moment.

Given her an out that she needed desperately. 

“Go take care of Azalea,” he whispered in Zahra’s ear. He could nearly feel some imperceptive tension in her frame ease at the sound of their daughter’s name. 

She nodded, giving him a quick squeeze before gently slipping from his embrace. 

The tension in the room felt like a physical weight, the air thick with it.

Azriel couldn't help but watch as his wife walked out of the living room, the door of their bedroom closing behind her.

Silence descended again after she left, the room seeming suddenly empty without her. Azriel turned his attention back to her sisters, meeting their gazes with a cold glare. His gaze lingered on Nesta. The oldest sister, the one who should have protected Zahra, the one who should have seen and understood her struggles. Instead, she had been the most hurtful, the most dismissive.

“How could you?” he said finally, his voice a low rumble, “How could you just ignore her? Your sister? For two decades you just…you just acted like she didn’t exist. And she believed it. She believed she was nothing to you.”

Silence met his words, all three sisters looking guilty and distraught. Even Cassian was quiet, his face grave as he looked at the aftermath of Zahra's emotional upheaval.

Azriel wanted to shake them, to make them understand the depth of the pain they had caused, the damage they had done. He had seen it for himself, the way Zahra had believed she was nothing, the way she had resigned herself to a life of being invisible, of being nothing to her own family.

"How can you say you care for her now," he snarled, his voice sharp, "after you let her suffer alone for so long? How can you pretend that your worry means anything to her after all these years?"

Elain was still crying openly, her hands clutched to her chest. Feyre looked like she was struggling to hold back her tears. But it was Nesta who finally spoke, her voice quiet but intense with emotion.

"We…we never knew…" she whispered. "We should have seen it…should have asked her, should have realized what she was going through…"

Azriel's anger flared again. "You should have," he agreed. "You should have cared enough to ask, to notice, to remember that she was your sister. But you didn’t. You just ignored her, left her alone, abandoned her."

He sighed, the anger embering in his gut. 

“And you know what’s the worst part?” he asked Nesta sharply. “She’ll forgive you. One day, she will forgive you, because you are her sisters. Because she loves you more than you ever deserved her to. Because she’s good right to the bone. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure that people don’t take advantage of that part of her,” Azriel said sharply.

The sisters flinched at his words, the truth of them a blow. Feyre looked at him, her eyes pleading, her face wet with tears. Azriel held her gaze, his expression stern.

He knew that Zahra would forgive them one day. He knew that because he knew her heart. And that was what angered him the most. They didn’t deserve her forgiveness, they didn’t deserve her love.

But he also knew that Zahra's forgiveness would not come easily. It would not come without effort, without remorse, without proof that they truly regretted their actions. And even then, he knew it might never truly heal the wounds they had inflicted. 

"Zahra will forgive you," he said coolly, "because she is good and kind. But do not take her forgiveness for granted. Do not presume that she will give it without you earning it."

Nesta nodded, her face white, her gaze fixed on the floor. Azriel could see the guilt, the pain etched into her features. But he knew that it was not enough. Not yet.

"It will take time," he said quietly, "and effort. And you will have to prove, again and again, that you understand the depth of your actions, the harm you caused. And even then, it might not be enough. Because she is my wife now, and she and our daughter are my first priority."

“”From where exactly do you have a daughter?” Feyre blurted out. “She wasn’t…Zahra wasn’t pregnant, was she?”

“The shadows kidnapped her,” he said drily. “They have moral issues with keeping babies in dungeons.”

Feyre's eyes widened, her mouth dropping in shock. Elain gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Even Nesta looked taken aback.

He couldn't help but feel a small pang of satisfaction at their dumbfounded expressions.

***

Zahra had retreated to the safety of the small bedroom, the door tightly shut behind her. The pain, the anger, the years of pent up emotions had all come bursting out in a wave that had left her trembling.

She laid down on the bed, burying her face into the pillow. The sobs came again, a shuddering, bone-deep release of emotion.

Her mind replayed the words she had said, the emotions that had spilled out, the hurt and the pain laced through her voice. It had needed to be said, the truth needed to be laid out. But the aftermath was…messy. The look on her sisters' faces, the shocked expressions…

She couldn't bear to think about it, not right now. All she could do was sob, sobbing into the pillow, her body shaking with the force of her emotions.

A soft coo next to her, and she looked up to find Azalea sleepily reaching out for her.

The sight of her baby girl made her throat constrict. Azalea was blinking up at her, her little hand reaching out for her. The sound of her soft coo only fueled the emotions churning in Zahra's chest.

She reached out, picking up their daughter and cradling her close against her chest. Azalea snuggled against her, her tiny body warm and familiar.

Azalea never screamed. Or cried. Or demanded attention unless she could see them… then she sometimes gave a questioning soft coo, wanting them to interact with her.

Zahra found comfort in the familiarity of her daughter's presence. Azalea was quiet, always quiet, yet always observing, always needing to be part of the action.

She held her tight, her cheek pressed against the soft, downy hair. Azalea cooed again, her hand coming up to pat Zahra's face, almost as if she knew her mother needed comfort.

The tears continued to fall, sliding down Zahra's cheeks and disappearing into Azalea's hair. The pain and the hurt still burned deep, but holding her daughter helped blunt the raw edges. 

She sat there, rocking back and forth gently, her eyes closed, focusing on the weight and warmth of her daughter in her arms, the steady rhythm of Azalea's breathing. Slowly, slowly, her sobs quieted, her racing heart slowing down its panicked pace.

“Come on, let’s go see Daddy.” She said softly.

Azalea cooed in response, her big, innocent eyes looking up at her. Zahra couldn’t help but smile, as she lifted her in her arms, settling her against her hip. 

She stood up, holding Azalea close against her, and made her way towards the door. The silence in the rest of the house was stifling, as if the whole building was holding its breath. Zahra paused outside the door, her heart pounding.

What was happening out there? What were her sisters thinking? What was Azriel thinking?

She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and pushed open the door.

The battle lines had clearly been drawn.

Azriel was standing by the kitchen, his back to the door. His shoulders were tense, his hands clenched into fists. Her sisters were on the other side…Cassian and Rhys right there in the middle, clearly ready to throw themselves in the fray if something did happen.

The silence seemed thick enough to cut with a knife.

Zahra stepped into the room, her heart in her throat. All eyes turned to her, Azriel the first to turn around. His face softened as he took in her appearance - Azalea in her arms, her eyes red and puffy, her face streaked with dried tear tracks.

He held out his hand for her and she fitted herself against his side. His eyes were soft, full of concern and love, but there was a hardness to his features, a flicker in his gaze. He reached out to brush his knuckles over her cheek.

“Are you alright?” he murmured, his voice low. His hand moved to the baby in her arms, gently touching Azalea’s soft hair.

“I will be,” she whispered, looking up at him. The warmth of his touch, the understanding in his eyes eased some of the remaining pain, some of the hurt. “I just...I needed to hold her for a bit.”

Azriel nodded, his eyes lingering on her face for a moment longer before turning to her sisters and the High Lord and Cassian. His expression hardened, his protective instincts clearly flaring at the thought of what they had done to her.

They remained silent, their gazes shifting between her and Azriel. It was Feyre who finally spoke, her voice hesitant.

“Zahra...we -”

“Don’t,” Zahra interrupted, her voice weary but firm. She didn’t want to hear their apologies, not yet. She couldn’t stomach that. Not right now. 

Azriel’s arm slipped around her waist, supporting her.

“I’ll need time,” Zahra said weakly.

“And you’ll have it,” Azriel said firmly, his arm tightening around her. He met the gazes of her sisters, his eyes hard as steel. “As much time as you need.”

”I am so sorry,” Feyre breathed, her eyes fixed on Azalea.

Zahra couldn’t help herself as she pulled her daughter nearer to herself.

Azriel tensed beside her, his arm around her waist like a vise. The sight of her sister’s apology, the look on her face...it was too much, too soon. Zahra took a ragged breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions in her chest.

“I need time,” she repeated, somehow managing to keep her voice from shaking too badly. “I - I just...I need time.”

Feyre nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks. “I understand,” she choked out. “I just...I never wanted to hurt you, but I did and I…”

Zahra felt Azriel's grip on her tighten, his body rigid with barely controlled anger.

She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under her palm. “It’s alright,” she repeated, more for his benefit than her sisters’.

She couldn’t look at Feyre anymore, the sight of her tears making her own heart ache. She turned her gaze to the other two, her eyes locking with Nesta and Elain.

They were watching her silently, a mix of guilty sorrow and regret on their faces. Elain’s usually soft features were pinched with shame, Nesta’s cold expression betraying a hint of remorse.

And they were staring at her baby. “What’s…what’s her name?” Nesta asked, her voice shaky.

“Azalea,” Azriel answered, his voice hard. Zahra felt a flicker of satisfaction at his cold tone. He wasn’t going to forgive them easily, not after witnessing the pain they had caused her.

Elain looked stricken, her eyes wide. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered. Nesta simply nodded, her eyes glued to the baby.

Zahra felt a small pang in her heart at Elain’s words. She knew the compliment was sincere, but there was also a pang of hurt, a reminder of the years of silence, the years of being ignored.

She pulled Azalea closer, her grip instinctive and protective.

Azriel’s hand was rubbing circles on her hip, grounding her, reassuring her. 

“Thank you,” Zahra brought out.

“She looks like Azriel,” Nesta said suddenly.

“She is biologically his niece,“ Cassian said flatly. “But she is Azriel’s and Zahra’s daughter.”

There was a moment of silence, the statement echoing through the room. Azriel’s breath hitched beside her, his grip on her hip tightening for a moment. The implications of the words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the unconventional ways in which Azalea had come to be.

Zahra, however, felt a strange sense of calm. The words were merely stating a fact, a truth that could not be denied. “She’s ours,” she agreed with Cassian, sticking out her chin, daring her sisters to say something. But they didn’t.

Nesta swallowed. “Congratulations,” she said softly, much to Zahra’s shock. “She’s adorable.”

Zahra blinked, surprised at the unexpected well wish. The words seemed almost genuine.

“Thank you,” Zahra murmured, her voice soft.  Azriel’s hand tensed on her hip again, his protectiveness on full display. Zahra could see the muscles in his jaw clenching, his eyes flicking between her sisters and their daughter.

The room was filled with a strange sort of tension. She should have known that it was gonna be Cassian that had absolutely no problem with breaking it with a bright grin, waggling his fingers in Azalea's direction who immediately reached out for him.

“She likes me,” the general chuckled, his usual easy smile plastered on his face. "I am clearly the favourite uncle."

Rhys rolled his eyes, the tension breaking somewhat. “She just want to grab your fingers, you oaf.”

“Nah, she’s smart, she knows who the cool uncle is,” Cassian retorted, reaching out to hold Azalea’s little hands in his bigger ones. Azalea cooed, grabbing hold of his fingers with a serious expression, her tiny hands looking laughably small in his grasp.

Azriel rolled his eyes but the tension in his shoulders relaxed a little, his gaze fixed on their daughter. It was hard, even for him, to stay completely serious and protective when the Lord of Bloodshed was making funny faces at Azalea and she was giggling like a little maniac.

Zahra couldn’t help but smile at the scene, the tension in the room slowly easing. 

Azalea’s giggle was like a ray of sunshine, bright and pure. She was usually quite reserved, her emotions more often than not kept hidden, but she was clearly enjoying the attention.

Cassian, meanwhile, couldn’t resist the temptation to start pretending he was eating her fingers, making exaggerated ‘nom nom’ sounds and grinning widely when Azalea shrieked with delight.

Even Azriel couldn’t help but smile at the sight, the corner of his lips curving up. It was impossible not to be charmed by Azalea’s infectious happiness.

Feyre chuckled, her earlier tears wiped away now. Even Rhys and Nesta looked less tense, their gazes on Azalea as she continued to pull on Cassian’s fingers.

There was a part of Zahra that wanted to hold on to the good moment, to bask in the relief provided by Azalea’s laughter and Cassian’s antics. But the elephant in the room was still there…

She knew there was more that needed to be said, more that needed to be discussed. The pain, the hurt, the years of silent isolation… She couldn’t simply ignore it all now just because Azalea was being cute.

Despite this, she didn’t know how to start, how to voice her hurt without the pain and the anger taking over again.

Azriel seemed to sense her turmoil, his hand on her hip moving to the small of her back, gently rubbing soothing circles.

“We need to talk,” she said, her voice steeling. "We will talk. Soon. But not now. When I am ready. And not when you decided that you need to apologise because you feel bad."

Her sisters nodded, their expressions solemn. It was Feyre who spoke up, her eyes wide and sincere.

“Of course,” she said, her voice low. “We will wait until you’re ready, just… just know that we do want to change, to fix things…”

Nesta and Elain nodded silently, their gazes fixed on Azalea who was still grabbing at Cassian's fingers.

Azriel’s hand on her back began to rub soothing circles again, his silent support grounding her. She took comfort in his presence, in the knowledge that he was right behind her, ready to back her up.

“We understand,” Nesta spoke up suddenly, her voice more firm than it had been before. “We will be patient. We will wait.”

Even Elain, who was usually the more soft-spoken sister, nodded emphatically. 

Azriel's hand on her back tensed, but he remained silent. His whole body was taut with suppressed anger and the need to protect, but he held himself in check, letting her handle the conversation.

“Thank you,” Zahra said quietly, her voice a little stronger now. 

Feyre smiled softly, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “We won’t try to make excuses or to justify our actions,” she said, her words firm like a promise. “We messed up, we own that. We’ll wait until you’re ready and then we’ll listen. No interruptions, no excuses, no defenses.”

Zahra would believe that when she experienced it.

Azriel's hand on her back continued rubbing soothing circles, as if sensing the scepticism in her mind. He was still wary of her sisters, unwilling to trust their word so easily.

But he was also willing to take her lead on this.

Azriel was many things, but he respected boundaries and choices. He would always give her the space and the time she needed to deal with things her own way, while still being a steadying presence, a quiet strength by her side.

Despite his reservations, he was trying hard to keep his own anger and opinions to himself. But she knew him well enough to sense the tension in his body, the way his muscles kept clenching and unclenching, evidence of the restraint it was taking him to keep quiet.

The others in the room likely noticed it as well. Nesta and Elain were both discreetly watching him, their expressions wary. Even Cassian, who was usually oblivious to these things, was stealing quick glances in his direction.

“Just… just give me some time,” she said quietly, her eyes flickering to each of her sisters in turn. They all nodded, their faces solemn.

Cassian was the next to speak, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "Take as much time as you need, Zahra.”

It was strange, hearing a tone from the usually brash and boisterous general she hadn’t thought him capable of. But his words were genuine, his expression sincere. And coming from Cassian, saying that was just one more reminder of how much her relationship with her sisters had been damaged.

Azriel's hand on her back squeezed briefly, a silent signal of his agreement.

The others remained quiet, their gazes flickering between her and Azriel. It was a strange dance they were all doing, a careful balancing act of emotions and words left unsaid.

But it was something. Something closer to peace than she ever thought she would have.

"Whatever you need," Rhysand promised, fiercely. The High Lord’s voice was firm and unwavering, the power evident in his words.

Zahra could sense the sincerity in them, the genuine regret and determination. It wasn’t enough yet, not nearly enough after all that had happened, but it was a start.

It was something.

The support from her sisters, the promises from Rhysand and Cassian…

They were something. A foundation to start rebuilding on.

The road to forgiveness would be long and rocky, she was sure of that. 

Azriel's hand on her back squeezed again, silently reassuring her.

Her eyes met his for a brief moment, the look in them speaking more than any words could.

In the warm, deep hazel of his eyes she saw worry, determination, a hint of anger and a lot of love. She saw acceptance and support, understanding and patience.

And she knew that no matter what she decided, no matter how long it took her, he would be there with her. Always.

***

Notes:

I could probably write another 16 chapters in this story, but I do feel like right now it's an alright space to stop. A bit of an open ending, with a kinda hopeful look in the future.

[w-low]

I remembered this quest in BG2:Shadows of Amn. https://baldursgate.fandom.com/wiki/Ruling_the_de%27Arnise_Keep_and_Lands#Problem_two:_The_thieving_guard

Tldr, a guardsman has started stealing because his wife is sick, and the kind of medicine she needs is about 500 gold. He says he won't make that kind of money if he lives to a hundred - he is a commoner. People absolutely have issues in DnD that can't or don't get solved by magic.

and YES i gave Naadja autism, ARFID, IBS, OCD, chronic pain and NPD.... WHAT OF IT?????

[hayatheauthor]

The Anatomy of Passing Out: When, Why, and How to Write It

Passing out, or syncope, is a loss of consciousness that can play a pivotal role in storytelling, adding drama, suspense, or emotional weight to a scene. Whether it’s due to injury, fear, or exhaustion, the act of fainting can instantly shift the stakes in your story.

But how do you write it convincingly? How do you ensure it’s not overly dramatic or medically inaccurate? In this guide, I’ll walk you through the causes, stages, and aftermath of passing out. By the end, you’ll be able to craft a vivid, realistic fainting scene that enhances your narrative without feeling clichéd or contrived.

2. Common Causes of Passing Out

Characters faint for a variety of reasons, and understanding the common causes can help you decide when and why your character might lose consciousness. Below are the major categories that can lead to fainting, each with their own narrative implications.

Physical Causes

Blood Loss: A sudden drop in blood volume from a wound can cause fainting as the body struggles to maintain circulation and oxygen delivery to the brain.

Dehydration: When the body doesn’t have enough fluids, blood pressure can plummet, leading to dizziness and fainting.

Low Blood Pressure (Hypotension): Characters with chronic low blood pressure may faint after standing up too quickly, due to insufficient blood reaching the brain.

Intense Pain: The body can shut down in response to severe pain, leading to fainting as a protective mechanism.

Heatstroke: Extreme heat can cause the body to overheat, resulting in dehydration and loss of consciousness.

Psychological Causes

Emotional Trauma or Shock: Intense fear, grief, or surprise can trigger a fainting episode, as the brain becomes overwhelmed.

Panic Attacks: The hyperventilation and increased heart rate associated with anxiety attacks can deprive the brain of oxygen, causing a character to faint.

Fear-Induced Fainting (Vasovagal Syncope): This occurs when a character is so afraid that their body’s fight-or-flight response leads to fainting.

Environmental Causes

Lack of Oxygen: Situations like suffocation, high altitudes, or enclosed spaces with poor ventilation can deprive the brain of oxygen and cause fainting.

Poisoning or Toxins: Certain chemicals or gasses (e.g., carbon monoxide) can interfere with the body’s ability to transport oxygen, leading to unconsciousness.

3. The Stages of Passing Out

To write a realistic fainting scene, it’s important to understand the stages of syncope. Fainting is usually a process, and characters will likely experience several key warning signs before they fully lose consciousness.

Pre-Syncope (The Warning Signs)

Before losing consciousness, a character will typically go through a pre-syncope phase. This period can last anywhere from a few seconds to a couple of minutes, and it’s full of physical indicators that something is wrong.

Light-Headedness and Dizziness: A feeling that the world is spinning, which can be exacerbated by movement.

Blurred or Tunnel Vision: The character may notice their vision narrowing or going dark at the edges.

Ringing in the Ears: Often accompanied by a feeling of pressure or muffled hearing.

Weakness in Limbs: The character may feel unsteady, like their legs can’t support them.

Sweating and Nausea: A sudden onset of cold sweats, clamminess, and nausea is common.

Rapid Heartbeat (Tachycardia): The heart races as it tries to maintain blood flow to the brain.

Syncope (The Loss of Consciousness)

When the character faints, the actual loss of consciousness happens quickly, often within seconds of the pre-syncope signs.

The Body Going Limp: The character will crumple to the ground, usually without the ability to break their fall.

Breathing: Breathing continues, but it may be shallow and rapid.

Pulse: While fainting, the heart rate can either slow down dramatically or remain rapid, depending on the cause.

Duration: Most fainting episodes last from a few seconds to a minute or two. Prolonged unconsciousness may indicate a more serious issue.

Post-Syncope (The Recovery)

After a character regains consciousness, they’ll typically feel groggy and disoriented. This phase can last several minutes.

Disorientation: The character may not immediately remember where they are or what happened.

Lingering Dizziness: Standing up too quickly after fainting can trigger another fainting spell.

Nausea and Headache: After waking up, the character might feel sick or develop a headache.

Weakness: Even after regaining consciousness, the body might feel weak or shaky for several hours.

4. The Physical Effects of Fainting

Fainting isn’t just about losing consciousness—there are physical consequences too. Depending on the circumstances, your character may suffer additional injuries from falling, especially if they hit something on the way down.

Impact on the Body

Falling Injuries: When someone faints, they usually drop straight to the ground, often hitting their head or body in the process. Characters may suffer cuts, bruises, or even broken bones.

Head Injuries: Falling and hitting their head on the floor or a nearby object can lead to concussions or more severe trauma.

Scrapes and Bruises: If your character faints on a rough surface or near furniture, they may sustain scrapes, bruises, or other minor injuries.

Physical Vulnerability

Uncontrolled Fall: The character’s body crumples or falls in a heap. Without the ability to brace themselves, they are at risk for further injuries.

Exposed While Unconscious: While fainted, the character is vulnerable to their surroundings. This could lead to danger in the form of attackers, environmental hazards, or secondary injuries from their immediate environment.

Signs to Look For While Unconscious

Shallow Breathing: The character's breathing will typically become shallow or irregular while they’re unconscious.

Pale or Flushed Skin: Depending on the cause of fainting, a character’s skin may become very pale or flushed.

Twitching or Muscle Spasms: In some cases, fainting can be accompanied by brief muscle spasms or jerking movements.

5. Writing Different Types of Fainting

There are different types of fainting, and each can serve a distinct narrative purpose. The way a character faints can help enhance the scene's tension or emotion.

Sudden Collapse

In this case, the character blacks out without any warning. This type of fainting is often caused by sudden physical trauma or exhaustion.

No Warning: The character simply drops, startling both themselves and those around them.

Used in High-Tension Scenes: For example, a character fighting in a battle may suddenly collapse from blood loss, raising the stakes instantly.

Slow and Gradual Fainting

This happens when a character feels themselves fading, usually due to emotional stress or exhaustion.

Internal Monologue: The character might have time to realize something is wrong and reflect on what’s happening before they lose consciousness.

Adds Suspense: The reader is aware that the character is fading but may not know when they’ll drop.

Dramatic Fainting

Some stories call for a more theatrical faint, especially in genres like historical fiction or period dramas.

Exaggerated Swooning: A character might faint from shock or fear, clutching their chest or forehead before collapsing.

Evokes a Specific Tone: This type of fainting works well for dramatic, soap-opera-like scenes where the fainting is part of the tension.

6. Aftermath: How Characters Feel After Waking Up

When your character wakes up from fainting, they’re not going to bounce back immediately. There are often lingering effects that last for minutes—or even hours.

Physical Recovery

Dizziness and Nausea: Characters might feel off-balance or sick to their stomach when they first come around.

Headaches: A headache is a common symptom post-fainting, especially if the character hits their head.

Body Aches: Muscle weakness or stiffness may persist, especially if the character fainted for a long period or in an awkward position.

Emotional and Mental Impact

Confusion: The character may not remember why they fainted or what happened leading up to the event.

Embarrassment: Depending on the situation, fainting can be humiliating, especially if it happened in front of others.

Fear: Characters who faint from emotional shock might be afraid of fainting again or of the situation that caused it.

7. Writing Tips: Making It Believable

Writing a fainting scene can be tricky. If not handled properly, it can come across as melodramatic or unrealistic. Here are some key tips to ensure your fainting scenes are both believable and impactful.

Understand the Cause

First and foremost, ensure that the cause of fainting makes sense in the context of your story. Characters shouldn’t pass out randomly—there should always be a logical reason for it.

Foreshadow the Fainting: If your character is losing blood, suffering from dehydration, or undergoing extreme emotional stress, give subtle clues that they might pass out. Show their discomfort building before they collapse.

Avoid Overuse: Fainting should be reserved for moments of high stakes or significant plot shifts. Using it too often diminishes its impact.

Balance Realism with Drama

While you want your fainting scene to be dramatic, don’t overdo it. Excessively long or theatrical collapses can feel unrealistic.

Keep It Short: Fainting typically happens fast. Avoid dragging the loss of consciousness out for too long, as it can slow down the pacing of your story.

Don’t Always Save the Character in Time: In some cases, let the character hit the ground. This adds realism, especially if they’re fainting due to an injury or traumatic event.

Consider the Aftermath

Make sure to give attention to what happens after the character faints. This part is often overlooked, but it’s important for maintaining realism and continuity.

Lingering Effects: Mention the character’s disorientation, dizziness, or confusion upon waking up. It’s rare for someone to bounce back immediately after fainting.

Reactions of Others: If other characters are present, how do they react? Are they alarmed? Do they rush to help, or are they unsure how to respond?

Avoid Overly Romanticized Fainting

In some genres, fainting is used as a dramatic or romantic plot device, but this can feel outdated and unrealistic. Try to focus on the genuine physical or emotional toll fainting takes on a character.

Stay Away from Clichés: Avoid having your character faint simply to be saved by a love interest. If there’s a romantic element, make sure it’s woven naturally into the plot rather than feeling forced.

8. Common Misconceptions About Fainting

Fainting is often misrepresented in fiction, with exaggerated symptoms or unrealistic recoveries. Here are some common myths about fainting, and the truth behind them.

Myth 1: Fainting Always Comes Without Warning

While some fainting episodes are sudden, most people experience warning signs (lightheadedness, blurred vision) before passing out. This gives the character a chance to notice something is wrong before losing consciousness.

Myth 2: Fainting Is Dramatic and Slow

In reality, fainting happens quickly—usually within a few seconds of the first warning signs. Characters won’t have time for long speeches or dramatic gestures before collapsing.

Myth 3: Characters Instantly Bounce Back

Many stories show characters waking up and being perfectly fine after fainting, but this is rarely the case. Fainting usually leaves people disoriented, weak, or even nauseous for several minutes afterward.

Myth 4: Fainting Is Harmless

In some cases, fainting can indicate a serious medical issue, like heart problems or severe dehydration. If your character is fainting frequently, it should be addressed in the story as a sign of something more severe.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Quillology with Haya Sameer; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors! While you’re at it, don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[incognitopolls]

This would not override any wounds, illnesses, or chronic issues (though it might help alleviate them depending on what they are).

Eating and drinking: you would never be hungry or thirsty, and you would always have the required amount and type of calories, vitamins, and minerals.

Pooping, etc: you would never feel the urge to use the restroom, and would never have to deal with constipation, diarrhea, gassiness, or other issues that could be caused by your diet.

Sleeping: you would never be drowsy or sleepy, and you could stay awake all the time.

Stretching/light exercise: your muscles would always be in good shape and you would never be sore or tense.

Breathing/blinking: you would never run out of breath, and could be in places with poor air quality or no air without suffering ill effects, and your eyes would never get dry or itchy.

–

We ask your questions anonymously so you don’t have to! Submissions are open on the 1st and 15th of the month.

[baby-yongbok]

Remedies

OT8 x Reader

Genre - Comfort WC - 746

Summary - These are ways that I think the boys would help you to get over your mental and/or physical struggles Content Warning - Themes of mental and physical illness/struggles, mention of hospitals, mentions of medications/needles, mentions of food

A/N - I wrote this on my living room floor just now because I’m sick of being sick. I’m sick of being chronically ill, and I needed some comfort, so I thought I’d share it for anyone else who could use some comfort, too. I based these off of my experiences with my illnesses/disabilities. If you can relate then I just wanna say that i see you and you're strong. Keep fighting 💕+ I tried to write this to be gender neutral, I think I nailed it

✧ Masterlist ✧

Hugs from Jisung when your panic attacks have subsided. He whispers sweet praises of “You're okay” and “You're so strong” while he rocks you in his lap. You're still on the floor where he found you. His shirt soaks up every tear and his soft kisses on your forehead bandage every wound. You tell him that he can go, you apologize for causing a commotion, but he just holds you closer.

Laughing with Changbin while he tries to distract you from your symptoms flaring up. He's loud and silly on the couch with you. He's careful not to go overboard, he watches you to make sure that you're still comfortable while he makes silly voices and dances around for you. He's not ready to watch you cry yourself to sleep from the pain but he'll be ready to make you laugh again when you need it most.

Kisses from Chan while you're at your doctor's appointment. Your leg is shaking and he's soothing gentle circles into your back while he kisses your knuckles. He knows that you're scared, he is too. You have no idea what the doctor will say but he knows one thing for sure, no matter what the results are he'll be right by your side. He'll fight with you every single day and he'll kiss the pain away.

Adventures with Hyunjin when he realizes that you're avoiding going outside again. He knows that you get paranoid. He knows that every corner that you turn feels unsafe so he holds your hand. He skips across streets with you and dances on the white lines of the cross walks. He pulls you into shops that you've been too scared to visit yourself and buys you everything that you touch. He molds new memories with you with his bare hands. He'll do it everyday if he has to.

Cooking with Minho when he sees that you've been watching your diet too closely. He's gentle with you. You taste test everything together, he feeds you with silver spoons and kisses your nose with every hesitant swallow. He stands behind you while you stir the contents in the pots and plucks flour at you to see that pretty smile that he loves so much. He feeds you from his fork and he wipes away the mess. He makes it feel like it all goes down easy.

Reading with Seungmin when he comes to visit you in the hospital. He knows that you feel like you're going mad in here. He knows that you want to get up out of bed and walk out of here with him, that's what he wants too. Instead he holds your hand while you rest your head on his shoulder. He reads you each word with a softness that somehow drowns out the beeping of your monitors and the commotion on the other side of the curtain. He transports you to a place where you aren't sick. To a place where it's just you and him.

Cuddling with Jeongin when you feel that dark cloud consuming you again. He knew what was wrong when you let your alarms ring on for the third day in a row. You're huddled under blankets together, unmoving and quiet. His arms circle your waist and he pulls you closer. He weighs you down to reality. He makes you feel something besides the bubbling emptiness in your chest. He hums to you when the tears start to fall. He hums and holds you tighter. He won't let you drift away.

Singing with Felix while he helps you with your medication. There's so many to take that you've been overwhelmed with it all so he puts on a playlist and grabs all your pills. He lays them out and organizes them just how you need them. He uses the TV remote as a microphone, passing it to you when he sees you staring at the medicine littering the tabletop. He has you sing for him when he gives you your injections. He makes them as quick and painless as he can, always joining you for a high note as he sticks the band-aid on for you. He spins and hugs you once you're done for the day. He doesn't have to give you any praise, you can feel the love in his touch. You can hear it in his voice and see it in his actions. He's always going to be there to make it all feel easier.

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