#please use open source

[isa5670]

This! Yes, go to FOSS!! Learn how to use FOSS, learn how to make FOSS better.

LibreOffice is HUGE and it's GREAT and you don't ever have to touch MS again if you know how to take care of your stuff. STOP DEPENDING ON BIG TECHS!

Also, if you really really need it to be MS Office, just pirate it. Get the 2013 version or something. Go to the internet, learn how to pirate safely. Learn about trustworthy sites, about VPN and the Scene. Learn how to get cracked software. It's not some deepweb, just like put an r/ in front of the 🏴‍☠️ word or something, maybe you'll find something interesting, I don't know. It's a fucking big tech, don't get sad about license stuff or anything. They don't deserve your money, they don't give you an option to opt out, so you do it yourself.

CoPilot in MS Word

I opened Word yesterday to discover that it now contains CoPilot. It follows you as you type and if you have a personal Microsoft 365 account, you can't turn it off. You will be given 60 AI credits per month and you can't opt out of it.

The only way to banish it is to revert to an earlier version of Office. There is lot of conflicting information and overly complex guides out there, so I thought I'd share the simplest way I found.

How to revert back to an old version of Office that does not have CoPilot

This is fairly simple, thankfully, presuming everything is in the default locations. If not you'll need to adjust the below for where you have things saved.

Click the Windows Button and S to bring up the search box, then type cmd. It will bring up the command prompt as an option. Run it as an administrator.

Paste this into the box at the cursor: cd "\Program Files\Common Files\microsoft shared\ClickToRun"

Hit Enter

Then paste this into the box at the cursor: officec2rclient.exe /update user updatetoversion=16.0.17726.20160

Hit enter and wait while it downloads and installs.

VERY IMPORTANT. Once it's done, open Word, go to File, Account (bottom left), and you'll see a box on the right that says Microsoft 365 updates. Click the box and change the drop down to Disable Updates.

This will roll you back to build 17726.20160, from July 2024, which does not have CoPilot, and prevent it from being installed.

If you want a different build, you can see them all listed here. You will need to change the 17726.20160 at step 4 to whatever build number you want.

This is not a perfect fix, because while it removes CoPilot, it also stops you receiving security updates and bug fixes.

Switching from Office to LibreOffice

At this point, I'm giving up on Microsoft Office/Word. After trying a few different options, I've switched to LibreOffice.

You can download it here for free: https://www.libreoffice.org/

If you like the look of Word, these tutorials show you how to get that look:

www.howtogeek.com/788591/how-to-make-libreoffice-look-like-microsoft-office/

www.debugpoint.com/libreoffice-like-microsoft-office/

If you've been using Word for awhile, chances are you have a significant custom dictionary. You can add it to LibreOffice following these steps.

First, get your dictionary from Microsoft

Go to Manage your Microsoft 365 account: account.microsoft.com.

One you're logged in, scroll down to Privacy, click it and go to the Privacy dashboard.

Scroll down to Spelling and Text. Click into it and scroll past all the words to download your custom dictionary. It will save it as a CSV file.

Open the file you just downloaded and copy the words.

Open Notepad and paste in the words. Save it as a text file and give it a meaningful name (I went with FromWord).

Next, add it to LibreOffice

Open LibreOffice.

Go to Tools in the menu bar, then Options. It will open a new window.

Find Languages and Locales in the left menu, click it, then click on Writing aids.

You'll see User-defined dictionaries. Click New to the right of the box and give it a meaningful name (mine is FromWord).

Hit Apply, then Okay, then exit LibreOffice.

Open Windows Explorer and go to C:\Users[YourUserName]\AppData\Roaming\LibreOffice\4\user\wordbook and you will see the new dictionary you created. (If you can't see the AppData folder, you will need to show hidden files by ticking the box in the View menu.)

Open it in Notepad by right clicking and choosing 'open with', then pick Notepad from the options.

Open the text file you created at step 5 in 'get your dictionary from Microsoft', copy the words and paste them into your new custom dictionary UNDER the dotted line.

Save and close.

Reopen LibreOffice. Go to Tools, Options, Languages and Locales, Writing aids and make sure the box next to the new dictionary is ticked.

If you use LIbreOffice on multiple machines, you'll need to do this for each machine.

Please note: this worked for me. If it doesn't work for you, check you've followed each step correctly, and try restarting your computer. If it still doesn't work, I can't provide tech support (sorry).

[bonefall]

Warrior Bites: Dietary Needs

[ID: A fish carcass, bird carcass, and mouse carcass on a stone slab.]

Are you wondering how much prey a Clan needs a day? What they should eat to stay healthy? Why food processing is useful at all? All the answers to these questions and more, contained within a general guide to dietary needs for your Warrior Cats!

As an obligate carnivore, a cat's entire diet revolves around processing meat. More specifically, the ideal diet should be 55% protein, 45% fats, about 1% to 3% carbs, with the remainder being various micro-nutrients. You can expect the average 10-pound warrior to need 350 calories per day, about 3.5 mice on average.

I've also included a section talking about obesity, which dives into how canon's depiction of it is both harmful fatphobia and wouldn't make sense from a cat perspective. It also discusses obesity in realistic cats; and how you're free to choose the realism on that aspect.

Below the cut;

Caloric Intake

Nutrition

Food Processing

On Obesity

Caloric Intake

The general rule for how much a cat needs to eat is that an active, non-neutered tom will need about 35 calories per pound of their own body weight, per day, just to remain the weight they are.

That means that the average warrior, assuming they are 10 pounds, will need 350 calories a day.

Kittens, pregnant and nursing cats, and large warriors will need to eat more than average. Neutered cats, elders, and clerics/medcats will eat less. There are calculators online for determining how much an individual will need, but you can estimate how much an entire Clan will need just by taking 350 and multiplying it by population!

Assuming the average population is about 30 cats, that's 10,500 calories to feed a Clan for a day! To put that in perspective, that many calories would feed 7 large humans. If you felt like fighting a group of angry cats to steal their day's worth of mice, I mean.

Generally speaking, land prey will have a caloric value around 5 calories per gram. Aquatic prey is significantly lower, around 4 calories per gram. Birds will be just below 6 calories per gram. To find out how many cats a piece of prey will feed, or how many pieces a cat will need that day, take the category and multiply by the prey's weight in grams.

So for example, the average house mouse is 20 grams and it is land prey, meaning its caloric value is around 100 calories! A warrior will need 3 and a half mice a day to stay healthy, and a Clan will need 105 mice daily to support 30 cats.

105 mice may seem like a lot, but remember that a wild rabbit is 1,800 grams on average which means 9,000 calories. 2 big pieces of prey will feed the whole Clan, with leftovers.

Those estimates include every part of the animal. Cats eat organs, small bones, and even skin. Skeletal muscle, or "fillets" in reference to fish, is so low in calories that it's typically somewhere between 1 kcal to 1.5 kcal per gram. That's what you're buying in the supermarket; but wild animals don't usually cut their food into choice strips.

(unless you're writing a clan that does food processing of course!)

QUICK FACTS

Average warrior will need 35 calories per pound of weight

10 pound warrior needs 350 calories a day

350 x 30 cats = 10,500 calories to feed a Clan for a single day

Birds provide the most calories per gram, land prey the middlemost, and aquatic prey the least.

Calculate calories in prey by taking the weight, converting to grams, and multiply by 4, 5, or 6 depending on broad category.

If you're having trouble feeding a Clan on small animals, look at bigger prey like rabbits and trout.

Muscle fillets are inferior to organ meats and have a much lower caloric value.

Nutrition

Not all food is the same. The more important thing to consider about any particular meal is NOT its calorie count, but its nutritional value. This is especially important to cats because protein is not stored as fat. If the body has no immediate use for it, it's flushed out.

Since cats should not eat more than 3% carbs, ALL of their fat stores will need to come from fat.

The ideal piece of meat would be at least 55% protein and 45% fat. Every individual species will have a different ratio, and more importantly, individual cuts will have a different ratio.

Skeletal muscle has a higher ratio of protein to fat. Organ meat, also sometimes called "offal," will have a more balanced ratio. That said, nearly all meat skews towards protein. PURE fat is very hard to find on the sorts of animals Clan cats hunt, and must be carefully divided, collected, or processed to make sure all warriors are getting proper nutrition.

I'll be going more in-depth with dietary fat at some other time, as this guide is meant to just be an overview! Just know that some Clans will need to eat MORE food to stay healthy because of this.

Cats need more than the "macronutrients" to stay healthy. They can't JUST rely on the juiciest cuts of meat to keep their health intact, they also need several vitamins and minerals to support their body functions, and avoid getting a deficiency.

Here's some of the important micronutrients, where to get them, and what happens they don't get enough;

Vitamin A: Livers, mealworms, eggs This is one of the most important micronutrients in a cat's body, used for practically everything. Without this, their coats will grow dull, and their joints stiff, and they'll start to go night-blind. In a severe state, they'll start to lose the ability to heal skin lacerations and die. Pregnant cats and kittens need more of this than usual, but it IS also possible to get vitamin A poisoning from getting too concentrated of a dose.

Calcium: Bones, eggs With a calcium deficiency, the warrior will feel stiff and sore, and experience painful muscle spasms. Most cats will simply crunch the bones of small prey and never have to worry about this, but if your cats cook or scavenge, they have to be told to NEVER eat the bones of a roasted bird. Because bird bones are hollow and cooking makes them brittle, they can splinter and cause fatal internal bleeding.

Thiamine: Trout, boar meat, mealworms, eggs Called a Fish Seizure because raw carp and raw bream contains thiaminase, which will destroy thiamine in the body. Lack of thiamine will cause neurological issues, such as the aforementioned seizures, general confusion, memory loss, and muscle weakness. This can be counterracted by eating trout, which is so high in thiamine that there's a theory that carp evolved it specifically to eat salmonids better.

Potassium: Trout, boar meat, mealworms, eggs As cats get older, they begin needing a lot more potassium for their bodies. It's a very common micronutrient found in most meat, but elders should get the first bite of special snacks "out of respect" which helps keep their potassium level up. Without it, they become very weak.

i feel like that evil struthiomimus from land before time with how many times i typed eggs

QUICK FACTS

The ideal ratio of a cut of meat is 55% protein 45% fat

Organ meat > Muscle meat

Micronutrients are important

But micronutrients can also cause poisoning if, somehow, they're too concentrated (very hard to come across concentrated micronutrients without the science of chemistry tho. Like if a cat swallowed a vitamin gummy.)

Food Processing

"Food Processing" is when you do something to your food before you eat it. Just a little bit of care is going to go a LONG WAY when it comes to health of the warrior.

Cats that eat raw meat the way canon warriors do are almost guaranteed to get worms. Roundworms, hookworms, and tapeworms are all passed through the infected tissue of rodent prey, and in fish, roundworms, tapeworms, and flukes can pass through raw meat.

All parasites do something a little different, but most digestive worms aren't fatal unless the cat is sick or a kitten. However, nearly ALL of them screw around with digestion, making the cat need to eat more just to stay healthy, or causing stomach irritation. Some of them can even pass in milk, infecting a suckler's nursing kits.

The easiest way to reduce this kind of infection is simply to slice the prey open from mouth-to-butt, Tigerstar-style, and hook and lift out the GI tract before eating. There's nothing in that worth eating raw anyway. It can just be discarded, or cleaned out and used to case tiny sausages! But it's only a reduction; there's still a risk of catching worms from raw meat.

There's also always the possibility of getting salmonella poisoning.

Many believe that cats are immune to this, but that's not true! Carnivores just have a shorter GI tract than omnivores and herbivores, so salmonella spends less time in their gut and ergo has less chance of causing an infection. It still happens, ESPECIALLY when cats hunt songbirds.

Nothing can be done about salmonella in raw meat, besides eating it as quickly as possible. It's innate to the bodies of birds and reptiles, and usually found on raw eggs too.

Some animals are small enough to be dried and carried around as rations, such as minnows or grasshoppers. Others could be sliced up into strips, and marinated in spices like valerian or catmint for an extra boost of energy. It could also be worthwhile to cut the pelt off a particularly soft animal, like a mole, to dry and keep as bedding material.

All of the above examples of food processing are possible without fire, but if your cats DO have fire, they will have a DRASTIC increase to the quality of their health.

Such as;

Cooking will almost completely eliminate those foodborne parasites. Their eggs don't survive extreme heat.

No more salmonella poisoning! GONE! Cooking is the only way to eliminate this!

It can increase caloric absorption from anywhere between 20% to 50%. Our example warrior who needed 3.5 mice a day could suddenly need one less mouse; and even a meager 20% drop in how much the entire Clan needs saves 2,400 calories a day. 24 whole mice!

I HAVE TO STRESS HOW BIG THAT IS. You save anywhere from 2/10 to 5/10 successful kills.

Thiaminase is destroyed by cooking, making bream and carp healthier and reducing "fish seizures."

It allows for fats to be processed and stored as tallow, lard, and oil, so it can be added to other dishes to make them both healthier and tastier.

Most food preservation requires fire in some way; by heating, jellying, boiling, etc. The only other two ways to reliably store food is by having access to a ton of salt, which is hard for most non-coastal clans to acquire, or vinegar, which is so acidic it's a notorious cat-repellent.

While cooking can also destroy some micronutrients, its benefits FAR outweigh any potential "strengths" of raw food. Destroying micronutrients is also not always a bad thing; as TOO MANY micronutrients can cause poisoning. Fire-using Clans will be more likely to "seek" micronutrients than non-fire Clans as a result, though they probably won't recognize the science behind a hankering!

QUICK FACTS

Worms. Basically unavoidable if your cat's eating like a canon warrior.

Some parasites can spread through milk.

Slicing and lifting out the GI tract can significantly reduce the chance of catching worms.

Salmonella can only be eliminated with cooking

Cooking will drastically increase the quality of a Clan's health, if your cats are advanced enough to figure out fire.

Warriors need to hunt a LOT less prey, and can store that prey, if they have fire.

Fire-using Clans will intentionally try to put more types of food in their diets and get 'cravings.'

On Obesity

Warrior Cats is not a realistic series. The boundary that any particular writer draws between humans and warrior cats is completely arbitrary. The series itself follows no sense of realistic genetics, regularly shows the cats using herbs that would poison them, and gives the characters human-centric morals like monogamy and paternal involvement.

So when it comes to being fatness in your project, please keep that in mind. You do not need too follow realistic cat weight distribution, if that's not what your project about. That said, let me tell you about humans vs cats in this department!

Humans have a massive diversity of weight distribution, with varied genetic predispositions to gaining and losing weight. The shame, bullying, and medical discrimination that comes with fatphobia is a LOT more harmful than being fat itself, and the causes of the "obesity crisis" are ridiculously more complicated than "ppl r snorking 2 much food".

Realistic cats aren't the same way.

When REAL cats are fat, that's VERY bad. It's a sign they are being fed the wrong things by humans, or live somewhere that they are able to eat what they shouldn't. They just don't have that same diversity in fat distribution that humans do. Because of how adipose tissue secretes certain hormones, feline obesity is like a chronic inflammatory disease which can cause arthritis, bladder stones, hepatic lipidosis, and more.

But with that in mind, fatness should be perceived very differently even in the most realistic settings. In comparison to humans;

It is harder for a wild cat to put on weight. Most of what they're eating is raw protein, actively trying to fill the 45% of daily fat intake they need to stay healthy. Protein isn't stored as fat, it's immediately discarded by the body if there is no use for it. A cat would need to be taking an INSANE amount of prey to start becoming dangerously overweight. Housecats are often fed human food, which has carbohydrates. Low-quality cat food will also use carbs as filler. High carb food is VERY bad for them, since they're only supposed to have 3% carbs at most. This is one of the reasons why it's easy for pet cats to become overweight.

Realistic cats don't look start looking overweight until they are significantly obese. Most of their fat is stored around their ribs and internally, unlike humans with our thick hips and round bellies, and they are covered in a naturally sagging pelt of fur. It's not as obvious with them. Visually, weight will be noticed best from a bird's eye perspective, unlike humans where it's apparent at every angle.

Putting on the fat that CAN be acquired is ridiculously important 3.5 raw, whole mice a day, per cat, are needed to fill their basic dietary requirements. There are going to be days or months especially during winter where they might be below that number, and that stored fat is going to be lifesaving. Bulking up is actually a big deal!

So not only is how canon treats overweight characters full of malice, it's full of lazy malice. It makes no sense from a realistic standpoint for wild cats to develop an association between fatness and greed or laziness. It's important, hard work for them to acquire it!

Though the Clans are notoriously xenophobic and kittypets are more likely to be overweight, it still doesn't make sense from a realistic cat perspective to be fatphobic in the same way as canon. It's more likely they'd see fat housecats as having "unearned" weight given to them by humans, like they're cheating, or they might be disdainful of how much junk food they eat, or pitiable because it's a sign of a bad twoleg... or just "sour grapes" variety jealousy ☕.

Bottom line is that there's a LOT you can do here which is better than canon's vicious bullying. The writers just lifted British cultural disdain for fat people and put it into the books. They simply did not think it through.

So please do what they didn't, and just put a little extra thought into how your project is going to view fatness! Consider if fatphobia is even a theme you need in your text.

As stated, you do not even have to write weight in your cats as being realistic in this way! I encourage you to pick and choose what's most fun and fitting for your own work. I personally give my characters a more human weight distribution, simply because I want to spite canon and be more body-positive. I am a fat people and you can take Bumble's big chunky bod from my cold, dead hands.

You can choose to make your work however you'd like, and now with this guide, you can have an easy reference for what your cats should eat! Thank you, StarClan, for this prey <3

[fuck-you-showerthoughts]

Fuck firefox. Obliterating you with lasers

Are you like. Ok.

[once-more-with-anxiety]

me,slapping both of my hands over everything about the cancellation while kicking the last episode aside with my foot: so, how do you guys think the next season will start? I'm thinking Charles and Edwin go on a date or something, personally.

[residentialhomeowner]

a lot of people are using nex as a queer talking point without even mentioning they were choctaw and 2S. without even mentioning that this - harassment, assault, murder, disappearances, lies/indifference/denial about the circumstances of our death - is typical of the violence we face. not once have i seen non-native people address that we, as natives, face this same treatment within queer communities. that queer institutions use our land while declining to offer native-inclusive and -sensitive care. we suffer at the hands of white lgbt+ people just as much as we do at the hands of people outside the community.

nex is not your NB pariah. nex was a 2S, NB, choctaw child. thousands of native people go missing and are killed and no one cares. many are two-spirit. many are LGBTQIA+. many are "queer" in ways only defined and recognised by our closed cultures, that you may never hear of and may never understand.

if you are going to flock to nex, you are not going to take them from us post-mortem. they were choctaw. they were native. their tribal affiliation has already been falsely reported on. if you are talking about nex, you will talk about how unwelcoming and dangerous your communities are for us, too. you will talk about how natives face this violence constantly, everywhere. you will not remove nex from the context of them being choctaw, ever - or you won't say their name at all.

even when we die, you don't care about us. i am telling you to care about us if you want us to stop dying.

[sacrifesse]

Just a question, when are you opening requests again or is it a bit inappropriate to ask? (I do apologize if it is.)

whenever we finish all of the original requests. by original i mean reqs that were received when reqs were still open. any reqs i haven’t declined that were sent when they were closed get added to the count after they re-open. thus, the counter will not start at zero when reqs re-open, leading them to close faster. as a people-pleaser, this is how we “punish” (used very lightly) those that request when they are closed.

[unopenablebox]

i have to start skipping the introductions of history books i try to read because it'll spend ages on creating a bunch of new vocabulary words to convey the idea that even human movements and migrations that didn't literally cover the whole planet still ultimately contribute or relate to the concept of "globalization". and it's like. yes. i didn't particularly think that most contacts between continents or cultures involved a single event of spreading over the whole world at once, nor did i think that it didn't count as interaction/was irrelevant if a particular contact was only between europe and asia or w/e. who on earth are you refuting here. please just start telling me information from your primary sources about how local spanish economies responded to the black death

[deltoravivisection]

well uh. Guess I'm not gonna be using unity for this game anymore?

[unproduciblesmackdown]

another note re: the full chronological summer stock song list, being:

"Get Happy," "Happy Days Are Here Again/I Want to Be Happy," "Accentuate the Positive," "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows," "Always," "Always (reprise)," "It's Only a Paper Moon," "The Best Things in Life Are Free," "Dig for Your Dinner," "Me and My Shadow," "Howdy Neighbor, Happy Harvest," "Red Hot Mama," " 'Til We Meet Again," "You Wonderful You," "June Night," "Some of These Days," "Joe's Dance," "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows (reprise)," "It All Depends on You," "Always (reprise)," "Everybody Step," "Lucky Day," "How Ya Gonna Keep 'Em Down on the Farm," "Hinky-Dinky Parlez Vouz," "It Had to Be You," "Get Happy (reprise)" and "You Wonderful You (Finale)"

with the general reference point that "june night" is the first post-intermission act two song, sure Looking at that act two's second "always (reprise)"....that first Always/reprise combo being the introductory wingates scene that we now know is where mrs. margaret widow "orville's mom" wingate is Already just pushing orville at jane to marry so that she can have the falbury farm & in turn that whole swatch of land, with no doughnut hole of someone else's farm in the middle, and we know that this is pretty transparent and just placed there before jane decides to agree to the "theatre troupe as farmhands" (and eventual theatre show as farm-saving fundraiser) as this like motivating push when nobody's really enthused about being pushed into marriages or having to sell their farm or lose it or anything but also nobody sees a world of other options, so the antics of dealing with productions in your barn is more appealing

all as leadup like, but for real if the first "always (reprise)" is a proposal push / orchestration, (and if "'til we meet again," a song that's pretty much its own marriage proposal, features orville/phil moments & literal orchestrations....) and the piano orville/phil duet is somewhere in act two, probably preceding a [Rehearsals] sequence, just sure going "omg. what if" like sure maybe mrs. margaret widow wingate gets that Reprise, but the other most likely candidate is orville, and hand on forehead "orvphil real" shirt on torso like omg the potential power of that, presuming it has a more Genuine invocation in one way or another in act two......but fr it might be like, a twist like "always (reprise) (even more openly: A Threat)" from margaret wingate gearing up for one more Stop The Show maneuver. still fun to imagine like goodspeed post these clips of everyone's favorite intense professional possible romance pleeease thank you

[5ummit]

Tumblr proving, yet again, to be the piss on the poor website.

I understand when people who have never seen this post – the literal origin of DD:DNE – get it wrong because the misinformation surrounding the tag is rampant, but the lack of basic reading comprehension skills around here blows my mind sometimes. Some people are so committed to their incorrect understanding of DD:DNE that they'll just ignore any evidence to the contrary even when it's right in front of them, plain as day.

The intended use case and entire reason OP thought a new tag was needed in the first place is in the very first line: "id-tastic fic that rolls around in tropes that might be viewed as problematic" (aka unapologetically fucked up shit). And if that weren't enough, this point is reiterated multiple times throughout the post, particularity with its direct comparison to Hydra Trash Party, the king of unapologetically fucked up shit.

Yes, DD:DNE was originally intended to be a tag modifier similar to 'what it says on the tin', but it cannot be divorced from its problematic-ness. It's not just about the warning on the bag, there has to be an animal carcass inside. If you label a bag "dead dove: do not eat" and there's a cinnamon roll inside, you've labelled it incorrectly and you're going to cause a lot of unnecessary confusion.

A proposal

Sometimes, in fandom, we just want to write id-tastic fic that rolls around in tropes that might be viewed as problematic. But we don’t want to address the problematic side of things in this particular fanwork; we just want to roll around and wallow.

It is considered courteous to give readers a heads-up via use of AO3 tags. I propose a tag that signals that a given fanwork is for rolling around, not giving a measured evaluation of anything. The MCU has carved out a space for this sort of fic with the “HYDRA Trash Party” tag, for which I commend them. Trash Party is a bit too specific to cover all of the ground I’m thinking of here, though; I propose “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.”

For those of you not familiar with Arrested Development, Michael Bluth finds a paper bag in the freezer labeled “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.” He opens the bag, finds a dead dove, and reacts as follows:

[gif of a white man saying “I don’t know what I expected” in a deadpan manner]

The “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” tag would essentially be a “what it says on the tin” metatag, indicating “you see the tropes and concepts tagged here? they are going to appear in this fic. exactly as said. there will not necessarily be any subversion, authorial commentary condemning problematic aspects, or meditation on potential harm. this fic contains dead dove. if you proceed, you should expect to encounter it.”

(more at KnowYourMeme: http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/i-dont-know-what-i-expected)

[yosefgaza]

🫂Please stop and listen to my story. Don't ignore me.💔

I am Yousef, 35 years old, married

Please take two minutes of your time and I hope you stand by me and help me save my family from the war

I have three children

They were deprived of their most basic rights as children, their right to education, play and live safely like the rest of the children in the world. They were terrified and very afraid of the sounds of missiles. Our house was bombed while we were inside it and some of us were injured, but we miraculously survived. My house was completely destroyed in Khan Younis and I headed to the displacement camps on the beach. I had a beautiful house and I had clothing stores, but they were completely destroyed during the brutal war on the Gaza Strip, which was a source of income for us. The tent we live in now does not protect us from the heat of summer or the harsh cold of winter and rain. I want you to help me so that I can be with my family again

I have suffered from the war for more than a year and a half. I lost part of my family, my home and my work

We have nothing left here

I lost my dreams and ambitions after I drew a beautiful future

This war is cruel and brutal, we cannot provide the most basic rights

We have been suffering from famine for months and we are still patient

I also need to travel with my family if the crossing opens at any time in order to save our lives

One person needs to pay coordination to the Egyptian side from $5,000 to $8,000, this is a large amount

But I know that thanks to your support we were able to save our lives from death

Your donation is enough to save our lives from death

Things here are more difficult than you see

I hope you do not leave us here alone🫂

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #591 )✅️

Verified before

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #591 )✅️

@90-ghost

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[yujateaandpi]

Hi guys! Yujatea here! If you enjoy my work, I’d like to please ask for a moment of your time to consider helping this family I’m supporting! Shaima is a mother of four children, Abdul Rahim, Walid, Majdi, and baby Amal. Shaima is struggling to support her children since her husband disappeared, and needs urgent help with providing food and resources for them, especially as winter sweeps through Gaza! This family’s fundraising campaign (@familgazaamal1) is completely vetted and I’m trying to use my platforms to raise awareness on their behalf. I’ll be opening my commissions to raise funds for their campaign so keep your eyes peeled! I’ll also post their fundraiser link in my highlights as well! Thanks guys! Let’s do our part to reclaim kindness and uplift each other!

Here's a message from the family:

In Gaza, where conflict looms over daily life, children’s dreams remain a ray of hope. Abdul Rahim, a young boy, dreams of becoming a famous artist, using his drawings to tell the world about the beauty of his homeland. Walid, on the other hand, dreams of playing football in a big stadium, representing his country despite the obstacles around him. Majdi, a cat lover, dreams of becoming a kind person and helping children. Majdi, who dreams of opening an animal shelter to care for animals in Gaza. Even in the midst of war, these children cling to their dreams, believing that one day, despite the difficulties, they will achieve their goals. Their dreams are not only about personal success, but also about shedding light on a world filled with darkness. These dreams symbolize the resilience of Gaza’s children, showing that hope and determination can survive even the most difficult circumstances.

In the heart of the ongoing war, Shaima lives with her four children, constantly struggling with pain and waiting. Her husband, who was once the source of security and happiness, left a long time ago, facing the challenges of war far from them. Every day, Shaima makes earnest efforts to keep life going despite the hardships. She strives to provide food and shelter while trying to instill hope in the hearts of her children, who are still waiting for their father’s return, a father they know little about other than his absence. Her four children, despite their young age, carry great hopes in their hearts. The eldest, who everyone sees as the "little father," dreams of their father returning to embrace them as he did in the past. The youngest, on the other hand, wakes up at night searching for his father's voice, wishing for his return to feel safe again. Shaima's dream is every mother’s dream in this war: for her husband to return safely so they can live together again in peace and security. She dreams of the days when her husband filled their home with joy, and she prays for the end of the war so their family can reunite once more. Yet, amid the destruction and tears, hope remains their strength. Shaima knows that her patience and resilience are what keep the family going. Despite the difficult days, she continues to resist, dreaming of the moment when her family will be whole again, with her husband and the father of her children back home.

[gaza-giving-tree]

Imagine waking up to the deafening roar of explosions, your tent shaking violently as the earth trembles beneath you. In an instant, everything is chaos—your children scream in terror, clutching onto you as you scramble to escape. The sky is filled with smoke and falling debris, the air thick with dust and panic. There is no time to think, no time to gather what little you have left. You run—barefoot, desperate, carrying your baby in your arms—praying that you will make it out alive.

Images: Hossam sent us images of what his family's tent looks like today after violent airstrikes in Gaza last night (03/17/2025).

Video: to further prove the validity of Hossam's story, we have included an Al Jazeera news report that Hossam sent to us, in which he briefly appears (at the 0:48 mark)

@bashar-qazaz

@hane-qazaz

@hanon-qazaz

Story written by @rumiandroses

For Hossam Al-Qazzaz and his family, this nightmare became reality LAST NIGHT (03/17/2025) when an airstrike obliterated their tent—their last refuge after losing their home, a casualty of the war in Gaza. With no shelter, no safety, and nowhere left to run, they are once again plunged into unimaginable uncertainty as the ceasefire in Gaza collapses and war reignites around them.

Hossam, a dedicated father of four, has already lost his home, his job, and his peace of mind due to the relentless bombardments in Gaza in the 15 months preceding the now,-collapsed ceasefire. Now, with nothing but debris around them, he, his wife Hanan, and their four children—Bashar (9), Hani (8), Diana (4), and 5-month-old Habiba—are now struggling to survive with no roof over their heads.

The suffering extends beyond Hossam, his wife, and his children. Hossam is also the sole caretaker of his elderly parents, aged 75 and 72, both in fragile health. His father is suffering from severe burns and urgently needs medical care, while his mother battles high blood pressure and requires constant attention. But with no home, no stable source of income, and skyrocketing prices for essentials like rice and cooking gas—driven by the border closures and the ban on goods entering Gaza—Hossam is trapped in an incredibly difficult and stressful situation.

Despite these unbearable challenges, Hossam is not asking for much—only the money needed to survive, and to be able to evacuate to safety when the border crossing opens again.

"All we want is to live in dignity," Hossam pleads.

This is where you can make a difference. Every small donation—no matter how modest—can help provide food, clothing, and medical care for Hossam, Hanan, their children, and elderly parents. It can help ensure that Habiba gets the milk and diapers she desperately needs and that his family is not left out in the open with nowhere to turn.

Please, if you can, donate or share Hossam’s story today. Your support can be the difference between survival and despair.

Please consider donating to the Al-Qazzaz family’s original fundraiser to help them buy food and essentials and rebuild their tent:

Our founder, Bethany-Grace ( @rumiandroses ) is also sponsoring a fundraising campaign to help Hossam, Hanan and their entire family evacuate to safety. If everyone donates a little, we might be able to get them to safety the moment the border crossing opens again:

Together, we can ensure that Hossam's family does not just survive—but begins to rebuild a life of safety, stability, and hope.

Hossam’s campaign has been vetted by @gazavetters, and (#287) on their list of verified campaigns.

[zomgcaleb]

NSFW — caleb would loatheeee you trying to be quiet. he’s waited so long to have you this way after all the daydreams and fantasies that would distract him. the ones that would make him reread his source articles in academy because the image of your collarbones in that v neck from your hangout blurred the lines, the ones that would make him improvise in conversation with friends because he was too busy thinking about kissin up your spine to hear what they said. and after all that you want to hide away from him. uh uh.

he’d finally have you sprawled out on his huge comfy California king, pressed under the weight of his body in a nasty prone bone. his shoulders and sculpted biceps would be caging you in and his forehead would rest gently in the crook of your neck, suffocating in the smell of your sweat mixing with the perfume you always wear that drives him insane. you were completely trapped and it was delicious.

but here you were, shoving your face into the pillow and squeezing your eyes shut in hopes to find the strength to stop being so loud. your were embarrassed at how primal he could make you sound like your noises were being ripped from your chest at the feeling of him.

he’d hear the hitch of struggle in your voice once and his eyes shoot open and his brows pinch together. he lifts his head to look at you through droopy eyes. ‘w’ya doin’?‘ he slurs firmly. ‘stop it.’ he shifts to lean on his forearm and uses his other hand to grip your jaw and tilt your head up.

you let out a gasp into the thick sticky atmosphere but you still don’t seem to ease up and he whines in something close to agony at your muffled noises. ‘nooo please baby sing for me gimme ‘ur pretty voice.’

he’d get so impatient that he hooks his thumb into your mouth and pries it open, moaning at the drool that trickles down his wrist. he starts to fuck you as if he’s trying to thrust through you and you can’t help but cry out in bliss, right into his ear, as he rams right into that sweet spot that’s just for him.

it was like a mountain was just lifted off of his shoulders and the relief coursed through him like euphoria. ‘my pretty girl. nothin’ t’be scared of stop hidin fr’me. let caleb hear you, let him hear baby’ he’d coo absentmindedly. he has to try like never before not to cum in you right then.

[lolab4t]

off duty - fluff

18 + part two

pairing: avenger!bucky barnes x fem!avenger!younger!reader summary: after a rare night off, you stumble back into avengers tower at 2 am.. tipsy, feet hurting, and definitely not expecting to run into bucky barnes on the couch. word count: 5.8k warning(s): light cursing, alcohol consumption/intoxication, fluff, use of nicknames, humor, age gap, mild suggestive language, reader is a young adult avenger, reader is described as wanting to party a/n: here's my first fic! it's a throwback to the avengers before the infinity war. i really hope you enjoy :) and if you do, please like, comment, or reblog! <3

cherry - lana del rey

being a young adult and an avenger at the same time wasn't easy. you wanted to be like others your age... party, stay out late, maybe dance with a random guy you found mildly attractive under the dim nightclub lighting, then bolt when you actually saw his face in the light. hell, you would settle for just shopping or grabbing lunch with your friends, however mundane that sounded.

but, as a full-time avenger, you weren't privy to this lifestyle. the main issue was your schedule. being an avenger isn't exactly a 9–5 job... it's more 24/7. you're meant to always be ready to jump into a mission when needed. with your time mainly consisting of training, meetings, and missions, you didn't exactly have free time.

this didn't stop your friends from pushing, though, and they eventually got through. so, after a few long conversations of begging stark, here you are, stumbling into the elevator of the avengers tower at like 2 in the morning, ever so slightly intoxicated. who can blame you? it was your first night off in a while; of course you took advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and got shitfaced. you might regret it during training later that day, but for now, all that mattered was that you had fun with your friends.

you did regret wearing heels, though. you wanted to trade in your boots for something more fun tonight, but god, did your feet hurt. you were also dying to get out of your minidress. considering your wardrobe now reflects your job and only consists of suits and very little casual clothes, you had to borrow this dress from your friend. you were beginning to remember why you never liked to wear dresses even before joining the avengers.

the elevator dinged, and the door opened to the top floor, the avengers' quarters. you dragged yourself out, hair messy, dress slightly hiked up, and feet already blistering. your makeup made it clear you had been sweating on a dancefloor not long ago. you headed to your room when a voice stopped you in your tracks.

"where ya been?"

you turned to the source, shocked to see bucky barnes sitting on the sofa. he was laid back, one arm draped lazily on the backrest, and the other on his knee. he was almost smirking, likely having a good idea of your whereabouts based on your appearance.

you and the winter soldier weren't exactly close. he was a very quiet and reserved guy, usually a man of few words. your interactions mainly consisted of short conversation and sometimes catching him staring at you on the quinjet or in meetings. you never really thought much of it.

but his tone... his expression right now was different. it was weird, but a good weird.

"why're you awake?" you huffed, walking toward the couch.

"couldn't sleep," he stated simply, scanning your form with that smug look on his face. "you have a fun night?" he chuckled to himself a bit.

"yeah, i went out with some friends," you replied, sitting on the couch. you began fiddling with your heels, wanting to go ahead and relieve yourself of the pain. however, the alcohol was messing with your coordination, and you were struggling rather pathetically.

noticing the pout forming on your lips and the clear trouble you were having, bucky snickered, speaking in his gruff voice, "need some help?"

you looked up at him and nodded, still pouting. without a word, he moved a bit closer to you and curled his fingers around your ankles, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he rested them across his lap. you were reclining into the corner of the sofa now, watching him in shock. he hummed as his fingers slipped through the straps of the heels, sliding them off your feet gently. he set them down carefully, his free hand absentmindedly rubbing your calves.

"i've never seen you in anything but your boots," he grinned, turning his head toward you. "so, how much did you drink?" his grin turned into a knowing smirk.

you scoffed, pulling your legs away, drawing your knees to your chest. the short dress wasn’t doing you any favors, and you were probably flashing him, but bucky never looked. he was a gentleman... at least in the ways that mattered. you groaned, rubbing your face sleepily. no point in pretending.

"too much," you muttered.

"yeah, i can tell. you practically stumbled out of the elevator," he chuckled, eyes following your every move.

you let out a half-laugh, sheepish. your head dropped to rest on your knee as you sighed.

"kill me."

"not tonight, doll. i’m off duty."

your head lifted slightly, an eyebrow raising. "did you just call me ‘doll’?" you snickered at the old-fashioned nickname, trying to hide how much it made your heart beat faster.

he smirked, leaning back again with that maddening ease. "i dunno. you kinda look like one."

was he flirting? surely not. he probably saw you as some annoying kid.

"alright, old man. what do you call natasha then? sugar? darling?" you smiled lazily, thinking of more old-timey terms of endearment.

"hell no. she’d break my jaw," he grinned.

"and you think i won’t break your jaw?" you smirked, raising a brow.

bucky scoffed out a laugh. "oh, i'm sure you can, but i don't think you would."

"if i wasn't tipsy, i might've. you're getting off easy this time, grandpa," you giggled, starting to slur your words. your eyelids were beginning to feel heavy, and you found your head resting on your knee again.

bucky laughed at your slurred speech, not sure if it was the alcohol or just exhaustion. "you okay, doll?"

"mhm," you hummed, obviously dozing off.

"alright, i guess i'll babysit the lightweight," he joked, his grin never faltering.

you eventually drifted off, and so did bucky not long after. you both slept better than you had in a while. that was, until you awoke to the stunned faces of the other avengers. they definitely weren't expecting to find you in bucky's arms on the sofa. hell, you weren't expecting it either.

thanks so much for reading <3

18+ part two

[stylesispunk]

"What remains of us"

outbreak! Joel miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel doesn't die after the brutal encounter with abby because you saved him on time.

wc: 4k>

warnings: angst,mentions of blood, mentions of murder (reader becomes violent), fluff, mentions of broken bones. english is not my first language so excuse my mistakes. Written in a rush.

a/n: so uhmm. How are we feeling? I personally feel broken by the events from episode 2 so I rewrite the story while i was free in the morning to help me cope with the grief and joel is alive.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Something felt wrong in your bones the moment the snowstorm hit harder than anyone had expected. Not just the kind of wrong that came out from the conditions and freezing wind in a cold winter. This was deeper. Ancient. It whispered through the trees like a secret from another world, brushing icy fingers down your spine. In a kind of warning dressed up as bad weather. You felt it in your chest, in the weight behind your ribs, where your breath stayed too long before escaping your lips.

Your skin burned from the cold, your limbs throbbed from the fatigue, but it didn't compare to the way your heart pounded.

There was worry settled deep just over your chest from fear.

“Hey, you alright?” Jesse called ahead, pulling his scarf down just enough to meet your glance.

You nodded too fast, trying to find a source of breathing. “Yeah, but this storm is too cold.”

Ellie was further up the ridge, carving her own path through the deepening snow with over shimmer, unaware of how your whole body shook with more with the low temperature hitting your body. You hadn’t told any of them.

How do you explain to them that your body knew something your mind hadn’t caught up to yet? That every step forward feel like walking into danger?

Your heart was screaming at you, sending you signals through with every beating, in a language older than logic. Since the morning. Since Joel left your side before you could fully wake up.

The sound of his voice still lingered in your memory. It stayed there, like a tattoo he had kissed over your temple.

warm, softly, lingering as you stirred under the covers.

“Get some more sleep, darling.”

He hadn’t kissed your forehead like usual. He hadn’t lingered there. As if he couldn't face saying goodbye. And when you finally did get up, your gut twisted when you saw the empty space in the stable, the horse meeting, and snow falling hard over Jackson.

The truth was, Joel was out there with Dina; you had no idea under what circumstances.

The sky had turned more gray; it seemed angry, furious, waiting to hit someone else.

You shook your head, trying to focus on Jesse’s voice. Tried not to feed the panic unraveling in your chest like a pulled thread. But the cold in your mind spread, and no matter how tightly you gripped the reins, no matter how fast your horse moved, the feeling remained.

Something was definitely wrong; you could feel your heart beating harder.

You finally found a rundown outpost, an old hunting cabin half-buried in snow and swallowed by pine trees. The roof sagged, one of the windows was kind of cracked, and the door barely held on its hinges, but it was a shelter that would serve its purpose. You and Jesse pulled your horses inside the narrow lean-to out back, while Ellie stomped snow off her shoes and kicked the door open with force.

Inside, it was cold and smelled like old weed and damp rot, but you didn’t care; you needed to sit and think.

Inside, there was a radio.

You didn’t hesitate. You took your gloves off before Jesse could even notice. Your fingers moved over the knobs, turning dials, trying to find the frequency Jackson always used for patrol.

A burst of static. Then another, and finally, a signal.

Your breath caught. “Jackson patrol, do you copy?”

Ellie moved closer. Jesse pulled his scarf down, suddenly silent.

“Joel? Dina? Come in.”

Only static.

“Come on,” you muttered, heart hammering, twisting the dial again. “Joel, please, answer.”

There was nothing. This type of silence wasn’t normal or ordinary. You knew silence. This wasn’t a delay. It was an absence.

Your body went rigid, every instinct screaming louder than your racing thoughts. Your limbs moved before you made the decision. You were out the door and into the snow again before Jesse or Ellie could stop you.

He called after you still. But Ellie was already grabbing her rifle.

“Where are you going?” Jesse yelled, chasing behind.

“Something’s wrong!” you snapped, swinging onto your horse. “I just know it!”

Ellie mounted up beside you, voice louder within the storm, “Then we’re not wasting time.”

Jesse hesitated, glancing between you both and the radio inside.

“You don’t even know if that’s where they went—”

“I know,” you growled, already riding. “I feel it.”

Ellie followed you without a word. She trusted you, you were her family, and she would follow you wherever you went.

The snow clawed at your skin like it wanted to peel the truth away. The wind howled as if it knew what was waiting ahead. But you didn’t stop.

Because something had happened to Joel, and Dina was out there.

You and Ellie rode as fast as you could, the snow whipping across your faces like needles piercing your skin, the hooves of your horses lost beneath the storm. You could barely see five feet ahead, but then, in the distance, a glow that you could see anyway.

“Shit,” Ellie hissed beside you, pulling her hood lower.

You followed her gaze. Through the trees, past the slope of the hill, firelight. Orange, flickering, wrong. Was this your bad feeling creeping?

Fire was catching, rising in a bloom, too wild to be controlled. You slowed your horse as your stomach dropped.

“That's Jackson,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Ellie.

It wasn’t the whole town, not yet. But something was burning. And it was enough to send a coil of panic twisting through your gut, feeding that same deep certainty that had been clawing at you all day.

“Come on,” you growled, spurring your horse harder, cutting off the cold fear before it could settle. “We are way too far.”

And it wasn’t long before you saw it, the lodge over the hills.

It sat crooked and hunched near a clearing, like it had been dropped there by accident. Too nice to have survived years into the end of the world. One of the side windows was shattered. Smoke was seeping through cracks in the boarded upper floor. The front door hung ajar, barely moving in the wind.

You pulled hard on the reins. Your horse bucked a little, skidding in the snow. Ellie drew her rifle and slid off hers.

Your eyes locked on two shapes near the side of the lodge.

Horses.

Your heart stopped because those were Joel’s and Dina’s.

Both were tied loosely, hooves pawing nervously at the ground. Alone. No movement near the front entrance. No voices. No sounds but the wind and the creak of the old building groaning under the weight it wasn’t meant to bear.

You slid off your horse.

“Ellie,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, breath clouding in front of you.

She already had her knife out.

“Oh shit.”

You didn’t wait for backup. Couldn’t. There was something wrong.

Because Joel’s horse was here. And he wasn’t.

And whatever was inside that building, you felt it. It was about to break your heart open.

The sound of screams of agony and a body hitting the ground echoed down the hallway like a gunshot.

You knew that sound. It was torture. It was pain.

Your boots thundered down the corridor of the lodge, Ellie at your side, a worry and desperate look in her eyes. She’d followed the path like a wolf hunting its prey, her eyes screaming Please don’t let it be too late.

You didn’t say a word. Your heart was stuck in your throat, and the only thing that moved was your body, in fast motion, furious, drawn to the man who should have never left your side this morning in the first place.

Then you saw it. The door, a form from inside, screaming slipping from the lips you used to kiss every day. Those were Joel’s screams. In agony, in pain.

You didn’t wait. You didn’t breathe. You kicked the door open, and your world shattered.

Joel was on the floor, a mess of blood surrounding him and something worse. His legs bent at sort of unnatural angles. One hand barely raised in instinct. His face, bruised, bleeding, and one eye was swollen shut. His body twitched like it wasn’t sure if it should keep trying to fight life.

And above him, a woman. Blonde, her hair braided. Rage carved into her face like she’d waited for this moment. Her arms raised again, a golf club in her grip, stained in red.

She didn’t see you at first. Her eyes were solely focused on Joel, but you weren’t having that.

You roared, not screamed, roared, and tackled her with all the force you had, all your weight, all your fury into actions. You slammed her into the wall with a force that cracked wood. The golf club dropped from her hand and hit the ground.

“No more," you growled, your hand tightening around her throat.

Her group came fast, like shadows over you. One tackled Ellie to the ground. Another raised a knife at her. But they hadn’t counted on you.

You were already moving, eyes wild, mind gone. Every compassion you could have left in your body left, gone, you fought like someone who had nothing left in this life but him.

You weren’t skilled like Joel. You didn’t need to be. You were desperate. Right now, you were desperate.

Fists cracked bone. You took hits but didn’t stop. Didn’t feel them on you. You were pulling someone off Ellie, dragging them by their collar, throwing them into a chair that splintered on impact. You used what you had, a piece of wood, the same club the woman wore, your fists, and the most important thing, your fury.

And they couldn’t stop you. Because you couldn’t be stopped.

The blonde tried to rise again. You met her halfway and slammed her back to the floor. She spat blood. You didn’t flinch.

“Get away from him!” you shouted.

“Who the fuck—?!” Abby turned, fury and shock colliding on her face.

You dropped the shotgun, drew your blade, and charged.

The first one that tried to reach for you got a knife in his chest. You shoved him off like he was made of paper. The next came at you with a bat, you caught the swing and used his momentum to slam him face-first into the fireplace bricks.

“You don’t get to touch him,” you hissed. “Not him.”

The blonde took the club again, swinging it toward your face. You ducked.

Then you hit her. Right in the gut. The force of it sent her staggering back, wind knocked from her lungs.

“Do you wanna kill him?” you growled. “Try me first, then."

She looked at you like she wanted to, but she hesitated.

And that was her mistake. The moment she let her guard down, you shot her.

"It's over." You said, pointing your gun right between her brows, and the shot echoed in the stillness of the room.

She hit the floor, eyes wide. No final words. No redemption. Just silence.

Ellie flinched.

You stood over Abby’s body, breath hitching, heart pounding in your ears. The room reeked of blood, and then there was silence, except for Joel’s ragged breath.

The ringing in your ears stopped, and your breathing steadied as you took a look at the mess you had made.

Your eyes finally dropped back to Joel. You dropped yourself beside him as your knees had finally given out.

“Hey,” you whispered, your voice cracking into pieces. “Joel, look at me. I’m here. I got you.”

His one good eye fluttered open, dazed, unfocused. There was blood crusted at his brow, dried and fresh, a cruel mask across the face you’d kissed so many times before, now dripping blood.

“Y-you-" he rasped, voice like torn gravel. He had barely made it.

You nodded, cradling his face in your hands, not caring that blood smeared across your palms. “I’m here. You’re safe. Don't you dare to close your eyes now."

His breath stuttered, chest rising too slow, too shallow. His eyes couldn’t stay fixed on you. They wandered, like he weren’t fully in the room anymore. As if he were fighting death and life at the same time.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered, leaning close. Your forehead rested against his, warm against cold.

Not even the cold of the snowstorm had been so cruel to you.

“Hurts,” he mumbled, eyes slipping closed again.

“No, no,” you said quickly, your hands gently patting his face. “Stay with me. I got you. You’re gonna be okay. Help’s coming, okay? I will make sure of it. Just—just hold on.”

But he didn’t answer. His breathing slowed.

And your heart stammered in panic. “Joel!"

But there was no reaction from him. You pressed your fingers to his pulse, still beating but faintly.

“Don’t you do this,” you choked out. “You fight, dammit. You’ve been through worse, haven’t you? Don’t you leave me now, please.”

You'd already faced your worst nightmare. Now you were living in it, holding it in your arms, seeing the life leave him.

Joel lay limp and broken on the floor, his breath rattled. His face was swollen, almost unrecognizable on one side, purple and black with bruising. One eye was swollen shut. Blood trickled from his nose, his mouth, and the side of his head.

“Hey,” you whispered again, voice hoarse. “Joel. Are you with me?”

A faint groan, barely audible, but it was enough because it meant he was still here.

You pulled off your jacket rapidly, shoving it under his head. Your hands were shaking, but your mind was locked in: every first aid trick you’d learned from scraps of survival guides, emergency manuals, all this time surviving, and anything Joel had ever shown you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. You had paid attention.

You just never thought you’d be using it on him, under these circumstances.

Dina stumbled in, still pale and groggy, her hand gripping the wall. “Ellie?” she rasped. “Wh—what the fuck happened?”

You didn’t look up. “You were drugged. Ellie is moving the bodies. We need the space.”

Dina staggered past, gagging at the sight of blood, but she didn’t hesitate. She knew what had happened.

This was now a war zone. You had blinded yourself, becoming a murderer monster just to save Joel.

You pulled Joel’s shirt open, shredded, stained with red. Purple splotches across his ribs. Swelling. At least two were broken.

Your throat burned, voice cracking. “You’re gonna hate me for this, Joel. But I have to move you.”

“Don’t…” he mumbled, almost unconscious. “Just... leave me—”

“Bullshit" you said, angry at you, at him, at that woman who had left him like this, your tears were splashing onto his collarbone. “Don’t you dare say that. You don’t give up.”

Ellie appeared, face pale, blood on her shirt, Dina behind her with a blanket.

“We cleared the room,” Ellie said, out of breath. “It’s just us now.”

“Good,” you said. “Help me splint his legs. We need to keep him still until we can get him out of here.”

You tore up a curtain and grabbed two broken chair legs. It wasn’t perfect, but nothing about this was. This wasn't something that should have happened.

Ellie held Joel’s leg as steady as she could while you worked the makeshift splint around the worst of the fractures. His left leg, with a shot on his knee.

Joel screamed just as he was being dragged through hell.

You didn’t stop, “I know,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his as you tied the cloth tight. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I got you.”

You felt his breath against your skin, shallow and hot, contrasting with the coldness on his hands.

His lips moved. “Why?” he whispered, barely audible.

You leaned back and looked at him. “Because I love you,” you said simply.

His eye fluttered open, just barely. And for one fragile second, the pain slipped away. There was only you and him inside this room. You brushed the hair from Joel’s face. He was burning up. You needed to clean the wounds. Stop the bleeding. Keep him warm and alive.

And somehow, by the grace of whatever broken god still watched over you all, you would.

You pressed a damp cloth to his temple where skin had split open. His blood soaked through instantly. You felt you were about to throw up.

Your hands moved on their own now, it felt monotonous. Wash. Compress. Tie. Splint. Whisper to him and beg him to stay alive.

Ellie and Dina had gone quiet. Standing behind you. Watching. Waiting for an order, a word from you that it wouldn't be a sob.

Then your voice broke through the silence. “Go back to Jackson.”

Ellie flinched, like she hadn’t expected you to speak at all. You didn’t look up. You were holding Joel’s hand, limp and calloused in yours. Trying to send him the strength he needed to survive.

“We need help,” you said, barely audible. Your voice was shot. Just whisper. “Tell Tommy, tell him to send help. We need to get Joel back there.”

You met silence. Just the sound of Joel breathing.

“Please,” you added, and that word cracked. “Please. I can’t carry him by myself. He’s...he’s too heavy. He’s—” You swallowed hard. Your fingers curled tighter around Joel’s hand.

Ellie stepped forward. “We’re not leaving you.”

You finally looked up, eyes glassy and red-rimmed. “You have to. We need more people. Horses. Anything. I can keep him alive for a few more hours. But I can’t move him like this.”

Ellie’s jaw clenched. Her knuckles went white. “I don’t want to leave you with him like this.”

You reached out, brushing Joel’s graying hair from his brow with trembling fingers. “I got him.”

A pause. Then Dina touched Ellie’s arm. “I’ll go,” she said gently. “I’ll ride. I’m faster. You stay.”

Ellie nodded, eyes not leaving yours.

You left a loud sob. “No,” you said quietly, lifting your eyes once more to Ellie’s. “Ellie… you go with Dina. I’ll stay here.”

Ellie’s shoulders stiffened. Her brows pulled together like she was bracing for another blow. “What? No. I’m not leaving you and him.”

You sat back on your knees, your hands bloodied, trembling. Joel’s chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.

“You have to,” you said, your voice breaking. “You have to, Ellie. Dina shouldn’t be riding alone.”

Ellie looked at Joel. Looked at you. And shook her head. “I can’t leave him like this. I can’t.”

You grabbed her hand, and that startled her. It startled you, too. But you held on, grounding her, pulling her attention back to your face. Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Please,” you said. “Please. Help me save him.”

Ellie’s eyes filled. Not with tears, but with everything she couldn’t say. The guilt of the lost time. The fury of what they had done to Joel. The fear that maybe it was too late.

But you looked at her like there was still something worth fighting for.

She swallowed hard. Nodded once. “I’ll go.”

Your chest caved with relief. Joel let out a faint groan beneath you, and you turned back to him, brushing your thumb against his jaw.

“I’m here, baby,” you whispered. “I’m right here.”

Ellie hesitated at the doorway, stopping to look at you once again, “Will he be okay?” she asked before daring to step a foot outside.

You nodded, but it was instinct, automatic, hopeful, desperate. The truth lodged in your throat like a splinter you couldn’t spit out.

“I don’t know,” you said softly, voice trembling. “I don’t know how much damage they did.” Your eyes flicked over Joel’s body again, breath catching at the way his chest rose unevenly. “But he’s breathing. And that’s something.”

Ellie stepped closer to you. “What do you need me to do?”

You looked up at her then, and for a split second, she looked like a kid again. Afraid and shaken.

“Just go back to Jackson and bring help,” you said, your voice barely more than a breath. "That's all we need now."

Ellie’s eyes burned. She nodded once, jaw clenched. “Okay. Okay. Just hold on, please.”

You gave her one last look. “I’ll keep him breathing.”

She was gone the next second, steps pounding out the door, calling for Dina, and you were left in the broken room, just you and Joel and the slow drip of blood on the floorboards. His blood.

You pressed your hands to the worst of the wounds, breath shaking. “Did you hear that, Joel?” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his. “Help’s coming.”

He didn’t speak. But his fingers twitched again, slowly, and curled around your wrist.

It wasn’t much, but it meant he was still here.

That night felt heavy like wet ash. Everything smelled like blood, and outside, the snowstorm had died to a bitter hiss. The wind still screamed through cracks in the lodge, but inside, everything had gone quiet, except for the sound of Joel’s ragged breath and the low creak of floorboards every time you moved.

You’d done everything you could.

You had boiled snow over a fire in the next room just to clean the worst of the blood from his side. You weren’t a medic. But you were a woman in love. And that made you terrifying.

He faded in and out of consciousness, his lips murmuring your name between groans, sometimes not even sure it was real. You sat beside him, your back against the wall, holding his hand in both of yours.

But then it went still. You hadn’t realized how quiet it had gotten until the sound stopped completely.

“Joel?” you whispered, leaning close. There was no answer.

You shook his shoulder, gently. Then harder. “Joel.”

Nothing. His head lolled to the side. His skin felt clammy beneath your palm.

Your breath caught in your throat. “No, no—please, no. Joel—” You cupped his cheeks. “You stay with me; do you hear me?”

His brow twitched. His lips parted, barely, and a broken whisper slipped out.

"Sarah?”

The name came out like a breath lost in time. You froze. Your heart cracked open. His eyes fluttered beneath closed lids, a flicker of life.

In his mind, it was Austin all over again.

Sarah was laughing, running ahead of him, calling back over her shoulder, “Dad, come on!”

And he was smiling. Genuinely smiling. He could hear her. Feel her hand in his again. It was so warm and real.

He turned, and they were on the couch. Watching a movie. She was leaning against him, head on his shoulder. He’d just said something stupid, making her roll her eyes. He didn’t want to blink, afraid it’d all vanish.

But then came the gunshot. Her warmth was gone.

Now you were there. In the memory. Not Sarah, but you. Covered in blood and crying out his name.

Joel, please. Please.

Your hands were glowing with firelight, trembling as they pressed against his chest.

He tried to reach for you, but he couldn’t move, and the world was slipping through his fingers.

And then, your voice cut through the haze. “Joel, please. Please don’t do this.”

His heart stuttered once. A sharp inhale tore through his chest as if he’d been drowning.

“Joel!”

He coughed, body shaking, and your hands caught him just in time.

You sobbed, half-laughing as you gripped his cheeks again. “You scared the shit out of me—oh my god” you sobbed, tears streaming down your cheeks.

He looked up at you, dazed and confused. Then his eyes cleared, just a little.

“You were crying,” he mumbled, lips cracked.

“Yeah,” you whispered, brushing your thumb beneath his eye. “Yeah, I was.”

He blinked slowly. “Stop...”

“I can't,” you said.

Joel leaned ever so slightly into your palm, the pain pulling at him, but your voice anchoring him.

The night lingered like a wound that wouldn’t close, that wouldn't take time to heal.

And you didn’t sleep. Your body screamed for rest, but you had stayed next to Joel, watching the way his chest rose and fell, praying it wouldn’t stop again. Every time his breath caught or he groaned too hard, your stomach twisted into knots.

The lodge was cold. Blood had dried into the floorboards. The fire in the next room was too far away to warm either of you, and you didn’t dare move him to get closer.

So you pressed your body to his side gently, just enough to share warmth without causing him pain.

“Still with me?” you whispered.

His eyes fluttered open, sluggish as if they weighed “Yeah…” His voice was more gravel than sound.

You breathed out a shaky laugh, your forehead resting lightly against his temple. “You’re stubborn as hell, you know that?”

Joel let out a faint puff of breath, maybe a laugh, maybe a wince. "Learned from you," he muttered.

Your throat clenched. You reached for his hand again, interlocking your fingers with his, so you wouldn’t brush the torn knuckles.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered.

His eyes moved slowly, searching, until they landed on you again. Then he mumbled something you barely heard.

Silence settled in. You closed your eyes, listening to the wind groaning against the windows. Time stretched, only broken by Joel’s breath stuttering again.

Then, his fingers twitched around yours.

Then you whispered, “Joel?”

He made a sound.

“I love you.”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes were glassy with pain. But then he barely squeezed your hand, and his voice came soft, barely a breath.

“I love you, too.”

It felt like the first time he had told you those three words, and that had broken you the most.

You buried your face in his shoulder, careful of the bruises, and let yourself cry, not in panic, not in fear. But in overwhelming, soul-shaking relief.

He was alive.

Joel woke to the soft hum of voices and some old machines. The scent of cleaner stung his nose before the light even reached his eyes.

His body was in pain. He tried to move, but something warm and heavy rested on his side.

Your head was there, leaning on his side.

You were slumped in a chair beside him, your cheek pressed gently to his arm. Your fingers were laced with his, your grip loose with sleep but still holding on.

The light in the room was soft, filtering through the curtained window. Outside, life stirred in Jackson. But here, it was quiet. Just the two of you.

Joel blinked slowly, his throat dry, the taste of cotton still on his tongue. His gaze drifted down to you. There was a crease between your brows even at rest. You looked exhausted and pale.

But you were here. He breathed your name, raw and hoarse.

You stirred at the sound, your head lifting slowly as if from the depths of a dream. Your eyes met his, still sleep-warm but wide with shock. Disbelief flickered, then relief so powerful it made your lips tremble.

“Joel,” you whispered, leaving a sob behind.

His smile was small. Barely there. “You didn’t leave.”

Your hand came up to cup his cheek. “Never,” you said. “You scared me so much."

He swallowed hard, his hand tightening weakly around yours. “How long?”

“Three weeks,” you said, voice shaking with the memory. “You were unconscious the first few days back. The fever wouldn’t break. They weren’t sure if you’d make it through the second night”

He looked at you again, really looked. “And you sat here the whole damn time?”

You gave a soft, broken laugh. “Where else would I be?”

His good eye softened. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

You leaned closer, resting your forehead to his. “You promised me once you wouldn’t leave me.”

He nodded faintly, his eyes closing for a moment as your breath mingled.

Your fingers brushed his temple, so gently, as if afraid he’d fade again like some half-formed dream that wouldn't last. Joel’s skin was warm beneath your touch, warmer than it had been in days, and that alone nearly broke you all over again.

“It’s going to take time,” you whispered, your voice barely louder than the hum of the machines. “To heal from this.”

Joel didn’t say anything, but you felt the tremor in his breath.

You threaded your fingers more tightly with his. “But I’m not going anywhere. You hear me?” you said, firmer now, voice catching on the tears in your throat. “I’m not leaving your side. You will get sick of me.”

His lips parted like he wanted to argue, maybe even protest, but then he looked at you again. Really looked. The cut on his brow. The bruising on his cheekbone. The pain behind his eye, and beyond that, the softness that only came when it was just you.

“You shouldn’t have had to—”

“I had to,” you cut in, gently “Because I love you. Because I couldn’t lose you. And I won’t ever lose you.” you paused to take a deep breath before continuing, “You and I will grow old together, and we will die peacefully in a farm, just as you wanted."

Joel blinked. His hand tightened slightly in yours again, like the only strength he had left was meant for that one touch.

You leaned in and kissed his forehead, bruised, stitched, healing. “You’re mine, Joel. And I’m yours."

Silence fell, heavy but not suffocating anymore. The kind of silence where you could finally breathe again. Where you knew he was going to live.

Joel let his head rest back into the pillow, the edge of a tear slipping from the corner of his eye.

“Okay,” he whispered, smiling at you.

You smiled through your tears, the kind that burned hot down your cheeks but carried no pain, only relief.

You shifted in the chair, reaching up to brush a bit of hair back from his forehead, careful not to touch where it was most tender. His skin warmed beneath your fingertips. He was alive, and the reality of that still hadn’t fully settled in.

“I’m gonna be here when you wake up,” you promised, voice like a hush of wind through leaves. “Every morning. And every day if I have to. You focus on getting better.”

Joel's smile trembled, worn and crooked. His good eye drifted shut, but not before his fingers gave yours one more squeeze, like he couldn’t bear to let you go in his sleep.

You watched him as his breathing evened out again, slow like the beat of a song you never thought you would hear again. The soft light of the light, caught a golden hue over the bedsheets.

You rested your head by his side again, your cheek brushing his arm, eyes closing just for a moment. Not to sleep, but to hold the feeling. The warmth. The miracle.

He was still here.

And you would be, too. Always.