#Lung function improvement

[mostech77]

Improve Lung Function Naturally: Effective Strategies

Breathing is essential for life, yet many overlook the importance of maintaining healthy lungs. Your lungs play a vital role in delivering oxygen to your body and removing carbon dioxide. Over time, factors like pollution, smoking, or lack of exercise can impact their efficiency. Fortunately, there are natural ways to support and enhance your respiratory health. Lung capacity refers to the amount…

[rotinthedark]

Jumping on the badwagon, how screwed are you if you're caught out in the zombie apocalypse with your muse?

[mudassir160]

Detox Your Lungs Naturally: A Comprehensive Guide

In today’s world, our lifestyles and environmental factors can lead to various respiratory issues, making lung detoxification essential. If you’re experiencing mucus build-up, phlegm in your throat, or seeking recovery strategies after smoking, this guide offers natural remedies and lifestyle adjustments to help cleanse your lungs.

Common indicators include:

Excess mucus or phlegm in the throat.

A persistent cough, particularly with yellow, green, or bloody mucus.

Shortness of breath and chest congestion.

Read More>>>

[theambitiouswoman]

Herbs for healing 🌿

🌿 Herbs for immune support

• Echinacea: Boosts the immune system and fights colds.

• Elderberry: Helps with colds, flu, and respiratory health.

• Astragalus: Strengthens immunity and combats stress.

🌿 Herbs for digestive health

• Peppermint: Eases bloating, gas, and indigestion.

• Ginger: Relieves nausea and improves digestion.

• Fennel: Reduces bloating and supports gut health.

🌿 Herbs for stress and anxiety

• Ashwagandha: Reduces stress and supports adrenal health.

• Chamomile: Calms the mind and aids sleep.

• Lemon balm: Soothes anxiety and promotes relaxation.

🌿 Herbs for skin health

• Calendula: Speeds up wound healing and reduces inflammation.

• Turmeric: Fights inflammation and brightens the skin.

• Aloe vera: Soothes burns and hydrates the skin.

🌿 Herbs for detoxification

• Milk thistle: Supports liver health and detoxification.

• Dandelion: Cleanses the liver and promotes kidney health.

• Burdock root: Purifies the blood and supports skin health.

🌿 Herbs for hormonal balance

• Maca root: Supports energy and hormonal balance.

• Chasteberry (Vitex): Helps regulate menstrual cycles.

• Red clover: Balances hormones and supports menopause.

🌿 Herbs for pain relief

• Willow bark: A natural alternative to aspirin.

• Devil’s claw: Eases joint pain and inflammation.

• Cayenne pepper: Reduces pain through its active compound, capsaicin.

🌿 Herbs for energy and focus

• Ginseng: Boosts energy and mental clarity.

• Rhodiola: Enhances focus and reduces fatigue.

• Gotu kola: Improves memory and brain function.

🌿 Herbs for respiratory health

• Mullein: Supports lung health and soothes the respiratory system.

• Thyme: Clears mucus and fights infections.

• Licorice root: Soothes sore throats and reduces inflammation.

Always speak with a healthcare provider before starting any new herbs, especially if you’re pregnant, nursing or taking medications.

[saywhat-politics]

America Is Backsliding Toward Its Most Polluted Era

When you inhale a microscopic speck of soot, its journey may go like this: The particle enters your nose and heads into your lungs, penetrating even the tiny air sacs that facilitate gas exchange. Next it may slip into your bloodstream and flow into your heart, or past the blood-brain barrier. Most of us inhale some of these tiny particles every day. But inhaling enough can turn the act of breathing into an existential hazard, prompting or worsening asthma, COPD, respiratory infections, and permanent lung damage. In the heart, the specks can trigger heart disease, heart attacks, and most of the cardiovascular disorders you can think of. Air pollution is also associated with depression and anxiety, and with higher rates of suicide. It can trigger strokes and is linked to dementia or—even at average levels in this country—Parkinson’s disease.

These particles can also cross the placenta, where they can reduce an infant’s lung function before birth. A pre-polluted baby is also more likely to arrive prematurely, and at a lower weight. Exposure to bad air in utero is associated with a higher risk of autism, and exposure in childhood has been linked to behavioral and cognitive problems, including lower IQ. A person’s lungs can develop until age 25, and as Alison Lee, a pulmonologist at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai, put it to me, “once you’ve lost lung function, you can’t get it back.” Persistent exposure to air pollution can cause permanent harm, creating health problems for children and setting them up to become sicker adults.

It’s hard to picture a person dropping dead from air pollution, yet it happens all the time. In the United States, particulate matter is estimated to kill more than twice as many people as vehicular accidents do—in total, some 100,000 to 200,000 people a year, as an underlying factor of chronic disease or by way of heart attacks, asthma attacks, and other sudden events. Even as air quality in America has improved, researchers have found that relatively low concentrations of particulate matter can cause major hazards.

[mindblowingscience]

The humble mushroom is a fungi with plenty of potential. Previous research has shown mushrooms can reduce depression risk, improve brain cell growth, and guard against cancer – and a new study shows they may protect against influenza too. Researchers led by a team from McGill University in Canada found that the beta-glucan fibers found in all types of mushrooms could act as a sort of barrier to flu, limiting inflammation in the lungs of mice exposed to infection after a dose of beta-glucan. What's more, the mice given the fibers showed improved lung function and a lower risk of serious illness and death when hit with the flu. Human trials will tell us more, but this is already a promising avenue for researchers to explore.

Continue Reading.

[ptseti]

Racial Bias in Medicine Episode 2: Pulmonary Function Tests In medicine, there is a device called the spirometer that incorrectly assumed all Black and Asian people innately had lower lung capacity compared to White people. In May 2023, the American Thoracic Society recommended a race-neutral approach to interpreting spirometry. In 2024, a study published in the New England Journal of Medicine showed that more Black patients would have qualified for different disease classifications, occupational eligibility, disability payments, and more if race-neutral equations had been used. And in 2025, a study in JAMA Network Open revealed that these race-neutral equations improved asthma diagnosis in Black children—identifying up to four times more cases than the outdated race-based formulas. Race-based medicine isn’t just outdated, it’s dangerous. It masks disease, delays treatment, and denies care. It’s time to stop confusing race with biology and start treating patients as individuals not assumptions. #joelbervell #medicalmythbuster #racialbiasinmedicine #spirometry #medicine

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

In patients with long COVID, lower pulmonary gas exchange may be associated with impaired cognitive function, according to a study being presented next week at the annual meeting of the Radiological Society of North America (RSNA).

According to the National Center for Health Statistics, approximately 17.6% of adults in the U.S. have experienced a post-COVID condition commonly referred to as long COVID. People with long COVID may exhibit a wide variety of symptoms, including difficulty concentrating ("brain fog"), change in sense of smell or taste, fatigue, joint or muscle pain, dyspnea (shortness of breath), digestive symptoms, and more. These symptoms may persist for weeks, months, or even years after COVID-19 infection.

Researchers from the University of Iowa in Iowa City set out to assess associations between pulmonary MRI gas exchange, structural and functional brain MRI, and cognition in long COVID patients. In pulmonary gas exchange, oxygen moves from the lungs to the bloodstream, while carbon dioxide moves from the bloodstream to the lungs.

"This is the first time that MRI has been used to jointly assess lung and brain function to investigate their relationship in long COVID," said the study's lead author Keegan Staab, B.S., graduate research assistant in the Department of Radiology at the University of Iowa in Iowa City. "This research is new in that it combines multiple unique imaging types to study a multiorgan relationship in a disease population."

Senior study author Sean B. Fain, Ph.D., professor and vice chair for research in the Department of Radiology at the University of Iowa, added, "If these findings can be generalized to the long COVID population, the study suggests that there may be a causative relationship between cognitive dysfunction and lung dysfunction, suggesting a potential treatment strategy using methods that target improved gas exchange."

For the study, 10 female and 2 male patients (median age: 59 years) who had persistent dyspnea and/or fatigue following the resolution of acute COVID-19 infection were recruited from a post-COVID-19 clinic. Hyperpolarized Xe pulmonary MRI, structural and functional brain MRI, pulmonary function tests and cognitive tests were acquired.

"129Xe MRI allows for advanced measurements of ventilation and gas exchange," Staab said. "The literature also indicates that 129Xe may be more sensitive to pulmonary injury compared to standard breathing tests, making it better suited to study long COVID in which patients typically have normal breathing tests."

Perceived cognitive difficulties were measured using Patient-Reported Outcomes Measurement Information System, and objective cognitive performance was assessed using the National Institutes of Health Toolbox V3 Cognition Battery.

"There was a range of cognitive difficulties among the patients in the study," Staab said. "Some were mild and indicated slight dysfunction, while others were more serious and indicated that some patients have slow thinking and trouble concentrating several times per day."

The results showed that lower pulmonary gas exchange may be associated with cognitive dysfunction, as well as lower gray matter and white matter volumes in patients with long COVID. In addition, the researchers observed significant relationships suggesting that increased cerebral blood flow is associated with decreased gas exchange in long COVID patients.

Staab said larger studies are needed to investigate the association between gas exchange and cerebral blood flow in long COVID.

"This relationship could be a compensatory mechanism where lower lung function is compensated by higher cardiac output and higher brain perfusion," he said. "It's also a possibility that the disease mechanism that impairs pulmonary gas exchange also leads to higher brain perfusion through downstream vascular injury in both lung and brain."

Based on the findings of this study, gas exchange abnormalities may help identify long COVID patients who require additional treatment or long-term management.

Other co-authors are Marrissa J. McIntosh, Ph.DDD., Jonathan L. Percy, B.S., Andrew D. Hahn, Ph.DDD., Natally AlArab, M.D., Conner J. Wharff, B.S. B.A. RT(R)(MR), Eric Bruening, M.S., Alejandro P. Comellas, M.D., Eric A. Hoffman, Ph.DDD., Carinda Linkenmeyer, M.A.E., Tara Lanning, B.S., and Karin F. Hoth, Ph.DDD.

Note: Copies of RSNA 2024 news releases and electronic images will be available online at RSNA.org/press24.

RSNA is an association of radiologists, radiation oncologists, medical physicists and related scientists promoting excellence in patient care and health care delivery through education, research and technologic innovation. The Society is based in Oak Brook, Illinois. (RSNA.org)

[nyktomorphia]

I admit this is mostly based on how I would redesign a human body to run on batteries, but I did try to keep certain things I remembered in mind. (e.g. Murderbot is obviously bionic, it has to pretend to eat, it can't visually distinguish a combat-grade SecUnit at a glance.)

Additional senses are stored in the face. It's conveniently close to the brain (which is why humans put augments there too), and there are a lot of spare nerve endings there since a SecUnit doesn't need nearly so many in its tongue.

Murderbot's ears (and voice, partially) are electronic, which requires another organ to provide a sense of balance - hence, gyroscopes. Mounting the gyroscopes close to the centre of mass would allow SecUnits to reorient themselves in microgravity without having to push off against another object. That would be one of the recalibrations necessary after its height adjustment.

Murderbot explicitly has to section off part of its lung in order to pretend to eat, which implies a diaphragm as well as a circulatory system (which is an elegant solution for many other things), but its organic components need nutrients for normal function. I'm not sure if it's been said where those come from but I'm assuming some kind of non-digestive injection, which frees up a lot of space for more computers. Murderbot's organic memory seems to be closely linked to its cognition, so it'll probably still die from decapitation, but another processor closer to the physical core would offload subconscious background programmes and greatly improve reaction time by physically shortening the neural pathways. Murderbot also uses it to store its massive media library.

It's hard to improve on a complex appendage like an opposable thumb without making it obviously artificial. The other fingers are less obvious - independently-articulating joints are useful for things like delicate technical work or dismantling firearms one-handed, but even classical musicians rarely do more than have their tendons separated.

SecUnit forearms have only one 'bone', which looks slightly uncanny when twisted but isn't especially distracting unless it draws attention to them by using its energy weapons. The number of humans who have prosthetic forearms and combat enhancements is vanishingly small. Who loses a limb and then plans to keep putting themselves in violent situations anyway? That's what SecUnits are for. (The weapons are mounted in a way to minimise the risk of putting fingers in the path of the beam, as well as cushion against impacts that might otherwise damage the rest of the limb.)

[artbyblastweave]

if you're still wanting to hear parahuman ideas, i do have some that i've been vaguely thinking about at work in order to maintain my sanity the most developed one is a flying artillery-style Mover/Blaster/Shaker who has a sort of slow, floaty flight ability and weak lightning blasts, but can gain improved flight speed and stability, as well as improved lightning blast strength, at the cost of building up a sort of whirling sphere of wind around them, which grows in speed, size, and force as the other abilities intensify(they get to be in a calm sort of eye of the storm, at least, and eventually they're extra safe because the wind can block most projectiles and potentially even other fliers). there's no known upper limit to the scaling, though they run into practical limits regarding collateral damage after a while, especially since the wind-sphere can sort of carry water and weather formations like stormclouds with it, once the intensity is high enough and if the parahuman gets close enough to a body of water or storm.

the primary thought process for this one was wanting to make a flying artillery cape and then also wanting to make a power with a similar scaling effect to Lung's(with a similar unknown or nonexistent upper limit)

it took a bit of thought, but i think their trigger event was definitely an Endbringer attack(probably Leviathan, specifically), brought on by desperation to escape from an increasingly dangerous area and the creature causing the whole thing. the resulting power then gives them the ability to escape or even fight the Endbringer, at the cost of potentially being their own source of massive damage to the surrounding area. i think Leviathan is the best pick here since the lightning blasts are a neat ability to get after triggering from a monster that's constantly covered in water, and their windstorm's ability to grab and carry storms and large amounts of water creates a potential flood risk, matching one of the threats posed by a Leviathan attack(plus they shoot lightning and fly around, things that Behemoth and the Simurgh do, respectively, which is kind of a cute detail).

i think their cape name is Stormbringer(or an equivalent in other languages, depending on where they're actually based in), mostly just to amuse me since it's the name of Elric of Melniboné's sword that cures his immense physical frailty and makes him a deadly warrior, at the cost of causing him personal tragedy and tempting him to violence, and then there's the literal meaning of course. i think of the name as having been assigned when they were first figuring out their power and couldn't really control it, likely causing a lot of damage on accident. as such, they don't really like the name, but it's already stuck at this point.

i don't have a specific location in mind for them, but I think they're definitely heroic, probably not one of the big names in their country but maybe well-known in their state or province or equivalent, since they try to avoid getting too intense with their power due to the associated risks.

the other ideas are a much less developed, so they can just be described with bullet points, fortunately:

Shaker/Trump with a power-scrambling ability that lets them choose between limited control over the effect of the scrambling(could be increased range, decreased range, randomized targets, increased or decreased lethality, etc) and high control over the targeting, or low control over targeting and high control over the effect(and various middle grounds). idea came from trying to figure out a directly offense-focused version of Jack Slash's unknown power(possibly even as someone who triggered during an S9 attack and got a bud from that shard), and eventually became something that doesn't quite fit that, but still seems fun to me

Wizard-themed Tinker with two primary specialties: pocket dimensions(so they can fit a bunch of different functions onto their staff) and reverse-engineering other Tinkers' tech(to get more options for different "spells"). came from the idea that a stereotypical D&D wizard-themed Tinker who "casts fireball" with a real-world rocket-propelled grenade was a fun idea, then i decided it was even more fun once i realized that they'd have to pick a set amount of many of their different effects before heading out to go do cape things, sort of mirroring the notion of spell slots in D&D.

Thinker/Trump who can choose to receive the shard-granted sensory inputs of all parahumans within their range(requires them to actively suppress inputs they don't want). sort of a nebulous and still partly undefined concept, but the idea was a sort of "Thinker command center" who can't use any particular Thinker abilities directly, but gets all the info from them and their shard helps them sort through all the input. and then I remembered that Thinkers aren't an objective category and as such it'd need to be all the sensory input from any power, which is a lot more broad. still seems pretty fun as a concept to me though.

hopefully the super-long ask isn't that much of a bother, i have a bit of a habit of being overly wordy

For the consideration of the Peanut Gallery

[agentarc]

i’m just gonna bite the bullet and post a wip of this fox whump fic i’m cooking

important background info: quinlan is undercover as a maintenance tech for senate droids, and he’s concealing his tattoos via makeup

also i’m genuinely always trying to improve my writing so constructive criticism is welcome

content warning for graphic panic attack and self harm by way of exacerbating injury — please let me know if there’s anything i missed

(also also hi if you like this and you’re in a clone trooper discord please invite me im dying to be social in the clone trooper fandom)

His quarters are on this floor — Fox is reasonably sure — but the distance his feet must carry him to get there stretches and warps until it may as well be a parsec away.

A good soldier would weather the storm and march on. A functioning clone wouldn’t struggle to expand his lungs, put one foot in front of the other, and navigate to his own quarters. Fox is not a functioning clone. Fox is hardly even a soldier.

He must abort mission. He will not make it to his office. He lurches for the nearest door. The keypad flashes red at him.

His knees wobble, and he’s supposed to be a soldier, a marshal commander; he’s knees don’t wobble. His knees can’t wobble, not when he needs to stand steady and lead the Guard; not when his brothers are depending on him to keep them safe. Not when his entire existence hinges on his ability to contribute. Not when he needs to face the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic and pretend he’s in full functioning order when he’s constantly grasping at the fraying edges of control. Fox doesn’t know if he’ll come back when the threads fly apart.

Time does something funny and Fox is on his knees. The keypad sparks and sizzles. The door remains tightly sealed.

“Commander?”

The world slams to a stop. His eyes fly open — when had he closed them? He’s too vulnerable, it’s not safe to fall apart here, he can’t — and a natborn human is hovering at the hallway junction, 20 steps away.

They take a half-step in his direction, and Fox doesn’t have enough control to mask his full-bodied flinch. He knows the natborn sees it because they instantly freeze, raising both their hands in a display of easy surrender.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. I just want to help.” Movements measured and slow, they lower their hands until they’re relaxed at their sides, palms facing out. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Fox can’t. Can’t push words through his teeth, can’t steady his hands, can’t take a full breath — can’t choke back the strangled noise that builds in the back of his throat —

It’s like his armor is see-through, all his cracks on full display, his skin flayed open for the natborn and the vode and all the little gods to feast. It’s not safe. He needs — he needs —

Thorn, he signs desperately, the shape of his brother’s name mangled by tremors. His fingers aren’t listening, but natborns don’t know battlesign anyway, so what’s the point? Fox is well and truly going to die. Fox is going to shake apart right here on the floor of the hallway, his heart is going to smash through his ribs, and the Chancellor will have been right about him all along. Fox is going to die and it won’t even be in the glory of battle, protecting his brothers like he’s meant to, like he wants to. Fox is going to die, and he is going to die an embarrassment; a failure to the Republic and a failure to his brothers.

“Commander,” someone says, and Fox’s attention snaps back to the stranger so fast that it rends a shock of pain through his skull. They have not come closer, but they could have — could have slid up and pricked him with a hypo or put a blaster to his head, and at this range the bolt would zip through his bucket like wet flimsi, and Fox isn’t paying enough attention, this place isn’t safe —

“My name’s Quin. I’m a maintenance tech,” the stranger continues from the junction. They speak firmly, but soft enough that their voice doesn’t echo. “You’re at Guard headquarters, on level 83, maintenance hall 7B, and you’re safe. I think you’re having a panic attack.” Their hands are still visible, but their arms are positioned in a way that suggests they had just used their commlink — to call whom? Maintenance techs don’t usually have direct lines to upper command, who did he call — “You were trying to get into that storage closet, right? I’m going to come closer and open it for you, okay?”

Fox expects them to start approaching, and he flinches reflexively, his body wound tight enough to snap right in half, but the stranger doesn’t move, yet. They watch Fox carefully, though Fox can’t make out the features of their face through his blackening vision.

He shudders through the concentrated wrongness knotted in his chest, eyeing the stranger as would a cornered, dying animal.

It’s perhaps desperation, perhaps the stranger’s disarming words, or perhaps a result of Fox having fully lost his mind that leads him to nod, once.

Only then does the stranger cautiously begin their approach, step after measured step, both their hands loose and empty and visible — a human man, Fox finally notes through the haze of his malfunction — and Fox tracks his movements as he smoothly glides into Fox’s bubble.

Fox cannot move, will not flex a single muscle, because if he does, he knows he will die. He thinks his trachea may be collapsing, gripped by some invisible force —

He jolts against phantom hands (you must stop struggling, Commander) that exist and don’t in equal measure (hold still, now) [end this smoothly, god i can’t be bothered rn]

“Almost got it,” the stranger says from somewhere above him, and Fox inhales sharply, shallowly; the exhale punches out of him with a low keening whine. It could have been seconds or cycles but eventually the man backs off in one casual, languid movement, and the door to the storage closet whooshes open.

Fox all but tumbles inside. He vaguely thinks he should be embarrassed, but as he presses his shoulders into a corner and lets his head hang between his knees, he figures that he deserves a death just as pitiful and undignified as his life was.

The trill of an incoming comm — not his own, because the Chancellor insists he not bring it to their meetings — has him whipping his head back up to attention. The man has stayed behind in the hall, standing off to one side of the open doorway. He raises his wrist comm and a bolt of terror lances through Fox at the reminder that he called someone.

“This is Commander Thorn. What’s going on?”

Fox could cry, and he probably is.

“Commander Fox is in distress. He’s safe, but I think he hurt his hand. We’re in storage closet 83-7B-A113.”

His hand? Fox flexes it and gasps with a detached sort of surprise at the burst of sensation. He hears swearing and shuffling from the other line.

“I’ll be there in 10. Do not touch him, and do not let anyone else approach.”

Fox chokes on a sob. Thorn is coming. It’s going to be okay. Thorn is coming.

“Of course.” The man signs off, but Fox isn’t watching anymore. Thorn is coming.

“Hey, Commander Fox? I’m gonna leave the door open, ‘cause the mechanism’s kind of messed up and I don’t want it locking on you.” A brief rustle of fabric, and, “I’m just gonna keep watch until Thorn gets here, yeah? I’ll head anyone else off.”

When Fox risks a glance at the doorway, the man is no longer within sight. Alarm and relief flood him in equal parts — eyes on all threats at all times, trooper, you’re not out of this yet — but despite his lack of visual on the stranger, he’s finally and blessedly alone in the storage closet.

He paws at his bucket until he remembers he will almost certainly die if he takes it off, and curls his fingers around the edge of his cuirass instead. If it weren’t for the hard plastoid, he thinks he’d sink his fingers into his chest to still his thundering heart himself. Maybe preventing it from racing around would fix him. Maybe it would kill him. Either option is preferable to the way dread creeps into every corner of his mind, every organ and limb, buzzing like holo static in his hands as they scrabble at his armored chest.

A renewed shock of feeling from his right hand abruptly pulls the world into stark contrast. It aches, maybe, behind and underneath the layers of wrongness, a single shred of reality, and he closes his fist to feel the sparks again and again.

It’s not pain — not quite. It wants to be, but Fox’s nerve endings are misfiring, severing themselves from his synapses as his body corrupts. It’s starbursts of sensation that sear through an impenetrable, suffocating fog; clashes of a cymbal to accompany the percussion of his heart and the unfaltering hum of the fluorescent lights above.

Fox understands pain, but he doesn’t understand this. He understands pain for the lessons it can teach, but he is failing to learn this lesson. He’s not sure this is pain at all. Pain is getting caught outside of cover and taking a blaster bolt to the gut, or not being fast-strong-cunning-ruthless enough on the training mats, or failing to dodge the Red Guard’s electrostaff during the Chancellor’s extracurricular lessons. Pain is useful; endurance of pain even more so. A soldier unacquainted with pain can’t function on a battlefield, or learn from critical mistakes, or (gods forbid) tolerate torture without cracking open.

If this is pain, and pain is meant to be some sort of lesson, what lesson is Fox evidentially incapable of learning? Just how defective is he? He squeezes his right hand in his left, lets the pain-not-pain fill his awareness until there’s no room left for this wicked miasma eating him alive.

Suddenly, there are hands on his wrists.

A twisted thing crawls up his throat and tears out through his teeth, and he swings, disoriented, clamoring for a single inch of control in a tumultuous storm. The grip holds fast against his thrashing until Fox abruptly registers the staccato being tapped out on his vambrace. Vod. Vod. Vod.

A brother — Thorn, Thorn is here — hovers before him, the determined set of his shoulders betraying none of the alarm Fox thinks he’d see in his eyes if he had the strength to look. “Fox,” Thorn says, “Fox’ika, I’m here. You’re safe.”

He’s not safe. He’s not, but Thorn is here and whole and keeping the danger away, and that’s not nothing.

“Let’s get your bucket off,” Thorn suggests, and then to the tense breath Fox hisses out in response, “It’s okay; Stone’s outside, he’s keeping watch. It’s safe.” And Fox believes him, because Thorn never lies to him. Thorn tells it like it is.

A snap-hiss, and Thorn gently lifts Fox’s helmet off. Cool air rushes over his face and fills his lungs.

“Good, that’s good. A couple more of those, like this.” Thorn takes a big breath, and Fox tries to copy him but his lungs are broken; the breath he takes is in starts and stops. A strangled whine squeezes out with his exhale. “I know,” Thorn says, “It’ll get easier.”

And it does. Thorn has worked his thumbs between Fox vambraces and blacks, rubbing small circles into his wrists, and it feels like everything. The lighthouse coming into view from out on a choppy sea. The anchor that keeps him tethered to the waking world. The offer of shelter from a vicious storm.

His sense of time is fractured. By the time Fox can inhale and exhale a complete breath it feels as though hours have passed, Thorn murmuring words of encouragement and squeezing gently whenever Fox starts to get sucked back into the fog.

Fox opens his eyes, and Thorn meets it with a smile. “That’s it, vod. I’m right here. Keep breathing.”

Thorn is here. It’s safe. The tension he didn’t realize was holding him together suddenly abates, rushing out of him like debris out an airlock, and he sags forward into Thorn’s waiting arms. Thorn’s free hand comes up to card through Fox’s sweaty curls, the other still encircling Fox’s wrist, as the marshal commander presses his forehead into his brother’s armored chest.

Sorry, Fox signs shakily, but he feels Thorn already shaking his head.

“Don’t you dare. You have nothing to apologize for.” Gently, as though Fox is something deserving of of reverence, Thorn removes Fox’s face from his chest and pulls him into a keldabe. They breathe in sync like this for a long, peaceful moment. “How about we go see Lore and fix your hand, and then have some midmeal in the barracks?” At Fox’s dour expression, Thorn rolls his eyes. “Alright then, let me rephrase. We’re going to medbay, and then having some midmeal in the barracks. You’ll feel better. Think you’re ready to stand?”

Fox thinks he might never be able to stand again. He does, though, and with Thorn’s support, ambles through the threshold of the supply closet. Stone sweeps in to support Fox’s other side.

The stranger is nowhere to be seen.

[amethystina]

Hope you’ve been doing well <3 Or if not, that things improve and you feel better!! Just want you to know that an anonymous raccoon on the internet is thinking of you :)

Thank you so much, anonymous raccoon — I'm very flattered to hear that someone is thinking of me 💜

Unfortunately, things aren't the best right now. But they could also be worse, I guess? My former stepdad is out of the hospital! So the sepsis didn't kill him, thank god! But now my aunt is in the hospital with blood clots in her lungs so, uh, that relief was kind of short-lived.

I'm also back to working full-time (because of stupid bureaucracy) despite not actually having recovered from my burnout, so that's also a bit of a struggle. But they have sent me to a therapist now, so there's that? Not on a permanent basis but as a "we don't really know what else to do but try this I guess?" and I was immediately reminded of how difficult a patient I am to every therapist I've run into — this one being no exception.

They're always telling me that I seem so well-adjusted and calm and insightful and have all the tools to handle my mental health and so they don't know what they can do to help me. But, like, my guy — if I can barely function despite all these things, there's obviously something wrong. And it's your job to figure that out, not mine.

So we'll see how that goes, I guess? He's not a bad therapist by any means, I'm just a trickier patient than most because I know the tricks and strategies and use them in all the right ways, but I'm Still Not Okay. And that just throws them for a loop. They quickly run out of ideas when working with me.

And, because of all this stress, all I want to do is read. I've been reading so many fanfics these past couple of months. But, unfortunately, not written anything myself. For literal months. It's not writer's block so much as an instinctive reluctance towards anything that isn't reading (so drawing has fallen to the wayside as well). But I'm trying to find ways around that since I do miss writing. And I have so many projects to finish.

So yeah. Life isn't great right now with so much happening and my thoughts and feelings being all over the place, but I'm trying to straighten things out, slowly but surely. But it's probably going to take a while before I'm back to anything even remotely resembling normalcy. Still — I'm trying.

Thank you so much for reminding me that there are people out there who care about me. I wouldn't say that I've forgotten, but a reminder is always nice. So thank you, truly.

Please take care 💜

[vasyandii]

Hi there again! I have a few questions regarding AM and his anatomy.

Ok so does he have organs? I’ve read in one of your post that he does have wires within his body but in another post where AM first uses his organic body it said “The air in his lungs hurt.”

So he has lungs??? I don’t know I’m just curious.🧐And if so how does he process food? Is it similar to us or not?? I know he doesn’t need to eat, but since Vernon shares her food with him I just couldn’t help but wonder…😀😄

Also, I promise I’m not stalking you or anything I just really love your art and the way you interpret ihnmaims!!! 🩷Your art makes me want to mediative daydream, it makes me so happy it motivates me!😭

Howdy Dislocatedcat! Thank you for the ask, sorry it took so long to answer, since I got it since it has been keeping me up at night trying to make sense of it in a logical way. I would draw out the Anatomy of AM, but it's kind of...gross? Not innards in of themselves, just his.

AM's Anatomy

A machine will cut things out of its system in order to make sure it works the fastest. AM streamlined his body to optimize efficiency and functionality.

By eliminating non-essential organs like the spleen, kidney, and appendix, he reduced the risk of potential medical issues and minimized maintenance requirements. This allows him to focus his energy and resources on tasks that require higher cognitive functions and physical performance. So yes he has organs and wires combined :)

His Heart

Vernon has made comments about him not having a heartbeat, which is simply not true! He does ,in fact, have a heart, it just beats so slow she can't hear it.

It beats slower than a typical human heart because his body requires less frequent circulation due to enhanced metabolic processes and possibly more efficient oxygenation and nutrient delivery systems (the immortality serum). The heart may also be reinforced or partially mechanical to ensure durability and consistent performance.

His Lungs

AM has lungs, yes, but they are likely designed to be far more efficient than human lungs. These lungs facilitate effective oxygen exchange and are regulated by his AI consciousness to meet the optimized metabolic needs of his body.

His Digestive System/Stomach

AM has taste buds and enjoys flavours just like a normal human. The initial stages of eating—chewing and swallowing—are similar to any other person.

While he might retain essential digestive organs like the stomach and intestines, these organs could be enhanced or partially mechanical. This could involve more efficient enzymes, faster digestion, and improved nutrient absorption mechanisms.

AM’s body has an optimized waste management system, efficiently filtering and expelling waste products. This could involve advanced filtration mechanisms that reduce the need for frequent eliminations.

Waste products are minimized through a highly efficient filtration system. Excess and non-usable components are quickly identified and directed for excretion.

I'm not a medical professional nor deal with organs (other than my own, god forbid) on a daily basis, so some of this is probably inaccurate. But if you made it this far, thank you for reading!

[poffzy]

Since you can't read the text properly, I'll type out the details of how this design works :>

The robotics aren't meant to completely replace the human parts, it's supposed to support it and prolong your life. Nika's the first person to have this many implants.

She has multiple metal incasings that cover her bones to keep their structure, especially around her skull. The hope is the bone will grow and fuse with the metal in some way.

There are two larger incasings that cover her organs. These incasings moniter her organs to see how well the natural parts of her body are adapting to the machinery. They also work to keep them safe from outside influences. It's planned that they later add features that can influence the state of the organs. Some organs have been completely changed, mainly her lungs. Her knew lungs can store air so she never runs out of breath, cleans dirty air and allows for generally better breathing.

There is also a chip implanted into her brain to closely moniter how the brain is functioning alongside the other implants. It logs thoughts and reports how the body is doing to HQ. It's coded with AI that learns how the natural body functions to mimic it, this allows for the chip to keep the brain alive and therefore the rest of the body (if it isnt severely damaged). There are also nueron wires that further connect the chip to the rest of the body, they also let body reports send to the chip.

Last feature is her right eye. It improves vision and also specialises in recording her memories and current experiences. It also has smaller features like adjusting to the light and an analysis function.

ARGG AND THATS ABOUT EVERYTHING??? So yea, what do you think?

[problematicfanfics]

KINKTOBER ‘22 TEACHER/STUDENT (WIP) tombur

deciding to repost bc i added more (a while back) and i just constantly see the first draft get hype on my page and i figured i’d just share.

very slight NSFW

( ◠‿◠ )

Tommy wouldn’t necessarily call himself a good kid.

He would do his homework. He attended all of his classes. He’s averaged an A so far the entire year. So yes, by textbook definition, Tommy was a good kid.

1 Snapchat Notification: Anthony 🤯

“Right before p5 meet C hall bthrm”

“Bring cart Nathan feening 💀”

But he knew the only reason he ever made it through the day was thanks to his passing period restroom stops.

Anyone attending a “Western” high school can explain to you the ins and outs of the passing period bathroom breaks all the teens line up for. Each group eagerly awaits for a friend who has the supply.

And if you’re painfully unaware of the dark market being run in every bathroom stall, Tommy loves to explain it as a “social thing”. He’s just generally a better person like this. It’s an easy conversation starter, a fast in, a way to curry favor with more well-known kids in his school.

And he’s realized his grades have never been better.

Ever since he started smoking weed in his tenth year, he’s found he’s a rather studious smoker. His grades improved dramatically. Math seemed to make sense and he wasn’t struggling with anxiety from his testing. Stiff seats are easy to sit still in when your body finally relaxes. Class notes now fit smoothly in his brain between his knowledge of minecraft and song lyrics. Nothing negative seemed to be coming of his habits, despite the fear he gets from running in this little underground market. Passing a teacher in the halls can be a normal life versus permanent felony situation if they so much as ask to search his bag.

“…that fucking bitch doesn’t know her left from her right. Mate, I swear to God, she asked my chemistry teacher which one is which.”

Tommy chokes on the nicotine he’s hitting, lungs collapse into laughter. Promptly he erupts into a fit of coughing

“Yo, dude, get that checked out…” One of his friends in the stall next door said. “Ha, as if. Imagine being like… ‘Hey mum, my nicotine addiction might be affecting my health, mind if we take a look at it down at the ol’ doctor’s office?’”

The stalls laugh at the absurdity of ever revealing this secret to their parents.

Who cares if he’s started coughing from the metal shards when he laughs?

The day he truly understands he’s a functioning addict is when he makes his fifth stop in the C hall restrooms, waiting for his friend Jay while squatting on the toilet, as his other friend pretends to be doing “normal stall things” (as he puts it).

He knows the risks every time, six boys crammed into a stall to trade flavors and discuss about the girls they want and the bitches they hate, the snake “friends” who rat out others and the teachers they despise. He’s always ready to jump to shut everyone up when a teacher walks in. Sometimes, however, his guard falls.

Fifth period Tommy attends a US History class, something he had wanted to take since he saw it was an available course. His love for the subject, plus his new found study buddy, made the class a perfect choice in his mind.

Tommy didn’t mind attending the class. It had taken him upwards of three weeks to learn the teacher’s name (Mr. Gold, but the class called him Soot), and who he was (he was hired by the school three years ago and has been a teacher ever since), and his love life (he has a girlfriend, but all his classes found a picture of her on his instagram and they think he can do better).

He didn’t, however, have a hard time committing Soot’s appearance to memory.

His curly hair fell perfectly every day without a fail. The tight button up shirts he wore required him to roll up his sleeves if he ever wanted any relief from the room’s broken AC. It’s hard for Tommy to not follow his hands switching between the board and the lesson plan on his desk.

He’d be lying if he didn’t say he thinks that Mr. Gold was finer than the heavens. It seemed to be a popular debate in this girl’s restroom, too; was Mr. Gold hot or was it just the power dynamic?

As Tommy sits with his legs up between the railing and the wall, inhaling his cart like it was his life force in preparation for his fifth period class, he turns his phone for his friends to see. “You can’t tell me he isn’t hot!” He says as he gives the phone over to an equally contorted friend of his. “Gold? Tommy, you’re crazy. He isn’t that hot.”

“Listen I’m not gay but I’d be a victim. I’m just saying.” Tommy takes the phone back as he preheats the battery. One of his friends nods in agreement.

As the debate continues over the attractiveness levels of Wilbur's instagram posts, Tommy pulls up an old high school yearbook photo of the man. “You can’t say you wouldn’t want William Gold to fuck you, I honestly think I give this man fuck me eyes in class accidentally.” Tommy practically yells to prove his point to Aj.

Suddenly, a loud presence enters the bathroom.

“Ok, I know there’s more than one of you in there. Everybody out.”

The boys look around nervously to one another as Tommy holds back laughter. That is definitely Soot.

There is a tense pause. No one wants to respond out of fear of punishment (and slightly because he had to have overheard the conversation they were just having). “Guys, I’m not playing games here. Let’s go. We can take this to the head if we need.”

Quickly the boys hop down from their acrobatic positions and grab their backpacks.

“One, two, three of you!” Mr. Gold sighs at the sight. “Wow, no! There’s more! Five? SIX? There were six of you in there? My God it’s like a fucking clown car.”

The boys shift nervously under his look. “Listen, I don’t care. It’s just protocol. You’re lucky I’m not taking you down to the counselor, it smells like weed in here.” Everyone exchanges quick looks as they continue to try to hide the obvious vapes inside their hoodie sleeves.

“So you just… don’t care?” Tommy pipes up. His friends shoot him scathing looks, as if telling him to not push their luck and get out while they can.

Wilbur seems taken aback by the question. “Well, it’s not that I don’t care, it’s just… Listen, don’t say I’m letting you guys smoke in the stalls. I’m not. I just think you’re smart enough to not be dumb with it again.”

“But if you were truly concerned for our safety wouldn’t you confiscate our shit?”

“Listen, this is great energy Tommy, how about you keep it up in class and stop giving me fuck me eyes the entire period. I get you’re high but try a little harder.”

The entire bathroom goes silent before erupting into laughter. People with no business in the situation Tommy can hear snicker in the background.

“I’ll make sure to have you work for your money today.” Tommy says before Gold shrugs him off to prepare for his incoming class.

“I am so sorry you have to attend his class now.” Tommy’s buddy Nathan pats him on the back. “The sexual tension during lessons boutta go crazy” Aj jokes as he motions Tommy to head to class with him.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Tommy says as he sits in front of the classroom door with his head in his hands. “How do I look him in the eyes? I’ll just skip class by going to the nurse.”

Aj jumps in front of him before he can leave. “We’re already five minutes late. Please let’s just go in. The longer you wait the worse it gets and you know that.” Tommy reevaluated his choices before finally agreeing that Aj was, in fact, right, and that they should attend class.

“Tom Simons, nice of you to join us.” Soot singles him out in the middle of his lesson. Tommy’s equally guilty friend slips into the back of the classroom undetected. “Please, take a seat.” The sarcasm drips from his lips.

Tommy sits in his usual seat far in the back next to Aj. The work was boring mundane class stuff. They used their laptops to research the battles fought during the American Independence War and Tommy finished within the first three minutes.

Tommy raises his hand to gloat to his teacher, ready for the victory as he tells Soot his work is “too easy” and to “give him a challenge.”

“I’m done, easy shit.” Tommy says when Soot finally strolls his way over to the seat. He wasn’t prepared for Wilbur to lean over behind him to read, or the way he said “Good job, Tommy” as he got up (he can’t help but imagine him whispering “good boy” into his ear).

His eyes shoot up to meet Wilbur’s. Every quick retort he had loaded to fire falters. He feels like he needs to say something.

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

“Weren’t you just in there?” Soot makes a sarcastic sad face to mock Tommy’s surprised expression. “I remembered hearing a conversation about being a victim, if I’m not mistaken?”

Aj laughs as Tommy goes pale and forcefully chuckles. “Hey, haha, listen man, I-”

“Ok everyone, please discuss with the person next to you the notes you should have completed by now.” He redirects his attention back to the class, the low tone now projecting off the walls indicating he was referring to everyone.

Tommy turns to face his friend on his left. His shit eating grin left Tommy regretting his entire day.

“Can you send me the answers? I was too busy watching the in house entertainment”

About a week had passed since Tommy was caught, and he was being as careful as possible. Last thing he needed was another run in.

His fourth period lunch left quite a lot to be desired; in the mornings he was never hungry. Instead he fills himself with flavored air, weed, and a severely diluted once-iced coffee.

The lunch period only housed one friend every day, but on alternating days up to seven people would sit with them for lunch. Either way he was too high to notice anything happening around him. No difference was it to him if there was one or eight people, as long as he was being supplied the bodies didn’t matter.

These alternating days with a lot of people leads to everyone slowly making their way to the bathrooms after eating, using it as a pit stop and waiting out the remainder of their time.

Tommy had been waiting since 10:15, and the period ends at 10:30. He was finally getting his new cart today. For the last week he was either smoking scraps from all his empty carts at home or his friends’ at school. His “friend”/dealer had told him to wait in here but it was becoming ridiculous.

1 Snapchat Notification: Rizz 🤝

Rizz: “Soot’s on my ass but omw”

Tommy: “dude don’t come in here if Gold is gonna catch us.”

“he already doesn’t like me 💀”

Rizz: “Skill issue he doesn’t think i’m shady.”

“Or at least didnt before this.”

“Honestly Tommy i’d rather save my own ass and give u the shit before he catches me with 16 carts 💀 i’m dealing today i’m way overdue”

Tommy nervously taps his foot in the bathroom stall. He toys with the $50 in his pocket, rolling it up and flattening it. Honestly, he hates the way Rizz deals. His constant lateness, the sloppiness, as if he doesn’t care that this is something serious. This can be a crime if found out by the wrong person, and everyone will be in legal trouble. But to people like Rizz the real world doesn’t exist. The only reason Tommy continues to buy from him is because he gets a $15 discount (Tommy and Rizz’s cousin used to have a thing).

As he fumbles with the airbar in his hand he hears his “friend” walk in. “Open the stall door,” He knocks and Tommy unlocks it. “Here you fucking go.” He drops the cart in Tommy’s hand before opening his palm for the payment.

As he reaches for his pocket, the front bathroom door opens and the boys are sent jumping.

“What’re we doing here?” Gold asks the duo with his arms crossed. The door slams shut behind him.

“I’m paying him back for a meal he bought me last week,” Tommy explains as he gives the money to Rizz. “It was expensive.”

“I can tell. That’s a pretty big wad of cash. How much?”

“$50”

“And how much is a cart?”

“$65, so you can stop being weird about it now.”

“Ok, and so the constant going in and out of the bathrooms, Rizzario… is that just for fun or?”

He puts the money in his pocket. “It’s a pastime of mine. You should see the architecture up in here, truly stunning.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you get a kick out of it. Get to class.”

Tommy’s unfortunate second capture does not deter him from immediately smoking the cart with his friends minutes later in the same stall. He has been waiting for a week and he’ll be damned if he has to wait any longer. The lack of food in his system, along with his slightly reduced tolerance, makes walking to fifth period a little harder than usual.

Immediately upon sitting down it is revealed to Tommy by a kid sitting two seats ahead of him that there’s a test they are taking today and that he’s the only one who could “possibly forget about as big a test as this one.”, and he realizes he’s screwed up when even Aj is caught cramming at the last minute.

“Tommy, are you aware you failed my last test?”

“Yes Mr. Soot, I’m well aware. That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you today. I think I’m a pretty good kid. I do my work, I participate in class, and up until this point I have passed every test with flying colors. Please understand that I do try in this class and I’m not afraid to do extra work to get my grade back up. I’m not asking you to just change my score, I’m really wondering if there’s anything I can do to work for my grade.”

Soot turns to face Tommy, taking off his glasses and laughing. “A good kid? I’d hardly call you a good student.”

“What? Are you crazy? I actually do your work. I do more work than anyone else in any of your classes. I’ve never missed homework, or class work, or done poorly on a test before this. I always answer questions in class and respond when you try to have open discussions.”

“And yet, despite all that, you’re not a good student.”

“You’re mental!” Tommy exclaims. “Listen, if you don’t want to tell me where I can get extra credit in my grade, or if you just don’t want me to, then say it! I don’t want nonsense.”

Soot stands from his desk to address Tommy. The silence in the air hangs tight as the man evaluates his words. “You know you’re lying to yourself when you say you’re a good kid.” He finally says. “You know you come into class high every day, with barely any awareness. You babble off in group discussions for minutes on end, related to and not related to the topic. Your homework is subpar at best.”

“At least it’s done, man.”

“We’re not friends, Tommy.”

“Yeah, no shit, I know that. That’s why I came to you in person after class.”

“Mrs. Mark told me you resolve all your issues over email.”

Tommy’s mouth gets dry. Why’s he talking to Mrs. Mark about him? She never liked him much or his tryhard attitude in her stupid Advanced English Language class.

“Did she say I’m a bad kid? I swear she hates me. She’s always picking on me in class.”

“It’s honestly funny Tommy, because if you tried at all you could be such an exceptional student.” His demeanor shifts. Tommy can’t put his finger, but it seems like Gold has something he’s hiding. His mind instantly jumps to things Mrs. Mark could’ve told him. “Everyone keeps telling me that. Clearly it isn’t true if this is me trying.”

The tired teacher throws his hands in the air. “Once again! The lying! You’re so blind to it.” He walks back to his desk from the board for a final time. Throughout his speech he traces the wooden grain on his desk, eyes not leaving the boy’s. “Tommy, listen. You’re such a bright student. You’re wasting yourself with this crap. I know everyone knows you, I understand that you’ve gained quite a highly positive popularity status in this school when it comes to the social hierarchy. But if you just tried you’d see how much more you can do with yourself.”

“Forget it, Soot. I’ll just do better on the next one.”

“Maybe we’ll resolve this over email.” Gold writes out his number on a late pass before handing it to Tommy. “However, I am much more likely to respond over text.”

“No shot.” Kim says as she hands the money to the shopkeeper. “Strawberry Kiwi elf please, love.”

Tommy fumbles, laughing as he pulls out his phone “I swear! Look, it’s saved right here.” He shows her Gold’s contact on his phone, the only texts sent being a “hello” from each of them.

“Then let’s call him.”

“What?”

“If it’s really him, let’s call him. We’ll grab a coffee and walk down to the tracks and call him.” She grabs the box from the cashier. “Thanks, and can we also have…?”

“Cherry Cola Diamond please.” Tommy points to the wall. He reaches over the counter to grab it from the guy. “We can’t just call him. I feel so nervous. What if he’s actually just trying to get me in serious trouble? I mean, look at us.” He points around to the smoke shop they’re in. “This isn’t ok.”

Kim starts walking to the bin down the hall as she unboxes her new toy. “Listen babygirl. Everyone in the school wants that man. You should hear how people talk about him.” She ghosts the nic before dropping it in her cross body bag and strutting out the door, leaving Tommy to catch up. “Bag him, bitch.”

After much debate and argument, finally, at one pm on a saturday, after smoking a joint and walking on the train tracks, Tommy’s finger hovers over the call button.

“Kim, I can’t do it.”

“For christ’s sake,” She hits the button with his finger and puts it on speaker before shooting him an encouraging thumbs up.

As the line rings, Tommy seriously considers laying down on the tracks until the 1:30 pm train hits him.

Finally the line picks up.

The microphone shuffles up against some fabric before becoming clear. Soot’s groggy morning voice seems to burn through his ears.

“Hey, Tommy. Sorry I was sleeping. What’s up?”

He opens his eyes wide and shakes his head no to Kim, who just continues to nod her very adamant yes.

“What am I supposed to say?” He whispers to her.

“Hello?” Soot calls out confused.

“Ask him if he’s free to chat after school tuesday.” She says obviously as she rolls her eyes. Tommy just gives her an almost disgusted look back. “I can’t just… oh my god.” He redirects his voice to the phone. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.” Was all he could manage.

Gold chuckles slightly. “Don’t worry. I needed to wake up anyway to grade all the homeworks.”

“You’re seriously gonna be grading homeworks?”

“No. You caught me.” They both lightly laughed before realizing they seriously don’t know what to say. “Uhm, what are you doing?” Gold finally asks.

“I’m hanging with my friend Kim, we’re under an overpass by the train tracks.”

“You’ll have to show me one day.”

“It’s right across from the school, maybe I’ll show it to you one day during your break.”

Kim squeals through her hands and kicks her legs like a middle school girl watching her friend call their crush.

“Yeah sure, I’d like that… Listen I should probably get my day started so I’ll-”

“Oh yeah no now of course, I understand. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Hope not, we don’t have school.”

“Ahaha, right. Forgot. Sorry, bye Soot.”

“Have fun Tommy,” Soot squeezes in before ending the call.

Tommy looks at Kim with a hatred in his eyes. “That was terrible.”

“…and then she made me call him!” Tommy explains his weekend to the morning bathroom bunch.

“You know Kim loves the drama. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s telling everyone right now!”

“Forreal man, why’d you even tell her that shit?” Kim’s ex boyfriend speaks up. “Trust me, she’s a conniving little shit.”

“I’m like best friends with her twin sister Janie ok? The friendship extends to her. Also she asked me to get nic with her. I couldn't say no, she always pays for me. Everyone thank Kim for the free nic.”

“Thanks Kim”s were mumbled throughout the stall.

Aj shoved Tommy hard enough he falls off the wall. “What did you even say? You can’t end there.”

“I was a nervous wreck! He like woke up to pick up the call and his voice was so fucking hot guys. It caught me so off guard to hear it was like one pm, I don’t know why he was sleeping…”

Tommy spent the remainder of their ten minute morning smoke sesh to fill them in on everything that went down, as well as field questions from his friends.

He wouldn’t lie, he loved it.

Just like with weed, it seemed as though good things only came with getting involved with Gold.

He was putting in good words with all his teachers (including Mrs. Mark!), he was the shit in all of his classes, and everyone wanted to know what was going to happen next.

Gold, as well as the rest of the staff of course, were painfully unaware of the rampant “teacher and student” buzz circling around the smoke clique.

Since Tommy’s last little stint with Gold it’s been one week and three days. Nothing has changed, except for having the favor of every teacher he has a class in. He’s too nervous to take the first step into a possible slippery slope of relations with his teacher (as any normal person would be. But sadly, Tommy is not a normal person, not by a long shot, and he knows this as fact as he lays in bed wondering what it would be like to have Gold 6 inches deep in him)

It’s hard to go to school when everyone thinks you’re fucking the teacher. It was supposed to be a joke, the whole thing; Tommy always chooses one joke a year to be his running gag. He had chosen the gay joke “crush on my teacher” route because of how ludicrous the idea of him and a male teacher ever getting together was to him. It was a joke he often made about the old, prehistoric male teachers he had in ninth year, as well as some of the older women too, though most were married and he always thought it felt wrong to talk like that about them.

The weekend rolled around once more and Tommy spent his time out late at friend’s houses, and finally out until two am on Sunday night. He had begged his parents for hours and when they said yes he didn’t care about the consequences of his decisions.

Finally, reality caught up to Tommy, and for the first time since he first started drinking in eighth grade he wakes up with a hangover. Classes seem damn near impossible to stay awake for. He deems his sunglasses aren’t providing enough darkness and accessorizes with a hat from the lost and found bin, in hopes that now the fifth period fluorescent light combined with seeing Soot’s arms won’t make him vomit all over himself.

He strolls into class three minutes late due to having been kneeled over the side of the toilet in the single stall gender neutral bathrooms just minutes earlier. Apparently it’s clear to everyone in the class he’s a hot mess, because all he can hear is everyone asking him if he’s doing alright. He dismissed each one with a “Yeah, no, just tired. You know how school is.”

Before he knew it he was face down on his keyboard.

Tommy was awakened thirty minutes later to the sound of a bang next to him. Mr. Gold had lifted the desk next to him before dropping it on the ground. “See me after class, Tommy.”

He could probably feel the smirk from Aj’s face even if he was on the other side of the world.

“Really? Falling asleep in class? That’s a new low, even for you.” Gold reprimands him. Tommy stayed. Yes, even he is surprised by it. Usually he’s the first one out the door if a teacher has an issue with him. But something in him almost wanted to hear what he had to say. He was excited for the man to tell him everything he did wrong, how to improve, what to do.

“I’m sorry Mr. Gold. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

They both looked at each other for a minute. “What is your sixth period class?”

“Gym. Such a bore, I hate my teacher so much. She’s so pregnant she can’t even stand near us because she’s scared someone’s gonna hit her.” The two laugh at the situation. “I mean, I can’t help but wonder why she doesn’t just go on maternity leave. Almost all the female gym teachers are pregnant this year.”

“Hey, they got a lot of free time over the summer. What else are they supposed to do?”

“They don’t have to keep fucking like rabbits!” He jokes and they laugh.

Silence once again falls over the room. It’s like something stops them from ever holding a conversation beyond some jokes. They’re too scared to laugh for too long, too scared of being too close, and Tommy’s way too nervous to actually make the first move. Everything relied on Soot.

“Call me Wilbur.”

“What?”

“You can call me Wilbur. William isn’t my first name. Well, it is, but I go by Wilbur.”

“Real quick let me just,” Tommy pulls out his phone from his back pocket and changes Wilbur’s contact name. “I like it. And here, we’ll take a selfie for the photo.”

Tommy turned around and extended his arm to get the two of them in the picture, snapping it before saving all changes. “I think this was a productive chat, Wilbur.”

“Don’t call me that in class or we’ll have issues,” He jokes around (but Tommy feels the difference in the weight of those words). Tommy mocks him before grabbing his bag and heading for the door. “Before you go,” Wilbur stops him just inches shy of the door. “Want to show me that underpass?”

Wilbur called Tommy’s gym teacher, making her aware that the boy was “making up a failed test” and would not be able to attend the period. The two sent off on their walk, Wilbur with his messenger bag and Tommy with some snacks he had in his locker.

Their destination wasn’t far away by any means, but the walk felt like forever as they desperately grasped at straws in order to make small talk.

“So you got a girlfriend?” Wilbur looks at the boy before pulling out his phone. “This is her,” he says, showing a photo of a skinny blonde woman, eyes green, teeth white. “Her name’s-”

“Jenine?”

“Please stop stalking my socials.” Wilbur jokes as he puts the phone away. “But yeah, Jenine. We actually- well, she, actually - decided we should go on a break about four days ago. Took all her shit out of the flat.”

Tommy was taken aback by the demise of their relationship. They seemed really happy from all the posts he saw. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear, man.”

The brunet smiled genuinely. “Nah, don’t worry. Just got more space to put all my useless shit in”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, figured I’d put up shelves to fill the big empty spaces and pile it with games or books or whatever a normal person puts on their shelves.”

“Well what does a non normal person put on their shelves?”

“Youtooz. Way too many to be healthy.”

“I won’t lie, I have a collection too.”

The pair finally arrive on the tracks, Tommy fiddling with the nicotine in his pocket. They’re sat on the weird raised platform under the overpass. The brightly colored graffiti brings some joy to the otherwise desolate area. He passes Wilbur a pack of chips, who was too busy tapping his cigarettes to notice the bag flying at his legs.

“You smoke?” The boy asks his… teacher? That’s a weird thing to ask your teacher. Friend?

He removes a cig from the pack and pulls a lighter out with it. “Yep, since I was fourteen.”

“Same,” He looks up abruptly, eyes wide. What a stupid fucking thing to say! But he has to know already right? (He so desperately wants him to know)

Tommy laughs and looks at the ground. “I mean no! I don’t smoke. Who gave you that idea Soot? Stop asking questions.” He hopes his jokes are funny enough to distract from his truth bomb.

“I know.” Is all Wilbur says as he lights up, a smile spread across his lips. He elects to think the smile is more of a mutual funny smile and less of a smile you’d give a child who’s rambling.

Tommy looks around as he internally debates ripping his diamond. Is it worth it? I mean, the guy knows. He’s lighting up in front of his face. He’s gotta be ok with him ripping nic right? They’re off school property.

Finally he lifts the nic to his lips and takes a hit. He avoids eye contact with the man in hopes it eases the anxiety he feels.

The teacher looks over at the boy and puts down his cigarette, smoke drifting through the air in sultry clouds that Tommy can’t help but lavish in. “I’m gonna write you up for that,” Wilbur laughs through his exhale. “Naughty.”

Tommy’s breath catches in his throat as he’s inhaling and coughs violently. He plays it off, mumbling about some “shitty flavor” under his breath, looking at the man in an attempt to ignore his reaction. “So, Soot, is it often you smoke with kids?”

“I wouldn’t say often, but I’m no stranger to taking a smoke with a student in the ’lot.” He grabs another cigarette from his pack and lights it with his dying one. “Chain smoking without worries is my favorite, though. This is a really nice spot. Did you know we’re not allowed to smoke anywhere near the school property as teachers?”

“I mean kinda makes sense, but what’s considered “near” the lot?”

“I guess anything within fifteen hundred meters of the school? I’m just assuming. I think they don’t want us to set a bad example. Mrs. Moore got caught smoking out of her car window and it was a whole big thing with the head.”

“What’d they say?”

The train begins to chug down the tracks at them. “Threatened to put her on suspension until she stopped smoking. I don’t know how they’d even enforce that though.”

The loud woosh of the train fills their ears, unable to do much but wait for it to pass by. Tommy waves violently at the passengers. Wilbur joins him. “You always do that?”

“Sometimes,” He shrugs (he always does, he knows he’d be so happy if he saw someone waving at him from the tracks, but he won’t tell him that, because he’s not a kid, and he’s had enough oversharing for one day)

“So,” Wilbur clicks his tongue. “How’d you find this spot?”

Tommy flips the vape over in his hands as a fidget. “I was walking around with friends one day, trying to find a new smoke spot for our spiff, and we stumbled across this.”

The man stretched out his legs, changing positions to sit slightly closer. “And the Do Not Enter sign didn’t deter you guys?”

Tommy didn’t notice the shift. “Wilbur, we were going to smoke a joint. I don’t think a stupid sign is really our concern.”

“So instead of one felony, you guys decided on two?”

“Either way we’re fucked,” He laughed. “Can’t imagine underage illegal substance use is too great of a look in court.”

“Trust me, it isn’t that bad. You can manage to get yourself some community service and occasional drug tests for two months.” Tommy hit his shoulder lightly “Speaking from experience?” Wilbur pretends it was harder than it was, knocking himself over slightly. “And what if I said yeah?”

“Naughty.” (he can feel the adrenaline rush to his head as the words leave his mouth)

The teacher smiles at his pupil and shakes his head. “What about it? Gremlin.”

He’s glad he didn’t cross a line. And he can’t wait to tell everyone about this in the morning.

Wilbur turns to face Tommy. “I don’t want to cross a line, but you’re a great kid Tommy. Do you want to possibly get a coffee together some time?’

“I’d be more than happy to.” They exchange a brief glance at each other’s lips, a passing second neither notice, and hope the other didn’t catch them. They continue to discuss location and time before they begin a slow walk back to the school ground to continue their day.

Morning smoke circles are a different type of friendship. The type where you gossip, even if you aren’t a gossiper. Everything you know is shared knowledge. Nothing is a secret, and you spill it all in the hazy fog of morning brain before classes. You spend ten minutes hyping each other up to get to class despite your lateness. You tell them about your weekend, your weekday, your classwork, your romance, your life story.

So it was no surprise that the next morning the first thing everyone heard about was Tommy’s escapades by the tracks.

Tommy entered into school the following days, elated and on top of the world. A week passed before he realized he bombed a really important math test he took the day after he met with Wilbur. He had been so caught up in the whole “hanging out with his teacher” thing he completely forgot to study. But he thought he did well!

He went to talk to the math teacher after class that Thursday, but it was no use. He spent the rest of his day on the verge of tears. The only stain left on his record for this quarter.

The next morning he and his friends met up in the E hall bathroom before classes started and began talking about all the other drama happening at the moment.

It’s not like he remembers it, though, and he wakes back up in his third period architecture class, slumped on Nathan’s arm, in the middle of a lecture from his teacher.

“Are you even listening to a word i’m saying?”

He looks up at Nathan before looking back at her. His brain is still catching up to become conscious.

“I- I um…”

“Repeat what I said.”

The silence fills the room, minus the snickering coming from three annoying girls in the corner. (He doesn’t know. Truthfully! He might as well have just randomly walked in now and he’d probably know more.)

But Nathan pulled away, and before he knew it he was yanked up by the arm and told to get out.

There were still 30 minutes of class left (apparently), and he was still tired, so he decided to pay a visit to his dear friend, the art teacher.

Well, he wasn’t really his friend. He just knew a spot to sleep in. But Rizzo can’t keep his mouth shut. For the second time in the same period he was pushed out of a classroom for misbehaving.

So bathrooms it was, and on his way down he passed a familiar guard he regularly chatted with. They waved and stopped to talk about their days, their summers and the upcoming break. The guard walked him as far as the bathroom door and they said bye.

Tommy hears mumbling in a stall before a meek “Is there a guard?” is heard.

“Nah it’s all good guys,” He walks up to the stall door and puts his foot under. “Let me in.”

They open the door and Tommy drops to one knee to get his airbar. “Hurry the fuck up, man.”

“Trust me, I’m always safe.”

As he stands, he turns to see the door opening.

And if he was any less high, he definitely could’ve come up with something good to get them out of trouble.

But he wasn’t. He was really high.

And now he was still high.

But sitting in the dean’s office.

Somewhere between getting caught and getting put in the room, Tommy blacked out. But he was here now and there was nothing he could say or do to leave without talking to him.

Like, the big guy. The man who could absolutely obliterate any hope of a future Tommy had (well, what any little of it there was).

The dean came in and sat directly across from Tommy,

jump #1

Tommy sits on the freezing bathroom stall tile. It looks clean enough to sit on, and he hopes the wet feeling on the back of his leg is actually just his imagination. His bag is over in the corner and his jumper is blocking the awkward vent between the door and the floor that someone might be able to see him through.

The smell of marijuanna that has permeated into the walls of the gender neutral bathroom made his head spin. Tommy couldn’t help but feel slightly bad. What was supposed to be a bathroom for people became a smoke spot. However, it doesn’t stop him from pulling out the crack wire from his bag and hooking it up to his school computer.

He turns the cool glass over in his hands and traces the black mouthpiece. It was almost empty and he didn’t have another 50 to drop. As he places the wires in their appropriate spots he pulls out his phone.

The glass heats up and he takes a hit as he types out a message to his dear friend.

Wilbur (US HISTORY)

> can i have a fifty

He knows he won’t respond. It was a dumb thought to even ask him, he fucked up the second he sent the text. Wilbur isn’t dumb. He’ll know it’s for a cart. There’s no way in hell he’d go as far as supplying the boy with drug money.

Wilbur (US HISTORY)

> can i have a fifty

< I’ll give it to you

after class, ok?

Tommy waits behind after class. Aj’s confused look as he walks out the door is all it takes for his stomach to get queasy again.

Soon enough the room clears out and all that’s left is the boy and the teacher.

“Fifty dollars?” Wilbur asks from his desk, rummaging in his bag for his wallet. Tommy nods. He can’t seem to get words out today, his muteness being noted by not just his classmates but his teachers as well.

But Wilbur doesn’t pry. That’s what he likes about him; he doesn’t need to speak what he needs out loud. He seems to just know.

Wilbur motions for the boy to approach the desk and so he does. Opening the front pocket of his backpack he drops the cash in.

“Do you at least get it safely?”

He nods.

“Are you ok?”

He doesn’t nod.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

jump #2

“Tommy, do you know why I wear these?”

Tommy, confused, replies no.

“I like them. I like to think that people perceive me differently. Smarter, cuter, more approachable. But it’s a guise. They’re just glasses. They aren’t actually doing anything for me. You’re not a good student Tommy. You have some serious underlying issues that you’re just self medicating with weed and nicotine and adrenaline rushes, and you think it’s doing something. You try to trick yourself into thinking you’re a good student just like I try to trick myself into thinking these do something for me.” He picks up the glasses before setting them back down. “I don’t know if you’re really all that ‘good’ of a student.”

“I do everything you ask!” Tommy yells. “I have literally done everything you’ve asked. Do you understand how stressful school was for me? Do you understand I had nearly no future in school before this? I was skipping my classes constantly to game and play with my friends. I couldn’t sit still or focus in class ever. Information never made sense. I have found what works for me. One day I’ll be old enough to learn I don’t need it to function. I’ll have options and resources available to get help. I don’t right now though. I have to work with what I have. Something isn’t right up there and weed fixes it. Sorry if you don’t like it but that’s how it is.”

“Tommy, you act like I dont smoke weed myself! I know what it’s like!”

Tommy falls silent. He furrows his brow and contorts his face. “You’re an actual teahead?”

“Why do you think I gave you that fifty? Why do you think I never actually bust anyone? Tommy, I get it. I did the exact same thing. I still do. The only way I can ever grade all of your shitty homeworks is if I’m high. And I know what it’s like when there isn’t any other option because I didn’t have any. I want to find you what you need.”

“Probably a psych evaluation.”, Tommy laughs to himself. “I’m serious, Tommy.”

“Wilbur, I truly appreciate the concern. But “teacher helping me find myself” wasn’t exactly in my life plan. It’s all laid out perfectly, I just have to make it to 18.”

Wilbur stares in disbelief. “Living every day just to make it to eighteen isn’t any way to live. Barely making it through your weekdays just to party on the weekends isn’t healthy.”

“No shit sherlock.”

“I think I will get you a psych evaluation if you keep talking back”

“Alright, fine.”

jump #3

Wilbur’s palm lightly trailed up the boy’s stomach. “Is this ok?” he whispered breathlessly into his ear.

“Yes, yes. Please.” Tommy clenched his jaw. He hadn’t felt like this… hell, ever. He could hear the man chuckle. “Already? I haven’t even gotten to the good part baby.”

The way he said baby, fuck it drove him mad. It was just utterly intoxicating. His head floated from the weed as his nervous system went haywire.

Slowly Wilbur covered the boy with his body more, closing in on him on the couch. Tommy’s lungs burned from the green rip as he desperately tried to steady his breathing, the marijuana smell only making it harder to catch.

“Fuck, this is good shit, Wil.” Tommy’s hands were now in the man’s hair, not moving but instead paralyzed on top. Wilbur slowly started kissing up his neck. “Only peng for myself,” he laughed lightly. “And for you.” He deepened the kiss in the crook of the boy’s neck, hungry to taste him. “Where’s your usual witty banter kid?”

“Kid? I ain’t no kid. I’m a-“ he wheezed lightly. “I’m a man.”

Wilbur couldn’t help but genuinely laugh. “Nevermind, limit your talking. It won’t be needed.”

“And why’s that?”

“Well, you can’t talk when you’re making out.” He lifted Tommy’s lips to his, lightly testing the waters before jumping in. All composure Tommy had now left, and he didn’t mind at all. His hands grabbed the man’s woven jumper, one he often wore during the winter months of classes. Imagine after sitting in that cold class all day, he went over to his room and warmed him up? Filling the room with sex and sweat? He couldn’t help but moan at the possibilities they’d opened.

Wilbur disconnected the kiss to feel up Tommy’s sides again. “Fuck, you’re so cute. Such a good boy, just for me.” The boy couldn’t help but whine at the comment, grinding his hips up. Fuck, he was Wilbur’s good boy. His. He had waited for this since december.

Hot lips pressed against his ear. “How do you feel about taking this further?”

His eyes widened. How far?

“What do you want?” Tommy’s throat went dry thinking of everything he wanted, what he would beg for.

“Mister Soot, I- please, fuck me.”

The older smiles into the boy’s body. “You really want it?”

He nods his head viciously. How could he tell him he’s been wanting this for months now? That he’s been dreaming about it since he first laid eyes on him?

“I know you’ve been waiting for this.” He travels down the boy’s

[im-a-wonderling]

Rescue Me, Part 6 ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi

I have to thank @hmuwithemfeeeels, @writing-on-the-wahl, and @sassysaxxy profusely. All three of them read through every version of this part (of which there were many), sometimes multiple times. They all helped me on the path of making this part what it needed to be. I wish I could be more eloquent, but honestly, I'm just so glad that this part is finally finished, I've been working on this for months.

Summary: Y/N painfully works through her recovery while Obi-Wan is nowhere to be found.

Warnings: healthy weight gain

Word count: 5.6k

Rescue Me masterlist | Main masterlist

Vokara Che wasn’t a healer of ringing endorsements, but her grudging smile made me liable to burst with pride. “You’re making progress,” she said, laying her data pad beside me. 

I beamed at her, matching the sunshine on the walls of the Jedi temple infirmary. The itch to get moving—to return to my old self—was insatiable. I missed the faith that my legs could hold me while my hands held my lightsaber and the knowledge that my body could sustain the defense of my ideals. “When can I start training?” 

The Twi’lek healer pursed her lips. “I’m still concerned about your lungs.”

My smile and pride faded. That sounded like she wasn’t going to clear me, and that was…unacceptable. “My lung function will improve–”

Vokara Che crossed her arms, showing her famous stubbornness and making me more nervous. “You know that rushed healing makes botched healing.”

“It’s been almost a week, how is that rushing?” I argued.

But neither volume nor impatience could sway the unmovable rock that was Vokara Che. “Tell me how many days you were gone. Say the number.”

I looked into Vokara Che’s unyielding face, trying to ignore the jump of fear in my chest. “Vokara–”

She held up her hand. “Eleven days. Very little water, very little food.” My stomach turned as she spoke, as if it, alongside my brain, held onto the memories of that dark, Force-forsaken dungeon. “Your chains prevented you from moving your arms, leading to the breakdown of your muscles.” My shoulders ached, like she was awakening the wounds with her words. “Your mind was fractured–”

“My mind is fine,” I snapped. “I am a healer, same as you, and if I–”

“And all of that happened,” Vokara Che raised her voice, “before you suffered hypothermia and almost died!”

“Well, I didn’t die!”

Vokara Che’s nostrils flared, striking fear into my heart at whatever painful reminder she was about to impart. “Six days ago, Kenobi carried you into this infirmary twice because you were too weak to stand! Have you forgotten that?”

I lowered my gaze to the floor. 

I hadn’t forgotten. I didn’t think I’d forget anything about the last three weeks as long as I lived, not with the consequences that had come. 

The consequences of being taken: extreme muscle atrophy and malnutrition. Whenever I was upright, my shoulders ached, and I’d taken to wrapping my weak wrists for support, hoping it would be enough to allow me to wield my lightsaber again. Vokara Che’s careful nutrition regimen had won back a few pounds, but I was still operating from a weight deficit, not to mention my decreased organ function. 

The consequences of being rescued: hypothermia and the removal of Obi-Wan’s title of Master and position on the council. Obi-Wan had done well in warming me up; the risks of hypothermia once I’d reached the Temple were minimal. But the aftershocks of Obi-Wan’s removal from the council still rang through the Temple, and I was most especially vulnerable. 

It just didn’t make sense. The council decided not to send anyone after me. Obi-Wan was part of the council, he was part of the decision they made. Even if he personally wanted me to be rescued, personal desires were nothing compared to what had been decided by the complete council.

Being injured should’ve provided the perfect condition to deepen my connection with—and trust in—the Force, but every time I closed my eyes to meditate, in the darkness behind my eyelids, I could’ve sworn I heard scraping sounds once again. 

“Ghon will be back any day now,” I argued. It may have been a losing battle, but it hurt less than the losing battle in my mind. “I could be sent out on a mission soon, and I can’t afford–”

“Peace.” Vokara Che picked up her data pad again and started walking over to the next occupied bed. “The council won’t send you to any front while you’re still suffering the effects of so much protein catabolism.”

‘Doubt’ and ‘council’ were two words I’d been avoiding using in the same sentence. I stood from my bed, following her. “Please,” I begged. 

Vokara Che didn’t look away from the Jedi whose pulse she was checking. “The day you can jog two laps around the marble gardens without stopping is the day you can start training.”

I lifted my chin, determined. “Then I’ll be back in ten minutes.” 

-

Out of the eight separate gardens in the Temple, the marble gardens were the most sterile, and as such, the only one with a path. Truthfully, it resembled a courtyard or an outdoor ballroom more than it resembled a garden, since the only plants were tiny sprouts in large clay pots. Even the path wasn’t concrete or dirt cutting through grass, but a red onyx marble cutting through cream marble. The faint, swirling patterns within the cream made a good environment for peaceful meditation. 

But for all the contemplative beauty, I did miss the trees and plants in the other, wilder gardens, though they were nothing compared to the jungles of Felucia. Strangely, when I was on Felucia, I missed the climate of Coruscant. Now, here on Coruscant, I missed the person I was on Felucia. 

And the Jedi I’d been with on Felucia. 

I hadn’t laid eyes on Obi-Wan since the council meeting. How could he be busier than ever before after being demoted to Knight and removed from the council? Anytime I tried to follow the faint light of his Force signature, the Force led me out of the temple where my worn-out body kept me from going any significant distance.

Reaching the bottom of the marble steps onto the path, I traced the circular path with my eyes. Two laps around the gardens was almost an insult. On our mission to Kessel, Obi-Wan and I were riding a transporter in order to save a member of the ruling class from a Separatist assassination attempt. The transporter broke down, and we had to run four miles in less than twenty-five minutes in order to save the target. 

Two laps was nothing.

Despite my confidence, I wasn’t even halfway through the first lap when sweat started beading on my forehead. My lungs burned with every expansion, the twin organs struggling to keep up with the strain. I slowed my pace, reminding myself to keep going. Pushing through this pain was nothing compared to what I needed to be capable of in a few days and even less compared to what I’d already faced. 

Thirty feet shy of the first lap, I had to stop, leaning against one of the large potted plants for support. The coarse rattle accompanying every inhale made me wince. If I had a patient making that sound, I’d tell them to rest, even sedate them if I needed to. Why then did I so badly want to keep pushing? Frustrated, I knocked my fist against the rim of the pot. “Blast!”

The Force brushed gently across my forehead, lulling me into closing my eyes. I panted, leaning my whole body against the pot and allowing the Force to blanket my skin. 

In the distance, Obi-Wan’s light shone like a guiding, blinding star. And in the other direction, much farther away, loomed the threat of Dooku’s darkness. I took comfort in the separation and in knowing that when I opened my eyes, Dooku wouldn’t be there. Even if the fear of the darkness still festered within me, my body was no longer trapped there. 

“I’m safe here,” I whispered, for the words didn’t work if I only said them in my mind. “I’m home.” 

With my eyes closed, the brilliant light of the sun filled my vision with a hearty red. And in the hearty red of my vision appeared a face I knew well. 

A piece of Obi-Wan’s hair stuck to his sweaty forehead partially smudged with dust. His eyes were wide as his mouth slowly formed an inaudible shout, a vein bulging in his forehead. Then, he lifted his chin to look up, just as a large piece of rubble came hurtling down towards him.

“No!” I burst out. 

My eyes flew open, and I stared at the plants by my feet, my heart contracting painfully. The image was gone as soon as it’d come, but the fear in his expression settled heavily in my gut. Was it a buried memory resurfacing? I wanted to believe it was, but in the image, Obi-Wan’s hair was short and his beard was full. Only my recent memories featured him that way. And if it were that recent a memory, I would’ve known immediately. 

“Typically,” said a voice which immediately made me straighten, “the ‘no’ comes after I’ve made a suggestion, not before.”

I looked up into the face of Anakin Skywalker. “General Skywalker!” I said, perhaps overly brightly in my attempt to move past the image. I straightened and then immediately leaned against the pot again as my head spun, from exertion or surprise, I wasn’t sure. I grinned to cover for the lack of my bodily autonomy. “The great General Skywalker, returned to Coruscant once again.” Then I noticed the sling around his human arm, instinctively reaching out with the Force to assess the injury. His bones felt intact, but his shoulder ligaments were strained, as though they’d been displaced and then returned. Painful, but not permanent. “What was it this time?”

He adjusted the arm slightly. “Bounty hunters. Gunray still hasn’t given up his vendetta against Senator Amidala.”

Of course. His Jedi reflexes allowed him to easily escape danger, but he might’ve ignored his Force-given instincts if he were defending someone else. 

I raised an eyebrow. “I hope Vokara Che gave you something for the pain when she relocated that.”

“You know she never uses medication on me. Something about needing to learn my lesson.” General Skywalker shifted the arm a bit, as if he could still feel the pain he must’ve felt when Vokara Che put the arm back in the right position. “I was actually hoping to see you for treatment, but…” he trailed off.

I smiled again, hoping desperately that Vokara Che hadn’t told him that I wasn't cleared. “I’m…not treating people yet.”

“Are you training?”

“Trying to.” I wiped a trickle of sweat off my forehead. “Turns out, my body is still…”

“Recovering,” General Skywalker finished, a kinder word than what I was going to say. “May I join you?” 

“Of course.” I pushed off the pot, equally grateful and surprised when my body didn’t sway. 

Once on a mission to Falleen, I saw two children together. Their mothers were sisters, but the children didn’t know each other well. Both being ten years old, they’d been sent to do a chore together. They shared so much history, yet treated each other with a strange politeness. Since the skin of a Falleen changed color to reflect their emotions, the pleasant yellow hue of their skin betrayed the awkwardness of their exchange. 

General Skywalker and I’s relationship was similar. Having shared a master, our histories were entwined but our presents rarely met and only did in the Temple, specifically in the infirmary where I patched him up. Mostly our conversations centered around Obi-Wan, since General Skywalker saw him more often than I did. A fact that I’d privately wrestled with, worrying that if I were a Falleen, my skin would turn green.

Banishing the green-inducing thoughts, I focused on keeping up with the general’s pace, which was nothing short of relaxed, but even walking loosely sent the occasional painful spasm through my chest. 

General Skywalker slowed his pace to that of a baby Derbit, but the look on his face was much darker than anything a Derbit could summon. “Dooku really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

His name in the air sucked the air out of my tired lungs and dragged me right back to the dungeon, pain racing through my body. Not wanting to appear weak in front of the general, I forced in a breath as casually as I could, waiting for the images to pass. 

But General Skywalker spoke before I was ready to. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He lightly touched the top of my shoulder, looking up and down my body. General Skywalker did not have the gaze of a healer, but I knew his connection with the Force was unrivaled. There was no way of knowing what kind of information he could receive from just a look. “You are okay?” he asked. 

I wanted to shrug off his hand, but I knew sometimes the most combative patients were the ones who needed the most help, so I remained where I was. “Yes. I’ve gained back five pounds, and I’m finally able to walk by myself.” My eyes darted over to Master Stass Allie meditating in the center of the gardens. “I’m finally eating solid food too, although not very much of it yet.”

General Skywalker smiled sincerely. “I’m very glad of that. I know I’d be missing food too.”

“But not rations.”

“Never rations.” He shuddered in a manner that mirrored Obi-Wan. How odd it felt to see my old master’s mannerisms in the legendary general. What must the Jedi Order have thought when the Jedi to train the Chosen One then chose to train the padawan of Pong Krell? I could feel their horror deep in my gut, and my arms reflexively clasped behind my back. 

But since he was also Obi-Wan’s padawan, General Skywalker understood him as well as or perhaps better than I. “General Skywalker, may I ask you a question?” 

“Always,” the general said easily. 

“If…if Ahsoka was taken from you, i-if she were taken by bad people…what would you do?”

He lifted a knowing eyebrow. “This is about Obi-Wan, isn’t it?”

I looked away as the mysterious, panicked face of Obi-Wan flashed unbidden in my vision again. “Yes, it’s about him.” 

“Let me ask you this: if Ghon were taken from you by bad people, what would you do?”

My chest tightened at the mention of my padawan, who still hadn’t returned from Ryloth. The idea of him in that dark cell, chained to the ceiling, cut off from light and people as he wasted away…it made me feel sick. “Ghon is still a padawan,” I protested, weighed down by the unspeakable urge to explain myself. “He’s only eleven, he doesn’t have all the skills to withstand the dark side as we do.”

The only reply was the lift of the general’s eyebrows. 

It was sacrilege to discuss this here, in the very heart of the Jedi Order, out in the open, with Master Stass Allie meditating only just out of earshot. 

But sacrilege or not, it was the truth. 

But the truth is wrong, I argued with myself. I wasn’t supposed to choose defiance. General Skywalker and Obi-Wan could choose defiance; they were irreplaceable. I was supposed to prioritize peace over my emotions, and it was my emotions swirling in my gut, urging me to go save Ghon from a situation that wasn’t even real.

The knowing look on General Skywalker’s face made my own flush. “You’d go too. Even if the council told you not to.”

“The council was the one who charged me with the responsibility of teaching and caring for Ghon,” I protested.

“Even if the council said no?” he pressed.

I knew what my answer was, but I couldn’t speak it, could barely even think it. 

“I can feel your wrestling.” The general tilted his head. “It feels almost exactly the same as how Obi-Wan felt when he asked me to help him save you.”

A million questions sprung to my mind, but I remained silent, fighting my surprise and hating that General Skywalker could likely feel it. 

The general continued walking with such casual airs, we might’ve been discussing Coruscant’s weather, which, thanks to weather control, was the exact same every day. “We interrogated everyone in the club, but when no one could tell us anything helpful, Obi-Wan begged the council to send us to go save you anyways. He was certain he could find you.”

“And the council wasn’t,” I finished. I couldn’t fault them for it. The galaxy was massive. It didn’t matter how experienced and capable Obi-Wan was, the odds of him somehow being able to find me were infinitesimally small. 

“And that’s when Obi-Wan asked me how to steal a ship.”

I gaped at the general, unable to reconcile the image of Obi-Wan breaking the rules so thoroughly. If the council hadn’t sent Obi-Wan, of course there wasn’t any authorization for a ship. But stealing one? In a wild moment, I wondered if the general was showing his infamous sense of humor, but his grave expression settled that theory. 

By the void. No wonder the council had stripped him of his status. 

The two of us walked past Master Allie, both of us remaining silent in some unspoken agreement. General Skywalker thoughtfully wrapped his robotic hand around one strap of his sling as we walked, looking much more carefree than I felt. Then again, Obi-Wan hadn’t gotten himself demoted because of General Skywalker. 

“I wanted to go with him,” the general said once we’d passed Master Allie and could safely talk, “but someone had to create a diversion.”

Even if I knew what to say, the lump forming in my throat made it impossible to speak. I knew General Skywalker broke the rules regularly and that he broke them this time for Obi-Wan, but I was still overwhelmed with gratitude. 

“When I asked Obi-Wan where he was going to look for you first, do you know what he said?” I shook my head, not sure I wanted to know. “He said the Force would take him to the right dungeon.” 

My feet froze. Dungeon? Was that just a throwaway phrase…or did Obi-Wan know about the dungeon before he came to rescue me? It was far more realistic to believe that his word choice was coincidence...except for the fact that Obi-Wan had indeed found me in a dungeon. “How could Obi-Wan possibly have known that?” 

General Skywalker glanced at Master Allie and then put his back to her, lowering his voice. “He saw you.”

“What are you talking about?” I said hoarsely, hardly able to speak around the frantic beats of my heart that seemed to extend through my whole being.

“When you’d been taken off the planet to Chobb knew where, he saw visions of you.”

Visions?

Of me?

“Visions that disturbed him so much, he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t train.” General Skywalker swallowed. “It was like watching him lose his mind.”

I could relate to the feeling, but now was not the time. “What happened in these visions? What exactly did Obi-Wan see?”

“You, hanging from the ceiling in a dark cave. And himself, using his lightsaber to cut through your chains.”

I gaped at him. “Obi-Wan…he saw the future? His future? Our future?”

General Skywalker nodded. “He didn’t know what Dooku was doing to you, but he could feel your pain, and he knew that it was up to him to rescue you.”

Stars, if Obi-Wan felt me, if he felt my pain, my terror, and my despair…if I’d known that he could feel me, I would’ve…

Shielded earlier.

To spare him. And protect him. 

Shame roiled through me like the Boiling Sea on Drall. I would’ve engaged in a sith technique, simply to spare Obi-Wan discomfort? Would shielding myself even have worked? These strange visions Obi-Wan reportedly had…did they stem directly from the Force or somehow through the Force from me? Would the Force have sent Obi-Wan to me? Or had I unconsciously reached out for him?

General Skywalker was watching my expression closely, and I could feel his attention through the Force as well. “Hasn’t Obi-Wan told you any of this?”

“He’s avoiding me,” I grumbled, with a bit more malice than what was necessary. 

The general rolled his eyes. “He’s off-planet, Y/L/N.”

Off-planet? Was that why the Force kept leading me out of the Temple when I tried to find him? Had the council sent him away to keep us apart? Or to punish him?

Hang on, if Obi-Wan had been able to sense me across the galaxy and following the light led me out of the Temple…did that mean I’d be able to find Obi-Wan too? If I were to get on a ship right now and blindly fly towards the light, would I end up wherever Obi-Wan was?

The light, as if reacting to my thoughts, grew larger above me. I glanced up at the ships passing above our heads, staring up into the sky beyond which, somewhere, was Obi-Wan. “How is any of this happening?” I muttered as the light continued flaring. 

“You’re still confused.” General Skywalker sounded sympathetic. 

“Yes,” I admitted. “I understand a little more, but…I…I just…” My words failed, unable to contain the scope of what was happening inside of me. 

General Skywalker rolled his shoulders and glanced around us again, clearly preparing to exit the conversation. “Look, Obi-Wan always taught me to follow the Force. I think he taught you the same.” He paused, waiting for my response or trying to find his next words, I didn’t know. “He followed the Force right to you. Say what you will about right or wrong, but…that counts for something.” 

I digested that before nodding once in acknowledgement. 

The general’s comm beeped, and he sent me an apologetic look. “I have to go. Stay on the mend, yeah?” He strode for the garden entrance. 

“General?” I said. 

General Skywalker turned around. 

“It’s because I was his padawan, right?” I said, desperation making my lips looser. “That he can feel me?” 

And that I could feel him? 

A rogue smirk found its way onto the general’s mouth with such ease, I knew it wasn’t an uncommon expression for him. “If Obi-Wan can feel me in that way, he’s never directly crossed the council to come rescue me.” A rush of guilt coursed through me, and General Skywalker was shaking his head almost instantly. “Defying the council isn’t something new, Y/L/N. If anything, Obi-Wan made Master Qui-Gon proud.” And with a wink I wasn’t sure how to interpret, General Skywalker swaggered out of the gardens. 

I watched him go, my fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of my tunic. The general gave me more information, but it felt as if the facts floated above me out of arm's reach, making it impossible for me to pull them down and put them together in a way that made sense. 

Shaking my head, I started running, but only made it seven steps before reaching out for the nearest pot again. 

I wasn’t going to get two laps in today, with or without stopping. 

A wipe of my forehead showed the perspiration from the attempt, and I fumbled my way out of the gardens, ready to bathe away the embarrassing evidence of my failure. 

-

The Temple baths were empty while I bathed, but after, the corridors teemed with Jedi, all healthy enough to bustle about their business and curious enough to stare at me. I could feel their attention like a pin jabbing me in the arm. I’d felt scrutiny this intense when I walked here after Master Krell had been killed. 

Back then, I was the tainted padawan, the one no one could fully trust. I wasn’t quite sure what they thought they saw now. 

Perhaps Vokara Che expected me to return to the infirmary, but spending my days as a patient in the very infirmary where I’d once been a healer? It was mortifying. Vokara Che had allowed me to leave the infirmary to attempt my laps, so I was going to recover in private, in one of the temporary rooms for Jedi between missions.

“Knight Y/L/N?” 

I turned to face the youngling I’d just passed while trying to ignore his open stare. “Yes?”

“Master Yoda wants to see you.”

My heartrate kicked up. “Did he say for what purpose?”

The youngling shook his head. “Only that he’s waiting for you in his quarters.” Message delivered, the youngling bowed and scampered off, but not without a last glance over his shoulder. 

“Force help me,” I muttered, laying a hand over my heart, trying to use pressure to calm myself as I walked to Master Yoda’s quarters. It was only the exhaustion of my body that made my feet drag, I tried to tell myself. Master Yoda asking to speak to me wasn’t concerning; he was an involved Grand Master. He spoke to many Jedi every day. There was nothing special about him asking to see me now. 

Unless there was something special, and it was my turn to receive consequences. 

I gulped as I reached the door, flexing my fingers in an effort to keep them from shaking. Knock, I instructed myself. It would be a quick check-in, nothing more. Nothing unusual, nothing ominous. 

“Enter!” said Master Yoda, in his gruff, froggy, sage-like voice. 

I jumped slightly. Of course Master Yoda could sense me. It was foolish of me to be surprised. 

Forging ahead, I stepped close enough for the sliding door to open.

Master Yoda stood in between the two cushioned, circular chairs, both of his hands resting atop his gimer stick. The slats of his windows were open enough to let lines of Coruscant’s sunlight through, shining patterns onto the floor. 

I only proceeded far enough to allow the door to slide close behind me with a quiet whoosh. I bowed. “You wanted to see me, Master?”

“Yes.” Master Yoda hobbled over to one of the chairs, seating himself with what looked like great difficulty. “Join me.”

My heart lifted a bit. Would Master Yoda really want me seated if he intended to punish me? I sat, my body straining with the effort to keep good posture. 

“Great pain I sense in you. Fear.” Master Yoda’s hands rested on his knees, palm up. “Uncertainty.”

I nodded slowly, certainly uncertain about where he was going with the conversation. “Yes.”

“Suffered much, you did.”

My face burned. “Master, I–”

“Know not do I how Kenobi found you.” Master Yoda tilted his head.  “Glad I am that he did, especially before it was too late.”

Too late. 

My thoughts clashed within my mind. Did he mean before death? Or before I inevitably gave in? 

“It was too late,” I murmured.

“Hmmm?” 

I couldn’t look up from my lap. Was there much point in my broken body being rescued if my mind was still steeped in the darkness of that dungeon? “I failed, Master. I withdrew from the Force. He was right all along about me.”

Master Yoda’s voice, instead of growing louder in a reprimand, grew softer with compassion. “Right about very little is Dooku.”

“I did exactly what he wanted.” I clenched my hands in my lap, watching my fingers whiten. “I gave into the darkness.”

Master Yoda’s chuckles reverberated through the space, causing me to look up in surprise. “If true that was, not here would you be. Cowardly is Dooku. Cares not does he about light or dark, but about power and victory. Gave him neither, did you.” 

I thought back to the last moment I saw Dooku, right after he felt me shielding from the Force. He’d said something about getting me food…because I submitted. “I only submitted so that we could escape,” I murmured. 

Master Yoda nodded. “Made it eleven days, you did. Submission?” He laughed again, and the sound made me feel strangely lighter. “Weak your body may have been. But strong your spirit was.”

He’s saying I’m a survivor, I realized. 

“Maybe I was strong in that dungeon,” I croaked. “But since then…Master, I’m so afraid.”

Master Yoda nodded soberly. “I can feel your fear. Scared of the shadows, you are. Hold something you haven’t faced, they don’t.” 

“But if Dooku ever takes me again–”

“Then shown, have you, that the dark side has no hold on you. Shown, have you, that you are a warrior whose strength lies with the Force.” A smile spread across Master Yoda’s face. “Saved you, the Force did, from those who wield it for their own ends. Welcome you, it would, but more it still has for you to do.”

He was right. The Force was with me through the pain of that dungeon. It brought Obi-Wan to me to save me. Even when I’d been alone and freezing to death on that deathtrap of a planet, even when I’d passed through the veil and felt nothing, the Force held me. And if Obi-Wan’s actions were so shameful, why would the Force have led him straight to me?

I took a deep breath and let it out. Perhaps I imagined it, but it seemed like my lungs weren’t quite so resistant. 

“Failed?” Master Yoda got up from his chair, leaning heavily on his gimer stick to walk close enough to rest his three-fingered hand on my knee. “Given you an unbreakable spirit, the Force has. Tried and failed to break it, Krell did. Break it, Dooku cannot.” 

Spirit. 

An uncertain smile grew on my own face. 

My body hadn’t yet recovered. It might never fully recover. But spirit? Well, the wise Master Yoda knew much more about spirit than I.

It was with much gratitude that I stood to bow. “Thank you, Master Yoda.”

Both of Master Yoda’s hands came to rest on his gimer stick as he smiled at me. “Rest. Sleep. Meditate. Time to heal, you have.”

As I left the Grand Master’s chambers, I deeply felt just how much time I truly had. A whole life yet ahead of me, thanks to the Force.

And thanks to Obi-Wan Kenobi.

-

The next day, I ran a full lap around the marble gardens without stopping. 

Feeling full of light, I descended the steps to the baths. I was about to turn around the corner of a corridor when I paused, suddenly filled with the conviction that I was walking in the wrong direction. 

“Y/N!”

I turned around just in time to get tackled so enthusiastically, I nearly fell over. I should’ve panicked, especially because I couldn’t move my arms in this sudden embrace, but I couldn’t feel anything but simultaneous shock and relief as my padawan held me fiercely.

“Ghon,” I whispered, freeing my arms enough to hug him back. 

“You’re alright!” Hearing those words in my padawan’s sweet voice somehow made the sentiment more believable. 

“I’m alright,” I repeated, pressing my cheek to the top of his head. “I’m alright.” My vision blurred because standing in the fiercest hug I’d ever received, my gratitude overwhelmed me. I stood in the Jedi Temple, reunited with my padawan. Both of us were safe. How much did two laps around the garden truly matter?

I lifted my eyes to the ceiling, blinking away the tears before they could fall on Ghon’s head. Deep within me swirled feelings of joy, warmth and light. 

Light. 

My head jerked over to see Obi-Wan at the end of the hallway, watching. 

A strange thrill rocked through my stomach at the sight of him. He looked far more composed than he had after the Jedi council meeting, almost…regal. 

…had I been so full of my own light that I hadn’t sensed his coming nearer? 

Then I remembered the padawan clinging to me and how that might be perceived in this building. For a moment, I panicked, ready to pull away from Ghon, but then I stopped. Ghon was just a boy. A child. He deserved to have someone hug him. 

And, oh, how desperately I wanted to be that someone. 

That was when I noticed the full luster of Obi-Wan’s light through the Force. Standing all the way at the end of the hall, he radiated more gratification than Ghon did. 

Ghon pulled out of the embrace, looking back at Obi-Wan. “You were right! She’s okay!” He turned back to me, talking excitedly. “Master Windu said that you wouldn’t be coming back, and Master Ima-Gun Di said that he was going to be my new master, but then Master Kenobi came to get me, and he said that you were back!”

What?

I looked at Obi-Wan. He went to retrieve Ghon? That’s where he’d been this whole time? Had he told Ghon that he was the one who rescued me? Clearly he hadn’t told Ghon that he wasn’t a master anymore, if Ghon was still using the title. Had the council sent Obi-Wan to Ryloth or had he gone of his own volition again? 

“He told me to trust the Force,” Ghon was saying, “right before you left, remember? He said ‘trust the Force’ and you would be okay. Well, I did, and you are!” Ghon flung his arms around me again, and I caught him, holding him just as tightly. But I couldn’t tear my eyes from Obi-Wan, who still stood too far away for me to speak to him. A public corridor in the middle of the Temple was perhaps the worst place for us to talk anyways, even if hardly anyone was around. 

But still, the words bubbled up from deep within me, full of meaning and unsquashable.

Thank you.

And to my shock, a reply came immediately, accompanied by an unmistakable warm glow. 

You’re welcome.

Obi-Wan recoiled at the same time as I did, staring at me with the same wide eyes I knew I regarded him with. 

What…just…happened?

Obi-Wan gave me a quick nod and walked away in a suspiciously quick fashion that could almost be categorized as a scurry. And if I hadn’t had an eleven-year-old boy clinging to me with all his might, I would’ve run after him.

-

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