#24 hour nurse home health care

[faithhomehealthcare]

When To Consider Home Healthcare Services: A Guide For Families

Making the decision to bring in home healthcare services is a significant step for many families. It often comes at a time of need, when a loved one’s health condition or age-related challenges necessitate professional care that family members may not be fully equipped to provide. Understanding when to consider home healthcare services can help families make informed decisions that enhance the quality of life for their loved ones while ensuring their needs are met with compassion and professionalism.

Recognizing the Need for Home Healthcare

Changes in Health Status

A noticeable decline in physical or mental health, such as increased frailty, frequent falls, or the onset of cognitive impairments like dementia, can signal the need for home healthcare services. Professional caregivers can offer the necessary support to manage these conditions safely at home.

Post-Hospitalization or Surgery Recovery

Transitioning home after a hospital stay or surgery can be challenging. Home healthcare services provide crucial support during recovery, from wound care to physical therapy, ensuring a safe and efficient return to daily routines.

Management of Chronic Conditions

Conditions such as diabetes, heart disease, or COPD require ongoing management that can be overwhelming for families to handle alone. Home healthcare professionals can assist in medication management, monitoring vital signs, and implementing lifestyle adjustments to manage these conditions effectively.

Increasing Difficulty with Daily Living Activities

When tasks such as bathing, dressing, cooking, and cleaning become too challenging for your loved one to manage independently, home healthcare aides can step in to assist, preserving your loved one’s dignity and independence.

Medication Management Challenges

Managing multiple medications can be complex, especially if cognitive decline is a factor. Home healthcare professionals ensure that medications are taken correctly and on time, reducing the risk of adverse reactions or hospital readmissions.

Need for Specialized Care

Certain health conditions require specialized care that family members may not be trained to provide, such as ventilator care, injections, or complex wound dressings. In these cases, skilled nursing services at home are essential.

Caregiver Burnout

Caring for a loved one can be rewarding, but it can also be physically and emotionally exhausting. When the caregiving burden becomes too heavy, leading to caregiver burnout, it’s time to seek additional support through home healthcare services.

The Benefits of Home Healthcare

Home healthcare services offer a multitude of benefits, including personalized care tailored to the individual’s needs, the comfort of receiving care in a familiar environment, and the peace of mind that comes with professional oversight. Moreover, it allows for greater flexibility in care schedules and the possibility of cost savings compared to long-term care facilities.

Making the Decision

Deciding to initiate home healthcare services involves careful consideration of your loved one’s needs, preferences, and the family’s capacity to provide care. It’s often helpful to consult with healthcare professionals, conduct research, and discuss options as a family to ensure that the decision aligns with your loved one’s wishes and well-being.

Conclusion

Recognizing when to seek home healthcare services is a crucial step in ensuring your loved one continues to live a safe, dignified, and fulfilling life at home. By understanding the signs that indicate the need for professional care, families can make timely, informed decisions that benefit everyone involved. Home healthcare not only supports the physical health of clients but also provides emotional support and relief to families, reinforcing the foundation of care and love upon which every family thrives.

Source : Faithcareus

[btreeseo]

https://care-onboard.com/about-us.html

Care on Board is a team of doctors and professionals who are dedicatedly working towards the betterment of the system health care in Dubai. Managed under the guidance and support of an efficient team, the system is confident in bringing out a revolution in the healthcare industry. Being able to attend to the needs of patients at their comfort zones, we make sure best treatments are delivered to each and every one without going through the hurdles and complexities of hospital formalities.Home medical health care services are gaining importance these days due to the busy schedule of people especially when both partners are working.

[macgyvermedical]

Hospital Lengths of Stay

I think people outside the USA severely overestimate how long hospital stays are here.

Like, appendectomy, right? That's maybe 24-36 hours door-to-door if there's no complications. If the appendix actually burst it might be 3 days, but only because they're giving you IV antibiotics and setting up home care to do that at home would take longer than just keeping you in the hospital.

A scheduled surgery like a hysterectomy, cholecystectomy, mastectomy, or anything else they can do laparoscopically (though small "keyhole" incisions)? You're probably not staying overnight at all.

Planned surgeries that need some kind of after care (like bariatric surgery, knee replacements, hip replacements, total vaginal hysterectomies, bladder lifts, etc...) would be usually 1-3 days.

Minor heart attack? 2-3 days.

Fracture and surgical repair of a large bone (like the femur)? About 2-3 days.

What about the exacerbation of a chronic illness like asthma, COPD, heart failure, or hypertension? IF they admit you (not just stabilize and discharge from the emergency department), it will be generally less than about 3-5 days.

Gunshot wound to the abdomen with surgery to repair things? 3-5 days.

And a stroke, sepsis, gunshot wound to the chest, or major heart attack? That would be somewhere in the 5-7 day range.

Severe trauma with multiple severely broken bones and relatively extensive surgery? This might be somewhat longer, but usually for nursing and pain control reasons rather than the surgery or injuries themselves. 1-3 weeks would be usual.

In the hospital for a mental health reason like decompensated schizophrenia or major depression? A little less than a week is normal, though some people stay several weeks if medications aren't working well.

The people who stay in hospitals for weeks or months typically have whole systems that don't work, or are waiting for a major organ transplant. For example, I had a patient once whose entire abdomen was open and couldn't be closed surgically. She was on TPN (IV nutrition) and IV antibiotics and needed massive amounts of wound care done every hour or so because her intestinal contents were spilling out of her open abdomen. She was there for months and ultimately didn't make it.

Are there people who stay longer than these cases? Of course! These are just averages pulled from medicaid data and personal experiences, based on patients who are coming in relatively healthy. Patients who have other significant health problems usually stay longer than patients who come in with a single problem.

But if you are otherwise healthy except for the reason you came into the hospital, unless you fell off a building or were in a massive car accident you are probably not staying in the hospital very long at all.

[vrdcreative]

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Star Nursing Health Care Services Regd in Naveen Park, Sahibabad, Delhi has a well-equipped clinic with all the modern equipment. The clinic has separate waiting and consultation areas which allow enough space for patients to wait conveniently at the clinic.

[devinehealth00]

HOME HEALTH CARE SERVICES

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Drop by our website at www.devinecareus.com or call 855-226-0007 for more details about Companionship, Pediatric Care, or Personal Care.

[chronicallycouchbound]

I feel like people often don’t talk about the experiences of disabled people who have caretakers because so much of the conversation is about us—not including us.

I receive in home care for 30 hours a week (+ 4 hours/week for respite). This is paid for by Medicaid (state insurance). Outside of paid hours, my primary caretakers care for me unpaid and assist me most of the time. I’m very rarely left alone due to my high support needs. Often, when I am left alone, I am completely bedridden or at minimum housebound. I have frequent emergency life threatening health problems, falls, and serious injuries even with support in place, and these things significantly increase when I’m on my own.

I’m extremely lucky that my paid caretakers are my partner, my sister (the only family member I have regular contact with, I’m estranged from the rest of my immediate family and most of my extended family) and my best friend.

I used to have agency staffing which was horrible for me and borderline traumatic. At several points, before doing the self directed care option (which allows me to choose my own staff, hire and train them myself and dictate hours for them), I opted to not have any staffing. I was regularly in the emergency room. I can’t drive, so I was having to walk and if I was lucky enough to be able to take the bus on occasion or get a ride from a Facebook acquaintance, they were few and far in between. I don’t have family support, and even my sister who is supportive wasn’t living in the state at the time and doesn’t have a car most of the time.

And before I could even choose which staffing option, even though medically it had been deemed essential for me to have in home care, even though my insurance covered it, I had to wait several years (I was 18 when I was approved) until I was 21 to qualify to start. The reason why: I was legally an “adult disabled child” because of my high support needs (which is funny because I STILL don’t have SSI at age 24) and thus legally unable to consent to my own care plan. I needed a blood relative to consent, and that same blood relative (who had to have proof of such!) couldn’t care for me. At the time, my sister was the only person who could’ve been my caregiver and also she is the only verifiable blood relative I have contact with for safety reasons, and my only relative on this side of the USA.

The first business day after my 21st birthday I immediately got things set up to get in home care.

This is out of date, I get assistance with more than just these highlighted ADL (activities of daily living) tasks now.

In short: my day-to-day life is entirely dependent on others.

And there’s power imbalances that exist between me and my caregivers, even with my current caregivers being amazing and anti-ableist. They will always exist. We talk about the power dynamics of me being dependent on them for my survival, and how heavy that weight can be for each of us.

Having caregivers often means that accessibility is extra difficult— I’ve been told straight up multiple times that I can’t have assistance from my caregivers to help me change in a changing room when we’re out shopping. That they can’t go into the bathroom with me, that they can’t help me get un/dressed during appointments, that they can’t come into spaces with me.

I’ve been denied access to psychiatric care because I can’t do my daily living tasks (ADLs- the highlighted items) independently. And when I’m in a hospital or emergency room, I can’t have my in home workers be paid to care for me, there’s an expectation that the nursing staff at the hospital will do it. Even though my caregivers were specifically trained to learn my body and needs for weeks and have been working with me for years. I have severe cPTSD and showering in front of a stranger is something I cannot do. I would rather fall or faint or get injured or just not shower than deal with that. But I’m expected to just let anyone have access to my body just because I’m physically disabled and need support.

When I faint/fall/get injured/have life threatening health issues arise while I’m not clothed, or when I’m otherwise vulnerable, I’m supposed to let strangers just touch me however they want to. I have to show them my chest (for my cardiac care) and let them poke and examine me. I can’t object without losing access to vital care.

I have agency. I have rights. I have autonomy. I deserve to be able to exercise these things.

[lexirosewrites]

hi, I’m LexiRoseWrites

(pfp made by @/itcanbepalped)

☆ you can call me Lexi or Lex

☆ 28, nonbinary, bisexual, autistic, ADHD

☆ they/he/she, but they/he preferred— gendered terms of any sort are fine with me!

☆ twitter/X: @LexiRoseWrites1

☆ my inbox is open and you’re welcome to ask me anything or send me a request! (I will delete hate/bullying sent, so don’t bother)

☆ please ask before writing about one of my posts! I am not a prompt generator, so make sure you ask first!!

☆ this is an 18+ blog because while I write lots of steddie and specifically omegaverse content, occasionally you’ll find NSFW things or a dead dove here (always heavily tagged) because I’m apparently the big scary proshipper you’ve been warned about

☆ blog navigation: #my fics, #my asks, #wip Wednesday, #throwback Thursday fics, #spreadsheet Saturday, #slick Sunday

↓ masterlist of ficlets and fics below the cut ↓

TUMBLR FICLETS

Steddie:

☆ Amnesia ☆ Card Games ☆ Dinner Reservations ☆ Handcuffs ☆ Lingerie ☆ Not Dating ☆ Serial Killer Soulmates: part 1 | part 2 ☆ Steve Accidentally Summons a Demon: part 1 | part 2 ☆ Steve Isn’t Coping ☆ Transfem Stevie ☆

Omegaverse Steddie:

☆ 24-Hour Diner: part 1 | part 2 ☆ Alpha-for-Hire Eddie ☆ Autistic Omega Steve ☆ Baby Mine ☆ Birthday Massage ☆ Bitchy Omega Steve / Lovesick Alpha Eddie: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 ☆ Camboy Steve ☆ Everyone is a Beta ☆ Expectations ☆ Fake Dating Fertility Clinic ☆ Fate Binds Us ☆ Hairdresser Steve/Rockstar Eddie ☆ Health Class ☆ Hellfire Cult ☆ I didn’t know we were dating: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 ☆ Infertility ☆ Kas Eddie ☆ Losing Control ☆ Nestless Omega Steve ☆ Older Steve/Younger Eddie ☆ Oral Coach Steve ☆ Pathetic Omega Steve ☆ Platonic Stobin ☆ Scent Blockers ☆ Speak Now ☆ Steve Gets A Puppy ☆ Such A Good Boy ☆ The Bachelor ☆ The Best Present ☆ The Reunion ☆ Time Loop ☆ Unknowingly Claimed ☆ Wealthy Steve/Busker Eddie ☆

General Omegaverse:

☆ Alpha/Omega Voices ☆ Basic Guide to Omegaverse Terms ☆ Bite Lore ☆ Rejection Sickness ☆ Scruffing ☆

AO3 FICS

All of my fics are steddie unless otherwise stated, mostly explicit and omegaverse, but check actual tags before reading anything please!

☆ Current WIPs ☆

A Million Dreams: A/B/O, circus AU, 2/4 chapters, 10k

Keep Digging (until you find my heart buried next to yours in the ground): A/B/O, archeology au, soulmates, reincarnation, 2/3 chapters, 17k

Scatter The Ashes: A/B/O, mafia AU, sequel to Watch It All Burn, 4/16 chapters, 18k

Waking Up In Vegas: A/B/O, accidental mating, rockstar Eddie, 5/15 chapters, 33k

☆ Unfinished (Series) ☆

Going For The Gold: A/B/O, ice skater Steve/hockey player Eddie, 18k

Jailbirds Can’t Fly: A/B/O, dead dove, prison AU, bitching, 12k

Keep It On Campus: A/B/O, college AU, 22k

Lucky Number 666: A/B/O, mafia AU, single parent Steve, 3k

My Heart’s Been Borrowed and Yours Has Been Blue: A/B/O, divorced kindergarten teacher Steve/tattoo artist Eddie, 25k

The Bunny and The Wolf: A/B/O, mafia AU, 154k

☆ Complete ☆

A Prince and His Pauper: A/B/O, medieval/royalty AU, stuttering Steve, 100k

All I Want For Christmas Is You: A/B/O, Christmas fic, 6k

And The Sun Will Rise: A/B/O, zombie apocalypse AU, 41k

Baby Mine: A/B/O, omega Eddie/alpha Steve, unplanned pregnancy, hurt/comfort, 2k

Bandaids (And Other Home Remedies): A/B/O, pediatric nurse Steve/single dad Eddie, 87k

Bleeding Heart: A/B/O, vampire Eddie/human Steve, 21k

Business Before Pleasure: A/B/O, Buckingham, Office AU, 16k

Exigency Contact: A/B/O, threesome, Steddie/Stargyle/Steddigyle, rockstar Eddie, 10k

Five Years: amnesia, 1k

Fragile (Handle With Care): A/B/O, soulmates, rockstar Eddie, 117k

He’s So Mean: A/B/O, high school AU, 3k

Let Me Be Your (Teddy Bear): A/B/O, bitching, 11k

Mad World: trans male Eddie, childhood friends, 3k

More of You to Love: A/B/O, chubby Steve, 4k

Never Be Alone Again: A/B/O, dead dove, stalker Eddie, 3k

Oblivious: t4t, mutual pining, 3k

On A Different Page: A/B/O, didn’t know they were dating, 7k

Online, Offline (Out of My Mind): A/B/O, soulmates, online dating, actor Steve/mechanic Eddie, 41k

Screaming Your Name In The Dark: A/B/O, dead dove, Kas Eddie, alternating past/present timelines, 27k

Silver: A/B/O, silverfox omega Steve/younger alpha Eddie, 6k

Tell Me About It, Stud: A/B/O, studding, 7k

The Rings Stay On: cis female Steve, 4k

The Start of Something Perfect: A/B/O, soulmates, 2k

The Stutter and The Freak: stuttering Steve, 14k

Touch Me: A/B/O, omega/omega, therapist Eddie/touch-repulsed Steve, 12k

Unholy Matrimony: demon Eddie/human Steve, 5k

Unsafe Bet: A/B/O, high school AU, dating as a prank, 65k

[whinesandwhimpers]

cw; love potion, dubcon/noncon, kidnapper!reader, forced orgasm

witch!reader with lovepotioned!soap

a wounded Soap stumbles across your cute little cottage. he's like a wounded animal and with your soft spot for broken things you just have to help him. and he's a sucker for a pretty woman. an easy choice over bleeding out so he lets you help him inside your home.

You spend your time taking care of him and nursing him back to health, he makes you smile and laugh with his stories and jokes, and when he's ready to leave, you decide you don't want him to. you want to keep him. you want him all for yourself.

so you offer one last meal/drink for his journey but unbeknown to him you lace it with a love potion. the moment he swallows, his eyes glaze for a moment and then they're snapping to you as he looks at you with an intense love and desperate need in his eyes and a dopey grin on his face.

before you know it he's pulling you onto his lap and kissing you, whimpering about the clothes between you that stop him from being inside you as a very needy Soap bucks his now painfully hard cock against you. it doesn't take him long to rip all the layers off you both before he's pounding up into you, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you ride him, both of your moans and groans filling the cottage and soon after you reach your climax as he finishes inside you.

now, you're no perfect witch. you've always had some trouble with potion permanence. by the 24 hour mark you figured the love potion had stuck so you didn't worry anymore. until the third day when you're underneath Soap in your bed, legs locked around his waist as he ruts into you, and his eyes suddenly glaze for a moment before he freezes, confused and scared.

before he can pull away, you flip the both of you over and pin his wrists on either side of his head and start bouncing on his dick. hard. whispering soothing words in his ear, words about how good his cock feels inside you, how he's yours now and how you'll take good care of him, all while he cries, letting out a little whine every time your pussy squeezes his cock, before he's unwillingly pushed over the edge and cumming inside you, with you finishing straight after.

you lay on his chest, panting as you regain your strength then you gently kiss his forehead and let his cock slip out of you and get off the bed.

"i'll make it better, my love." You tell the horror-stricken Soap, squeezing his motionless hand, before going to retrieve more love potion for him.

[atom-writings]

how would the hetalia main 8 be like when their s/o is sick or unwell? tysm!!<3

(Hetalia Main 8 x Reader) Sick S/O!

(Gender Neutral) Headcanons ~ A/N A CLASSIC. YIPEEEEE!!

Trigger Warning: None, just fluff!

Oh lord. Alfred is gonna be sick as well soon enough.

Unlike many of the other nations, he has absolutely no idea how to properly take care of you. Most of his healing is just driving to CVS to pick up anything you ask for. (And probably a little more. He’s worried alright?!)

After that, he makes sure you get plenty of rest in bed, and plenty of affection. Maybe his body heat will help kill the virus? If not, he still insists on holding you whenever possible. He’s probably one of the only men on the planet who won’t get grossed out by kissing your sweaty forehead.

Arthur will try his best to be comforting, but it’s hard for his annoyance to be truly hidden.

He will absolutely take care of you! He has a couple of his own home remedies and everything. But… if he can avoid it, he will. He just doesn’t want to risk getting sick himself.

But, he doesn’t mind cleaning up after you. It’s hard to truly gross him out. So don’t stress about that kind of thing.

He’ll immediately try to get you into a doctor, even if it’s pretty mild. But the quicker you get to the doctor, the quicker you two can get back to normal. It can’t hurt, right?

Francis desperately wants to take care of you while you’re sick! Unfortunately… he’s not that great at it.

The moment you start showing symptoms, he’s panicking. Sure, it’s mild now, but what if this is the end?! Y/N, tell him you won’t die!!!

If you need anything, absolutely anything, even something unreasonable, he will drive for hours trying to get it for you. After that, he’s by your side 24/7. But… it’s not as much in a comforting way as much as a “grieving widow” way. So maybe ask him to leave.

As soon as you get better, he’s making sure everything on your bucket list is fulfilled.

You could not have asked for a better person to take care of you! Yao’s millenniums of experience can beat any modern medicine.

He acts much more like a doctor than a boyfriend. Constantly running around the house, taking care of everything and you all at once. 

If you want him to just calm down and cuddle in bed, he’ll oblige… for a short while. Then he’ll start to worry and try to cool down your fever. You got his clothes all wet just for a few minutes! You must be nearly on death’s row!

Luckily, he can save you from anything! Aren’t you so lucky to have someone so attentive~

Much like France, Ivan is panicking. He’s been sick for a lot of his life, but every time he got sick, he died! And if you die, you leave him forever! Oh lord, this cannot be happening!

Once you’re finally down for the count, he’s calling everyone he knows, every doctor in the city, in a panic. And noting down every possible explanation and solution, he’s ready to nurse you back to health. He can’t trust anyone else too after all.

Because of that, he’s absolutely latched to your side. Holding you like a teddy bear then randomly rushing out of the room to solve every ailment you have. He’s dutiful, helping you in every way, if not a little clingy. He’s just worried, that’s all…

Feliciano has seen a lot of sickness in his life… and he was not prepared to see it afflict you! Oh, he’s so scared… comfort him won’t you? Wait… it’s supposed to be the other way around!

He really is trying his best, but he’s not that great at taking care of you. He’ll run out to get you medicine and snacks and then end up forgetting half of what you asked for, he’ll refuse to leave your bed to take care of you (he’s just so comfy…) and he has next to no knowledge on how to actually make you any better.

Most of his knowledge comes from asking Ludwig and Kiku. Fortunately, they give good advice. Unfortunately, Feliciano was probably crying from worry while they were giving it to him.

You may be the person Ludwig worries most about, but he’s also not one to catastrophize.

He’ll schedule a doctor’s appointment for you, go out before you wake up to get medicine, and try to spend as much time as possible with you while also picking up the slack around the house. Oh, and don’t worry about making a mess. He’s a great cleaner.

Hopefully you’re ok with his dogs crowding around you while you rest. Maybe all of his stress is being transferred to his dogs… because they keep freaking out about your condition while he remains eerily calm.

Kiku may normally be a man of science, but when it comes to you, he tends to lose all rationality.

Do you need medicine? Food? A change in environment? Essential oils? A hospital visit? A goddamn exorcism? He has no idea, and he’s very worried. So he’ll try everything to stop your sickness! It can’t hurt, and he needs you better, like, now. Seeing you so weak is freaking him out.

While he’s trying to take care of you, he’s also trying to act like nothing is wrong. He may push you to try to do things you can’t, but if you collapse on him, he’s definitely confining you to the bed for the foreseeable future. Don’t worry, he’ll be right by your side.

[faithhomehealthcare]

Benefits of Faith Home Health Care Services You Need to Know

At Faith Home Health Care, we provide skilled nursing and hourly home care to help improve independence and quality of life. 💙 We offer 24/7 live-in care with a focus on personalized plans and a family-like environment, all in the comfort of your home.🏡💙 tab on link for more information 👉🏻 https://www.faithcareus.com/

[eggcompany]

Hysterical Matters Part 1

John Watson had nowhere to go. Freshly out of the army with a wounded shoulder and bum leg, he spent most days searching for temporary work until he could return to the medical field. That's how he ended up answering an ad looking for an In Home Health Nurse. It paid well, only had one patient, and he got live in a great flat on Baker Street.

He didn't know what he got wrangled into with Sherlock Holmes. Depressed, wasting away in 221B, lost to the world. However with a push, a lovely downstairs landlady, a persistent detective with Scotland Yard, and the unyielding care of an army doctor, Sherlock would get back on his feet, find himself once again, and best of all, find the only person on earth who'd ever made him truly curious. It just happened to be John Watson. Because it was always all John Watson.

John didn’t have anywhere to go. Too proud to go to his sister for help, too hurt to find real work, he didn’t have a foot to stand on. He couldn’t work at the hospital, not with his busted arm and bum leg, or his still reeling mind. He couldn’t sleep, echoes of yelling and bursting shells thundering through his mind at all hours. He could still feel the sand and dirt in his eyes, under his nails, blood drying on his skin, a pulse stopping under his fingertips. 

John Watson was stuck between wishing he was back in the army, and begging to be a normal civilian. He couldn’t fit in either anymore, stuck in his tiny apartment, and limping around town to soup kitchens and the library. 

That’s where he found the advert. On the library computer, scrolling through job listings. In home nurse, full time, background in medicine, payment every week and free board in home. John thought it sounded pretty good, the pay was very generous. One patient, physical and mental health needs, pay increases every month still in employment with suitable care taken. John scribbled down the number listed for inquiries. 

He was interested, he would be out of his sling in the coming weeks, he could manage until then. One patient couldn’t be so difficult. He’d sewn people together, dealt with people so mentally torn they couldn’t recognize reality anymore, surely whatever London had to offer couldn’t be any more difficult. 

John called, he made it very clear he was freshly out of the service, would be in his sling for the next few weeks until he was cleared to use his arm again, and that he had a bad leg. He was still interested, he was a doctor, had dealt with both civilian and military medical needs, and didn’t have any pre-existing needs so he would be available 24/7. He was told there would be a car to pick him up from his apartment the next day, to meet with the employer. 

The car was nice, a sleek new black thing. John had asked if it was for him and a curt woman nodded, eyes not leaving her phone. John got in the backseat next to her, greeting the driver politely. 

“So where are we headed? The man on the phone didn’t give me any details.” John asked and the woman glanced from her phone for a split second. 

“He doesn’t. Details are earned things, working for a Holmes. Patient is a virtue, Mister Watson.” The woman said and went back to hitting buttons on her phone. John nodded and was quiet the rest of the ride as they drove out to a run down part of town. There were very few cars. 

They ended up in an empty office building, the woman guiding John, walking past a well dressed man to sit at a desk, always on her phone. John stuck his hand out to the man who was a little older than him. 

“John Watson, nice to meet you, thank you for the opportunity.” John said and the man gave a polite grin and looked him over. 

“Mycroft Holmes, I’m your patient’s older brother. I’ve been through dozens of applicants, so let’s get this through. Please have a seat.” The man, Mycroft said as he motioned toward two chairs and a desk, a few file folders stacked on the cleaned desk. John nodded and sat down, easing himself into the seat with the help of his cane. 

“His name is Sherlock, he’s been struggling for the past few years with depression, anxiety. He’s been sober for two years, he was a heroin addict for a few years, nicotine as well, he’s not allowed any of it. He just turned twenty four, his permanent residence is on Baker Street, he cannot drive. He’s combative, argumentative, he’s a pain in the ass, to be honest.” Mycroft said and pushed the files toward John. He picked them up, medical records, criminal records, travel records. It was a story of everything Sherlock had done for the past eight-ish years. No photos, but there was so much information. 

“His medical records are new, he’s got deficiencies and malnutrition. He should have been admitted for this.” John said as he read the newest report, it was from the last week. The man was barely functional, having had his blood drawn in the home, and it showed he was deficient in… everything. 

“Yes. He was going to be but he refused treatment. I cannot force him to do anything, Doctor, that’s what you’re hired to do. Do what you must to get him back to health. The house is a wreck, it needs cleaning and sanitization, whatever medical devices you need, anything to get the home in order I will pay for. You will receive a lump sum payment once Sherlock has started taking on new cases.” Mycroft explained, making it obvious this was a well paying job, that money was no matter. 

“Cases?” John asked, confused. He flipped through the pages, these people were wealthy. Sherlock was well traveled, arrested in many countries, and well educated too. John looked through the degrees earned in mere months, odd subjects. He looked up at Mycroft who was still standing. 

“He’s a consulting detective for the police. He’s got cold cases to finish before he goes back in the field. He’s not an easy man to be around, let alone care for, Doctor Watson, if you can no longer tolerate it and need to be released from duty, please inform me.” Mycroft explained and John just nodded, stood up, getting his cane under him, and straightened up the files. 

“I can handle him.” John said and shook Mycroft's hand before returning to the car to be driven home, wondering what he’d just signed himself up for. 

John didn’t know what he signed himself up for, regretting his decision as he made his way into the apartment. He’d been greeted nicely by an older woman, Miss Hudson, who said she’d be out and left after him. 

He’d been given a key, the stairs were a trip to climb up on his bad leg but not too steep. He was told he was in the upstairs bedroom, so two flights of stairs, but first he needed to see the flat. 

He was hit with a wall of stench, rot and filth, as soon as he opened the door. The floors were covered in takeout trash, empty containers, papers, maps, and books. It was a foot thick and John trudged through, every surface covered in something. The kitchen was worse. Molded food and experiments fused down to the floors, cabinets, countertop, even the ceiling. He could make out what was once a microwave, but wasn’t going to venture towards it. There were bugs, in the corners, skittering across the floor, hidden under things. John knew that was something that would get better the cleaned the house was, but some catchers would be needed. 

The bathroom wasn’t as bad as John had anticipated. A layer of dust and rings in the tub, overflowing trash can. 

There was a path through it all, from the front door to the bathroom to the first bedroom door. Sherlock’s bedroom door. John knocked on the door, announcing himself. 

“Sherlock? My name’s John Watson, your brother hired me to tend to you. Can you come to the door please?” John said against the wood, wanting to give the patient a chance to introduce himself. It was a good way to make a connection, and build trust and establish any boundaries. 

But then something slammed into the door. John jerked back surprised, hearing whatever was thrown hit the floor with a cracking thud. He pushed the door open, an effort as there was far more trash and clothes and everything else piled on the floor. He finally spotted what had been thrown, a cellphone. 

He turned back to look at the bed. It was messy, the sheets and pillows stained and smelled heavily of body odor. There wasn’t much of a figure, just a lump under the blankets. 

“Sherlock, did you throw your phone? Don’t do that, these little buggers are expensive. Now how do you-” John paused, ducking back out the door as another phone was flying through the air. He closed the door with a huff, having at least seen the fact the patient was alive, having caught sight of a pale arm coming from under the bedding. 

John shook his head, sighing as he went to the second set of stairs, slowly making his way to his own room. It was the only room on the top floor, larger than his old apartment. There was a small bed, the same as his old one but almost brand new and comfortable when he laid down on it. A desk, a lamp, a window overlooking the building behind. It was good, John would bring up his belongings from his apartment when he got the flat suitable for anyone to live in it. 

He looked around, spotting a plain envelope on the top of the dresser. ‘For any necessary actions’ was written on the front, John flipped it open, feeling a weight to the paper. Rows of bills, crisp twenty pound notes. John sat down on his bed and counted them, trying to figure out a plan. 

He just needed to get the house clean first. And he certainly couldn’t do it by himself, and he’d hate to try and find kind maids to wrangle into the rotten horrors downstairs. 

However he knew more than one buddy in need after leaving the army, people who could use the money, who wouldn’t run screaming from the place. They’d all seen worse, and it would be nice to step back into friendships. And it was ideal to send in combat veterans into Sherlock’s room, in case of any flying projectiles. 

John himself mostly helped carry trash bags out and dusted the cobwebs away. It was nice, took a few days, but was nice. Sherlock laid in the bed motionless, bed pulled under the sheets, unmoving. The soldier’s came and went, making sure to leave John their numbers once the job was done, a promise of a beer too. 

Sherlock refused to move. Refused to say anything as the army men came and went, as they shoved the bed to clean under it, as they made a ruckus in the flat, as they touched his things. He refused it. 

John didn’t care. He was patient, he could out stubborn the younger man. He made sure to keep the documents and case files, images and all, stacked in organized piles. He went out and bought a new fridge and microwave, informing Mycroft they’d been hauled away as a biohazard. The laundry was sent with Miss Hudson, who had gratefully invited John to have a biscuit and tea whenever he had a chance so they could properly get to know each other. 

He could outwait the petulant young man. He sat down in one of the nice chairs that had been uncovered and started going through the stacks of papers, sorting through them. He was halfway through the second stack when the bedroom door behind him opened. John turned around, ready to properly introduce himself. He’d expected something. He’d read the files, he’d expected someone grizzled, scarred from wild life. Someone trembling without favor, a weak thing. 

But what met him was… well a beautiful man. Tall, slender, carved bone structure with eyes the color of the ocean. Even with his matted dark hair and darker yet circles around those eyes, he was a stunning man. Dressed in a white undershirt and black silk pajama pants and a navy silk dressing gown, he was a mess but John couldn’t think of a more beautiful man, at least until the man opened his mouth. 

“And who did Mycroft drag into my home this time? Hmm? Some half pint nursing student who needs some pocket change and a free bed so he can bring home every slut he can stick his dick in before abandoning this hell hole for a dorm room? Another homeless man desperate to steal my cufflinks? Leave now and save us all the trouble. I'll double what Mycroft promised.” He spoke with a sharp tongue, hate so heavy in his pitched voice. He stood crossed armed, the picture of a brat. 

John was tired, he’d been around the block of life, he’d seen the worst of the world. He’d been shot, stabbed, had been in one too many fights to waiver at the spoiled brat. It rightly pissed him off. 

He stood up straight as he could, getting his cane under him, arm still strapped to his chest in his sling. 

“I’m Doctor John Watson, Captain in the Royal Army Medical Corps and Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, I am here to clean this house, get you in working order, and if I must, force medication down your throat if not through much more uncomfortable channels. Mycroft told me you’d be difficult and I expect nothing less from the first and only consulting detective for New Scotland Yard. I am far more capable than I appear at the moment. I am not going to put up with any shit. Do you understand that?” John said, voice tuned to the one he used to bark at corporals. He didn’t often pull rank, didn’t usually shout or raise his voice. But he stood steadfast, staring into the younger man’s eyes. 

Sherlock huffed, rolling his eyes as he turned away, looking into the kitchen. John didn’t miss the pink blush that rose to his sharp cheekbones, the way his shoulders dropped, resolve crumbling. John tried to tuck it away in his brain for the moment, needing to get other things done than. Best not to assume too much about a man you’d just met, he thought to himself. 

“And my documents? My experiment research? You’ve thrown it away. I must restart now from the very begi-” Sherlock began as he walked through the scrubbed kitchen waving at the table where there had been beakers and melted animal parts. 

“Beakers are in the cupboard next to the better china, papers are over here. Scientific, criminal, hobby, and illegible.” John said and pointed with his cane toward the coffee table where he’d been sorting papers. Sherlock’s head whipped around, stalking over to the papers, picking them up and flicking through them. 

“Fine. You may stay. Get whatever you must get done over with quickly.” Sherlock finally agreed, sounding put out, looking away from the doctor. John smiled and nodded, going to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen. 

“Medicine first, I have to start you on a schedule. Not everything is taken everyday, not everything can be taken together. Vitamins, supplements, and one of your Lustral tablets today. Then we can work on your body and bed.” John explained and sorted through the bottles, pulling out the necessary ones. He thought about how he’d been to set up one of those E-Z doses to keep everything straight. 

“What do you mean my body and bed?” Sherlock asked, voice pitching up out of his control. He was staring at John now, eyes wide. John turned around with a small smile, it was a little funny. 

“You’ll need a right soak to get good and clean, I’ll have a look at your arms and see if there’s anything concerning, and it’ll take hours to get a handle on that hair. We can buzz it off, if you want, I have electric clippers.” John explained, focusing on opening the pill bottles, which was difficult enough without having a bum arm. He looked up at Sherlock, who looked almost frightened. 

“No, don’t cut my hair, don’t cut it.” He said, hand going to touch the hair that wasn’t matted around his forehead. John nodded, understanding. He helped nurses work through a hair mat before, it was a lot of work but gaining a patient’s trust was crucial. He could deal with it. 

“That’s fine. We’ll just have to take the time and brush it out. I’ll fix you a bath, check your arms, and while you get clean, I’ll change out your bedding. Mycroft gave me a stipend for anything we may need to buy new. There’s all new bedding, freshly washed by Miss Hudson, who insisted you had a preferred detergent. We’re going to do this step by step, playing it by ear. I’m not going to put up with any bullshit and I won’t force you to do anything too out of bounds. Sounds like a plan?” John asked and stuck his hand out, waiting as Sherlock looked around the kitchen, at the medication, at the window, anywhere but John for a long few moments before his boney hand took John’s, shaking it loosely. 

John felt better, touching the other man’s hand. It was… Sherlock had rather unappealing hands. Boney and freezing cold, paler than paper white, nails bitten ragged and callused in strange spots, spindly. But he could feel his pulse, thrumming a little fast but even, and John liked that.  

“Alright, these are for today. I’ll go get the bath ready.” John said and handed the multiple pills to Sherlock who simply looked down and pouted at them. 

John made the bath warm, not too hot, and dumped in epsom salts and some bath soak he’d found under the sink while cleaning. Sherlock had a well stockpile of luxury things among the mess of his home. Bath salts, soaks, all assortments of hand crafted handsoaps and designer hair care products. John had gone through, what was good stayed, what was bad went, and there was still quite a bit left. 

Getting Sherlock clean was first priority. Cleanliness was always the first priority. The house was clean, now Sherlock, then his bed, and then John could start actually working on the man. 

When he was content with the softly scented bath, he returned to the kitchen to see Sherlock using the toaster as a mirror, picking and pulling at his hair, pills still clutched in his hand. 

“Sherlock, it’s too matted. We’re going to have to spend time and slowly unmat it. It could take hours, it could take a while for it to grow back properly. We could always buzz it down, if you want to try that. We can work on it after your bath, if you're up to it. Now we need to get you clean and get your bed freshened up.” John explained and put his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, trying to comfort him. Sherlock pulled away from the touch, looking down at the floor. 

“Don’t cut it. No one cuts my hair.” Sherlock said clearly. John nodded, at least he was setting clear boundaries. 

“We won’t cut it, then. Easy as that. Now take your medicine, get in the bath, and I’ll do up your bed. Get to it.” John said, handing Sherlock a glass of water, watching him take his medicine. Sherlock glared down at the pills for a breath before downing them all in one go, drinking the entirety of the glass. 

John was putting away the pill bottles, back where they went, as Sherlock stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, heading toward the bathroom. 

“Do you know of all my… conditions?” Sherlock asked, looking over his shoulder at the doctor. John looked at him, confused. Sherlock was aware he’d been given all his medical files. He knew, John knew. 

“What condition? I am aware of your medication regimen.” John answered, if Sherlock wanted to play games, John could play back. He was perfectly capable of keeping up. 

“My physical condition. My aesthetic condition.” Sherlock said, nose turning up in the air, the words falling from his lips with disdain. He hated to say it, hated what he was referring too. 

John nodded and closed the cabinet door. He knew everything. From Sherlock’s hysterectomy he got at sixteen, to his dental issues, his self harm, to his slight allergy toward aspirin. 

“If you’re concerned about your testosterone gel, we’ll be administering that once we have your new schedule settled. I need to get your other medications in line first.” John answered calmly, easily. He was telling the truth though, he was far more concerned with Sherlock’s overall health than getting him back on his hormone treatments. 

“You understand why I take it?” Sherlock asked, and John huffed and rolled his eyes. It was a game of cat and house, questions and answers, something to make Sherlock feel in control. 

“Yeah, Sherlock, I get it. Now go get your bath.” John said with a wave of his hand, sending Sherlock away. He turned to put on the kettle, let it boil while he stripped the bed, but stopped short when Sherlock spoke again, this time his voice quieter. 

“Could you… after you do the bed, could you sit with me?” Sherlock offered quietly, his voice losing its intensity, the words softer in the air. 

John turned and really looked at him, their eyes meeting. It made him feel something, knowing a man so capable of tremendous things, brilliant and painfully aware of it, was doubtful asking for something so minor. It was something so small, to sit with him, but the way the world seemed to fall away to just hold the flat in that moment, it made John’s heart beat a little louder in his chest. 

“‘Course. I’ll drag a chair in.” John said and watched as SHerlock nodded, just a small jerk of his head before leaving for the bath. 

John wrestled the bedding around for a good while, to his own dismay. But he kept his words and drug a wooden chair into the bathroom. He was a little sweaty, and tired, as he sat down next to the door, giving Sherlock some privacy, some space. 

He was sitting in the tub, knees to his chin, arms wrapped around them. He was horribly thin, ribs visible, the knobs of his spin bumping out on his back, the joints of his body obvious under his skin. He was just sitting there in the water, unmoving, looking as if he’d simply gotten himself wet, and stopped. 

“Do you think you can wash yourself?” John asked quietly, grabbing a dry wash cloth from the stack folded next to the towels. He waited, watching as Sherlock slumped forward, face hidden in his knees. 

“No.” Sherlock finally said after a long pause. He stayed unmoving as John huffed his way down to the floor, getting down on his good knee first before settling on his bottom. 

“That’s fine, better than a sponge bath, believe me.” John said, trying to lighten the mood as he lathered the cloth with soap. Sherlock huffed a half laugh, only flinching a small bit as the cloth drew across his back. 

“Do you want me to be quiet?” John asked, methodically cleaning off Sherlock’s back, neck, and arms. 

“No.” Sherlock answered, turning his face to look at the doctor. His cheeks were pink, which he could blame on the warm water, but John knew better. He was embarrassed, needing help in such a vulnerable way. John was fine with that, some people couldn’t handle the silence. 

John rattled on quietly about tales from when he worked in the hospital, a cat getting loose and ending up in the vents, the halloween where six people came in from trying to make melted sugar art, the time he found a dollar braided in a man’s hair. It eased Sherlock, making him pliable as John lifted his arms and unfolded his legs. The water turned a dingy yellow, the cloth getting traded for a clean one with more soap. 

He looked over the detective’s body, making mental notes. His scratched arms, his spattering of scars, how soft his skin was, how boney he was. He washed Sherlock with easy hands, putting just enough pressure to get him clean, careful to not hurt him. He was a little hesitant to run the cloth over Sherlock’s chest, the measly breast tissue there not more than small points tipped with pink nipples. SHerlock looked at the wall and stiffened as the cloth washed over his chest and belly. He avoided the inside of Sherlock’s thighs and the oddly straight hair that covered his small mound. 

He sighed and pulled back when he was satisfied Sherlock was clean enough. Sherlock was red faced, looking away, knees drawing back together to shield himself. 

“Alright mate, let’s rinse you off. Pop up yeah.” John instructed and used the toilet and side on the tub to wrangle himself onto his feet. Sherlock stood up, hands covering his crotch, moving the showerhead to be in the right position. John turned on the shower, it wasn’t the most powerful thing but it was warm and helped rinse off the dirty water. 

“Better. You smell less like the barracks and more like a proper man. Do you want to try and soak your hair now and work through some of it today?” John offered, handing a towel to the man. 

“Yes, that’ll be fine.” Sherlock answered, wrapping the towel around his body. John smiled and nodded, pulling the kitchen chair back out. 

“When you’re ready, just come out to the living room.” John said as he pulled the chair behind him. Sherlock nodded and shut the door behind the doctor, leaving it cracked open a small bit. 

Sherlock sat statue still in the chair, dressed in a towel around his waist and one over his shoulders, as John had the wide tooth comb lifted to his hair. It wasn’t as bad as it looked. The mat was mostly on the side of his head, the other side was mostly knotted. The shower had loosened some of it, some detangler and conditioner and it would be good to go. He got a good section done, maybe a half of the main mat worked down before he stopped, hand cramping. It looked better, even though long strands of hair had been combed out in clumps, it looked better. 

“Alright that’s it for today. My left hand can’t take anymore. How about we order in, you can actually look at me and speak. So go get dressed. We’ve laundered all your clothes, suits and all but choose something comfortable. You can order whatever you’re willing to eat and then we can talk schedule and medication.” John said as Sherlock touched his hair, running his fingers through the untangled parts. Sherlock got up, holding his towels around himself tightly as he went into his bedroom. 

John brought the takeout menus from the stack he’d collected, looking through them himself. There were some good places, besides of course the place downstairs. Sherlock soon joined him, sitting in the chair opposite of him, dressed in a pair of striped flannel pants, a cotton grey undershirt, and his newly cleaned navy silk dressing gown. 

They ended up with Italian food, Sherlock picking something off the kids menu, to John’s amusement. John turned on the TV, people ate more when they were distracted from their plates. He ate his own meal, it was hot and wonderful. Sherlock picked at his own food, moving it around the container. 

“Do you have a hard time with it because it’s heavy or the texture?” John asked and Sherlock looked up like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He looked almost surprised that John could even begin to understand him. 

“It hurts my stomach. My teeth.” Sherlock answered after a moment of John staring at him. He looked away but still picked at his plate. He liked spaghetti, but each bite made him feel nauseous and made his jaw throb. 

“I can make you some porridge. It would be easier on your stomach. You just need to eat a little at a time.” John offered, already standing up to fetch the small microwaveable cups he usually preferred. He’d stocked the kitchen with options already. Microwave meals, cups of macaroni and cheese, ramen, easy rice, and porridge. He’d bought frozen things as well, and enough yogurt to make Sherlock smoothies throughout the day with upped calories and vitamins. 

“I like porridge.” Sherlock mumbled and sat back away from the noodles he’d been trying. He pouted at them, but after a minute, peeked over the back of the chair to watch John. He watched, curious, as John mixed in the milk and warmed up the mush, stirring it as he walked back over to their meals. 

Sherlock was much happier for the porridge, eating small spoonfuls until the paper cup was empty. John felt a small bit of pride. It was a pride all doctors and nurses felt when they knew what a patient really wanted, what they needed. 

“Do you want to get better?” John asked as he walked back from throwing away their containers of food and washing the utensils. Sherlock kept his eyes on the TV, disinterested with the actual program but not wanting to speak. 

“Whether you like it or not, I live here, I’m going to be on your tail 24/7 till you’re a healthy weight and can go back to work. I’m sure you’re used to getting your way and bullying others to bend how you want. I’ll push you right back, I’m not going to be some push over nanny. You’re a grown man, I expect you to act like one. No toddler tantrums, no throwing things at me, if you have an issue you talk to me like an adult. Understand?” John said and looked at Sherlock. He made it clear. 

Sherlock felt something deep in his gut. He understood why Mycroft had hired the man. He was solid, solid and respectable. He treated Sherlock with respect, set boundaries, respected them too. He was… well Sherlock could read people like open books, knew their entire lives and what they thought before they did, but John wasn’t so easy to read. He was… new.

“Understood, Captain Watson.” Sherlock said with a tinge of sarcasm. John shook his head with a small smile. 

“You’re an arse.” John said and turned back to the game show that was on the TV. 

He made sure Sherlock put his pajamas on before heading to bed. He sent the younger man to bed with the promise of a start at 8a.m. And that Sherlock could come and wake him up if he needed anything at all. 

John stayed up, finding where he could send Sherlock. The dentist for one. And he could do a full check except for blood work. He had buddies at the hospital so he knew they could slip Sherlock in for a workup. 

Tomorrow Sherlock needed to take his medication in full. John opened Sherlock’s bedroom quietly, peeking in on the man, eyes closed sleeping deeply. He looked a bit angelic in his silk sheets, bare shoulders and collarbones peeking out from under the edge of the blanket. John headed out for a 24/7 pharmacy and somewhere to sit and think. 

[crimsonhydrangeavn]

How caring is the cast handling a sick MC?

Garret would be such a mother hen if you were sick. He would cancel any and all obligations he had that week and stay by your side 24/7. He'd insist on making sure you rested and didn't lift a finger to do anything. He'd cook for you, constantly bring you water and electrolytes, and make sure you took medication as needed. He would also make sure to check your temperature on an hour by hour basis to make sure it didn't get too high. He'd also refuse to leave your side during your illness. Whether it be watching a nostalgic movie with you on the couch, or quietly reading a book beside you in bed as you slept, he would be glued to your side taking care of you.

Marcelo would be worried about you and would also do his best to take care of you. He'd make you all of your favorite meals and keep them in the fridge for easy access. Unfortunately he wouldn't be able to take more than a day off of work, but he would literally use all of his breaks and lunch periods to stop by your place and make sure you were doing okay, getting you anything you needed, and heating up whatever foods he had made for you the night before. Of course once he got off of work he'd immediately beeline it to your place and make sure you were alright and well taken care of. Unlike Garret, he would eventually leave for the night with promises of stopping by first thing in the morning to check in on you.

Camilla would absolutely baby you and make sure you were eating delicious and nutritious soups throughout your illness. She'd force you out of your room and lay down on the couch while she went in and switched out your sheets, opened a window, and aired out your room. She'd also make sure you were completely bundled up and sipping on teas or room tempature water the entire time. Boy, the amount of movies you two would go through would be wild, though she wouldn't mind if you fell asleep partway through with your head on her soft and welcoming lap.

Rita would immediately force you to call out sick if you showed up to work under the weather. She'd probably force you up into her apartment above the bookstore so that you didn't have to brave the long and arduous 15ish minute walk back home. She'd take care of the bookstore while heading upstairs every hour or so to check in on you. She'd probably end up going out to buy some medicine for you since everything she had was either expired or got lost during her move all those months ago. She'd wrap you in countless blankets, make sure you had a drink and medicine, and pick up takeout from one of your favorite restaurants nearby. She'd also gently lecture you about pushing yourself too far and to just call out when you were sick. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Only once she felt she got her point across would she settle in beside you on the couch and gently nurse you back to health in between chapters of one of your favorite Morgen Brattle books that she so kindly decided to read out loud to you.

In the past Teagan would do a terrible job of taking care of you whenever you were sick. They'd suddenly start feeling "sick" and ultimately you would start taking care of them instead. After the break up, they'd definitely go out of their way to try to take care of you in the same way you would take care of them whenever they felt under the weather. They'd definitely be more cognizant of your needs and do everything in their power not to make it about them this time around.

[wigetta129]

Asylum AU Octonauts

Hey Octonauts fandom, how are you? For a while now, I've been thinking about this Octonauts Asylum AU. Honestly, I love these kinds of AUs, and I've seen many from different fandoms, so here’s the idea I had in mind. I hope you like it! And by the way, I already have several episodes done, but since it’s about neurodivergence and mental disorders and stuff, I was a bit indecisive about whether they were well represented. As a neurodivergent person, I really worry about this because there are so many stereotypes, and that really pisses me off.

Well, here’s a bit of context: Barnacles is a Navy veteran, and because of that, he’s dealt with trauma, plus his somewhat complicated childhood has only made his conditions worse. So, what do you think about this AU I’m working on?

TW: Mental health, intrusive thoughts, mild self-harm, mentions of suicide. ************************************************************************

"Agh," you groaned, making a sudden, sharp movement with your neck—a habit you couldn't help but indulge in.

You clasped your hands together and began cracking your knuckles, a small ritual that brought you some semblance of calm amidst the anxiety and stress that typically plagued your days. But today... today wasn't just any day.

You found yourself in an asylum—at least, that's what people insisted on calling it: an asylum. It wasn't your first time here, either. How many times had it been now, two? Three?

At present, you were in the room assigned to you by the staff, though in truth, you'd expected something more fitting for an inmate—a padded cell with a straitjacket, rather than this ordinary room with walls that wavered between pale blue and white, and casual loungewear that resembled something you’d wear at home.

You were perched on your bed, waiting for the dawn to break. Why the dawn? The answer was simple—you hadn't slept a wink all night, barely managing an hour at best. Your father had taught you how to tell time by the position of the moon and the sun, so it wasn’t hard to estimate that it must be around 5:24 in the morning. Yet, with winter in full force, daylight was still a distant prospect.

You got up from the bed and headed to the bathroom, intending to relieve yourself—or "relieve" yourself, as it were. After all, what else was there to do while waiting for daybreak? You slid back the curtain that blocked the entrance and went over to the sink, twisting the tap to drink from the faucet. The thirst was gnawing at you.

Once your thirst was sated, you wiped the leftover water from your hands and splashed some on your face and hair. Too bad there wasn’t a mirror; you would have liked to see how disheveled you looked.

Rubbing your eyes, you returned to the center of your room. It was chilly, but you couldn’t complain—the hospital socks they’d given you kept your feet warm, though you would have appreciated a pair of thicker pajama pants. But hey, you can’t have everything in life.

There was a rectangular shelf holding your clothes and a few glasses, some filled with water, others stocked with hygiene products like shampoo or soap. Not that you cared much about your physical appearance—it wasn't a priority to worry about body odor. Though you had bathed yesterday, more out of obligation than any real desire to do so.

Okay, so… the door to your little hospital cave had a lock, indicating whether it was secured or not. Usually, they were left unlocked so that any nurse or orderly could come in at will, like during sleep hours to check that all patients were safe and sound—an infuriating habit.

Then again, what could you expect? This place was for the mentally ill, not exactly the kind of people you could trust with enough privacy to hurt someone—or worse, themselves.

Wait, there was something on your right wrist. Something plastic. You glanced down and… oh, it was just your barcode wristband with your name, sex, and age.

Barnacles Carver Age: 27 Sex: Male

And an obvious string of barcode numbers beneath that. You already felt like a slave ready to be auctioned off at any moment.

You began gnawing at what little remained of your nails—because really, what else was there to do in this semi-spacious psychiatric room? You approached the shelf and picked up a white glass filled to the brim with ice. Whenever patients asked for water, nurses or doctors always delivered it more ice than liquid. Not that it mattered—it was all just water in different forms.

The ice had been sitting out for quite a while, yet some of it was still solid. You grabbed one that wasn’t stuck and, with a single bite, it turned to water in your mouth. As you crunched on the ice like popcorn, you wandered back to your bed and sat, legs crossed, occasionally stretching your arms or moving them in random directions.

By the time you looked back out the window, the glass was nearly empty, save for a few small ice chips floating in a pool of water. You placed it on the floor and laid back down again. Still no trace of sleep. But it was either this, or running circles around your room while talking to yourself. You already had thoughts that could be considered twisted by the average human, but to you, they were normal, even fascinating in a way.

Wars, death, murder—anything that involved leaving this world intrigued you. You’d seen things no one should ever witness, but you had seen them anyway, forced to.

Before coming here, you'd been reading about José Luis Calva Zepeda, a Mexican cannibal and serial killer. Though he didn’t have many victims—two at most that were known—you were deeply fascinated by him. He had been a poet who never managed to publish his novel, "Cannibal Instincts or 12 Days." You were particularly interested in how he had killed his victims and the contents of those writings. What a shame the novel never saw the light of day.

Your hand began to itch, so you scratched at the affected area. It didn’t take long for your battered nails to make contact with the rough, damaged skin between your wrist and knuckles. A few moments passed before you felt satisfied and looked down at your reddened hand. Damn, you should’ve been more careful to avoid this.

Still, it wasn’t the end of the world. Some small linear scars might remain, but that would only add to your time here. Not that you cared much anyway. After all, where were you going to go with Bianca?

Oh, wait… she was the reason you were here.

Well, wandering the streets was always an option.

[pokemoncaretips]

What is boxing?

Ever since the discovery that pokemon could be converted into storage data and back again with no side effects, the "box" has been an integral part of how we store and trade pokemon.

Some people worry about the ethics involved, but I can allay those worries by going over the safeguards put in place to protect the pokemon inside.

First, security. The PC is tied to your trainer ID and unlocked by face and fingerprint scans. If neither match, the PC will lock until a verified league representative can unlock them. With state of the art security systems and a constant cybersecurity team working to secure them, though pokemon in their pokeballs can be stolen, the PC remains uncracked.

Secondly, comfort. We actually have a fascinating insight on what a box is like for pokemon by a zoroark owned by a researcher, who was asked some questions while in human form. Let me pull up the quote from the study:

"Quiet. It's quiet. Like a drifting sleep. No hunger. No thirst. A long dream. I know there is an outside. I do not care. Then light, and waking, and I am joyous. Rested. Outside to play? I want berries."

As evidenced by the quote, pokemon in a PC are in a state of suspended animation, requiring no food or water. There is some vague awareness of the outside world, but they don't seem to register the time passing too much. Battle injuries slowly heal after the recent major update, but illnesses are suspended.

Thirdly, long term storage. There is some evidence that long term storage, anything over three months, is potentially unsafe, with early test pokemon demonstrating disorientation and time-blindness after long term storage tests. As a result, a failsafe was built in. After thirty days, the PC sends an alert to the trainers pokedex, warning them their pokemon need to be released. If this alert is ignored or not responded to, after a further 24 hours the pokemon are automatically transferred to the pokecentre registered as the trainers emergency contact, and released to the temporary custody of the nurses there while the trainer is tracked down. If it turns out the trainer has become ill or passed, further action can be taken, but if it was pure neglect, there will be fines and a black mark on their trainer record.

I hope this has answered a few lingering questions over the PC box. When properly used, it is an excellent safe way to store pokemon for everything from "I inherited a huge dragon type and need it out of the way so I can think of what to do" to "uh oh, pokerus! I need to protect my other pokemon!" to "whoops, babies. I need to look for homes for all these." and with careful safeguards, it protects the mental health of the pokemon inside it.

[kikizoshi]

Godos Fluff Headcanons I Absolutely Adore

(...and some general lifestyle headcanons thrown in)

-Nikolai likes to cover Fyodor with his cloaks/capes sometimes when they hug (like in those long, rocking hugs). It gives him a feeling of comfort, like Fyodor's safe and nothing can hurt him. Fyodor likes it too; to him it feels like an extra layer of endearment and makes him feel safe, secure and loved (plus it's warm).

-Nikolai is one of the few people Fyodor trusts entirely with his ushanka. This isn't a small thing--he usually doesn't even like to let people touch it, but he even trusts Nikolai to spot clean it for him.

-Nikolai absolutely loves to take care of Fyodor, which works well, because Fyodor likes being taken care of. This extends to cooking (where Nikolai will often ask Fyodor to pick one new dish to try to go with whatever staple meal Nikolai's making that week), making him tea most days and keeping the berry preserves stocked up, and nursing Fyodor when he's sick.

Nikolai doesn't enjoy trying to get Fyodor to remember to eat, or sleep, or shower, sometimes, but he takes Fyodor's health even more seriously than his own most of the time, and so is usually trying out some new method to achieve at least one of these things.

-Nikolai worked as a stage actor before he took up terrorism, and practiced a lot at home. Fyodor would often watch his practicing, occasionally give feedback, and they might talk a bit about the story afterwards. This was a common before-dinner activity for them, which was mostly for fun, but also helped Fyodor get out of his work headspace and into his home headspace, and of course Fyodor's psychology-based feedback often helped Nikolai with his nuances in his delivery.

-Dinner is a very important together time for them. Both make a point of having dinner together as often as possible, so that they're sure to have time together to talk. Though late-night conversations are also common with them, there's always a chance of Fyodor being sucked back into work or Nikolai needing extra time to work something out/rehearsals or shows taking place at night, so they make dinner the designated time together. Also, since their dinner is usually a dish Nikolai made, Nikolai likes to share the food with Fyodor, and Fyodor likes to appreciate the shared food with Nikolai.

-Depending on how late Nikolai's shows ran while he was in a play and what came after, they may have dinner together as late as 1 or 2 in the morning, but still, they always ate together (Fyodor was almost never ready to go to sleep by then anyway, which I'm sure helped, but the idea that he shared his usually alone-time with Nikolai is sweet to me).

-Regarding the dishes: generally the system is that Nikolai cooks and Fyodor cleans. The everyday dishes are usually washed by Fyodor, since he goes to sleep much later than Nikolai and often has several cups of tea and snacks long after Nikolai's gone to bed. Nikolai puts away the clean dishes in the morning, long before Fyodor wakes up.

-Regarding their sleep schedules: Nikolai (according to himself) tends to find his moods and general thought process annoyingly mercurial if he ends up more than an hour off his sleep cycle, and so is fairly regular with going to sleep around 23-24 and getting up around 6-7 (giving up his precious productive night hours was hard on him--the time past 1-ish when your brain lets you be creative--but he soon learned to replace them with alcohol). This of course can be completely thrown out of balance when he has rehearsals/shows, but the rest of the year, he sticks to it religiously.

Fyodor has no such trouble with moods and, like Nikolai, finds his best hours to be in the early morning. So, he generally goes to bed around 3-5 and wakes up at 11. Unlike Nikolai--whose body, like a clock, always keeps him asleep for exactly eight hours--Fyodor relies on alarms and always gets up at 11, unless he has somewhere to be earlier. He doesn't generally go to bed earlier though, so he just tends to be (more) tired on those days.

-Fyodor's usually tired (either from his sleep schedule, physical ailments, or both), and his energy levels tend to range from moderate to low. At first this irritated Nikolai for a bit, I think, but he eventually came to learn what Fyodor's low-energy emotes meant (which can look kind of funny when Nikolai reacts to an emotion that seemingly isn't being expressed).

-Nikolai loves swing dancing, but Fyodor doesn't usually have the stamina for it. So instead, when the dancing itch arrives, they waltz or do some slower dance with a bit of verve. Dancing's difficult in the narrow living room, but they manage (and, when Nikolai's brother and sister-in-law come over, he swing dances with them, which Fyodor enjoys watching).

-There's a park a few roads down from where they live, and they often in the late spring and early summer enjoy playing violin and cello together out in the greenery. Nikolai especially loves when the birds twitter while they're playing.

-Speaking of birds, Nikolai also loves going out with Fyodor and pigeon-spotting. Sometimes he'll take a bag of breadcrumbs to sprinkle for the birds they come by. He does this alone too, but enjoys sharing this activity with Fyodor.

-Nikolai also, when he has more free time, enjoys bird-watching. He keeps a journal of the different birds he sees, how many, etc. When he gets up at about 6, they're really active, and sometimes he'll luxuriate in an hour of peaceful bird-watching and documentation from the kitchen window. (Unfortunately, the window view is onto the street, so he doesn't see as many as he would in a park or garden, but he still sees enough to be somewhat satisfied.)

Fyodor isn't very interested in birds in and of themselves, but he loves listening to Nikolai's enthusiasm, love for and musings about the little creatures, and so will often ask about Nikolai's recent sightings when he knows Nikolai's been bird-watching.

-Fyodor loves to use terms of endearment. 'My Dove' and 'Dear' are his favourites outside of 'Kolya' (and its variants). Nikolai likes to take inspiration from the moment to make pet names, so may say something like 'My Little Red-Nose' (when Fyodor's sick) or 'Drowned Rat' (when Fyodor's wet and upset about it) (I imagine most of them would be animal or food related, but my imagination has a rough time keeping up with Nikolai's), as well as 'Fedya' (and its variants). He might also call Fyodor 'Fedka' if he's feeling derisive enough, though I can't imagine Fyodor would ever call Nikolai 'Kolka'.

-One thing Nikolai loves about Fyodor is that, when Nikolai gets into one of his black moods, where he can't seem to enjoy or appreciate anything, and, in general, just wants to sink into nothingness, Fyodor understands and doesn't judge him, nor expect more. Fyodor will usually take up the cooking (which... his food is usually bland and tasteless, but neither care all that much in those times), keeps the lights dimmer/curtains drawn, and most of all lets Nikolai come to him.

He also doesn't complain about lack of hugs, though they're very important to him. Nikolai finds hugs disturbing in a black mood, because he can't feel anything from them, and so they just distress him. It is harder on Fyodor than I think he usually admits to himself though, not being able to hug or pet or really comfort at all his friend who's in so much pain.

-Fyodor doesn't like being around drunk people, but Nikolai often relies on alcohol to get him into the right headspace to work. To compromise, Nikolai tries not to get more than tipsy around Fyodor, generally going for lightly buzzed, and usually does it while Fyodor's working. (Though this does go out the window sometimes if Nikolai wants badly enough to numb his emotions.)

-Fyodor gets miserably sick relatively frequently (~3-4 times a year), often with the changing of the seasons, which usually knocks him out for a solid two weeks. Nikolai hovers and cares for him with all the terrified devotion of a mother whose baby suffers from scarlet fever. The sheer nervous energy emitted from Nikolai tends to overwhelm and tire Fyodor out, but he still finds Nikolai being there to take care of and be with him to be more comforting than if he was alone (him having to comfort Nikolai tires him out, but also helps him feel more at peace). (Occasionally, maybe a little less than once a year, Fyodor will have a seizure bad enough to keep him in bed for a few days, and the dynamic's about the same as when he's sick.)

-A few times, Nikolai kept vigil over Fyodor's sick body (the first time being after a particularly bad seizure left Fyodor bedridden for five days, a few months into their friendship). It… Well, let's just say it never ended well for Nikolai. Fyodor eventually managed to calm Nikolai down enough about his frailty to get him to compromise on sleeping close together (though Fyodor first tried sending Nikolai away, Nikolai worked himself into an even bigger panic when he couldn't see how Fyodor was doing).

-Nikolai is absolutely terrified of doctors. He's also a borderline hypochondriac. Thankfully, Nikolai's aggressively healthy (except for some minor stomach issues and some major mental issues), so this isn't often a problem. However, the few times it was, and Fyodor genuinely needed Nikolai to go to a doctor, it always took a very long and drawn-out discussion to convince Nikolai that the doctors weren't going to torture him to death (Fyodor never learned what exactly Nikolai was afraid of, but it seemed something along the lines of what you'd expect from a BCE Chinese torture chamber, or Yosano's clinic).

-Needless to say, Fyodor's spent many a night listening to Nikolai's fears and explaining why they're likely not one of The Horrors. He might have gotten tired of it, except Nikolai's fears were usually so creative and obscure that Fyodor actually often found them fascinating.

[xtruss]

Displaced Palestinian children wait to receive food in Rafah, Gaza, on February 9, 2024. Photograph: Abed Rahim Khatib/Anadolu via Getty Images

I’m An American Doctor Who Went To Gaza. What I Saw Wasn’t War — It Was Annihilation

— February 16, 2024 | By Irfan Galaria | Los Angeles Times

late January, I left my home in Virginia, where I work as a plastic and reconstructive surgeon and joined a group of Physicians and Nurses traveling to Egypt with the humanitarian aid group MedGlobal to Volunteer in Gaza.

I have worked in other war zones. But what I witnessed during the next 10 days in Gaza was not war — it was annihilation. At least 28,000 Palestinians have been killed in Israel’s bombardment of Gaza. From Cairo, Egypt’s capital, we drove 12 hours east to the Rafah border. We passed miles of parked humanitarian aid trucks because they weren’t allowed into Gaza. Aside from my team and other envoy members from the United Nations and World Health Organization, there were very few others there.

Entering southern Gaza on Jan. 29, where many have fled from the north, felt like the first pages of a dystopian novel. Our ears were numb with the constant humming of what I was told were the surveillance drones that circled constantly. Our noses were consumed with the stench of 1 million displaced humans living in close proximity without adequate sanitation. Our eyes got lost in the sea of tents. We stayed at a guest house in Rafah. Our first night was cold, and many of us couldn’t sleep. We stood on the balcony listening to the bombs, and seeing the smoke rise from Khan Yunis.

As we approached the European Gaza Hospital the next day, there were rows of tents that lined and blocked the streets. Many Palestinians gravitated toward this and other hospitals hoping it would represent a sanctuary from the violence — they were wrong.

People also spilled into the hospital: living in hallways, stairwell corridors and even storage closets. The once-wide walkways designed by the European Union to accommodate the busy traffic of medical staff, stretchers and equipment were now reduced to a single-file passageway. On either side, blankets hung from the ceiling to cordon off small areas for entire families, offering a sliver of privacy. A hospital designed to accommodate about 300 patients was now struggling to care for more than 1,000 patients and hundreds more seeking refuge.

There were a limited number of local surgeons available. We were told that many had been killed or arrested, their whereabouts or even their existence unknown. Others were trapped in occupied areas in the north or nearby places where it was too risky to travel to the hospital. There was only one local plastic surgeon left and he covered the hospital 24/7. His home had been destroyed, so he lived in the hospital, and was able to stuff all of his personal possessions into two small hand bags. This narrative became all too common among the remaining staff at the hospital. This surgeon was lucky, because his wife and daughter were still alive, although almost everyone else working in the hospital was mourning the loss of their loved ones.

I began work immediately, performing 10 to 12 surgeries a day, working 14 to 16 hours at a time. The operating room would often shake from the incessant bombings, sometimes as frequent as every 30 seconds. We operated in unsterile settings that would’ve been unthinkable in the United States. We had limited access to critical medical equipment: We performed amputations of arms and legs daily, using a Gigli saw, a Civil War-era tool, essentially a segment of barbed wire. Many amputations could’ve been avoided if we’d had access to standard medical equipment. It was a struggle trying to care for all the injured within the constructs of a healthcare system that has utterly collapsed.

I listened to my patients as they whispered their stories to me, as I wheeled them into the operating room for surgery. The majority had been sleeping in their homes, when they were bombed. I couldn’t help thinking that the lucky ones died instantaneously, either by the force of the explosion or being buried in the rubble. The survivors faced hours of surgery and multiple trips to the operating room, all while mourning the loss of their children and spouses. Their bodies were filled with shrapnel that had to be surgically pulled out of their flesh, one piece at a time.

I stopped keeping track of how many new orphans I had operated on. After surgery they would be filed somewhere in the hospital, I’m unsure of who will take care of them or how they will survive. On one occasion, a handful of children, all about ages 5 to 8, were carried to the emergency room by their parents. All had single sniper shots to the head. These families were returning to their homes in Khan Yunis, about 2.5 miles away from the hospital, after Israeli tanks had withdrawn. But the snipers apparently stayed behind. None of these children survived.

On my last day, as I returned to the guest house where locals knew foreigners were staying, a young boy ran up and handed me a small gift. It was a rock from the beach, with an Arabic inscription written with a marker: “From Gaza, With Love, Despite the Pain.” As I stood on the balcony looking out at Rafah for the last time, we could hear the drones, bombings and bursts of machine-gun fire, but something was different this time: The sounds were louder, the explosions were closer.

This week, Israeli forces raided another large hospital in Gaza, and they’re planning a ground offensive in Rafah. I feel incredibly guilty that I was able to leave while millions are forced to endure the nightmare in Gaza. As an American, I think of our tax dollars paying for the weapons that likely injured my patients there. Already driven from their homes, these people have nowhere else to turn.

— Irfan Galaria is a Physician with a Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery Practice in Chantilly, Va.