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stubbychaos · 4 years

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Saviin’ika

Part 2 Part 3

Pairing: Paz Vizla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: You grew up hearing terrifying tales of Mandalorians and the atrocities they were capable of inflicting upon innocent people, but when a grouchy heavy-infantry warrior offers to walk you home after you treat his wounds, you think that perhaps they aren’t the scariest monsters that reside on Nevarro.

Rated: M for mature themes, though there’s no smut in this part.

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, graphic injury involving intestines (not detailed at all, I literally just use the word ‘intestines’ to describe the injury), Paz gets stitches and hates needles just as much as I do, brief mention of an armed robbery.

Notes: This is so self-indulgent it’s not even funny lol. I just wanted more fluffy Paz fanfic since he only got like thirty seconds of screen time and I’m still thirsting over him. I plan on this being only a few chapters, but knowing me, I won’t know when to stop.

You’re not sure how you ended up in this position, currently taking care of a massive Mandalorian that had somehow been injured in some sort of intense scuffle, though you find it difficult to believe that anyone in the galaxy could get the upper hand on the intimidating warrior that absolutely towers over you by more than a foot.

You can’t even imagine anyone with the guts to try to take on someone so intimidating.

You’ve never seen a Mandalorian before, but you have heard old tales of vicious warriors made of metal that lived underground and took what they wanted without much regard for others, not caring if they had to hurt women or children to get what they wanted. Judging by the way he had stormed into the tiny infirmary, angrily demanding that you be the only one to tend to his wounds, you think the rumors must be true and you had accepted immediately, not wanting to be on the receiving end of the huge warrior’s wrath should you deny him. He hadn’t even asked where your office was, merely stalking past you after you had scrambled to get up from the front desk where you had been working on the reports you had been asked to work on and file.

Currently, you watch in awkward silence as he slowly detaches his massive weapon from his back, breathing a little harshly or grunting whenever he moves in a way that causes pain. You step forward and raise a hand to help him, but his helmet whips threateningly to where you’re standing and you immediately back up, fear turning into slight irritation because you’re a nurse and you should be helping someone who’s clearly uncomfortable. After a few painfully quiet moments, the Mandalorian finally props his massive weapon up against the stiff cot in the center of the room and moves onto removing his chest piece, though it seems to be a harder task for him.

“W-Would you like some help, sir?” Your question comes in the form of a meek murmur and he immediately freezes at the sound of your voice, his intimidating visor staring you dead on, “I-It just seems like you’re in quite a bit of pain. I don’t mind helping, really.”

His black gloves fall to his thighs and you watch with disdain as a few droplets of blood drip onto the white tile, though you take the defeated gesture as a sign that he’s willing to let you help him. You remain as professional as possible as you approach the huge warrior and bashfully reach up to undo one of the latches that rests above his collarbone before repeating the action with the other one, though you find it’s broken and slightly trickier to unlatch. Deciding it’s not a good idea to mention his shoddy armor, you remain silent as you stand on your tippy toes to remove the heavy piece of steel, a hand reaching around him to catch the back piece.

His helmet cocks to the side at the small huff you let out, not prepared for how heavy the piece of armor was.

After you help him remove the rest of his heavy cuirass and the extra padding covering his ribs, he surprisingly obliges your meek request for him to lay down on the stiff cot before you cautiously untuck his tunics from his utility belt that he refused to take off. Even with two dangerously deep knife wounds and several intense bruises, you think it makes him no less scary and you’re certain he can easily deal out some serious damage if he so desires, even in such a compromised position. The Mandalorian has over a foot on you and even before removing all of the padding and layers of clothing, you had been able to tell that he’s still a big guy, more muscular in certain spots than others and you force yourself to stop thinking about the softly defined abs that are currently exposed to you, both his gray and black tunics pulled up to his sternum. His skin is a beautiful, rich shade of brown, you notice as you briefly inspect the severity of his wounds and you can feel the intense heat that radiates from him, as if he’s a human furnace.

‘He is your patient,’ You remind yourself as you quickly stand up to gather a few things, including your thoughts, ‘A massive, terrifying patient that could easily crush you in the blink of an eye.’

You have your back to him, thoroughly washing your hands when you clear your throat and speak up quietly, “Can you tell me what you were stabbed with?”

“Does it make a difference? I’m injured, that’s all you need to know.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you gather all the supplies you need before sitting in your chair and pointing your bright lamp at the severe injuries; you gain a little courage as you pull your surgical mask over the lower half of your face and slip on your glasses so you can see better, grateful that you can now focus on the injuries rather than the stubborn Mandalorian. The gashes are both several inches long and though they don’t seem critically deep, you can tell that he’s lost quite a bit of blood and will suffer severe consequences if you don’t help him soon.

“It just helps to know what weapon was used to cause the injury. If it was rusted metal, it can be more prone to infection--if it was glass, there could still be shards in the wound. I’m not asking about the circumstances involving how you got these injuries, just the weapons involved.”

He grunts and you pretend not to notice the way his fingers curl against the cot when you begin to flush out the wound. Something tells you that he’s not used to being the one getting injured during a battle and you can’t imagine a warrior bigger than him catching him off guard; you force yourself not to ask about the circumstances revolving around his injuries. You had learned long ago not to pry into the lives of criminals and bounty hunters, understanding that it always put them on edge and made them wary of you.

“It was a dagger--few inches long and definitely not rusty.”

“Does your left shoulder hurt at all?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

You huff a little, cheeks burning and you can’t tell if it’s from frustration or embarrassment, “The less critical wound is located in a spot where your spleen could have been affected if contact was made with the dagger, though it doesn’t seem to be deep enough to cause any trauma to the organ. A sharp pain in your left shoulder is oftentimes a sign of a ruptured spleen.”

You reach up to lightly dig your fingers into his firm shoulder, only pulling away when he shakes his helmet a few seconds later, “No, there’s no pain there.”

“Thank you. The wounds didn’t seem deep enough to cause any injury to any organs, but we don’t really have the proper technology to know for sure,” His visor tilts towards your face, though you don’t notice it as you remain concentrated on cleaning the nasty wounds before pulling out your suture kit, “The infirmary is low on supplies at the moment--a couple of raiders broke in a few weeks ago and took a lot of machines and medicine from us. I’m afraid I don’t have any bacta patches, but stitches should stop the bleeding just fine. You’re lucky the dagger wasn’t very long.”

“I got stabbed and you’re calling me lucky?” He doesn’t sound angry and something about his lighter tone makes you think it’s disbelief that his modulator hides.

You raise your brows and you’re grateful for the surgical mask hiding your amused smirk as you get to work on stitching up the deeper wound first, “Considering I had a Twi’lek come in earlier with his intestines practically falling out of his stomach, I would certainly say you’re one of the luckier patients I’ve ever gotten. Stab wounds and blaster shots I can handle, guts and brains are another story.”

“You’re a doctor, that stuff shouldn’t bother you.”

“I’m a nurse, actually. The infirmary only has one doctor and he barely works here since he’s always traveling,” You correct him, eyes trained on the way the curved hook of the needle pierces his skin, nylon thread bringing the torn flesh back together, “Sorry if you expected to be treated by an actual doctor when you stormed into the the infirmary asking for my help. There’s not really a huge need for medical professionals in the village--most people are dead before they even make it here.”

He makes a small noise from the back of his throat, “Makes sense. Surprised this place even has an infirmary in the first place.”

“Yeah, it’s not exactly the flashiest hospital in the Outer Rim,” You say sarcastically, tilting your head to the side as you lean over his torso to get a better look at what you’re doing, “Why did you ask for me?”

“You were the only one that actually looked competent,” He huffs, stretching his arm behind his head when you gently nudge his bicep a little, “Everyone else was standing around doing nothing. You were the only one actually working.”

You’re not sure if it’s a compliment or some sort of backhanded one, but you take it for what it is and continue your work, being as swift and precise as you possibly can. The Mandalorian, however, makes it difficult when he keeps shuffling around and you would have thought for such a big warrior, he’d be used to pain by now. If you were in any other situation, you might have found amusement at the thought of a huge Mandalorian hating needles, though you suspect it goes deeper than that and judging by the scarce amount of scars scattered on his torso, he must not get hurt often.

Men in this village tend to have quite a big ego and usually hate having their pride bruised; you think that maybe Mandalorians are no exception to that notion, especially when they are rumored to be the galaxy’s fiercest warriors.

You let out an exasperated sigh when he shifts for the umpteenth time and his helmet immediately jolts to stare at you through that unforgiving visor, “What? Something wrong?”

His tone is condescending and you wince a little.

Of course he’s just like the rest of your patients--rude and probably cruel.

“You just…” You cringe at how shaky your voice is and steel your nerves, “Could you stop moving so much, please? It’s slowing down the process and causing more unnecessary pain.”

You try to ignore the fact that there’s a vibroblade just inches from your face.

He grunts a little and turns his helmet to stare back up at the ceiling, growing deathly still underneath your skilled hands.

“Fine. Just hurry up.”

You bite your tongue and continue without so much as a nod. You’ve learned long ago that when it comes to patching up criminals or bounty hunters, they have no qualms about harming people smaller or weaker than them and this Mandalorian is quite possibly the strongest patient you’ve ever tended to and you’d rather not anger him. So, instead of rolling your eyes at the childish man, you continue to stitch the second wound that comes to a blunt end on the right side of his hip, just above his utility belt. After tenderly wiping the dried and fresh blood away from his torso, remaining mindful as you clean around the sutures, you begin to unroll a thick wad of gauze as well as some medical tape.

“The bruising on your ribs looks pretty intense,” You murmur after finishing with the stitches and lightly wrapping it with a bandage; you tilt your head a little at the way he jolts when you tenderly press a cool hand against his warm, bruised skin, “Did you hear a pop or crack when you were hit?”

“I don’t know,” He admits brusquely and you are all too aware of how bothersome bruised or broken ribs can be. Despite your better judgment, you think that perhaps that’s why he’s so cranky, “Couldn’t hear shit over the gunfire.”

You swallow the lump in your throat when you think of the massive weapon propped up against the cot, just inches away from your thigh, and you shake your head a little, “I think I might have a jar of bacta salve that could help with the soreness. If you apply it twice a day, it should speed up the healing process a considerable amount.”

“I don’t have enough credits for anything with bacta in it, so don’t even bother,” He grunts as he stubbornly sits up and lowers his helmet to inspect your work before turning to you, watching as you stand up.

You ignore his words as you approach the cabinet where you keep several clear jars filled with all sorts of vibrant, colorful liquids and gels and you think you feel his eyes on you as you stand on your tippy toes to reach the small jar on the top shelf. You were grateful that your little supply of homemade remedies and salves had remained untouched, for the most part, after the infirmary had been raided. You try to forget about the scary situation, though you still found yourself having nightmares of a Trandoshan pressing a blaster between your eyes, all while threatening to blow your brains out if you move an inch.

“Please, take it,” You insist, unscrewing the lid as you approach him and gathering the cold salve onto your fingers, “Something tells me you get injured a lot.”

His leather-clad fingers wrap gently around your wrist and stop you from rubbing the healing ointment into his skin; if you weren’t so terrified, you would have marveled at how massive his hand was compared to your much tinier one, “I don’t want your pity.”

Much to your dismay, your voice shakes a little when you speak in a whisper, and you feel the way he loosens his grip on you, though it hadn’t been painful or caused discomfort in the slightest; you’re somewhat surprised that he’s capable of gently handling someone so much smaller than him.

“It is not pity, Mandalorian.”

“Then what is it?”

“Kindness,” You murmur, feeling ridiculous when he scoffs at your answer and you just know that your cheeks are an angry shade of pink, “I do not wish to be as cruel as everyone else on this planet. I would like to think I would be shown the same kindness if I was as injured as you are, though I doubt one would help me. Besides, I don’t like seeing people in pain and I know broken ribs can be bothersome and painful.”

He silently stares at you for a few tense moments, his helmet giving you no indication as to what he’s feeling.

“Fine,” He lets go of your wrist and you let out a sigh of relief, hand shaking terribly as you begin to rub the salve against the worst of the bruising; you ignore the way he tenses under your hand and how he cocks his helmet to the side as he observes you closely, “That kind of attitude will get you hurt in a place like this.”

“I know,” Your cheeks flush and your eyes burn as you refuse to meet his gaze, your voice growing thicker and quieter when you speak again, “I know, but sometimes it doesn’t.”

He’s still staring at you as you finish up and he grunts a little when you offer him the deep, dull blue cuirass you had helped him remove earlier, carefully helping him put it back into place. After sheathing his huge canon against his back, he accepts the little jar of salve from you and tucks it into a little brown pouch attached to his utility belt with a disgruntled ‘thanks’. You’re not sure why you do it, but you instinctively trail behind him as he leaves the room and makes his way into the lobby; it’s not like he needs your assistance, but he doesn’t say anything to make you think he’s annoyed with you or doesn’t want you there.

It’s not until a deep voice calls out your name that you freeze in your footsteps and turn around with dread, the Mandalorian tilting his helmet to stare at you and an older man over his broad shoulder. Your own shoulders tense and are nearly touching your earlobes as your boss approaches you, looking angry and irritated with you even though you haven’t said a single word to him in hours.

His face is a deep shade of crimson and you can smell his putrid breath as he yells at you, “I thought I told you to have those reports done today by sundown and it’s almost kriffing midnight. I’m tired of telling you how to do your job! Am I not punishing you hard enough? Is that why you’re too stupid to understand how to do something as fucking basic as filing reports?”

“N-No sir,” You panic and instinctively flinch when he harshly grabs your bicep and violently rattles you, “Something came up, sir. I had a patient that had two stab wounds and I just uh, I figured that took priority over a few reports that aren’t crucial. He was in pretty bad condition and I just thought--”

“I don’t give a shit what you think takes priority over my demands,” He hisses, lowering his head to get in your face and intimidate you and you absolutely loathe that he succeeds in frightening you, “When I ask you to do something, you fucking do it without hesitation. I need a nurse that will do her job, not a useless pathetic excuse for a human being that can’t file a few reports by the deadline I give her. Is that understood?”

You blink away the tears and nod fervently, ignoring the bruising grip he has on your arm, “Good. Now get the fuck out of here. I can’t handle having you around fucking everything up right now. Go home.”

"But I--" You're cut off with a harsh squeeze and you try to keep the pain out of your voice when you speak in a quiet, shaky whisper, "Y-Yes, sir. I’m sorry."

When you turn around, lightly rubbing what you know is going to be a painful bruise in the morning, you're surprised to find the blue Mandalorian still standing near the entrance of the infirmary looking extremely tense--more so now than he had been earlier when you’d been stitching his wounds. His visor is trained on you and he's firmly holding the handle of his vibroblade; your eyes widen a little when you realize he had been seconds away from causing a scene and you wonder if the warrior would have actually killed your boss.

You remain frozen in place until his hand eventually falls from the handle and you skittishly brush past him, his visor following your quick pace as you leave the infirmary and hastily make your way down the empty street, your face flushed and tears burning your eyes.

You just want to go home and lay down and forget about everything that--

"Nurse," The Mandalorian’s deep voice immediately makes you freeze again and your shoulders hunch up when you hear his heavy footsteps slowly approaching you, slow and precise, like predator stalking its prey. Your eyes squeeze shut as you fear the worst case scenarios, knowing all too well of the kind of pain men of his size and strength could inflict on someone like you.

Oh Maker, were you all too aware of what cruel men were capable of.

When you apprehensively open your eyes, you find it impossible to look at his helmet and stare straight ahead at the center of his chest that’s protected by dull blue metal. You’re paralyzed with fear as you wait for him to strike--to shoot you or perhaps drag you behind the infirmary to have his way with you.

You prayed that he would kill you, rather than robbing you of that innocence that you still weakly held onto.

You’re frozen to the sidewalk when he finally comes to a stop about half a foot away from you, fingers clenching against his thighs and you feel ridiculous when a tear escapes the corner of your eye and slowly travels down your cheek. You’re not sure if the tears in your eyes are from your previous encounter with the older man who constantly made your life a living hell or the fact that there’s a possibility that you’re about to be brutalized by a terrifying Mandalorian.

His helmet cocks to the side when you take a tentative step backwards, your hands wringing together as vicious waves of nerves threaten to suffocate you.

“P-Please don’t--”

"It’s late and dangerous to be walking alone. I'm going to walk you home."

You flinch when he gently grabs your elbow and he's quick to drop it instantly, much to your surprise, "Y-You really… that's not necessary, really. I do this every night and usually don’t have a problem."

He grunts a little and holds out his own elbow for you to take, "It wasn't a question. You helped me and gave me medicine even though I had no credits to spare. Let me return the favor by walking you home,” You stare at his thick arm with distrust carved into your soft features and he must notice it because he eventually speaks up again, “If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it long ago, nurse. I have no desire to harm someone who doesn’t deserve it, especially you, of all people. Besides, even if you’re capable of protecting yourself, you’re clearly shaken up right now and not thinking straight.”

“I don’t know you,” The Mandalorian is still holding out his elbow for you to take as you argue with him in a weak murmur, “How am I supposed to believe you’re not just like the rest of them?”

He scoffs a little at your words, shaking his helmet as if he can’t believe you just compared him to a bunch of amateur criminals and bounty hunters, “I don’t like these people anymore than you do. I hate criminals that hurt others who don’t deserve it or can’t defend themselves. Let me walk you home this once and you’ll never have to see me again. You have my word.”

Something about the sincerity in his deep baritone leaves you a little breathless and you no longer feel as threatened by the Mandalorian and you think he’s being utterly genuine with you. There had been disgust in his voice as he spoke of ruthless criminals and perhaps you had misunderstood him and his intentions all along.

“Still don’t believe me?” He sighs when he mistakes your thoughtful silence for hesitance towards his insistent offer to walk you home, “Here, take my vibroblade and if you feel uncomfortable, I’ll let you stab me.”

‘I’ll let you stab me.’

It’s quite possibly the most ridiculous words that a man has ever said to you and your eyebrows shoot up at the nonchalance in his modulated voice, like this is something he says every day. You quickly stop him as he reaches for the handle of his weapon, though you’re not afraid of him hurting you with it, but more incredulous that this huge warrior would give you the chance to do such a thing.

“Haven’t you uh, been stabbed enough for one day?”

His chest heaves and you’re surprised by the deep laugh he lets out at your innocent question, adamant about placing the heavy weapon in your palm, “Yes, I think I have. Now let’s get going.”

“O-Okay,” Your heart is still frantically beating from the initial fear of him taking advantage of you, along with the strange feeling of such a sharp weapon in your hand, “It’s just--it’s kind of a long walk and I’m sure you have better things to--”

“I don’t,” He firmly interjects, almost sounding exasperated with you, “C’mon, tighten your grip on that vibroblade. The later it gets, more rats come out of hiding and target people like you.”

Hesitantly, you curl your fingers into the crook of his elbow just above his vambrace, testing the thickness of the fabric there and squeezing until your fingers stop shaking. You can feel the heat radiating from his skin underneath his tunic and relish in it a little, the atmosphere of Nevarro quite brisk this late at night.

“Thank you for doing this,” You whisper, cheeks burning brightly at how close you are to someone so powerful while holding one of his weapons,“I-It means a lot to me.”

“You said you do this every night.”

You gnaw on your bottom lip as you think of all the bad run-ins you had whenever you had to walk home this late without the protection of a Mandalorian, “It doesn’t make it any less scary when these bounty hunters and criminals find out I’m nothing more than the village nurse.”

You pretend not to notice the way he tenses next to you.

As you lead him to your little hut on the outskirts of the quiet village, you remember all the stories of how Mandalorians were vicious savages and you wonder just how accurate they are. You can't imagine someone with an inherently violent disposition offering you his arm and blade while he walks you home and perhaps your initial impression of the Mandalorian was made in too much of a haste. A few late night stragglers sneer at you and the unfazed Mandalorian and even though you should feel frightened to be walking home alone with a fierce warrior, you find that his presence has quite the opposite effect as people move out of his way to avoid any confrontation.

You can’t remember the last time you actually felt safe walking home so late and you’re barely aware of the way you push yourself closer against his side.

"That man," The Mandalorian's deep voice startles you and you notice him drop his tone in the slightest, "Does he always treat you that way? That roughly?"

You're surprised that he's actually starting a conversation with you, as he seems to be a man of very few words, but you think over his blunt question and carefully choose your words, "It is for my own good. How am I supposed to learn and become a better nurse if I can't follow simple orders?"

"He shouldn't put his hands on you like that. It’s not right when he’s larger than you and you can’t defend yourself properly."

You smile sadly and gaze up at the twinkling stars dotted in the night sky, "He is my boss and my father. He can do whatever he wants as long as I'm working for him and living under his roof.”

“Father?” He cocks his helmet to the side, as if he’s confused by your words, though all you hear is disgust in his modulated voice when he speaks, “A father should never lay a hand on their child the way he did with you earlier. Parents are supposed to protect their family, not hurt and bruise them. He should feel ashamed of the way he treats you and how he talks to you--it’s dishonorable.”

“I am an adult, not a child,” You lazily give him a single-shouldered shrug and sheepishly turn your attention to your worn out boots and your bruised knees that peek out just from the hem of your dress, “It doesn’t bother me. Like I said, it’s better for me to learn this way and he only does it because I’m always messing up.”

“It should bother you,” The Mandalorian shakes his helmet and you think he must be pitying you or judging you, “You should stand up for yourself and leave. Make a better life for yourself.”

You huff out a small laugh, though there’s nothing funny about his words or yours, “Tell me, Mandalorian, where would I go? There is only one infirmary in the village and it’s owned by my father and I have no other useful skills that would help me thrive in a village overrun by bounty hunters and criminals. The nearest city is hundreds of miles away from here and I do not make nearly enough to afford transportation nor to start my life over; my father made sure of that.”

You’re smiling, but it’s bitter and wistful, wondering why this Mandalorian wanted you to fight for a better life when there was no such thing that existed for you on this planet, “It is easy for you to tell me to fight for myself when you are covered from head to toe in impenetrable steel. My father could ruin my life if he so desired and I would not give him reason to punish me more than he has already.”

“That is no way to live, orikih baar’ur. The way you are treated is no better than the way an owner treats their slave.”

You don’t understand the language and wonder if he’s judging you in his native tongue, and even though you try to shrug it off, you still feel the pain on your shoulders and arms from your last punishment.

“It’s not living,” You agree, lightly squeezing his arm to reassure him that you’re fine, though you think you’re trying to reassure yourself more, “But I’m still surviving and doing what I love the most, helping others. It would be selfish of me to ask for more.”

The Mandalorian grows silent and you wonder what’s going through his head as you lead him through the village, where clustered buildings eventually give way to smaller houses and huts that could do with some renovation and patching up. You think of your own hut that could do with some fixing up, what with all the holes that have been punched through the walls in your father’s fits of rage, or the way rain trickles through cracks in the ceiling and oftentimes leaves you feeling sick with a fever after a night of tossing and turning on a wet mattress. Thinking of how you grew up so poorly and in a hostile environment, it makes you think far more of the Mandalorian’s blunt words and something awful churns in the pit of your stomach.

‘That is no way to live…’

You lift your head up to the stars again and wonder what lingers beyond this forsaken planet, what beauty exists in the galaxy. You had once heard tales of planets covered entirely in oceans or jungles and as you peer at the rocky and volcanic terrain that surrounds the two of you for as far as the eye can see, you wonder what beautiful sights the Mandalorian must have experienced during his years of travel. You remember a patient of yours describing the beauty of Naboo and all of the sights she had witnessed during her weeks of residing on the planet. Even in your wildest dreams, you couldn’t envision massive rolling plains of emerald grass, or glimmering sapphire oceans with waves just as violent as the most fearsome warrior you’ve ever met, the man walking next to you.

You wonder what it must feel like to have a cool, fresh breeze kiss your flushed skin.

You try to imagine tasting ripe, fresh fruit, rather than bland ration bars, or the scent of sweet flowers tickling your nostrils, rather than the putrid scent of some poor creature being roasted alive.

“My place is just up ahead.”

He must hear how forlorn you’ve become, voice slightly high-pitched and crackly, as if you’re trying your damned hardest not to break down in front of him, because he tilts his helmet to gaze down at you.

Your cheek is nearly grazing his bicep and you don’t even realize how close you are to him until you smell blaster fire and something spicy on the fabric of the long-sleeved gray tunic he wears underneath a short-sleeved black one. He’s warm, you realize, despite being covered in cold blue metal, and you wonder how such a huge, cold man could make you feel the safest you’ve felt in years, before your mother had passed away and your father was a little less cruel, though not by much.

You swallow the lump in your throat when the hut you share with your father grows closer and dread threatens to send you fleeing in the opposite direction, though you’re willing to stay next to his side just to enjoy a few rare moments of serenity. Your father won’t be home for another few hours and you hope by then, his anger will have dulled into harmless embers, though you won’t get your hopes up.

“Thank you again for walking me home,” You clear your throat when you two come to a stop in front of the sad excuse for a home and you reluctantly pull away from him, fingertips grazing the crook of his elbow before falling to your side, “They don’t speak too kindly of Mandalorians around here, you know?”

He cocks his helmet downwards and to the side, seeming all too comfortable to speak with you before parting ways, “What do they say?”

“My father used to tell me tales of your people being savages,” You sound shameful as you confess this, tilting your head upwards the tiniest bit to gaze at the geometric emblem embedded into his cuirass, “That Mandalorians would kill innocent people and steal from them with no remorse, that they wouldn’t hesitate to kill women and children, or even torturing them. My father told me your people were worse than the monsters that plagued my dreams.”

You don’t back off when he steps a little closer and reaches out to lightly touch the little violet you always keep tucked behind your ear or in the soft weaves of your braids when it’s too hot to wear your hair down. It was something you wore in your hair every single day since your mother’s death, as she would always stick violets in your thick braids whenever she would style your hair in the morning when you were younger. You remember how she would explain the several medical uses for violets--how it was versatile and could be used for compresses, salves, soothing teas, poultices and much more.

You hadn’t even realized it had become a habit to constantly wear the pretty wildflowers in your hair until the Mandalorian unknowingly pointed it out.

“And what do you think about my people?”

“I used to believe the stories,” You hesitantly crane your neck backwards to peer into his t-shaped visor, wondering if he has warm, soft eyes that betray his cold, modulated voice and you watch as his hand promptly drops to his thigh before he can touch your ear, “Now I think the monsters in my nightmares are far more terrifying than the Mandalorian who walked me home tonight. If your people are anything like you, then I think the rumors are just that--silly rumors that should be ignored.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” His voice drops into a cool rasp that sends shivers up your spine and for what reason, you’re not so sure, “You don’t know what I can do.”

“I don’t need to,” You murmur just as quietly, eyes desperately searching everywhere on his dull blue helmet and you count the number of scuffs created from blaster shots or perhaps sharp daggers like the one he had been attacked with earlier, “You told me yourself that you have no desire to harm innocent people. I think you are the first man on this planet to show me any form of kindness.”

“I don’t doubt it,” He reaches for your arm, just as he had done earlier when he’d first insisted on walking you home, however, this time you don’t flinch and he cocks his helmet a little as he lightly strokes the inside of your clothed elbow with a leather thumb, “Good night, saviin’ika.”

“W-Wait!”

He tilts his helmet to the side when you quickly hold out his vibroblade that you had loosely been holding onto the entire walk home, almost forgetting that he had let you borrow it in case you felt the need to protect yourself against him.

You hadn’t--not once.

“Keep it, at least for now,” He reaches out to gently curl your thin fingers back around the handle, speaking up quickly when you part your lips to protest, “You shouldn’t be walking around without anything to protect yourself, especially this late at night.”

“But wh-what about you?”

Immediately, your eyes land on the heavy cannon attached to his back, along with the blaster on his hip and you cringe, knowing that this warrior would undoubtedly be able to take care of himself without his small blade. Still, you think the Mandalorian is amused as he straightens up and places his hands on his hips, just above his utility belt, and tilts his head backwards and to the side.

“I think I will somehow manage,” He sounds just as amused as you figured he would, “Anything else?”

You hesitate, cheeks still burning like hot coals, “Will I see you again?”

“What? Want to see me get injured again?”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling when you detect a twinge of amusement in his deep voice, “You don’t need to go and hurt yourself to come visit me, Mandalorian. I would prefer to see you in one piece and those ribs all healed. Don’t forget to use that salve--”

“Twice a day,” He finishes and shakes his helm a little at the bright smile you give him, “Take care of yourself, saviin’ika. Don’t hesitate to use that vibroblade if anyone threatens you.”

“Thank you, Mandalorian. See you soon.”

orikih baar’ur= tiny medic

saviin’ika=little violet

#so like #I thought I was done thirsting over our big blue boi #but I just watched Us and all I can think of is thick Winston Duke playing Paz Vizla and YALL #I'm thirsty all over again #Sorry Jon Favreau #anyways #I'm a sucker for those ships where person A is soft AF and person B is a big old grouch #paz vizla x you #paz vizla x reader #Mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #my writing

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eventwolf0 · 3 years

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cryxmercy · 4 years

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Does HIPPA Still Apply If I Tell You I’m Immortal? || Mercy & Queenie

When: Current, early afternoon Where: White Crest Memorial Hospital Clinic Who: Mercy and Dr. King @drqueenieking

TW: hospitals, death mention, drowning mention, assault mention, injury mention, medical blood, non-con (r/t supernatural powers), mental health, PTSD

A Fury walks into a doctor’s office…

This was stupid.

She shouldn’t be here. She didn’t need this. She didn’t need a doctor. It was… ridiculous.

The slight tremor of her hands - though it happened intermittently - said otherwise. As did the new onset sleepwalking. It had happened again last night. This time she’d ended up in the street, waking up to the blare of a car horn as it swerved to miss her. She would’ve been fine if it hadn’t. Wouldn’t she? It was just a small four-door sedan, after all, and not a semi. She’d had worse. The thought of waking up inside a morgue freezer turned her stomach, and her ire at Dr. Kavanagh, who still had her blocked online (the coward), made her frown.

But it wasn’t the near-miss VVP that had pushed Mercy to call the clinic - asking specifically for the seemingly competent doctor that had treated her in the ER back during the mime-madness - but the idea of not being in control of her body. She hadn’t lied when she’d told Blanche it had never been in issue before. Not in all her 1200 years. And she hadn’t been lying when she’d said she would tell Arthur if it happened again. She would. Later. Once she ruled out any lingering issues of the all too human variety. Still, Mercy didn’t like it here. With it’s antiseptic smell that didn’t hide the lingering miasma of sickness

that saturated everything. From the stark white walls hung with cheap artwork, to the out of date magazines that begged to be put out of their misery in the nearest trash bin.

So by the time she was called back, Mercy was damn near ready to scrap the whole thing. But if she ran now, she was no better than a coward. And Mercy was many things, but a coward wasn’t one of them. So she gave the young nurse a forced smile and followed her down the hallway where she was weighed, her vital signs taken, and asked a series of standard questions. Allergies? None. Meds? Nope. Drink? Daily. Smoke? Sometimes. Drugs? Medicinal.

The nurse gave her a small side-eye, but made a few notes in the chart and left Mercy alone - with instructions to change into the little paper gown on the table - to wait on the doctor. Mercy waited anxiously, finding only mild satisfaction in tossing the ‘gown’ where it belonged: in the trash. She had once again decided this was a bad fucking idea after a solid twenty minutes passed and no doctor. She’d just made up her mind to leave - Fuck this… - when the door finally opened.

The day had been surprisingly slow. Without any near fatal car accidents or wild animal attacks which continued to be one of the most prominent emergency room visits that they received, Queenie had been keeping herself busy by making her rounds around the rooms, popping in with other doctors and requesting that they let her take on some of their work. After all, chances were high that the end result would be better off in Queenie’s hands anyways. Most of the doctor’s in the hospital knew this even if they weren’t willing to admit it.

However, it turned out that someone had specifically asked for her. Since Queenie did not typically take appointments, this surprised her. The closest thing that she had to a monthly appointment was checking Blanche for a concussion or setting a bone that had come out of socket. And those instances were never scheduled officially, Queenie had just become used to them being a monthly occurrence. If not sooner. So when the nurse had told her, Queenie agreed to it and added it to her calendar, wondering who was coming in and why they specifically wanted to see her.

Queenie often lost track of time at the hospital, and today was no exception. She had been distracted when the nurse told her about the woman’s arrival and had instead been entirely too focused on reminding a fellow doctor that his diagnosis of a patient had been entirely off base and borderline negligent. It wasn’t until the doctor had angrily stormed off that Queenie remembered that she had a patient waiting for her. She jogged across the hospital floor until she found the room on the clipboard that the nurse had given to her and knocked on the door, pushing it open seconds later. “Good afternoon” Queenie began, only glancing at the woman while reading the clipboard. Finally, she looked back up, “You’re a familiar face.” She had been in a few months ago maybe, Queenie couldn’t be sure. “What brings you in today?”

Mercy froze when the door opened and the doctor she remembered from the ER walked in. Well, at least she was seeing the person she’d asked for. Not that this was any easier for Mercy. She hadn’t been to a doctor in… so long that she couldn’t remember. Probably during the Cold War. But this was hardly post-WWII Russia. It was a tiny room at White Crest Memorial. And Mercy wasn’t a spy. She was… tired. She was just… tired.

It seemed the doctor recognized her too. A double gunshot wound - one of those to the neck - that hadn’t been DOA would probably have been memorable. Or maybe the woman was just being nice. Who knew. Either way, she got right down to business. Mercy appreciated that.

She sat back on the table, and got right to the point. “I had an accident recently. I drowned. I almost died. I lost my vision for a month afterwards. Vitreous hemorrhage. Since my vision came back… a few weeks now… I’ve started having tremors. In my hands mostly. And I’ve been sleepwalking. I’ve never experienced either of those things before. Insomnia, yes. Nightmares, yes. But never anything quite so severe. So I guess I just wanted to make sure there was nothing… wrong.” She didn’t know what to ask for as far as tests or anything else. So she left it there for now.

Emergency rooms never exactly gave the best first impression of a person. It was never easy to tell if someone was a friendly person or not when their life was at stake. This woman, Mercy, for instance had been in the emergency room before. She looked lethargic, annoyed even. But she couldn’t tell if these were simply faucets of her personality considering the last time she had seen the woman it had involved a gunshot wound. Most people weren’t exactly sociable after getting shot.

“You almost drowned? How long ago was this?” Queenie moved toward the table, grabbing at the woman’s wrist and beginning to check her pulse. All seemed normal. “You lost your vision because of it?” That was interesting, and not at all a common side effect of drowning, even the ones with extended periods of exposure to water. “Tremors and sleepwalking… interesting. Have you experienced any shortness of breath? Extreme tiredness?” She glanced down at the patient’s hand she had been using to check the pulse and noticed her finger nails. No discoloration there, that was a good sign. “Where did you almost drown? A lake? The ocean? Your bathtub?”

Mercy had never been accused of having the warmest personality. And when she was hurt or worried - she’d been both at the time - it only got worse. Usually, she was full of energy. Other than not being a morning person. But who was? And her annoyance came from having enough weird shit going on with her body and in her head that she felt like coming here was one of her last options. So she was thankful when the doctor didn’t dally.

“A month? Six weeks maybe? Time sorta starts to run together after awhile.” Mercy let herself be examined, watching as the woman checked her pulse. “Yes.” It was either the drowning, or having spent too much time in the place she could only call limbo. A place of darkness and cold, between dying and coming back. “Tell me about it,” Mercy huffed. “Shortness of breath, no. Fatigue…” She frowned. How to explain the eternal weariness that came with being as old as she was? Without revealing how old she was. “Maybe a bit more tired than usual. But I don’t sleep well anyway. Never have.”

Then came the next question: where did she drown. “Dark Score Lake. I was…” Mercy hesitated, but eventually said fuck it. In for a penny and all that shit. “I was assaulted. And that person wrapped their hands around my throat, and held me under until-” The doctor could hopefully draw her own conclusion: until the bubbles stopped. “I was pronounced dead on scene by EMS. So… they took me to the morgue. Where even the medical examiner concluded that I was dead.” Mercy gave the doctor a wan smile. “I woke up in the observation room about four hours later when my friend came to ID my body.”

So. There it was.

A month and a half was a long time to continue exhibiting symptoms related to almost drowning. “Fatigue and shortness of breath are both common symptoms of Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome. Drowning victims that survive often experience this.” She nodded at Mercy’s words, making a note when she mentioned that has never slept well. “Have you ever considered that you may have sleep apnea or some form of insomnia?” Queenie was not entirely concerned about lack of sleep. Not as long as the person was still functioning. However, she knew how long periods of time without sleep could prove to be dangerous. She had too many examples of people falling asleep at the wheel in New York and ending up killing people or getting pretty damned close. “There are doctors that offer sleep studies here. I’m not one of those doctors. However you may consider looking into it.”

Queenie’s arms dropped to her side as Mercy began explaining the full situation. Her clipboard hit against the railing of the hospital bed as it waved at her side. “You what?” Queenie pressed a finger to her forehead, considering this near impossibility that Mercy had just offered her. “Someone’s heart stopping for that long would risk severe brain damage.” She grabbed at Mercy’s hand again, checking her fingers. No sign that blood circulation had been cut off for an extended period of time. “There is no way you could have actually been dead that long. If I was even going to entertain the idea, I’d recommend a CT scan to make sure you haven’t experienced any brain damage. Honestly, even the thought just seems-” Queenie paused for a moment, noting another point Mercy had made. “You said someone assaulted you? Did they ever catch the person?”

“Insomnia and I are old friends.” Mercy tried to sound blaise, but it fell short. She just sounded... tired. “But no shortness of breath. Not after the first couple of days. And that was mostly because I was coughing so much.” She left out the part about the black oil, if only because she hadn’t seen it for herself. Mercy glanced up to the doctor’s face as she suggested a sleep study. That would probably be a terrible idea. No, it would be a terrible idea. “I’ll think about it,” Mercy nodded, even if she had no intentions whatsoever of letting a complete stranger - likely a human stranger - watch her sleep.

When she explained the rest, the doctor’s reaction was… well, it wasn’t as bad as Mercy had anticipated. Honestly, she’d expected to be told - again - that it wasn’t possible. That there had been some mistake. Or some other excuse to make Mercy sound insane. “I’m aware,” she said with a note of long-suffering patience. She let the doctor examine her hands again. They looked like normal hands. Small and fine-boned, with neatly manicured nails. There was a tattoo on the underside of her right forearm, and what looked like an old burn scar shaped vaguely like a ‘P’ on the underside of her left wrist. Though she kept it covered with a watch or wrist-band of some sort.

Mercy huffed when the doctor hit the proverbial nail right on the head. “Yeah.” But that was all she said about the medical examiner. She had her opinions, but she wasn’t here to talk about that. Instead, Mercy nodded in agreement that if she had actually been dead - truly dead - then she would likely not be sitting here now. But then again, Mercy wasn’t human.

“Insane?” she said, finishing the doctor’s sentence for her. “Yeah. It does. But… there are conditions that mimic death to the point where even a doctor might be fooled. Catalepsy. The Lazarus Phenomenon. Fugu toxin. Even severe hypothermia.” Or being immortal. But it wasn’t as if Mercy could just come out and say that, could she? No matter how much the incident had affected her.

Mercy hummed quietly, acknowledging the question about the assault. “Yeah. I was out by the lake. I walk at night when I can’t sleep,” she gave as an explanation, since ‘I was helping an exorcist and a supernatural bounty hunter kill and banish a squid-demon back to it’s own dimension’ would most certainly get her a psych workup. “This guy - I think he was drunk or on something - figured he could mug me. Didn’t expect me to fight back. He got the upper hand.” Mercy shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Yeah, he’s... taken care of.” Not a lie, technically. But she wasn’t about to out Nic when it wasn’t his fault.

“Why?”

“That sounds awful for you and your friend. I can’t imagine what that must have been like to wake up to.” Though Queenie was not entirely interested in the woman’s individual experience, she had to admit that it was fascinating to consider. How could someone have come back after that long without any permanent damage being done?

The woman named off explanations for her sudden brush with dead and Queenie crossed her arms, “So you know a bit about medicine then? That’s quite impressive” Queenie didn’t use the term lightly, but liked to give credit where credit was due. Most of those were uncommon phenomena that rarely occurred and were even less frequently diagnosed as such. It was easy to pass things off as miracles or unexplainable. Lesser doctors were easily willing to except those explanations at times, whether it was because they were too incompetent to seek out the truth for themselves or because they enjoyed the idea of a miracle being associated with their name.

“I can’t imagine. Well, I am glad that he is taken care of. I do not drive, so I typically walk home from the hospital at all different hours of the day. I don’t like the idea of someone dangerous like that being on the loose.” Queenie explained. For what it was worth, all that time spent in New York and she had never so much as seen a mugger. From the stories she had heard in the ER, she supposed she could consider herself lucky. On the flipside, she had been in White Crest for only a couple of weeks before she had been attacked and her leg injured. Not that Queenie was willing to admit that Regan may have some backing to her baseless claim that animals were more violent here in White Crest. That must have just been an unlucky coincidence.

“Well considering all the information that I’ve heard, I’m thinking your issue may not be physical at all.” Queenie crossed her arms, studying the clipboard again. “I am no psychologist, but you seem to be in good physical health. From what I’ve heard about your experience both with the mugger and then in the morgue it seems like you may be more aligned with some sort of PTSD. Though keep in mind that I am in no way qualified to diagnose that officially.” It was more of a hypothesis if anything, one that Queenie did not like to give formally unless necessary. However, from what Queenie had seen so far there didn’t seem to be any evidence that Mercy was suffering any visible defects following the attempted drowning. “I would be interested in running a CT scan, just to be sure. I’d be willing to do it myself, and can set up a time with you if interested.” Queenie tore a sticky note free and scribbled her information down on the pad and handed it off to her.

Mercy had only tried to talk to Regan to explain that what the medical examiner had witnessed hadn’t been a medical oversight, but more an oversight of Mercy not being human. And only because Mercy knew Regan was fae. As the medical examiner, Regan needed to know - for her own safety as well as the safety of others - what she was dealing with when it came to the non-human residents of White Crest. But she hadn’t wanted to hear it. And Mercy wasn’t the type to beg someone to listen which is why she hadn’t gone over to the morgue and confronted Regan herself. It was only a matter of time before her denial would catch up with her. And that probably made Mercy more angry than anything. Because she’d seen the results of people turning a blind eye to one another. It never ended well.

“It was… not the best,” Mercy said truthfully. “I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But… we’re alright.” At least, she thought they were. Arthur tended to keep things close to the vest sometimes, not wanting to upset her. She couldn’t manage to be upset with him for that.

Mercy smiled again at the compliment. “I try to stay informed.” Plus she’d had a long, long time to research certain things. One didn’t live for 1200 years without several periods of wondering how it all worked. Mercy had come to the conclusion that some things were simply unexplainable. At least in human terms. Miracles existed, but they were rare. Even more rare than Mercy herself.

Mercy nodded as the subject of her assailant passed, glad she wasn’t getting too many questions. It was dealt with. They moved on, and after Dr. King was done examining Mercy, she seemed to come to a tentative conclusion. One that didn’t surprise Mercy. Who didn’t like shrinks. At all. “Post-Traumatic Stress,” Mercy nodded as she took the information in. “I suppose that makes sense. I… I used to be a cop. Before I came here. Seattle. New York before that. We got…” She waved a hand towards her head. “- psych screens all the time. I always passed,” she assured the doctor. “But yeah. Okay. I’ll… look into it.” Mercy wouldn’t look into it. She knew what PTSD was. Had probably suffered from it for centuries. Only they didn’t have a name for it then. She was just glad to have checked out alright physically.

Dr. King mentioned a CT scan and handed Mercy a sticky note. “Thanks,” Mercy told Dr. King, tucking the note away in a pocket after she’d read over it. “I’ll think about it and let you know She’d talk to Arthur first, before she made any decisions. Who knew what the brain of a 1200 year old immortal would look like on a scan like that? It might invite more trouble than it was worth.

“I would be interested in hearing about any further symptoms or experiences that you may have regarding this. Being legally dead that long is practically unheard of, even with the medical examples that Mercy had given. It could be valuable information to study. Not nearly as much of a medical marvel as someone with wings, but still fascinating stuff. If Queenie were a skeptic, she may even consider that Maine or White Crest truly did have something that caused it to be more susceptible to anomalies. If Queenie were willing to make an hypothesis based purely on a string of unrelated coincidences.

Based on the new information, PTSD seemed even more lucky. So Queenie nodded, “Between that and then your recent attack, I would say it’s not unlikely. It may be worth looking into at the very least.” Though Queenie herself had always considered psychology to be more medically adjacent than a study of medicine in itself, she at least acknowledged that sometimes symptoms were outside of her own physical control. Even if she thought that psychiatrists were glorified counselors that liked to play pharmacist.

Though Queenie did not hold out much hope that Mercy would be returning for a CT scan anytime soon, she also had other things that she could be focusing on instead. She did not have much concern what Mercy did either way. “Well, you have my contact information. If any symptoms get worse please feel free to contact me. Apparently, I make house calls now.” Queenie stated sarcastically, adding in “At least the town seems to think so.” beneath her breath. “If there’s nothing else bothering you at the moment, then I’d guess that you’re good to go.”

The request to hear more about Mercy’s experience of being ‘legally dead’ for almost four hours wasn’t all that surprising. She could understand the curiosity from a medical standpoint - cheating death was what doctors did, wasn’t it? - and part of her even relished the idea that Dr. King was willing to discuss it. To learn. But Mercy wasn’t going to be a science experiment. She’d taken a risk revealing what she had. But Dr. King had been kind, and she’d listened seemingly without bias. So Mercy granted her one thing. “It’s very dark... and very cold,” she said of her experience with ‘death.’ “Wherever I was, I don’t ever wish to return.” She gave Dr. King a small, tight smile.

As for the rest. “I’ll give it some thought.” And she would. Not a lot, because she wasn’t about to let some human head doctor try and psychoanalyze her. It wouldn’t end well. For either party. Would Mercy be coming back for a head scan too? Also not likely. She’d checked out physically, so that was good enough for her. It might even satisfy Arthur’s insistence that she get herself checked over. Well, now she had. And she was fine. So when Dr. King started to wrap up, Mercy was quite ready to be on her way. She gave Dr. King a small smirk. “Be careful with that around here,” she said of the house calls. “You never know who you’ll run into.” Or what. “People’ll start to take advantage.”

After thanking the doctor for her time, Mercy agreed that if anything new or concerning came up, she’d be sure to call. Though Mercy’s definition of ‘concerning’ was likely far, far different than Dr. King’s.

#wickedswriting #chatzy #p: queenie #p: does hippa still apply if I tell you I'm immortal?#medical blood tw #assault tw #mental health tw

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purplepersnicketywrites · 5 years

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I found this post and I really love the prompt so it goes like this "you're unfairly good at everyhting but I'm strong enough to carry you bride-style and this for some reason renders you speachless" I'm sorry it's not a nermaid thing.

It doesn’t have to be a mermaid thing! You’re good! I just thought it would be On Theme for the month dfshgdfg

ANYWAY YES THIS IS A TOP-TIER PROMPT it’s,,, Kirishima @ Bakugou tbh

so um. it might have taken a while to write this but have like, a whole 4k fic? i don’t know how to drabble,, apparently,,,

Eijirou was in love.

Okay, well, maybe that was a little over-exaggeration of his feelings. Maybe it was being dramatic - especially since he wasn’t actually with the object of his affections (yet) - but dramatic suited his would-be suitor.

Or, Eijirou thought. Am I the suitor?

It wasn’t like he was actively persuing anything… Whatever, the point was that Eijirou was desperately in love with one Bakugou Katsuki, his long-time best friend and the owner of his entire heart and most of his soul. And who could blame him? Bakugou was perfect.

It might not be an opinion that everyone shared of the blond bombshell. He was prickly and wore an almost permanent scowl. He was the grumpiest, grouchiest bastard that Eijirou had ever met. He swore liberally, was unapologetically self-confident almost to the point of arrogance, and he exploded stuff. He’d been even worse when he was younger.

The thing was, as Bakugou’s best friend, Eijirou saw the other side of him, too. Where Bakugou’s walls were raised high around him, he’d carved out a small door for Eijirou and a few of their closest friends to let them in.

Where most saw Bakugou as a unfriendly and standoffish guy, Eijirou saw the introverted young man who was shy and just didn’t want to admit it. Where most heard the blistering language that rolled off of Bakugou’s tongue, Eijirou heard the Bakugou who was bad with words and at a loss for how to really express himself. Bakugou was way more into physical expression than verbal. He didn’t like to talk about feelings or ‘gross sappy shit like that’.

Most people didn’t bother trying to get through Bakugou’s walls to see the part of him that really, truly cared about people. It had been a stunted, shrivelled sort of thing when Bakugou had started at UA. Now, five years later and two into actual hero work, it was like a tree in full bloom. Bakugou cared, in his own way.

His drive was unparalleled. Once Bakugou Katsuki set his mind on something, god, he was gonna get it. Eijirou didn’t doubt for a second that he’d snag the Number One Hero spot at some point in his career. Bakugou inspired Eijirou, he always had.

Bakugou was also absolutely, mind-bendingly smoking hot. Which, you know, that didn’t hurt Eijirou’s attraction to him one bit.

One of the things that Eijirou found most appealing about his friend was his sheer level of competency. In like, any situation. Eijirou would think that maybe they were stuck on something - in a hopeless situation, on an investigation, anything, really - and then Bakugou’s face would do the thing. He’d get one of his special thinky-faces on, the one that meant he was trying to remember something. Then his eyes - bright and shiny and the most gorgeous deep red - would widen slightly as he pulled on all the strings inside his head and found himself weaving up a thought.

Bakugou would bark out a laugh, one of Eijirou’s favourite Bakugou laughs because this one meant I’ve got it, we’ve won, and proceed to obliterate whatever their obstacle was. Bakugou had done a whole lot of things, somehow. He’d done ballet and acrobatics in addition to martial arts to shape his movements as he fought. He was musical. Origami swans had saved their necks twice, somehow, and Eijirou had nearly died for other reasons that one time Katsuki had had to teach him how to tango for that one undercover mission they’d gone on. Both of them had worn awful wigs. Eijirou remembered the mission fondly.

One thing that Bakugou Katsuki still wasn’t great at doing, however, was knowing when he was beaten. Kaminari often joked that Bakugou had no off-switch. He never stopped.

Not even when his leg was cut up from hip-to-calf and there were seven other heroes on the scene.

“Don’t make me call timeout on you, Zero,” Eijirou growled, holding onto Bakugou’s shoulder to stop him rushing after the villain that Eijirou was pretty sure Battle Fist had already smacked down into the ground. Bakugou tried to keep walking. “You’re bleeding. Like, badly.”

“They can stitch it later,” Bakugou said, eyes darting around.

Eijirou narrowed his own eyes. “Once you’ve passed out from blood loss, you mean?”

Bakugou glared at him and tried to shake Eijirou’s hand off his shoulder. “Don’t mother-hen me, Red.”

“Oh yeah,” Eijirou huffed, doubling down on his grip. “Because not wanting my partner to drop ‘cause he’s being stubborn is unreasonable.”

“Exactly,” Bakugou said, raising one hand. It was already popping a little. Was he going to try and blast Eijirou’s hand off of him? He ought to know that wouldn’t work by now.

Eijirou sighed. “Well, if you’re gonna act like a baby about it… It’s timeout time.”

Bakugou only had time to frown at him before Eijirou was scooping him up into a bridal-style lift. Bakugou squawked and let off a couple of bangs from his hands. They achieved exactly nothing.

“Let me go, you bastard!” Bakugou snapped. He wasn’t wriggling too much, though. His leg must have been really painful. Eijirou tried not to jostle it. “Put me down!”

“Nope!” Eijirou said, and he looked around to see if he could see any medical assistance. If not, well, the hospital wasn’t too far from here… Bakugou folded his arms over his chest and pouted. Good, he’d accepted his fate.

There were no medics set up around here, so Eijirou set off at a light jog towards the route to the hospital. He could feel warmth dripping down one of his arms and grimaced to himself. Bakugou really was losing blood, huh? He was lucky that the villain hadn’t caught one of his major blood vessels.

It didn’t take very long until the hospital was in sight, and Eijirou glanced down at Bakugou, who was staring fixedly at his own knees with a weird expression on his face.

“Hey man, you holding up?” Eijirou asked, wondering if Bakugou was in more pain than he’d thought or like, fainting or something. He shifted Bakugou’s weight in his arms a little.

Bakugou nodded, flushing pink? “Just get me to the docs already.”

“You got it, dude,” Eijirou said, jogging around the hospital building until he saw the sign for A&E. People moving outside the hospital caught sight of them and ogled. Man, they were probably both covered in blood, huh? This’d probably make the news.

It was worth it if Bakugou was okay, though. Eijirou was beginning to get worried - his friend had gone pale again, paler than he should be, and quiet, too. Quiet and Bakugou did not mix. He sped up a little and then all of a sudden he was at the desk in A&E.

“Uh,” Eijirou managed to get out, but the receptionist had seen them coming and a doctor was already rushing over.

“Over here, Red Riot,” the doctor said, showing Eijirou to a free bed. He laid Bakugou down on it as gently as he could. Nurses swarmed under the doctor’s direction, and before Eijirou knew what was going on, he was being bundled into a waiting room chair with a shock blanket and a mug of cocoa.

He texted Mina to go to his and Bakugou’s apartment to pick up some fresh clothes for them both as she had a spare key, and then he was just waiting. He offered himself as a blood donor - as an O-Neg he was a universal donor - but the doctors had deemed it unnecessary. They had plenty of blood for Bakugou to have. That was good. He thought that they had probably stitched him up by now, and maybe even used a medical quirk.

“Red Riot?”

Eijirou looked up. One of the nurses from earlier stood in front of him. “Oh, uh, hi! How’s Ground Zero doing?”

“Good,” said the nurse. “His injuries have been treated and he’s currently being given painkillers for it. He is currently asleep, but would you like to sit in with him?”

Eijirou glanced down at his soiled clothes. “Am I allowed, with all of this gunk on me?”

“His injuries have all been cleaned and dressed, so unless you try to remove any of them, I think you’ll be safe,” the nurse grinned. “Follow me.”

Eijirou did. He was led through a few different corridors and into a ward with individual rooms. The nurse pushed one door open and then there was Bakugou. He looked a lot cleaner and was a far better colour than he had been. Eijirou let out a sigh of relief and went to sit on one of the visitors’ chairs.

“Thanks,” he told the nurse, who smiled again and left the room after telling Eijirou to yell if anything was amiss.

Eijirou stared at Bakugou’s face. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

One of Bakugou’s eyes cracked open. “Yeah.”

“Huh,” Eijirou said. “No arguing with me any more? Those painkillers must be strong.”

“I’m so fuckin’ high right now,” Bakugou agreed. “Sorry.”

“Apologies, too? Man, I should keep some of this stuff and slip it to you the next time you get too grumpy.”

Bakugou grinned at him. “Nah, ya like me when I’m grumpy.”

Damn, well, that was true.

“Yeah, I do,” Eijirou said, and prodded Bakugou’s chest. “So stop ending up in here. This one’s gonna leave a real nasty scar.”

“Mmhmm,” Bakugou said, closing his eyes again. “Sooner I rest up, sooner I’ll be cleared to leave this fuckin’ place. So shut ya trap.”

“Charming,” Eijirou said with a snort.

“I know I am,” Bakugou mumbled. “Shut up.”

Eijirou patted Bakugou on the shoulder. “Yeah. I’ll be here when you wake up again, yeah?”

“Better fuckin’ be,” Bakugou said, and then his face dropped into the genuine relaxation of sleep.

Mina was a goddamn lifesaver. She had brought them their clothes, informed Bakugou that he was a moron for making everyone worry about him, and then swept herself off with no wriggling eyebrows or probing about Eijirou basically gluing himself to Bakugou’s side. She had also taken away their dirtied costumes ‘to be burned’.

The hospital staff had given Bakugou the A-Okay to head home (and rest his leg, which Eijirou was going to have to enforce, somehow). Now all they had to do was physically get out of the hospital.

That was easier said than done.

“I do not need a fuckin’ wheelchair,” Bakugou insisted, despite the fact he wasn’t really supposed to walk in case his stitches ripped. He had woken up on the wrong side of everything, let alone the bed, and now that they’d taken him off the strong painkillers the reality of his injury had settled in.

Eijirou was losing his patience with his friend. “Stop swearing at the staff, Bakugou.”

“I do whatever I damn well please,” Bakugou spat, glowering. “Fucking antibiotics, feel like shit. I’m allowed to cuss, I’m an adult.”

“It’s not professional, man,” Eijirou said. “What if a kid in the hospital hears you? They’re gonna repeat what Ground Zero says.”

“It’s education.”

Eijirou’s mouth threatened to twitch up. No! He wasn’t amused!

“Dude,” said Eijirou. “You suck.”

Bakugou scowled at him. “You wish.”

Eijirou took a moment for himself to scream internally. Being head over heels for this man was incredibly testing at times. He had a suspicion that Bakugou knew, from comments like that, but he could never be sure. Eijirou pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you going to get into the chair? Or are you hoping that you’ll start spontaneously levitating?”

“I just don’t want the press to get me in one of those things,” Bakugou said, pouting to the side.

“There’s literally nothing wrong with being in a wheelchair, Bakugou,” Eijirou said.

Bakugou scoffed. “Of course not! But the tabloids’ll overreact and make out like I’m dying or I’ve lost my leg or some stupid shit like that. It’ll affect the rankings.”

Eijirou sighed. Bakugou narrowed his eyes and Eijirou held up his hands. “I get it, bro, the world is stupid. They probably already got me carrying you in here covered in blood, though. I could carry you back out again?”

“And do what, carry me the whole way home?” Bakugou snapped.

“Sure, why not?” Eijirou shrugged. “If it gets you out of the hospital.”

Bakugou glared at him. “Why n- We live three fuckin’ miles away, dipshit!”

“And?”

Bakugou blinked. “And that’s a fuckin’ long way to go if you’re lugging someone along with you.”

“Not really, ‘cause I’m like,” Eijirou paused to reorganise his words. “I’ve definitely carried more than you for further before.”

“Excuse me,” said one of the nurses. “So will you be using the wheelchair or not?”

“Not,” Bakugou said.

Oh, wait, so the carrying thing wasn’t hypothetical. Okay.

“Alright, let’s go then,” Eijirou said, walking over to where Bakugou was sitting with his legs dangling over the side of the hospital bed, signed discharge papers in his hand ready to give to reception. Eijirou tried to pretend that his heart wasn’t thundering in his chest. He failed.

No use agonising over it! Eijirou scooped Bakugou up. Bakugou slung one of his arms around Eijirou’s neck - for balance, probably - and lay the other with the discharge papers over his lap.

“You good?” Eijirou asked. Bakugou nodded. “I’m not grabbing your cut, right?”

Bakugou shook his head.

“Comfy?” Eijirou asked. Bakugou nodded. Okay, that was weird, he’d gone quiet. And slightly red. Was that like, a symptom of something, or? “Cat got ya tongue, man?”

Bakugou went pale, and then red again, almost like some kind of squid thing that Eijirou had seen on a wildlife documentary once.

“Ba-”

“Just go already,” Bakugou muttered, scowling at the papers he was holding.

“Alright,” Eijirou said, thanking the nurse and striding from the room.

“Home, sweet home,” Eijirou said, setting Bakugou down for the first time since they’d left the hospital. They weren’t quite in yet, but Eijirou did sort of need to unlock the door. He kept ahold of Bakugou’s arm to make sure he stood in one place, and then the door was open and he was picking Bakugou up again.

So what if he was enjoying all this extra contact? Sue him.

“Sofa or bed, Bakugou?” Eijirou asked, and Bakugou jumped slightly in his arms. He’d have his Thinking Really Hard face on all the way home and had barely said a word.

“Sofa,” Bakugou said. Eijirou set him down and Bakugou leant back into the cushions with his Thoughtful Scowl on again.

Eijirou sat next to him, breathing out a sigh of relief that they were finally home and mostly back in one piece after the fight today. Eijirou had dealt with knife quirks before - on his hero debut, even! - but while his quirk protected him from the worst of any sharp things, it meant that he no longer really got aimed at and it was harder for him to take hits.

Man, if the knife villain had gotten Eijirou? He’d’ve come away from the battle totally unharmed and desperately seeking a new pair of trousers or something. But no. The villain had got his best friend instead, and now everything was going to be a hassle for a while. Patrols without Bakugou didn’t suck, but they did get a little dull, and Eijirou would always be worrying that Bakugou had fallen over or something and injured himself more without anyone around to help him.

“You wanna get take out tonight?” Eijirou asked. He was gonna order it anyway because he didn’t want to cook and he wasn’t gonna let Bakugou do it. Bakugou grunted - probably in agreement - and Eijirou realised that he was still on his no-talking thing. “Dude, what’s up?”

Bakugou levelled a glare at him. “Take a wild guess.”

“Nuh uh, that ain’t gonna fly,” Eijirou said. “You’re moping, or something. Injuries make you angry. You get louder. Not whatever this is.”

“The fuck do you know?” Bakugou grumbled. Eijirou reached out and whacked Bakugou’s shoulder lightly.

“I know you, man,” Eijirou said.

“Ugh,” Bakugou said. “I guess you do.”

He was still looking at Eijirou, expression shifting and shifting so quickly that Eijirou couldn’t keep up. Bakugou’s thoughts must have been racing - and for such a quick-thinking guy that speed must be intense.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Eijirou said, launching into his usual get-Bakugou-to-open-up-about-things spiel. “But I’m here for ya, Bakugou.”

“Yeah, you are,” Bakugou said, face moving into a frown. Huh? “Why?”

“What?”

“Why are you here?” Bakugou asked. “Why do you want to be here?”

Well, this was not exactly the conversation Eijirou had envisioned having… Like, ever. “You’re my best frien-”

“That’s not what I meant, Kirishima,”Bakugou growled, cutting Eijirou off with a glare. What, was Eijirou not giving the right answer to his vague and nebulous question? “It- Ugh. What do you want from me?”

Eijirou blinked. “What? Nothing.”

“No, there isn’t nothing,” Bakugou snapped. Huh? Eijirou didn’t understand what Bakugou was saying. Was this just from all the pain meds, even if the loopy ones weren’t being used any more? Did Bakugou think that Eijirou was only hanging out with him for… For what? Personal gain? What would that even be? Years of friendship (and feelings) down the line and Bakugou thought this? Bakugou clacked his teeth together and frowned harder. “Stop- Stop thinking whatever you’re thinking.”

“Wh-”

“No, fuck, let me just,” Bakugou grimaced, looking off to the side. Oh, this was some weird feelings thing, wasn’t it? No wonder Bakugou wasn’t making any sense. Eijirou still felt tense, but not quite as alarmed. “You carried me home for three fucking miles, Kirishima! What do I- How the hell am I supposed to- Ugh!”

Oh, Eijirou thought he could see the picture of things, now. “You don’t need to give anything back to me for that, Bakugou! It’d be selfish to ask for you to repay me for something I volunteered to do!”

“Well, maybe you should be,” Bakugou said. Eijirou tilted his head. Bakugou glanced at him and away again. “Be selfish, I mean! You’re always fucking giving. Giving and giving and never taking a single thing back for yourself and it drives me up the fucking wall!”

Eijirou shook his head. “There’s nothing I need from anyone that I don’t already have.”

“What about what you want,” Bakugou said. He fixed Eijirou with his stare again and something in his expression made Eijirou’s stomach do somersaults. “Is there anything you want from me that I could give you?”

Eijirou met Bakugou’s burning gaze.

Everything, his brain supplied.

Bakugou’s eyes widened slightly, and Eijirou realised that he’d said the word aloud. Before he could even think about being horrified, Bakugou’s scowl slipped from his face. It was replaced by a triumphant grin.

“Oh thank fuck you finally said it,” Bakugou said, leaning over into Eijirou’s space. Eijirou could feel his whole face burning. “‘Cause if I never got the chance to tell you how god damned hot it is that you can carry me in your arms for three fucking miles without even breaking a sweat, I think I would’ve died.”

Eijirou couldn’t provide a response to that. His lips were occupied, all of a sudden. With Bakugou. Because Bakugou was kissing him, and kind of insistently. Eijirou allowed himself a few more moments to be utterly confused, and then he wrapped his arms around Bakugou and kissed him back with just as much enthusiasm as Bakugou was putting in.

“That’s a little dramatic,” Eijirou said, when they parted to breathe.

Bakugou snorted. “You know who you’re dealing with.”

“Mmhm,” Eijirou said, kissing Bakugou again and finding himself delighted by the way he reacted. When had Bakugou crawled into his lap? “Uh… We should probably talk about this.”

“I’m fuckin’ crazy about you. We’re dating now. That enough talkin’ for ya?”

Probably not, but- Bakugou kissed him again. And again. And again. Eijirou laughed into the kisses, and began to run his hands down Bakugou’s sides. “Wait, um. So does this make you my boyfriend, Katsuki?“

“Fuck, yes,” Bakugou said. Or should it just be Katsuki now? Yeah, Eijirou liked the sound of that. “You- Ow! Watch it!”

Eijirou winced, pulling his hand away from Katsuki’s hip. “Oops! I forgot! Are you okay?”

“Dumbass,” Katsuki said, but fondly.

“For the record, I’m crazy about you, too,” Eijirou said, taking advantage of the lull to speak. “I’ve been kind of head over heels for you since school.“

“I know,” Katsuki said. Oh.

“Wait,” Eijirou raised an eyebrow. “You knew? Like, since when?”

Katsuki rolled his eyes. “Since forever. You’re not subtle.”

Eijirou blinked. “What? Then- Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I dunno,” Katsuki said, pulling himself back to lay against the sofa cushions again. “I was confused about it for a long-ass while.”

“So, you’re not confused any more?” Eijirou asked. It didn’t really need to be asked, given the way that Katsuki had kissed him just now, but Eijirou wanted everything out in the open.

“No,” Katsuki lifted his good leg and prodded Eijirou’s chest with his foot. “I’ve been flirting with you for like, a fuckin’ year now. Thought it’d finally spur you to action but noooo, you have to be all self-depreciating and second-guessing shit all the time.”

“A year?” Eijirou said, feeling his mouth fall open. His brain scanned through all of their recent interactions - there was a lot to sift through. Oh, that explained a few things. Eijirou put a hand over his face. “God, I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki said. He beckoned Eijirou over with a finger. “But you’re my idiot now, so come here.”

Eijirou crawled over him, mindful of Katsuki’s injured leg. Katsuki hooked his arms around Eijirou’s neck and drew him into a languid kiss.

“I love you,” Eijirou said, feeling a shiver down his spine as the words left his mouth. Wait, fuck, it was too soon for that and Katsuki was probably going to-

“Holy shit,” Katsuki said, turning bright red. “Fuck- Fucking warn a guy if you’re gonna say something that sappy!”

“I’m sorry, I, uh-”

Katsuki slammed a hand over Eijirou’s mouth. “Don’t you fucking dare take it back, Eijirou.”

Oh, Eijirou thought. That was the first time he used my given name.

“I,” Katsuki swallowed, his flushed face darkening further. “I love you too.”

The shiver that followed Katsuki’s statement dwarfed any he’d experienced previously. It felt like his soul was on fire. Eijirou didn’t know how to respond, so he kissed Katsuki again.

“I love you,” he said, pressing his lips to Katsuki’s jaw. “I love you,” he said, kissing Katsuki’s cheek. He continued, saying those three words over and over and peppering kisses all over Katsuki’s face. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Katsuki grinned, happier than Eijirou had ever seen. He could feel Katsuki’s fingers running through his hair at the back of his head. “Fuck, I love you. So fucking much.”

Eijirou pressed their foreheads together.

“Katsuki,” Eijirou said, but not for any particular reason. He just wanted to say Katsuki’s name.

“Eijirou,” Katsuki echoed. “We still have to order food.”

“Oh, right!” Eijirou sat up.”Whaddya want?”

“You.”

Eijirou flushed. “Babe. Er, can I call you that?“

“Fuck, call me whatever you want,” Katsuki said, matching the shade of Eijirou’s face. “Curry?”

“Curry it is!” Eijirou said, climbing off of Katsuki and the sofa and making his way over to the phone to call their usual place. He rattled off their order, maybe a little quicker than usual. Once it was confirmed, he put the phone down and turned to stare at Katsuki.

Katsuki looked back at him. Eijirou didn’t think he’d looked away, and that was just. It was something. Eijirou’s stomach flipped and flopped. Katsuki patted the space next to him on the sofa and Eijirou made his way back over. No sooner had he sat down, than Katsuki’s arm circled his waist and pulled him close. Katsuki buried his face into Eijirou’s shoulder, and Eijirou echoed his hum.

“Wish you’d wised up sooner,” Bakugou said, voice slightly muffled. “Coulda been doing this for fuckin’ ages.”

“Well, we can do it now, and as much as we want,” Eijirou said, twisting to press a kiss into Katsuki’s hair.

“Mm,” Katsuki mumbled, pushing his face down harder. “Wanna post something mushy on social media?”

“Shouldn’t we run it by the PR team, first?” Eijirou asked.

Katsuki looked up at him. “Fuck that. Tell the world you’re in love with me already.“

Eijirou grinned, because he did.

#kiribaku #bakushima #fanfiction #my fanfiction #drabble #?#reply #anon #ask meme #sort of #i swear half the stuff i write is 'and then they smorched on a sofa'#'and ordered takeaway'#hm #this was practically done for DAYS it took me ages to come up with a good ending line #BUT I DID AND IT'S HERE WHOOO #i'm gonna chuck this on AO3 in a bit but i don't have the energy for writing tags atm

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covid-19cleaningservices · 4 years

Text

Russia Approves Coronavirus Vaccine Before Completing Tests

MOSCOW — Russia has become the first country in the world to approve a vaccine for the coronavirus, President Vladimir V. Putin announced on Tuesday, though global health authorities say the vaccine has yet to complete critical, late-stage clinical trials to determine its safety and effectiveness.

Mr. Putin, who told a cabinet meeting on Tuesday morning that the vaccine “works effectively enough,” said that his own daughter had taken it. And in a congratulatory note to the nation, he thanked the scientists who developed the vaccine for “this first, very important step for our country, and generally for the whole world.”

The major powers are locked in a global race for a vaccine that President Trump, Mr. Putin and China’s president, Xi Jinping, are treating as a proxy war for their personal leadership and competing national systems. The United States, with an effort called Operation Warp Speed, and China have poured billions into the pursuit, and health officials worry that Russia is trying to snatch a victory by cutting corners.

By skipping large-scale clinical trials, the Russian dash for a vaccine has raised widespread concern that it is circumventing vital steps — and potentially endangering people — in order to score global propaganda points.

Russia’s vaccine sped through early monkey and human trials with apparent success. But Moscow was cautioned just last week by the World Health Organization not to stray from the usual methods of testing a vaccine for safety and efficacy.

Beyond that, the United States, Canadian and British governments have all accused Russian state hackers of trying to steal vaccine research. Russian officials have denied the accusations, and say their vaccine is based on a design developed years ago by Russian scientists to counter the Ebola virus.

A vaccine is seen as the most likely avenue for defeating the novel coronavirus and alleviating a worldwide health crisis that has killed at least 734,900 people and decimated national economies. Western regulators have said repeatedly that they do not expect a vaccine to become widely available before the end of the year at the earliest.

Around the world, more than 30 vaccines — out of a total of more than 165 under development — are now in various stages of human trials. Currently, eight vaccines have entered the final phase of mass human testing, including ones produced by Moderna in the United States, Oxford University and AstraZeneca in Britain and several Chinese companies.

Some of those Chinese companies have been accused of cutting corners themselves. One offered the vaccine to employees at the national oil company, while another has teamed up with the People’s Liberation Army to conduct human trials.

In Russia, the minister of health, Mikhail Murashko, has said the country will begin a mass vaccination campaign in the fall, and said on Tuesday that it would start with teachers and medical workers this month.

The governor of Texas says virus cases are still too numerous to warrant reopening. Emerging clusters at U.S. schools and on high school teams raise concerns about wider community spread. ‘It’s really risky.’ Russia approving a vaccine before it completed Phase 3 tests prompts alarm from experts.

In Moscow, the announcement was greeted with a mixture of national pride and nagging doubts by Russians who have been schooled by experience to treat such boasts with a healthy dose of skepticism.

Lidiya Ivleva, 70, a retired nurse out for a walk in a Moscow park Tuesday afternoon, embodied both sentiments. While calling the vaccine “a great achievement” for Russian scientists, she said she would not rush to get it herself because of the “hasty” testing.

“Those who fear the pandemic more will take it first, and good for them,” she said. If in a year or so it is clearly shown to be safe, she said, then she will reconsider.

Vaccines generally go through three stages of human testing before being approved for widespread use. The first two phases test the vaccine on relatively small groups of people to see if it causes harm and stimulates the immune system. The last phase, known as Phase 3, compares the vaccine to a placebo in tens of thousands of people.

The Russian scientific body that developed the vaccine, the Gamaleya Institute, has yet to conduct Phase 3 trials.

That final phase, however, is the only way to know with statistical certainty whether a vaccine can prevent an infection, and how effective it is. And because it tests a much larger group of people, a Phase 3 trial can also detect more subtle adverse effects of a vaccine that earlier trials could not.

Experts warn that, among other things, a faulty vaccine could actually render those inoculated more vulnerable to severe forms of Covid-19, the disease caused by the virus, a potential disaster that can be ruled out only through extensive testing on human volunteers.

Image“It works effectively enough, forms a stable immunity and I repeat, it has gone through all necessary tests,” President Vladimir V. Putin said. “It works effectively enough, forms a stable immunity and I repeat, it has gone through all necessary tests,” President Vladimir V. Putin said.Credit...Aleksey Nikolskyi/Sputnik, via Reuters The Russian vaccine uses two strains of adenovirus that typically cause mild colds in humans. Scientists genetically modified them to cause infected cells to make proteins from the spike of the new coronavirus, officials have said.

The approach is similar to the one used in a vaccine developed by Oxford University and AstraZeneca that is now undergoing Phase III tests in Britain, Brazil and South Africa.

The W.H.O. is in close contact with the Russian authorities and discussing proper procedures, Tarik Jasarevic, a spokesman for the organization, told reporters in Geneva on Tuesday. But he emphasized that obtaining the organization’s seal of approval would require “rigorous review of safety and efficacy data” derived from clinical trials.

The Russian Ministry of Health did not respond to detailed written questions sent last week about human trials and research into potentially harmful side effects.

CORONAVIRUS SCHOOLS BRIEFING: How is the pandemic reshaping education? Get the latest news and tips as students go back to school. Sign Up The Gamaleya Institute developed the Russian vaccine using a human cell line first cultured in 1973 — the same line used in the Oxford-AstraZeneca vaccine. Like a number of other cell lines used in medical research and vaccine manufacturing, it began with cells taken from an aborted fetus, raising objections from abortion opponents that may come into sharper focus if the vaccine is used widely.

Russia’s announcement of a potential vaccine well ahead of the Western timeline of the end of the year could provide a welcome respite for Mr. Putin from a string of bad news.

Over the past year he has seen a steady decline in his approval ratings, which had soared to more than 80 percent after the annexation of Crimea in 2014. Now, with Russian troops bogged down in Syria and Libya, foreign adventures have lost their appeal for most Russians.

Mr. Putin has also stumbled in domestic affairs. He was uncharacteristically passive in the spring as Russia erupted into one of the world’s hot spots for the coronavirus pandemic. And he has had no answers for the economic malaise enveloping the country, as the pandemic has flattened prices for oil and other natural resources that are the main engine of the Russian economy.

Russia has already used the vaccine race as a propaganda tool, even in the absence of published scientific evidence to support its claims as the front-runner. The vaccine, for example, was branded Sputnik V, recalling the Soviet Union’s launch of a first satellite, beating the United States.

For the last several months, state television has promoted the idea that Russia is leading the competition. In May, it reported that the first person in the world to be vaccinated against the virus was a Russian researcher who had injected himself even before monkey trials had been completed.

Russia also tested the vaccine on soldiers, raising concerns about consent, though the Ministry of Defense said that all the soldiers had volunteered.

Kirill Dmitriev, the head of a government-controlled fund that invested in the vaccine, denied in a conference call with journalists on Tuesday that Russia had cut corners on testing, or that it had stolen intellectual property to get ahead.

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masshirohebi-moved · 5 years

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angst starters // @izunaisms They can feel it too now. The pressure that is slowly weighing them down to the ground, the chaos that has erupted in the heart of such a war. They feel that they are walking across a minefield. No, that both they and the Uchiha heir are, side by side. The stress of not stepping on something explosive is a breathtaking pressure, not to mention the fear of having to watch one another at the same time. That even if they carefully get around the deadly land, they may be swept away by the mistake of their well-intentioned partner. More and more, they can see this war take a toll on the youth they had sworn to guide. But the more they change and meddle, the more the future becomes uncertain. How can they predict what is to come, when everything has taken such a radical turn? Izuna had always revealed a gaze far older than he should. The gaze of a child forced to grow up far too quickly, forced to be what his father wished of him. And now, he faces the same fate. Only this time, he is to be not only what his father wants. He is to be what everyone wants, from the serpents whisper for peace, his brothers demand for warfare, his clans pleas for safety, the Senju’s warning for an allegiance - the worlds breath is always muttering in his ear. And all the while, the serpent watches the man with one sickening thought: he is too young to carry this weight.

The serpent is bandaging the wounded, nursing the sick. They navigate the medical tent, supplies kept in their dainty hands, their figure coming to the bedside of a familiar Uchiha. She extends her arm upon habit, already knowing the Sannin was there to change the fabrics of her wound dressing. A wound she would have died from, had they not been blessed with future information on medicine. But as they unravel the first bit of cloth, they hear voices. The cracking sound of tension. Golden eyes sharply move to spot Izuna and his brother. What dispute they have had is unclear. The viper can tell the telltale signs by now however. Madara has made an unfair demand, Izuna has tried to be reasonable - unfairness wins out over reason. The younger brother is left alone, to wrestle with the idea of a new order he can not hope to please everyone with by following. A shame that even when Izuna had ascended to clan head, he may be treated as a second to his brother. That the elder Uchiha may not honor and respect his new command. Izuna’s movement sends him out of their view, when golden eyes return to the woman, they notice their own hands are shaking. And how they usually have the stillness of a surgeon. The flash her an apologetic smile, before handing the duty to another medic and taking their leave. In their haste, they almost collide with Madara on their way to seek Izuna, the gaze they flash him one that offers masked disapproval, “allow me to apologize,” they start, but find themself interrupted with the mans curt ‘it is unnecessary’. And they know that it is not so much that he forgives them, for he has never liked them, but more a means to end conversation before it begins. The viper gives him a smile that offers nothing but teeth, venomous incisors. “Now dear, it is only proper. It is most important one remembers their place,” they reply, and their gaze lingers long enough to inform the man it is not their place that they put in question. His disrespect for his brothers command had been vocalized many times in the past. But they don’t give him much time to respond, a dip of their head as they part ways and find the man they had intended to set their sight on. His agony radiates from his body. In his eyes. He is sitting before the gentle flow of a nearby river, a rock as his throne - no glory in his rise to power. It briefly crosses their mind, whether or not he would prefer someone to submerge his head in that stream - to unburden him. “Are you okay?” But they find their question is a waste of their own breath. They know the answer. By the tired look in his gaze, by every tense muscle upon his figure. It is not to any surprise, when the words seem to fall from his lips: “I don’t feel okay. I’ve never felt okay.” It is something that washes over them, perhaps terrifies them more than they would ever show him. He can not give up. Not now. There is too much at stake. A sternness crosses their features, a sternness that is not without care. In fact, it is that they wish to fight for his will, that they reveal they have grown a fondness.

“Look at me.” Their voice is soft, but it is not without command. When he hesitates, slender fingers have found their way under his chin, and they have made him meet their eyes with the turn of their wrist. They have always carried the intensity of a creature not quite human, not even animal, it reflects in golden eyes. Golden eyes that will not be cast in shadow even at night, shimmering brightly, competing with the moon. And they stand before him like a being of this river, some mythical entity that seems to appear with words of wisdom whenever it is he tries to be alone. “You’re a Lord now, you will give them commands like a Lord ought to,” they say, for they can not let despair be the death of the man. They can not let the final battle be one he has between his duty and his heart, between his conscience and his loyalties. Too tragic it would be to watch him crumble. They had learnt early in life, there was a time to nurse ones wounds, and there was a time where one was fussing too much. Where all that picking left the skin unable to repair. “You don’t obey your brother, nor your clan. You earned your place, and a cruel and terrible place it is that you fought so hard to have. But it is now in your hands to ensure that no one else leads a life you had to. It is now in your hands to break a cycle that you have suffered in,” they say, a brief pause, “do you love them?” They let silence settle only for a moment, the sound of the clan meandering around in the camp heard in the distance, “and if you do, will you love them actively, or passively? Your love is no good to them if it remains a spectator.” Sympathy falls in to their gaze for a moment, softening their hardened expression as their grip becomes weaker, as they drop their hand to their side. A moment for the wind to pass, which has the two figures clothing and hair dancing in the current of air. When it settles, they offer him their hand, and their final piece of advice, for only the moon above them to bare witness to his decision. “We’re shinobi. When we fall, we get back up. We fight until there is nothing left to fight for.”

#||●ANSWERED-❝disclosed❞#izunaisms #||○SEER-❝an heir of war. a holder of peace❞#/long post

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kakasaku-shipper · 5 years

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Natural Progression (Chapter 2)

Chapter 2

A/N: CHAPTER 2 is new content as of April 2019!

…

Kakashi watched with amusement as he saw a group of exasperated and resigned nurses gathering on one side of the hospital courtyard. On the other side, Rock Lee was doing his famous handstand laps and Gai was hot on his heels, wheeling his wheelchair at a speed that caused it to rattle as one by one, the bolts were becoming undone. Soon enough, just as Kakashi had predicted, the wheelchair came apart. Before Gai could fall face first on the dirt, a large dog appeared in front on him, cushioning his fall.

"Bull! It is really nice meeting you again after so long! You have gotten bigger and more youthful than ever!"

"Gai-sensei!" Rock Lee cried as he stood upright from his handstand and ran towards Gai. "Bull, thank you for helping Gai-sensei! That was really youthful of you!"

"Ah.. Bull while does enjoy praises, he would trade all the praises he gets all day for a treat," Kakashi said as he took out a treat from his pocket.

"Can I? Kakashi-sensei?" Rock Lee asked with excitement as he reached out for the treat in Kakashi's hand. At the Jonin's nod, Lee took the treat and held it out on his palm for Bull, who eagerly took the treat into his mouth, covering Lee's hand with slobber. "Yosh! That's a good boy, Bull!"

"You know that Bull is older than you, right?" Kakashi asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Yes. But Bull will always be a good boy!"

"Yes, you're right indeed," Kakashi agreed. "Gai, how are you?"

"I'm beginning to see why you can't wait to leave the hospital, my eternal rival! It is eternally boring in here, and the courtyard is too small for me to observe Lee's training regiments! Just when I found one after observing one of the Samurai fighting.."

"Gai-kun! You're disturbing everyone! I'm going to call on Sakura-san if you don't go back to your room!" the head nurse bellowed, cutting off the rest of Gai's words.

"Keiko-san, I apologise. We will tone it down and Gai will go inside like he is supposed to. Sakura-chan is probably busy with surgeries and emergency cases. I promise to see this being done," Kakashi said with a smile, trying to placate her.

"Fine, kid. I'm holding you out to it. Just because I know that you actually keep your promises. And I'm really glad that you're not in one of our beds for a change," Keiko said as her feature and tone soften, into that of a kind motherly figure Kakashi was familiar with. Well, Keiko had been a nurse since before Kakashi was born, and she was one of the midwives who delivered him. She was also one of the smaller group of medics who did not refuse to treat him when he was younger just because he was the traitor White Fang's son. "You know, the room we usually reserved for you is taken by some wealthy merchant, and he's the worst leech we have since Jiraiya-san," Keiko continued, her face full of disdain and disgust.

"Ah, I can help with that. Let me know when all his visitors have left," Kakashi chuckled as an evil grin started to form on his lips.

At this, Keiko nodded in satisfaction. "Thanks, kid. I knew that giving you special treatment is a wise move."

"Well, it is indeed," Kakashi said with a grin. As Keiko and the other nurses left, Kakashi turned to Gai. "Now Gai, you need to go back inside or both of us will be in big trouble. You know that Keiko-san could be scarier than Tsunade if she wished to."

"Ah, I suppose I can take a day off to rest," Gai conceded. "But what about Lee? Neji-kun is out of commission for a while so he has no one to train with.."

"I'll take care of it, Gai. I do need a sparring partner after all," Kakashi said as he righted Gai so he could sit on bull like he was riding a horse, albeit an oversized one. "Need to keep myself sharp for our next challenge. Can't afford to slack off just because war is over because I know you won't."

"You bet, my eternal rival!" Gai declared as he flashed Kakashi his brightest grin and a thumbs up.

...

After guiding Gai back into his ward and ensuring that he's comfortable on the bed, Kakashi left with Lee to the training ground preferred by Gai's team. Lee began his push up regime as Kakashi did his warm up stretches and started on his kata. As Lee was finishing his push up, Kakashi told him to get ready and take off his weights.

"Gai-sensei would prefer me to use the weights when training.. I was only to take it off when doing missions above B-rank or during the war," Lee informed with a frown.

"Ah, this is more for me to gauge how much I can handle hand to hand combat with taijutsu masters now that I no longer have the sharingan."

"Well then, I will not be holding back, Kakashi-sensei!"

"Gai would be displeased if you do," Kakashi said as his eyes creased from a smile. "Begin!"

And with that, Lee leapt and launched a kick on Kakashi's chest, only for Kakashi to block it. As Kakashi was launching a fist towards his stomach, Lee rolled sideways to evade it. Before Lee could land on the ground, Kakashi did a sweep on Lee's direction with his leg. Lee easily blocked it and used the momentum to do a backflip away from Kakashi to regain his form. But before Lee could complete a flip, Kakashi appeared behind him and aimed a kick on his back. Lee shot out his arm to balance on Kakashi's feet briefly, and then used Kakashi's shoulder to push him in an upward trajectory to leap away and land on a tree branch. Lee pushed off the branch as he saw Kakashi coming, his punch connected to the branch breaking it and causing Lee to lose his foothold. Lee gracefully landed on the ground and began to lunge at Kakashi, who turned around immediately expecting his punch.

Punches were traded with occasional kicks being used and for every hit Lee landed on Kakashi, he received two in return. As the spar went on, Lee started to get overwhelmed as Kakashi seemed to have sped up, which was weird because Lee had high endurance and it was very difficult to tire him. Lee's eyes widened as he realised that he should have evaded that particular kick instead of blocking it, because the power of the kick sent him flying across the training ground, and he only stopped because he his back hit a tree with a 'thump'.

"Are you ok, Lee?" Kakashi asked as he appeared beside Lee.

"Yes I'm fine, I'm used to this while sparring with Neji-kun," Lee replied with a grunt as he tried to straighten himself. He shot Kakashi a grateful smile as he took the hand Kakashi offered.

"Sorry, I think I used too much chakra in that kick, I'm not used to controlling the strength yet."

"Did you use chakra towards the end of the spar to increase your speed, Sensei?"

"Yes," Kakashi replied as he shoved his hands in his pocket. "It was still easy enough for me to fight most opponents without the sharingan. But to fight someone as proficient as you are in a taijutsu it gets rather difficult. I can still imagine what movement you might take based on your stance and calculating it with the arena around us, but it’s not the same as the instantaneous prediction I could get with the sharingan. But you did really well in forcing me to use this much chakra to defeat you."

"You're too kind, Kakashi-sensei! It just means that I need to train even more now if I ever dream of defeating you!"

"You would probably already won if I didn't use any of my chakra."

"But the enemy shinobi will not refrain from using chakra just because I can't. That's why I need to train more!"

"Well, I'm glad that you're very enthusiastic in your training."

"That's because what I lack in talent, I will make up with hard work!"

"Well, Gai said that he would like to teach you samurai fighting style?" Kakashi asked and was responded with a very enthusiastic nod. "Then when you master the stance I'll teach you how to swing a sword. We will be training with both katana and kodachi. I could train you to use a tanto too, but I think kunai has the same effect."

"That would be great! Thank you, Kakashi-sensei! Thank you!" Lee said with a bow.

Kakashi smiled as he ruffled the boy's head. "It's no problem at all. After all, there may be a curriculum change in the academy soon and we would need someone who knows how to use swords properly to teach the next generation."

"Yosh! I will train hard and not disappoint you! And I shall now continue with my training! 500 more push ups, 1000 sit ups, 1000 squats and 100km run for my daily work out! If you excuse me now, Kakashi-sensei!" Lee said with a salute.

"Well, have fun, but don't push yourself too hard," Kakashi replied while returning the salute. Lee was then off to continue his training, not forgetting to put back his weights on his arms and legs. Kakashi chuckled as he knew that his advice had fallen on deaf ears.

As Kakashi trekked back to the hospital, he reminded himself to pick up some weights on his way home tonight to start conditioning his body. He couldn't let himself lose to Lee. After all, he was still young enough to compete with those kids.

...

"Tsunade-sama said that my leg will never be like before," Gai said as Kakashi shut his ward door close. Gai had gotten another wheelchair, a sturdier one this time.

"What are you planning to do then?"

"The only other thing beside taijutsu that I can do is teach. I'm going to apply to the academy and hopefully will be assigned as a taijutsu instructor."

"Aaa..."

"I'll get Lee to demonstrate. All I need to do is watch their form and correct them if they're wrong."

"Hmmm. Sounds like a plan. How are you holding up?"

"I don't regret my decision one bit. It was an honor being able to land some pretty solid hits on Madara," Gai said with a grin.

"I suppose so," Kakashi replied as his lips curved up in a smile.

"What are you planning to do now?" Gai asked as he wheeled his wheelchair closer to the wall Kakashi was leaning on.

"I'm taking up gardening. Don't think that I have much time to get it done though."

"Ooh?"

"You're very welcome to help."

"Paper works?"

"Yep."

"Well, anything is better than being stuck here. Although, I believe that we have a mission from Keiko-san before we can commence on our gardening project?" Gai asked with a gleam in his eyes.

"Oh, we do indeed. Do you have anything particular in mind?"

"I'll leave the creative directions to you, you can be worse than Naruto with pranks after all."

"Well, let's say that I learnt it from the best," Kakashi said with a sadistic grin that made Gai barked out a laugh. …

"I don't know what you did, kid, and I don't want to know. But thank you, and the younger ones are especially grateful for it," Keiko said with a warm smile as she gave Kakashi's shoulder a squeeze. "You too, great work, Gai-kun. Whatever you and Kakashi-kun did back there."

"It was no problem, Keiko-san! We are very happy to help, and it's nice to be able to get out of my ward," Gai replied with a grin.

"Oh yes, and I'll spare you the details, but let's just say that the old leech will never ask for any sponge bath ever again." Kakashi supplied helpfully.

"Hmm.. but what should I say if he complaints? Tsunde-sama and Sakura-san will have a good laugh, but I'm afraid Shizune-san won't approve.." Keiko asked with a frown.

"There's a lot of genin going in and out of the hospital as of now. Just deny any knowledge or responsibilities on the staffs' part and it will be chucked as harmless children's prank."

"You have thought this through, have you?"

"Let's just say that I got the idea from a very irritable pregnant lady who had promised further retribution to Jiraiya even after she had personally put him in the hospital. In her defense, Jiraiya did corrupt her husband his 'dirty books'," Kakashi replied with a fond smile on his lips.

Keiko shook her head in amusement as she gathered some medical files in her hands. "You've had your fun. Now shoo. Gai-kun really needs to rest before he's cleared for discharge. The more rest the faster his papers will be approved."

Both Kakashi and Gai gave Keiko a salute as Kakashi wheeled Gai back to his room. Kakashi would hang out and chat with Gai and wait until Sakura's morning shift was over. If they were lucky, his group of ninken would be bringing them some scrolls to look over, and Gai wouldn't die from the boredom that was hospitalisation.

…

Sakura looked tired. Scratch that, she looked beyond exhausted. "It's just the sheer volume of patients, Sensei. I didn't use that much chakra today, since most patients have been stable from Katsuyu's first aid treatment after the war. Besides, I was just monitoring the trainees," Sakura said to reassure Kakashi who looked very concerned. "I could still train with you now, but not for long since I have to come back for a double shift tonight.."

"Don't you need to rest before your double shift? You've just done 8 hours of work, and another 16 hours of continuous work is no joke.."

"Nah, I'm used to this," Sakura said with a shrug. "Besides, a short sparring session won't last more than two hours, right? I could still totally squeezed in a good six hour nap time after the spar."

Kakashi shook his head at her suggestion. "Go home and rest, Sakura," he said while handing her two genjutsu scrolls. "Just find me once you can squeeze in some time to read it," Kakashi said as his eyes creased from his smile. "I know you that you will be extremely busy especially in these few days, so don't worry about sparring with me."

"But.. Kakashi-sensei!" Sakura protested. He was of course right about her being busy with the hospital. But if Kakashi was to be called for a mission before he could adjust to the loss of his sharingan, if anything was to happen to him because she couldn't keep a simple promise..

Kakashi could see more protests coming his way by the way Sakura was chewing on her bottom lips and furrowing her eyebrows in concentration. He knew that she was formulating her arguments on why she needed to still train with him despite her exhaustion. "The hospital needs your skills more than I do. For now, I'll just have to make do with Lee.." Kakashi said teasingly. "Don't feel bad about not being able to train with me. Think about it as doing Lee a favour too. I'm sure you've heard about Gai, and Neji's still out for the count for quite some time. It's all good, Sakura."

"Are you sure though?"

Kakashi simply nodded and smiled as ruffled her hair. He was glad that he could convince Sakura; who was was too tired to even scowl at him for messing up her hair.

…

A/N

1. Kakashi may seem OOC with how he not only offered to train with Sakura, but with Lee too. And on top of it, he’s giving free lessons??? What happened to the shitty genin teacher that was Hatake Kakashi? Who only taught his students how to climb trees and nothing else?

This is going to be a long essay, so be warned. And this is just my take on Kakashi’s character.

I see Kakashi as a character who cares a lot about his comrades, so I think he was not going to let his genin team running around taking missions without adequate training. He probably teaches them other things too, but not as much as we would have liked to see. Also, Kakashi was in ANBU, and the only reason he ‘left’ was because Sandaime practically kicked him out for having too many deaths wishes. And in ANBU, I see it as a brotherhood/sisterhood of some sort, so you can never really get out of it. I see Kakashi still being involved, rather heavily with ANBU (cue first chapter). And really, he was asked to babysit 3 brats and watched them carrying out menial D-rank missions. I don’t blame him for getting bored and take a couple of difficult but short missions to not lose his mind.

In addition to all that, I think we need to see Kakashi’s character progression. When he was a child, before Sakumo’s death, he really idolized him to the extent that he adopted Sakumo’s nindo of ‘comrades before mission’, even after Sakumo ‘fell into disgrace’. I think Kakashi only stopped taking the philosophy when Sakumo killed himself, because that philosophy ultimately killed the person Kakashi loved most in the world. After that, born was the ‘rules rules rules’ pain in the butt teenage Kakashi. Because really, if his previous philosophy was wrong, the right philosophy will be the opposite of that. And because the philosophy changed, what he lived for will change too. Before, Kakashi lived for his comrades, and his dad, and himself, just like any normal kid. And then, he changed. I think his goal would be to be the best shinobi ever was that stick to the rules like a super glue because he wanted to prove his dad wrong, and prove to himself that his dad was wrong, and Sakumo had just made a mistake and not a shitty shinobi everyone around him made him out to be. Because while Kakashi was sad, maybe even felt betrayed by Sakumo’s suicide, Kakashi still loved him very very much. Then Obito died. And so Kakashi realized that there needs to be a balance in the philosophy he held. Rules are there as a guideline, but if your comrade’s lives are at stake, rules are meant to be broken. So he continued living, with new outlook of life, and new goal of protecting Rin, who died too. And this cause Kakashi to lose his reason to live. So he joined the ANBU, and began taking difficult missions, working himself to death. He had no reason to live, and no one will miss him if he died. He would sacrifice himself so that those who had someone else to live for will not have to die for the village. Then Minato, who was Hokage at the time saw how self-destructive Kakashi was and made him watch Kushina, in the hope that Kakashi would have something new to look forward to, to live for. To protect Kushina and unborn Naruto. And then the Kyuubi attacked, so Kakashi lost two more very precious people. (I will go on why Kakashi did not just adopt Naruto – or do something??? In another A/N rant. lol). So all these time before Sandaime kicked him out of ANBU in preparation of him taking care of the team with Naruto and Sasuke, Kakashi would have revert back to his self-destructive path of going for missions after missions in the hope of dying on the frontlines for the village, while preventing someone with people to come home to from dying from such missions. He essentially does not have any will to live or any goal for the future. Then came team 7, and now he has a new reason to live for, to protect these kids until they are ready to be shinobi who are at least good enough to not die pointlessly on the field.

So now, after the war, since Kakashi have had closure with his dad (cue Pein attack) and Obito during the war, he could look forward to living again. And [spoiler alert for the next chapter] Kakashi was going to be appointed as Hokage. So he has a lot to look forward to, more responsibilities to attend to and most importantly, more people to protect. Hence now when he could still have the time, he needs to start planting seeds (not roots) so that the next generations of ninja would be well looked after.

Yosh! And that was a really long essay.

2. I will be exploring why Kakashi have ‘his own’ hospital ward in the subsequent chapters.

3. Yes, Lee’s regiments is a nod to Saitama (One Punch Man). I just thought that since Lee is a ninja we should increase the regiment a teeny tiny bit of ten times.

#Natural Progression #kakasaku #fanfic #fic

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drferox · 6 years

Note

How do you feel about the way Greencross is seemingly trying to build a monopoly of vet practices in Australia? Concerning, or not as alarming as people think it is?

Mate, I have many potent, insider opinions about GreenX and the rise of corporate medicine. I have been considering writing on this topic for a while, but now seems as good a time as any.

But first, full disclosure of where I stand within the veterinary industry. I am an associate veterinarian, which means I work in a practice but don’t own it, and I work two jobs. My full time job is in private practice owned by a single vet who actually works there. My casual job is at an emergency center, owned by GreenX. I have also done relief work at a GreenX clinic.

And frankly, the more I work for GreenX, the more it makes me cheer on worker-owned co-ops.

GreenX is just one of the multi-practice corporate vet chains which are popping up not just in Australia, but overseas. GreenX is just the largest and is actually on the stock exchange. You can buy shares in GreenX. That means GreenX is accountable to its shareholders and expected to make a healthy profit.

GreenX owns large numbers of vet practices across Australia, but also owns all the Animal Emergency Centers, all the Petbarn brand pet stores, an external veterinary diagnostic laboratory, at least one crematorium, a number of specialist hospitals and runs the admin side for at least one university teaching hospital.

It also currently operates a ‘Healthy Pets Plus’ program, where for just $450 a year you can get free consults, and is working on bringing out its own pet insurance line.

How are you feeling about this? A little uneasy?

I have concerns about a monopoly, because in my neck of the woods GreenX owns the 4 closest 24 hour emergency vet clinics, in addition to all the others around the city, so I don’t really have much of a choice where to send my patients. They also own quite a lot of the general practices in my local region, so that’s hard to compete with.

For a few years there, they also sent a letter to my boss every year offering to buy his practice. Just a form letter, which I assume they sent out to lots of practices in a similar way.

They pay for all their vet employees to be Australian Veterinary Association members, which grants us all a voice and vote in relevant matters, but not to receive the Australian Veterinary Journal. I don’t know whether GreenX gets corporate discounts for signing up so many members. This makes me uneasy because Banfield in the USA, which is owned by Mars, financially rewards its employees for taking up leadership positions with the various representative organizations over there. Which means if it ever comes up, corporation is paying for a lot of people to be there if an important vote ever comes up…

I mean, I’m not a conspiracy nut, but I’m not exactly happy.

But that is the corporation side, the people on the ground are not the corporation. They are by and large decent vets and nurses hamstrung by the corporate rules they’re obliged to follow. For some this works out fine, particularly in their early years. They have a structured training plan and can see where to advance in the corporation. It provides a willing buyer for a practice owner who might otherwise have been unable to receive the price they were seeking (another issue for another day). It has removed some of the management stress from vets in many clinics and dispersed it, allowing a pool of locums to be drawn from to fill in absences.

Doing so has added a lot of middle management and a lot of red tape. They are frequently recruiting at industry events, and promoting their chain at events like the Dog Lovers Show.

Working on the ground as one of their casual emergency vets I am profoundly dissatisfied. Considering we are supposed to be a top of the line intensive care clinic some of my complaints and concerns have included:

The introduction of Healthy Pets Plus robbing the clinic of its emergency consult fee ($165) and crediting only $10 to our ‘income’ for that month.

Then having the gall to turn around and say that because we are not making as much money this quarter as we used to, our budget is reduced.

Not offering staff a worthwhile wage to do night shift, so unable to retain them very long.

Not paying emergency nurses anything above the award wage (minimum wage for the industry), even if they have been employed at that practice multiple years.

Nowhere to advance unless you pursue a position in management.

Not granting even a cost of living pay rise (in line with inflation) despite meeting expected profit targets for three years.

Telling employees they are not allowed to discuss their wages with each other, which I’m pretty damn sure is illegal and is definitely shady.

Not paying superannuation properly.

Not paying vets and nurses in management positions their backpay in a timely manner.

Making it ridiculously difficult to access your payslips to see if you were paid properly.

Needing to get approval months in advance to order extra stock for busy times of year

Watching the sheer stress of being a manager at these clinics wear good people down to the bone or brink of madness.

Once GreenX has bought into a practice, it’s nearly impossible to get rid of them.

Acquiring a practice and promising ‘nothing will change’, that all the things we like will stay the same. Only to change those things, slowly, over the following 3-5 years to match the other clinics in the chain.

Mandatory tea break.

I have also listened to management-types of GreenX make arguments for having unpaid internships in general practice for newly graduated veterinarians, for 12 weeks.

And just about lost my banana over it.

Unpaid. For Twelve weeks. Straight after graduation where they’ve qualified as veterinarians.

Oh hell no.

Interns typically get paid less anyway, and a new grad vet wage isn’t all that much. But they wanted to pay nothing for the first 3 months.

Why? Because new graduate vets are not profitable at the start, they typically cost the practice money as they get themselves established. Everyone knows this, it’s part of the deal when you take on a new grad.

Having to work 3 months straight out of uni for zero pay is insane, it’s almost murderous, and it’s simply evil. This plan was ripe for abuse.

It was also vocally shouted down at the PANPAC conference where it was suggested, thankfully, but these are non-vet, corporate types of people trying to run a series of vet practices for profit.

I just want to be the friendly neighborhood vet on the corner, you know? Just local, quality service where I can get to know the pets over time, and schoolkids aren’t afraid to bring in an injured bird if they find one in the playground. To be part of that community.

And this is what most vet practices have been. You own your job, you don’t need to make a massive profit, just enough to keep doing what you want to do.

But now GreenX has shareholders. The business owners are not on the ground with the rest of us. I have concerns and I don’t like it.

That is not to be negative to those working for Greencross, the boots on the ground that are probably not being treated as well as they should, but need a job to keep the lights on. For some the structure suits them. For some it’s just a job. It is the team on the ground that is the only reason I started working for them in the first place, and stayed.

But do I wish it was something other than GreenX? Yes.

UPDATE: I’d like to contribute in this discussion some ‘advice’ that was shared on Facebook. Members of this particular group are warned to be careful what they post as it’s not a private group and anybody can take a screenshot, so I think that’s fair game.

I do not like this. I do not like this at all. I can’t even tell if it’s satire or trolling, because it’s too close to the truth.

Not only does it make it look like it’s now all about the money (which it is, for the shareholders) it reduces veterinary medicine to a numbers game. By this metric, a ‘good vet’ is one that earns $300 per consult, and twice as much of their billing comes from lab fees as consult fees. They also admit almost a third of their consults.

Doesn’t matter if clients like them, if they solve cases or achieve good medical outcomes. All the qualitative stuff is gone, just the dollar values.

(Oh, and if you meet those metrics, you’re in no way guaranteed to get a pay rise. From experience).

Now it is entirely possible to meet those metrics just by working your cases appropriately and seeing a lot of them, but thinking like this pushes vets, especially young vets who want a pay rise so they can afford their own car, home, etc, to be thinking of the dollars and not the animal or client as they practice.

Maybe I am old fashioned or a dying breed during the rise of corporate veterinary medicine, but I am profoundly uncomfortable with this. Worse, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, and a strong feeling of this is not my veterinary medicine.

I am heartened to see most of the comments on that thread from angry, like-minded vets insulted at being reduced to ‘trained monkeys’ and focusing on these metrics instead of patient outcomes and client satisfaction, but as GreenX picks up more and more young vets, training them to fit its mold, I am afraid of more of them being modeled into what GreenX wants, or becoming disillusioned and leaving the profession early.

#veterinarian #vetblr #corporate medicine #vet industry #vet school #ethics #collusion #corruption #greenX #greencross #vet

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jakkosisle · 5 years

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Career Change

The first six months of the Battle for Azeroth was essentially one long stalemate. The Horde burns down Teldrassil, so the Alliance lays siege to Lordaeron. The Horde tries to recruit the Zandalari Empire, so the Alliance tries to recruit Kul Tiras. The Horde opens up a new front in the Arathi Highlands, so the Alliance opens up a new front in Darkshore. Back and forth, blow for blow, the Alliance and Horde competed with each other endlessly, with neither side really getting a leg up over the other.

Until now, that is.

Jakko looked around the Hot House. What was once his favorite restaurant in the Zoccalo was now a makeshift hospital for wounded soldiers. Waiters and waitresses suddenly having to play nurse to dozens of injured orcs, tauren, elves, and of course trolls. Similar medical outposts had been set up all over the city, to treat the wounded from the battle.

The Alliance had sacked Dazar’alor. First, they faked an attack from Nazmir, luring away the bulk of the Zandalari and Horde armies, leaving the harbor nearly defenseless. Second, they somehow destroyed what ships remained in the harbor - witnesses say the ships just blew up for no damn reason, leading most to suspect sabotage.

The Alliance made landfall in the harbor, slaughtering anyone and anything that was too slow or stupid to get out of their way as they stormed their way up to the pyramid. There, they did the unthinkable.

They killed King Rastakhan.

By that point, the Horde had finally returned to the city. They were able to chase the Alliance forces back out to sea, but the damage was already done. The God King was dead, and the Golden Fleet had been gutted like a fish. The Alliance now stood with the superior naval force, and the Horde’s odds of winning the Battle for Azeroth just got a lot slimmer.

Jakko reached checked his watch. She’s late. That didn’t surprise him. Punctuality had never been Spritzie’s strong suit, and that was back when they were on speaking terms.

Ever since the Battle for Lordaeron, Spritzie…changed. That sweet, cheerful young goblin was gone. She lost too much that day. She became harder. More ruthless. Started picking up bad habits like drinking and picking fights for no damn reason. Her bad attitude got her kicked out of two guilds, and the last time they spoke was months ago, and that wasn’t so much speaking as it was yelling and screaming.

I’m sorry, Rikko. Jakko promised his brother, minutes before his death, that he would look after their family. Lately, he was failing. Miserably.

Jakko’s ears twitched as he heard a voice he hadn’t heard in weeks. He looked over and saw Spritzie outside the Hot House, instructing a devilsaur and a large spider to stay put outside while she went in. Gone were the goblin’s childish pigtails and in their place was a sweeping hairstyle held in place with a skull pin. She wore armor that was black as night with a skull emblem on the belt. Jakko was sensing a theme. Strapped to her back was her old sniper rifle, a wolf-slayer model, souped up to double as a shotgun through the miracle of goblin technology. She didn’t even look at Jakko as she took a seat next to him at the bar and ordered a drink.

“Surprised you showed up.” Jakko said.

“I was thinkin’ of blowin’ you off.” Spritzie replied. “But your letter made you sound so fuckin’ pathetic that I had to come and see for myself just how deep in the gutter you are.”

That surprised Jakko. He had kept the letter brief. He only said that a lot had happened in the last few weeks and that there were some things that Jakko and Spritzie needed to talk about. Spritzie must’ve inferred Jakko’s desperation from the simple fact he bothered to reach out at all. It unnerved him, seeing how perceptive she really was.

The troll tapped his finger on the table as an awkward silence hovered between them. “So…what’ve you been up to lately?” he asked, unsure of how else to begin the discussion.

Spritzie paused in thought, taking a moment to digest Jakko’s question. Then she smiled like a cat in a canary cage. “Well, lately I’ve been in Darkshore a lot. Guess those night elves didn’t quite get the message the first time we kicked their asses.”

“Yeah, it’s almost like destroying their city pissed ‘em off or somethin’.” Jakko quipped. You fucking dumbass - you need her help and you think NOW is a good time to be a snarky dick?

“In that case, YOU should be as pissed off as they are.” Spritzie pointed out. She jerked a thumb outside. “Don’t know if you noticed, but the Alliance kinda kicked your race’s ass in a major way. Don’t tell me you’re not itchin’ for a little payback.”

Jakko had to admit, Spritzie had a point. Jakko remembered being awe-struck the first time he set foot in Dazar’alor. A living, breathing, thriving city of trolls. He never thought that such a thing could exist outside of history and legend. Seeing the City of Gold in all its splendor made him think that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for the troll race. Hope that they could one day become something more than just a collection of survivors stubbornly clinging to the edge.

Hope that the Alliance tried to destroy. He was there, with his mate Vorz’ka, in the Zoccalo when the Alliance attacked. Mole machines erupted from the ground and Dark Iron poured out, terrorizing the people, looting anything that wasn’t nailed down and setting fire to anything that was. It was a miracle the Horde showed up when it did to take back the Zoccalo before Alliance forces could do too much damage. From what he heard, the docks weren’t as lucky.

The Zandalari didn’t even do anything wrong. Not this time, at least. Their only crime was asking the Horde for help. For the first time since this stupid war started, Jakko found himself truly, genuinely angry at the Alliance.

But he was even angrier at Sylvanas.

“If Sylvanas hadn’t started this war, the Alliance would’ve never attacked Dazar’alor in the first place.” Jakko growled. “The Alliance killed Rastakhan, but she was the one who put the target on his back.”

“Oh, don’t even TRY to spin this to make it look like Sylvanas’s fault!” Spritzie snapped. “The Alliance kills trolls so often, they use troll sweat to grease their war machines! Dazar’alor was just another Tuesday for them!”

“Then how come they didn’t wanna attack Zandalar until WE came here?!” Jakko snapped back. “Everything the Alliance has done was because SHE pissed THEM off! SHE’S the reason we’re in this mess to start with!”

“The Alliance hate us!” Spritzie ranted. “Remember Stormheim?! The Burning Legion was lookin’ to destroy BOTH factions, but that wasn’t enough to kill the Alliance’s hate boner for us, judgin’ from the way they merrily bombed our fuckin’ fleet! THEY’RE the reason we went to Zandalar - because we needed a new fleet to replace the one THEY blew up!”

“Oh, they hate us. Okay. Well. Here’s an idea. LET’S BURN DOWN THEIR WORLD TREE! THAT’LL MAKE ‘EM NOT HATE US! GREAT PLAN, SYLVANAS!”

“War was inevitable! Ever since we figured out what Azerite was, it was only a matter of time until war broke out over the stuff! Sylvanas was just smart enough to get in the first punch!”

“War was inevitable? Really? With Anduin ‘Let’s all just hug it out’ Wrynn as High King? Gimme a break.”

“Two things - first off, Anduin’s not as much of a goody-two-shoes as he lets on. Call it a gut feelin.’ Second, look at all the Alliance leaders who DO hate us! Greymane! Whisperwind! Fuckin’ Proudmoore! And you think they’re all gonna lay down their arms just cuz some teenage pretty boy tells ‘em to? That’s NOT how it’s gonna go down and you KNOW IT!”

Jakko groaned. “Fucking…okay, look, I don’t want to argue with you on this.” Political arguments like these were part of the reason Spritzie cut communication for so long.

“Ah, so you’re giving up then?” Spritzie asked with a smirk.

“No, I’m-“

“You said ‘I don’t wanna argue with you on this.’ Which I know is Jakko-speak for ‘I’m wrong and you’re right, I just don’t wanna admit it.’”

“Can we PLEASE just-“

“No!” Spritzie snapped. “Not until you admit that I won the argument!”

“Look, I just want-“

“Oh my gold, you can’t even admit that YOU’RE WRONG!!!”

Spritzie was now standing on top of the bar stool, giving Jakko the most hateful glare he’d seen since…well, the last time they had an argument like this one. “…THIS is why I cut you out of my life. THIS is why Akivani left you, and it’s why Vorz’ka’s gonna leave you too one day. It’s because you’re arrogant. It’s because you think you know what’s best for everybody.”

She paused, then shook his head. “I came because I thought maybe you finally swallowed some of that fuckin’ pride of yours. I shoulda known better.” With that, she hopped off and began storming her way out.

Nice going, you stupid asshole. You just couldn’t do it, could you? You just couldn’t NOT be a piece of shit for five fuckin’ minutes, huh? The fuck is wrong with you? How many times do you have to do this shit before you realize that doing this shit is a bad idea? You are letting EVERYONE down, you STUPID, SELFISH, WORTHLESS-

“Vorz’ka’s pregnant!” Jakko called out before Spritzie could reach the exit.

The goblin turned around and looked over her shoulder. “…What?” she asked.

“…Vorz’ka’s pregnant.” Jakko said again, quieter this time. “I…I need your help, Spritz.”

Spritzie turned back towards Jakko and stared him down. “…Help with what?”

“Shiverblood’s not payin’ enough.” Jakko said. “Not enough to feed three. I…I heard you was with Firebrand now, right? Pay’s good?”

“Yeah. So whaddaya want?” Spritzie pressed, running low on patience.

“…I need you to put in a good word for me. I need a job with Firebrand.” Jakko said. “Please.”

Spritzie stared down Jakko for a good few seconds. She then sighed. “…I’ll talk to the boss about it.” she said. “If I get you an interview, it’ll probably be at our office in Orgrimmar. Ask for Tamani Tightclamps, she’s our hiring manager.”

“Thanks, Spritz.” Jakko said.

“Don’t thank me.” Spritzie replied. “I’m not doin’ this for you.”

On that note, she turned and left the Hot House. Jakko sighed as he rubbed his face with his hands. Okay. He’ll have an interview. That’s…something, he guessed. All he had to do was not fuck it up.

Good luck with THAT. Stupid asshole…

#World of Warcraft #OC #Roleplay #Wyrmrest Accord #Jakko #Short Story #Spritzie #Firebrand Enterprises

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thecloserkin · 6 years

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fic rec (2/2): I Don’t Hear the Church Bells Chime Anymore Part by Noccalula (Part 1 is here)

They present themselves at the Hydra compound to volunteer as human guinea pigs. This is their last, best shot at taking down Tony Stark and his “imperialist death machine.”

Both of them were iron deficient, running light fevers, and dehydrated to the point that they were immediately given IV fluids. The first few weeks were nothing but antibiotics and lightning rounds of samples and examinations as the medical team worked to ensure that the twins were at least coming to a safe point to begin working on gaining weight and exercising; Pietro could not aptly put into words what it did for his heart to watch the sallowness in Wanda’s skin disappear, her eyes brighten again

almost makes you think their freedom a small price to pay for being restored to to peak health doesn’t it

but that autonomy had been the first thing they were informed that they would be signing over. Wanda had reached down to lay her hand across her brother’s, which lay across her thigh, and gave it a soft squeeze before she put pen to paper and quite literally signed her life away before handing him the instruments to do the same.

have any of you guys ever signed a cell phone carrier contract? or bought anything online from any merchant at all? or opened any kind of bank or credit card account? nobody actually reads the fine print — maybe you’ve seen the video of the voice actor who was hired to read Amazon Kindle’s TOS front to back and it took him 8 hours — but how much of that autonomy that Pietro and Wanda value so much was illusory? Even if they’ve never had a cell phone? …. Sure, we’re free to sign these one-sided impenetrable legalese contracts or walk away, but how do you function as a person in the modern world without signing them? You don’t have to worry about affording a lawyer to decipher them for you, since most of them include mandatory arbitration clauses to prevent you getting your day in court, or god forbid bringing a class action suit against the corporation. There’s no overt coercion going on but it’s not much of a negotiation when one party is holding all the cards. In the previous chapter Pietro and Wanda observed that they didn’t have a choice, really, and here the “choice” to sign their rights away is a farce of freedom. Capitalism is fucking depressing let’s move on to a lighter subject aka sexytimes:

So many of the things that Pietro was dying to do were still logistically tricky but it didn’t stop him from whispering them to her in the dead of night, his lips against her ear or the back of her neck just like old times as she heaved soft sighs, her back pressed against his chest. If they were covert enough, sex could pass for spooning or cuddling when the nurses passed by, shining muted lights into the room to ensure no one had gone awol. Somehow, the thrill of possibly being caught and the shame of just how forbidden the act was became part of the appeal for Wanda.

This is my jam: Sex that passes for spooning? Yesssss. The thrill of being caught? Hell yes. The taboo heightening the hotness? Sign me the fuck up. Can you imagine how wet she got when he whispered all the things he wanted to do to her? And the herculean struggle to stay quiet, to not tip off the nurses, damn I need a shower.

So Wanda gets her period after five years of being too undernourished to get it and the way it happens is the two of them wake up in a pool of blood which ofc freaks them the fuck out THEN when Pietro starts lifting weights without a shirt on there are all these scratches on his back from Wanda’s nails and the doctor who is no one’s fool decides Wanda needs to go on birth control asap. THEN the experimentation begins in earnest and the they insist on separating the twins afterward — these are Herr Strucker’s instructions. Nobody, no other subjects so far, has survived the second round of treatments.

”Now, most of Mengele’s experiments on twins were utterly worthless,” Von Strucker continued … “Because he was not interested in science - he was interested in torture … But we, doctors, are not interested in torture, no. And we noticed very quickly that there was one thing that Mengele missed, His research suggested that twins were more likely to survive lethal experimentations for longer if they were reunited after a separation.”

This is sO cReEpy — no we are doctors we are not torturers we are doing this for SCIENCE ok. It’s little wonder Strucker didn’t miss a beat when the true nature of the twins’ intimacy came to light: he saw it as something he could use. Their soul-deep bond would give him the leverage to fashion them into the perfect weapons. And spoiler alert, they survive! Pietro zips around super fast! Wanda can read minds now!

Though Pietro posed the more immediate physical threat, everyone was markedly more afraid of Wanda. This was something Pietro was almost visibly proud of.

There is a very specific kind of competency porn where one member of your OTP is just bursting with pride at the other member of your OTP doing something superbly well and this is a prime example of that, this is Pietro Maximoff telling these bitches to fuck off because look at my sister she is a telepathic reality-warping witch. (I just rewatched Firefly and the scene in “Ariel” where Simon breaks character in the middle of a hospital heist to save a random patient’s life and River just looks at him is also a prime example of this trope.)

“Superheroes.” The word felt disgustingly capitalist on Wanda’s tongue.

I am crying haha because this is so true. Isn’t the superhero story par excellence about a human with extra-special abilities accomplishing extraordinary things rather than, say, a bunch of regular schmucks building collective power through solidarity? One of the things I love about this fic is the fact that the people who work for Hydra, from Strucker down to Doctor Bellato and Istvan, are none of them evil people. They commit evil deeds, to be sure, but they are working within a system which greatly constrains their array of choices.

They could run forever – he could run forever, with Wanda in his arms. But he knew there was still a growling, raging thing in the pit of his heart that lived in Wanda’s as well, and that thing would not know satisfaction until it knew justice.

This is a very good, succinct account of what drives the twins. Justice is what propels them forward day by day but it is also, I think, what drives them to be together in the romantic sense, because I am not sure if, in a universe where Sokovia remained at peace, the Maximoffs would turn to each other. I think the shared trauma was a necessary precondition to the incest. Fight me but that’s my reading of their characterization in this particular fic, not applicable generally, and god knows I haven’t read any of the comics.

Wanda and Pietro had carried nothing from the old life but one another and fistfuls of nightmares, scars that would never fade and wounds that would never heal save but for through one another.

There is a whole chapter that is like, just the two of them holing up in a hotel and screwing each other’s brains out. A well-deserved interlude, kids. (Well-deserved for me the reader as well, I hasten to add I thought it was a real treat.) There’s a mural erected by some of their erstwhile comrades from the anarchist commune, titled “Long Live the Maximoffs” because they are now apparently the face of the (failed? stalled?) revolution. You know, every time I read the twins’ internal monologue repeating that old “we came into this world together and we’ll leave it together” aphorism it’s like twisting a knife in my heart. Of course it never occurs to them only one of them will die, and the other will have to learn to live without him.

The ultimate betrayal of Wanda’s heart was that the damned thing continued to beat without him.

And there it is. Not to take anything away from Vision but Pietro was the love of her life, thanks for coming to my ted talk. Thanks for joining me in combing through one of my favorite fics of all time and enumerating all the 987654321 reasons I loved it, and thanks to @noccalula-writes for the gift of this brilliant story.

#maxicest #pietro x wanda #fic rec

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your-dietician · 3 years

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Amanda Bussey is becoming the gold standard for Special Olympics golf

New Post has been published on https://tattlepress.com/golf/amanda-bussey-is-becoming-the-gold-standard-for-special-olympics-golf/

Amanda Bussey is becoming the gold standard for Special Olympics golf

There’s a strong case to be made that one of the most versatile athletes on the First Coast is 36-year-old Special Olympian Amanda Bussey of Jacksonville.

She’s certainly one of the most decorated. Bussey has won 18 medals in Florida State Special Olympics competition (seven gold, six silver and five bronze) and more than 30 medals when adding regional events.

And Amanda has earned those medals in six sports: golf, bowling, basketball, soccer, surfing and stand-up paddle boarding.

But her ticket to next year’s Special Olympics U.S. Games in Orlando is golf, where she qualified under the alternate-shot format, which pairs a Special Olympian with a family member or friend. They then take turns hitting shots on each hole for a team score.

In Amanda Bussey’s case, her partner will be Hidden Hills member Jane Verkouten, a retired banker from Charlotte, N.C., who never imagined herself playing a sport on a national stage before she met Amanda – a match orchestrated by Robin Luck, another Hidden Hills member whose son Ryan plays Special Olympics golf.

To this day Luck, who is a volunteer on the Northeast Florida Region Special Olympics management team, isn’t sure why he thought Amanda and Jane would make a good team.

“I really didn’t know they would,” he said. “I just threw it out there. I thought Jane might be the type of person who was interested.”

Amanda had been playing with her mother, but Julie Bussey, a real estate advisor for Engel and Volkers, was concerned her job wasn’t giving her enough time to play and practice and asked Luck to help her find another partner.

Verkouten and her husband Steve Bona don’t have children together (Bona has one son from a previous marriage) but she doesn’t view the relationship with Amanda Bussey as a mother-daughter or even big sister-little sister dynamic.

All she knows is that it works, and it has enriched her life.

“She’s such an incredible, happy person,” Verkouten said of Amanda. “She’s so enthusiastic about playing and gets so excited when we have a round scheduled. I get texts from her all that day telling me how she can’t wait to get on the golf course. I would just describe it as a really good friendship. We celebrate birthdays and Christmas, go to lunch and dinner … and we play a lot of golf.”

In addition to her intellectual disability, Amanda is deaf because of spinal meningitis that nearly killed her when she was 2 years old. Her mother, Verkouten and other family and close friends can understand her but mostly Amanda communicates with her eyes, gestures and smile — all of which speak volumes.

And less than year out from the 2022 U.S. Special Olympics, Amanda is already counting down the days.

“June 5,” she says excitedly, pumping both of her arms in the air.

And while Amanda has excelled in multiple sports, golf is her favorite, for one key reason.

“It takes a long time,” she said.

Her mother explained.

“It takes longer to play a round of golf than a basketball or soccer game,” she said. “That means Amanda gets to spend more time doing something she loves.”

A happy baby, then questions

Julie Bussey, a Bishop Kenny graduate, read all the baby books. She had long conversations with her doctor. She took all of the prenatal precautions. She was more than ready for her first-born child Amanda, who checked in at a healthy 7 pounds, 10 ounces on Sept. 23, 1984 at the Valley Medical Center in Fayetteville, N.C., near Fort Bragg, where her father Larry was a paratrooper with the 82nd Airborne.

In the first few weeks, friends and family fawned over Amanda’s dark brown eyes and curly dark hair. Words such as “gorgeous” and “beautiful” were music to the ears of her mother, who spent long hours cradling a happy infant who smiled frequently, nursed enthusiastically and hardly ever cried.

“When she was hungry or needed changing, she could make these small sounds, a very subtle fuss,” Julie Bussey said. “She never cried at the top of her lungs. It was more of a pouty sound, and when she got fed or changed, she stopped. Everything was good.”

But by the time Amanda reached four months old, her mother began noticing little things. She had read enough to know a baby’s timetable: when they could hold their heads up, when they could roll over or when they attempted to get on hands and knees to crawl.

Months went by without Amanda reaching those milestones. Her mother had her tested at Walter Reed Army Hospital in suburban Washington D.C., and doctors didn’t come up with anything conclusive, other than Amanda had low muscle tone and slow motor skills.

They eventually diagnosed her with muscular dystrophy, “just so we could start some therapy,” Julie Bussey said.

Much later, then found out that Amanda had what is now called “I/DD” — intellectual and developmental differences.

Once again, Julie Bussey followed doctors’ advice diligently and never missed a therapy session or working with her daughter at home.

She became pregnant with her son Daniel (daughters Rachel and Tiffany would follow), with all four children born within a five-year span.

It was large, happy family.

Then every mother’s nightmare came dangerously close to coming true.

Slipping away … then coming back

Julie Bussey went to the small bedroom where 2-year-old Amanda had been put down for an afternoon nap a few hours earlier. When she picked her daughter up, Bussey said the feeling was as if Amanda “was on fire.”

She quickly took the baby’s temperature: 105 degrees. Amanda was rushed to Fort Bragg’s Womack Medical Center, where measures were quickly taken to try to control the raging fever.

There was little change the next morning. Julie Bussey had not left her child’s side but watching her laying on her back, listless, hardly moving, a horrible feeling began coursing through her body.

“I saw her leaving me,” Julie Bussey said. “I called for the nurse and told her, ‘I can see her going away … get someone in here. Do something.’”

Doctors did a spinal tap and more aggressive antibiotics were started. Julie Bussey was told the devastating news: Amanda might not survive the day.

But it’s also when Julie Bussey found out that she had one tough little girl. Amanda held on … and slowly came back. She was in the hospital for two weeks before being discharged.

Julie Bussey said one other child in their neighborhood caught meningitis but never really found out how Amanda contracted it.

Later, they found out one lasting effect: Amanda was completely deaf in her left ear, and she is unable to hear high-frequency sounds in her right ear.

The meningitis also slowed down Amanda’s physical therapy and timetable for crawling, walking and talking.

However, she more than made up for lost time.

Catching up and being a kid

By the time Amanda was 5 years old, her motor skills began catching up to what was considered typical for a child that age. Her mother moved her and her brother and sisters back to the First Coast in 1990 and soon after, Amanda hit every kid milestone on time: learning to ride a bike, swim and more than that, keep up with her siblings and the other kids in their Atlantic Beach neighborhood.

It was almost as if Amanda had some catching up to do.

“Physically, she caught everyone and there wasn’t a thing that the other kids were doing that she couldn’t do,” Julie Bussey said. “And we treated her as normally as possible. Her brother and sisters were always great with her, and the kids in the neighborhood accepted her, once they learned to understand her challenges as far as her hearing and speech.”

Family friends expressed some surprise that Julie Bussey made the same demands of Amanda as her other children.

“She had to clean her room, clear the table after dinner … everything the other kids had to do,” she said. “People would actually be surprised about that but Amanda was the one who wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The difficult part was when Julie Bussey’s other children began going to Fletcher High School, getting their driver’s license and getting after-school jobs. Amanda simply couldn’t engage in most of the rites of passage for teenagers.

One place where Amanda wasn’t held back was sports. She has been competitive in every sport she’s attempted but golf is what got her to the U.S. Special Olympics, where she and Ryan Luck are the only two of an estimated 1,200 Special Olympic athletes in Duval qualified in golf, and among 17 statewide.

Going for the gold

Once Amanda started winning Special Olympics medals, there has been no stopping her. And it’s to the point where silver and bronze aren’t good enough anymore.

“She hates to lose,” her mother said. “You can tell that when she’s on the podium with the other athletes to get their medals, she’s not happy unless she’s standing on the higher step for gold.”

Amanda Bussey began playing golf 12 years ago when The Players Championship sponsored a clinic for special-needs adults at the TPC Sawgrass. Her mother had no idea how good her daughter would be but it only took one swing to convince her.

“She started hitting the ball and it was like anything else she’s tried … she’s a natural athlete,” Julie Bussey said. “I kept thinking, ‘wow’ … one more thing she can do.”

Special Olympics golfers have to progress in stages. They must first perform in a skills challenge not unlike Augusta National’s Drive, Chip and Putt competition, then progress to the second phase, playing alternate shot with a non-Special Olympian.

That’s where Verkouten came in. The two then had to win a gold medal at the Florida Special Olympics and then go into a lottery system

They found out in mid-June that Amanda and Verkouten had made it. In Orlando next year, they will be competing against more than 200 other golfers from the U.S. representing all 50 states.

“She loves the game and she keeps getting better,” Verkouten said of Amanda. “She hits incredible tee shots, but like every other golfer, she’ll have some good and bad shots, good and bad putts. We’re both kind of unpredictable that way. But she will play as often as she can get out there.”

“Putting is hard,” Amanda agreed.

She then pointed to a leather tag on her golf bag that has become their mantra: “No water, no sand.”

Out on her own

Amanda Bussey moved out of her mother’s house five years ago and lives at the Arc Jacksonville Village, a residence for adults with special needs who are able to live and work on their own.

She had a job at Steinmart for 16 years before the chain went out of business, and now works at Marshall’s. She has three nephews and nieces and is the “fun” aunt, according to her mother.

“She loves babies and they’ve loved her right back,” Julie Bussey said. “She’s an adult but she’s still such a kid at heart. It’s why she loves sports so much.”

Golf may become the fastest-growing sport for children and adults with special needs. This past spring, Amy Bockerstette of Paradise Valley Community College near Phoenix, already believed to be the first athletes with Down syndrome to play college sports on scholarship, achieved another first, playing in the National Junior College Championship women’s championship in Ormond Beach.

Modern sports psychologists who work with golfers stress staying in the moment, not worrying about results and putting both good and bad shots behind. Julie Bussey said that’s exactly how her daughter not only plays golf but approaches life.

“She takes joy in hitting every shot,” she said of her daughter. “I wish I could live in her world just for five minutes – not worry about work, the cable bill, food prices – just live for every moment. That’s the blessing she gives all of us.”

Verkouten said her relationship and the days she has spent with Amanda on the golf course have taught her a valuable lesson.

“When I’m having a bad day at golf, I just think of how happy it makes Amanda to just be out there,” she said. “Then you don’t worry so much about a bad shot.”

About Special Olympics

• The Northeast Florida Region of Special Olympics has more than 3,000 athletes — around 1,200 in Duval County.

• There will be 17 athletes from the Northeast Florida Region who will represent the state in the Special Olympics U.S. Games in Orlando June 5-12, 2022.

• More than 4,000 athletes and 10,000 volunteers will participate in the U.S. Games.

• For information on the programs offered in Northeast Florida Special Olympics, visit the web site at specialolympicsflorida.org/northeast.

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ooc-but-stylish · 6 years

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The ending to XV is still a robbery until they change it to something more sensible. There’s insufficient proof that the world is actually alright after Noctis sacrifices himself, and they took time to show that Noctis had plans to unify the different empires for peacetime. He was taken away before putting those plans in action and proving himself as a leader. What we have now is a half-assed MMO in Comrades and some token cutscenes in the Retcon Edition, but that doesn’t change that the main game's ending only covers the bare minimum (the dawn comes back). It says nothing about people or politics or anything about the WORLD the game and its side material have supposedly been trying to build.

Comrades expects us to believe that the people formed some kind of competent defense system plus governing body to lead them through ten years, that they could just keep using after Noctis died, just because they put it there and it exists in some form “in canon” and told us that’s how things were going.

That ignores the fact that it was only months/weeks before Chapter 13 that Insomnia was destroyed and upwards of thousands of people were displaced from their homes with no functional currency to use in the outside world. They were completely uprooted from their ‘advanced’ lifestyle-- a lifestyle which included their reliance on orphans of war and refugees from towns that Insomnia had abandoned in the first place (see: Galahd), a lifestyle that enabled the natives of the crown city to shamelessly treat those exact same refugees like second-class citizens while exploiting their labor-- the Kingsglaive were the ones giving their lives to defend Insomnia and they are mostly made of refugees that are all aware that Regis was using them for his own ends and they wouldn’t have betrayed him if they didn’t think that way. The natives were complicit, and those people needed to then adjust to a life multiple steps down from their usual standards, to live in areas where no one uses cellphones or has cellphone service to begin with, they have shitty cars that break down too often, and a nighttime stroll can kill them.

Insomnians are fucking coddled and wouldn’t be magically cured of it by having their home blown up, is what I’m saying here. There would still realistically be tension between them and the residents of neighboring towns that a) live under the heel of Niflheim, b) resent Insomnia and Regis, or c) they don’t think Niflheim is doing anything wrong ( it takes until Comrades for an NPC to say they don’t trust the radio. ) And then, how well would anyone handle it if they tried to get settled into another place like Lestallum or Galdin or migrated to Altissia for asylum and Altissia got fucked by Leviathan, Lestallum had a daemon infestation incident in its very own power plant, and Galdin eventually became uninhabitable from daemons? There’s at least one (1) unlucky person that’s survived all that nonsense and seen every home they’ve tried to make destroyed or compromised. That’s got to be bad for health and identity.

Even then, whatever didn’t belong to Insomnia belonged to Niflheim, even if it gave the impression of independence. Regis and Iedolas are definitely dead. Did the Altissian lady survive the ten years? She could be useful. Other than her, who else is savvy enough to lead people? There was Noctis, yeah, but no one in the world mentions having waited for Noctis or believed in his return without having actually known him. Does the general public even know why the world went dark? Would anyone believe that Ardyn was responsible for it? The Chancellor of Niflheim? The guy no one knew? The guy that no one respected? Ardyn played himself off as a nobody with connections. No one would believe he's a Lucis Caelum, the history books say he’s Izunia ( his maiden name before being blessed by the gods, I suppose ) and that doesn't sound like it was something that was ever publicized during the ten years of darkness even though Ignis and Talcott somehow found out in unexplained records that were somehow as legible then as they were 2000 years ago because I dunno, linguistic drift doesn’t exist in their world or something.

So there’s the people and the politics, what’s up with their infrastructure? Like I said, Lestallum’s been harvesting power from the meteor shards and somehow for some reason in this city that’s meant to be safe from daemons, they get a daemon infestation anyway right inside the power plant and it took Holly by surprise meaning... maybe, just maybe, the meteor has the parasitic Starscourge in it. And they’re still using its power for all their stuff. Does anyone in their world understand that at all? That’s like if the Lifestream were directly causing Geostigma and ShinRa still kept using Mako energy post-Advent Children, or if they still kept experimenting on people with Jenova Cells. It’s incredibly dumb.

More so since there are no professional medics or even hospitals in this world. Noctis almost died against Leviathan and instead of being someplace where his vitals are monitored and nurses tend to him, he’s sleeping it off in a bedroom. Nearly drowning is something you can just sleep through, apparently. There’s no medical care to speak of outside of the Oracle, which is baffling, since everyone in-universe should know that “healing items” don’t work, and post-Chapter 13, magic barely exists outside of the MarySueGlaives in Comrades.

What this means is the Starscourge would’ve fucked people over significantly. I can't imagine there's many children left after the ten years. They tend to be the most susceptible when epidemics happen. Them, the elderly, and refugees which there’d be a lot of. And I don’t think the Scourge would magically miss any important people like engineers and whatnot so a fair amount of them must have gone too. Just in general, anyone with connections put other people in danger by contact; it’s Starscourge that’s killing people, but the infected still have some amount of coherence left immediately after turning daemon ( see: Ravus, Iedolas, etc ), which would be ‘human enough’ to affect those that care for them. Sadly for them, only the Oracle can heal the Scourge, so they’re all as good as dead. the Scourge is explicitly described as "Plasmodium malariae" and "insect-borne", so... mosquitoes. Mosquitoes are transmitting this disease ( if it's not the "miasma" the infected exude in their later stages ) and considering how easily it proliferated throughout Eos, no one invented repellent or breathing masks. Either that or people don't keep themselves clean.

And yeah. Healing items don’t work. "Items like potions and elixirs gain their healing power from Noctis's growing ability", otherwise potions are merely energy drinks. The flavor text for other items are the same way, so everyone is fucked if another meteor drops. Peep this:

Antidote: "A refreshing herbal drink that takes on curative properties by way of Noctis's powers." Phoenix Downs: "A talisman that takes on miraculous properties ..." Mega-Phoenix: "An elite energy drink transmuted into a miraculous plume..."/"A consecrated talisman that takes on miraculous properties..." Potion: "An energy drink that takes on healing properties..." Hi-Potion: "A high-end energy drink that takes on healing properties..." Elixir and Hi-Elixir: "A legendary energy drink that takes on superior restorative properties..." Megalixir: "The ultimate energy drink that takes on supreme restorative properties..."

So in other words, those items every shopkeeper sells are silly trinkets, luck charms, energy drinks, and no normal person who's ever bought those has had their life saved by one in their entire, presumably short thereafter, life. Yet they’re regularly sold everywhere. The only person whose "regular consumables" were known to actually help and have magical properties was Kimya, an elderly woman who... what was that... ah yes, got demonized by her sister Ezma/Izania for being a witch, and was cast out, even though Kimya's potions by her own admission were "very special", could "Repel the daemons, [strengthen] the Oracle’s blessing," and were used at havens. Izania exiled her sister to the forest, to practice her "witchcraft" alone, and made the forest off-limits. Not to mention the ten years of darkness after Luna and Ravus died meant there was no one to renew the spells on any campground havens around Eos. Lestallum is a WYSIWYG affair. Comrades tries to “make this better” by setting her up in Lestallum to imply she was no longer demonized and free to do her witch things, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that as far as the main game is concerned, she stopped existing past her sidequest.

Dino wanted to become a jeweler and create accessories. Accessories have flavor text that suggest their properties are real and not magical/imbued by Noctis. Dino is turned into a daemon by the end of the timeskip. That he shows up in Comrades doesn’t change that it’s his clothes in Galdin Quay around the area he used to sit around in.

Sania had knowledge of what the Scourge was and with that knowledge would come how best to prevent its spread. Sania died/became a daemon by the end of he timeskip and her research was abandoned in a diner.

Point is, the original game's ending is a more "fake happy" ending than Verse 2. Verse 2 at least looks like it leads into further development for the characters and the chance things will go the way Noctis wants, with the most helpful non-Oracle people being present to use their knowledge and expertise. Verse 1 is an ending that only looks good on paper and addresses just one (1) concern of the plot at the expense of everything else. Noctis is dead, Luna is dead, Ravus is dead, none of the Bros are happy, all ( if not most ) of the world leaders are gone, the lead researcher on the Scourge died, the “local witch” didn’t survive, the jeweler is gone and so is the reporter with lore about the world, there's no magic, and that’s not getting into the fact that there are specific Scourge-infested dungeons that only open at night ( which are also difficult to access and optional for Noctis to get rid of ) and just... in the end who the hell is gonna care about some boy that fishes and strikes JJBA poses? He was fucking around Eos on a road trip, planting carrots, catching frogs, and finding abandoned weaponry in caves while ( and after ) his country got invaded, Titan shook the earth, and the Imperials were shooting innocent people. But look, his posse took a photo in front of a Magitek dropship!

I mean, we could make the case that Prompto's photos help cement that Noctis was a real person and not a puppet that those in power could ideologically castrate post-mortem and put words in his mouth to support whatever agenda they would try to push using his imagery, but that requires, like, Noctis to even be important in the public eye and have had a more political presence than a bedside confession to Prompto and a speech to a handful of people in the Retcon Edition. It also helps if anyone aside from his four friends and a bunch of nobodies actually heard him speak to begin with. He's really easy to misquote and put words into when no one gave him a voice. It’d be even better if he were actually alive. People interpreting his wish for Eos with their own biases of who he was as a person and how best he’d want things done isn’t the same thing as him doing it himself and proving his character.

#ffxv criticism #long post #ffxv critical #noctis lucis caelum

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neglectkills · 3 years

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Neglect In The Spotlight: What the Framing Britney Spears Documentary tells us about the Right Way & The Wrong Way to Help Someone You Care About

The recent New York Times documentary, “Framing Britney Spears;” is notable for bringing attention to the issue of Conservatorship Abuse by highlighting the legal and personal battles of superstar and pop icon Britney Spears; whose recent battle against her father for legal/medical/ and financial conservatship of her body, mind, Art, and estate, has recently taken center stage; thanks to many of the star’s sometimes overzealous fans who have taken a personal interest in their favorite pop idol’s personal affairs.

For those of us who grew up with the Pop Icon, her massive stardom and (frankly justified) public meltdowns shaped our view not only of the Artist Britney Spears, but also of celebrity itself. That’s why it’s not surprising that the “Free Britney” movement (a movement that believes that Britney Spears should have sole control over her conservatship, so that she can manage her own financial and personal affairs) is so popular with people in their twenties and thirties, people who like me, who grew up during the days of tabloid celebrity culture; and believe that Britney got a bum break by being dragged through the mud by ex boyfriends, the press, and the tabloids; simply for being a woman who was not only talented, beautiful, and sexy but also absurdly famous.

To watch, in retrospect, how horrifically this young woman was treated simply for being outstanding amongst her peers; is disturbing, to say the least... But is also seared into our collective minds as part of her superstardom. We see the paparazzi tabloid culture of the early 2000’s as part of the myth and mystery of this particular celebrity’s story, as well as an intrical part of celebrity itself. We, as society, see it as a trade off: They build you up just to break you down, but that’s the price of being rich and famous. You could argue that the same thing happened to stars as diverse as Marilyn Monroe to Shelley Duvall; and the press does seem particularly cruel to female stars who have lost their “shimmer,” either by reality or perception.

Feminist journalists and philosophers have pointed out that Britney’s story, in some ways, is a common to the female experience; women who are successful and powerful, and seemingly in control of their sexuality; tend to attract the judgement of society; as well as the disdain of men, and the jealousy of other women. The virgin/whore complex, or paradigm; won’t allow such women to be virgins and seductresses, mothers and businesswomen, performers and emotional Artists with something to say. What Britney, like so many other women is most guilty of... Is just trying to live her life; in spite of the unfair judgements, criticism, envy, jealousy, and disdain of others.

That’s why I think the documentary does a good job of holding the press accountable for its smear-campaign against its number one teen pop starlet. It does a great job of holding society responsible for the many sexist double-standards that we hold male and female celebrities apart; and I think it does a decent job of illustrating the genuine concern that many Britney Spears fans have for their favorite female artist.

Where I think the documentary falters, though, is its framing of the “#FreeBritney” movement as being entirely benign, benevolent, and helpful. Though I’m sure many of the people featured in the documentary genuinely care about Miss Spears’ health, happiness, and welfare; and believe that they are genuinely fighting for the rights of someone who is highly competent and capable; there are still others who have used evidence of Britney Spears’ past mental health struggles, nearly a decade ago, as evidence to the contrary.

While no one can ever know or understand the very personal and private struggles, feelings, or thoughts of someone else. Especially someone whose life experiences are as exceptional as Britney Spears’, I would argue that many both inside and outside of the #FreeBritney movement, are currently doing more harm than good.

The backlash of the documentary isn’t that more people are seeing Britney Spears as a competent grown woman who capable of taking care of her own affairs... But rather there are many who are using the documentary to push the once popular perception that there’s something so wrong with the star’s mental health, because of the seemingly stress-induced nervous breakdown she had in her twenties, that it justifies why she was placed in a conservatship in the first place.

If we can use our empathy and compassion to put ourselves into her shoes for a moment: How would you like complete strangers asking you if you’re “ok?” How would you like people on YouTube, Facebook, and Instagram commenting that they are “concerned” for your mental health?

To anyone of us that has been the victim of a Narcissistic smear-campaign; we can understand her pain on a smaller-scale, but not on the world-scale on which she finds herself. To anyone who has battled trauma or depression; or faced other mental health struggles, themselves; we know for a fact this is not the right way to advocate for someone who might be struggling; and yet casual disdain and disregard for “tabloid celebrities” feelings, is something we’ve all grown far too comfortable with and accustomed too.

I personally think that Britney Spears learned how to silence the “haters” a long time ago... She probably knows that a certain amount of criticism or speculation is the price she paid of fame... But at the same time, no matter how rich and famous someone is; it can’t completely block out such outrageous speculation. No amount of fame can silence thoughts that everyone thinks you’re “crazy” just because your whole life is out there for the world to see; and no amount of money can block out feelings of being isolated or misunderstood. Especially when those feelings are coming from your so-called “fans” and “supporters.”

Those of us who were initially concerned for her conservatship situation are now concerned that this speculation about the Star’s health is only piling onto an image of “instability” that she has been trying to shake off since she was in her twenties.

Just a quick look at Britney’s Instagram can tell you how many people are only interested in the spectacle of concern, of feigning concern, rather than showing actual concern.

The documentary opens and closes with a good argument: The Britney Spears Conservatship is unfair, because she is has proven herself to be healthy and highly competent. It also makes a fair argument that Spears’ father, Jaime Spears, and several other members of the stars family (including lawyers and doctors hired by allegedly abusive family members) don’t have the star’s best interests at heart. I think that, in many ways, even beyond the documentary... is obvious.

The truth is, none of us know what Britney Spears’ personal financial, medical, or mental health situation really is; and that’s why none of us can speculate as to whether or not she’s competent enough to handle her own affairs. Our speculation is just that speculation; we know that she might not be in an ideal situation, but it’s not for us to judge what an ideal situation would be. The world we know, the image we perceive of her, as she so eloquently put in one of her Instagram posts; is just on the other side of the camera’s lens. But does that make us powerless to help someone who we perceive as being potentially medically neglected or financially abused? I’d say the answer is no.

The way we help people like Britney Spears, and people in the same kind of situation that the Britney Spears documentary depicts, isn’t by speculating about their competency or mental health; but creating safe spaces in which they can tell their own stories.

We advocate for others by creating the conditions in which they can advocate for themselves; and we write articles and essays like this, with the hope that the messages of self-advocacy and support will spread far and wide enough that they will find themselves into the Star’s private circle. So that those closest to the victim/survivor, can help support her, and advocate for what’s best for their loved one.

I know it makes me a hypocrite to pile on like this, because it does sound like I’m also offering my two-cents about what’s best for Britney, someone I’ve never even met, or could ever hope to meet... But the fact is this issue affects me personally because I had to advocate, in the past, for a loved one who was in the same kind of situation that the Britney Spears documentary depicts. My loved one was being financially abused and medically neglected, and I had to legally intervene; in order to make sure my loved one was both receiving proper medical care and control of their own finances. I’ve also had friends who were in similar situations, who died due to medical neglect, after being placed on the wrong psychiatric medications.

Therefore, I understand both as an advocate and as a victim; the harm of neglect and abuse. Neglect, in particular, can be as subtle as pretending to advocate for a victim’s health and best interests; but giving them either the wrong medication, the wrong dosage, or even the wrong diagnosis. This is particularly common in women, as women are likely to be diagnosed with mood disorders that require medication. Therefore, if Britney Spears is experiencing some kind of medical abuse or neglect, then that can be very dangerous.

It’s only because I have some experience in this field, as a nurse and as a family member of someone who was in a similar situation, that I feel comfortable offering any comment at all; but I’m humble enough to understand that I know absolutely nothing about Britney Spears’ personal situation, from the outside looking in.

I believe the best way to advocate for any and all victims of abuse and neglect is simply to give them the freedom and space to tell their own stories, so that they can be their own best advocates, that’s how we can #FreeBritneySpears and many others. Not by assuming we know what’s best for them, based on our own limited experiences; but by giving them the support, dignity, and respect that they deserve and require to make healthy decisions and live their own best lives.

- Neglect Kills

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