#CAT tourniquet

[bobwess]

It feels like you want to do torniqets

The leading cause of the preventable deaths in an emergency is uncontrolled bleeding.

Tourniquets can be used on limbs (arms/legs) and are for uncontrolled arterial bleeds. That's your bright red pulsing and spurting blood.

Uncontrolled bleeding is the first thing you will address after being sure there is no danger. It is important to stop that blood before you do anything else. Once you get the tourniquet on, you must write the time you applied the tourniquet on it or on the body part next to it in permanent marker. You must also write a "T" on the forehead, so if the limb is covered by blankets, emergency personnel know there is a clock on it.

Choosing your tourniquet:

There are 5 main kinds of Tourniquets, each with their pros/cons.

The most common and well liked tourniquet is the CAT (specifically the Gen 7) It's designed for the military, it is straightforward and easy to apply, it works well every time, and it can be done to yourself if needed. It will get the job done. Love it. My recommendation.

Then you have the Sof-T. It's a lot like the CAT but worse. (Fight me.) It looks nicer but it's less practical and slightly more expensive.

RATs is another one. This one isn't at all like the CAT, it instead is more of a elastic band material that you loop through an end piece to lock it off. The RATs is a little bit cheaper, around $20 The RATs will cause more nerve damage and pain though, because it is pinching it off with a much narrower band. However, because it doesn't have a huge stiff plastic windlass and locking mechanism, it's incredibly flexible and much more comfortable and practical to have in the pocket or a purse than carrying a CAT.

SWAT-T is another type. It's like an exercise elastic band and the instructions on how to use are printed right on the side. It's not easy to use. I don't think this tourniquet is worth your time.

The STAT is the last kind. This is your set it and forget it. It can be a little harder to get full tension on it, I still far prefer the CAT, but this goes on like a zip tie. You slide it on, pull it tight, and press the button. It automatically records the time itself, you'll just have to put a T on their forehead. (Write it in blood if you gotta.) The easiest of all the options for sure. If you want a tourniquet, don't really want to learn how to use one or the others are intimidating, it's a pretty good choice to throw in a first aid kit, backpack, or glove compartment.

NEVER get your tourniquets off Amazon, there are a LOT of counterfeit tourniquets on Amazon, and a counterfeit one will not have the right materials to hold pressure. North American Rescue is where I get my tourniquets, but there are a couple reputable medical supply companies. My Medic is a good site.

Normal belts can not be used as emergency medical tourniquets. I don't care what the movies told you. Drugs? Maybe. Stop the bleed? No.

I'm not going to get into what to use for a makeshift tourniquet, but you can find a tutorial online. It just won't be as effective, fast, or easy as a proper one is.

I personally carry a RATS tourniquet in my pocket at all times and have a CAT tourniquet on the passenger sun visor of my car.

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Practice with whatever brand of tourniquet you are getting. And look up the best way of storing it to grab it and deploy it easier.

You will know the Tourniquet is tight enough because all blood flow to the limb will stop. There will be no more blood escaping the wound. Once blood flow is entirely stopped, the limb is actively dying. There is a limit to how long the limb can go without bloodflow in which the doctors can save the limb, otherwise the limb will be amputated at the tourniquet line.

Wwith modern technologies, it is hours before the limb is a gonner.

The military goes "high and tight" meaning whatever limb needs a tourniquet, they strap that thing on as high on the limb (close to the heart) as possible, fast easy mindless because they have a support team that is likely to get this person back to medical before anything happens.

If you don't know when your extraction will be (how soon you'll get medical attention) it's usually recommended you put the tourniquet roughly 3 inches above the wound (making sure you don't apply it to a joint like the elbow or knee).

Be warned, the tourniquet quickly becomes the most painful part of their body as it is crushing the nerves. They're gonna want to rip it off, you have to keep them from pawing at it and potentially undoing it.

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I recommend getting a bright color tourniquet. Black is fine if it's what you have, and it can look cool, but you want people to see the applied tourniquet as easily as possible and bright flashy colors are the move for that. Attach a sharpie to your tourniquet! Just take a sharpie, put it in the case with the tourniquet or just in the same place. You'll want to be able to write the time and the T and it's easier if they're together.

[nayialovecat]

Narinder, if I scratch you behind the ear, will you start purring?

Oh, why ask! Try it, you'll see!

[plasma-tree]

bro you don't understand i literally do not owe you a "debate" if you fundamentally want me dead and robbed of my rights

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 9/24/2024

you might be wondering “is my dear friend tumblr user girlfriendsofthegalaxy still unemployed?” the answer is yes. take this cat off my hands please i don’t think he’s causing the unemployment but he certainly isn’t helping

listening

via Wendy @dying-suffering-french-stalkers, Huoy Meas' ប្រគល់ក្ដីស្នេហ៍មកខ្ញុំវិញ. figuring out what this incredibly zippy Cambodian rock song is named and what it's about was really difficult bc spotify is a bane upon this earth and won't let you fucking copy-paste and OCR was not working on the Khmer script. i ended up listening to the first couple seconds of each of her songs on apple music, and finally figured out this roughly translates to Give Me Back My Love and is about begging a fuckboy for closure.

via the spotify discover weekly, Night Club's Pretty Girls Do Ugly Things. all Night Club's songs sound the same so if you like one, great news! i had this song on for a full gregorian hour bc, i am only a tiny bit ashamed to say, i was storyboarding a The Man With No Name fancam to this. i think it would go pretty hard.

Smoke you like a cigarette Choke you like a lariat Fatalistic tourniquet Do you want more?

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reading

thank you mackintosh.

i did not Adore any of these comics from the library. i sort of enjoyed Night of the Ghoul, a one-volume TPB by Scott Snyder and Francesco Francavilla. i think ive blogged about this before but every once in a while i'll get a bee in my bonnet to read some horror comics even though i am a giant baby about horror movies.

Night of the Ghoul is about how you can't save your dad from PTSD but also about a lost horror film and also about the extremely dad behavior of tracking down every scrap of info about an auteur. there's also a monster.

the subtle art changes from present day to the remains of the film to the non-film flashbacks are well done, imo. the cover screams mignola but the inside pages are really fun pulp nonsense. i love a piece of genre writing that rolls around and delights in being a piece of genre writing.

im doing my level best not to get sucked into tiktok but i DO love watching this lady revive antique nail polish and look for dupes for shades from like the 20s. she found an almost exact dupe for a shade produced during wwii which is crazy insane to me!!!

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watching

The Asphalt Jungle (1950, dir. Huston), it's a very painterly heist noir. i even like Sterling Hayden in one of the more prominent roles, even though i think he generally has the appeal of undercooked dough.

much like Fritz Lang's M, it presents the criminal element of the city as its own class with its own reputation and reference systems. it got in some trouble with the censors for having a VERY clearly laid out heist plan and execution. it's also got the babiest Marilyn Monroe in one of her earliest roles

this was such a gloriously messy movie. everyone is such a fucking mess. this woman only known as Doll is heartbreakingly, head over heels in love with Sterling Hayden's character. she's a little flighty and bumbling and silly, but determined! they're constantly orbiting the gravitational weight of her desire for this man and desire for a real life with this man. and that's just one subplot! she has maybe five minutes total screentime! she should have gotten a supporting actress oscar!!! everyone acted their fucking hearts out and it was so much fun to watch!

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playing

monument valley is in the netflix games library this month (i don't actually know what their liscencing agreements would even look like, they and the studios they worked with were very tightlipped about that when they were rolling this out three years ago) but i assume it's going to be on the service for a while. i have never played this game, which makes me feel a little bit like a bad gamer. you can tell it's ten years old from some of the color and texture choices, but WOW did literally everyone take inspiration from this game.

this is the platonic ideal of a phone game. i get why everyone went insane about it and there was a brief boom of geometry-based puzzle mobile games. it is MUCH much harder now to get people to pay money to play a game that has a planned endpoint and planned number of levels, so netflix is a good home for it.

i was often frustrated but always delighted. the level below involves making something happening that made me genuinely gasp out loud in glee. well worth the annoyance of downloading the netflix app and scrolling through the poorly labeled and poorly sorted carousel of games.

great retrospective, a bit about how you need to have tiny teams go off and just kind of fuck around and bring weird stuff back, and a lot about how they actually designed the levels

The end result had a pixel-perfect axonometric aesthetic that not only went hard on its references to Dutch master artist and printmaker Maurits Cornelis Escher, but also dug deep into classic video game design, going right back to early arcade machines and 8-bit titles. Each of the ten levels is like a piece of fine furniture, built with invisible dovetail joints and inlaid with marquetry, stuffed with secret compartments and little design flourishes. Gray cites the world of theatre and stage design, as well as graphics, as important keystones in the way the levels were constructed. ‘Ken would always talk about flower arranging, and how you frame a silhouette of a level on the screen,’ he says.

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making

update on the Phantom Menace fabric: pinked the raw edges and threw it in the laundry again with a very large quantity of vinegar. 50% poly was too high for it to really do anything, which is interesting. it didn’t lessen the seam edge effects either, which is a little annoying bc the seams were so gigantic and that’s a good chunk of fabric to lose. i am going to buy a camp shirt pattern at some point when i have money again but for now it goes in The Box

also! thrifted a pack of o-rings for jars for a dollar and finally put my grains etc in my pretty jars. they’re going to live in the pantry but today they live out on the countertop

[trash-and-trash-accessories]

Hi everyone! Triggering topic but Pride Month is coming soon amid increasingly violent rhetoric around our community.

If you plan on going to any Pride events next month NOW is the time to order/buy supplies and put together an IFAK (Individual First Aid Kit).

You'll want a CAT tourniquet or two, clotting factor impregnated gauze (NOT clotting powder!), z folded gauze, and a couple vented chest seals. Maybe a pair of nurse's shears too, they're very cheap.

You want to purchase these things from North American Rescue. At least the tourniquets. Cheap alternative tourniquets have a high failure rate. Improvised tourniquets almost always fail. You want a CAT from North American Rescue so when it happens, where it happens, you have the best possible chance of your friend not bleeding out in your arms.

You'll want to take a Stop The Bleed class. You can do this online if none are available in person.

I'm a certified EMT and Stop The Bleed instructor. People do not survive hemorrhages long enough for people like me to get on scene, and police often prevent first responders from entering scenes. You are the only one coming to save your friends. You need to be ready to do that. Once the attacker is down - and it won't be the police who stop him - you need to act or if you can't you need to yell "I have an IFAK in my bag" so someone else can.

Another attack will come. It's only a matter of where and when. Buy the things, put them in a little pouch, and keep them with you at these events.

I don't care if you call me a hysterical doomer. Just get an IFAK and please bring it with you to Pride. Take a Stop The Bleed class. Please.

[postoctobrist]

(disclaimer: i was trained combat first aid mostly to respond to mass casualty events, car accidents, and by the military to respond to basic ballistic/fragmentation injuries--in all of these cases, i was trained under the assumption that those involved would receive medical attention by a real doctor person)

re: the edge

people get a lot of conflicting advice and information regarding application of tourniquets to stop major bleeding and there's a good deal of misconceptions out there (onesuch misconception results in the [fictional] death of snowden in catch-22) that maybe i could clear up

above all else, one thing to keep in mind when treating massive bleeding is that everything you're doing is results-based. it seems obvious, but when you're trying to stop bleeding, you should work until the bleeding is decisively stopped. if it is stopped, take secondary actions to make sure it doesn't start again. as you move on to facilitate airway/respiration/hypothermia/shock, continue to reevaluate to make sure bleeding hasn't started again.

so, to properly begin, a tourniquet is applied to an extremity to halt bleeding so you the wound can properly be packed and dressed. it works through vasoconscriction--closing the blood vessels to stop the bleed. a proper tourniquet is about 2 inches wide and has a windlass to tighten it. the combat application tourniquet (CAT) is a good example and i'd recommending keeping one with some gauze and pressure dressings in your car if you drive.

let me present an idea, let's say you come across somebody in a motorcycle crash, as you're calling emergency services, you find the victim has a massive gash along their femoral artery along their leg--you don't know where that is, but the wound is exposed and is spurting bright red blood at an alarming rate (cw: blood). you put as much of your body weight as you can into applying direct pressure to the wound but it's not really slowing down. you then wrap and tighten your tourniquet around the leg a couple inches above the injury, before winding the windlass to tighten it, securing the rod into the strap. having applied it, you return to applying direct pressure and check to see if the bleeding stop, which it does.

there's work to be done, but in the meantime, you double check for bleeding coming from other places, and gratefully there isn't any. the the victim here is unconscious now, but has a pulse and good respiration. paramedics will be there within a few minutes, so you move on to packing the wound as deeply as you can with gauze, almost excessively, before securing a pressure dressing around the injury. the tourniquet is still tight, but given the timeframe here, there isn't good reason to loosen it. continuing to monitor respiration and heartrate, you cover their chest with your jacket. the emergency services operator tells you not to put them in the recovery position because you can't evaluate if there was a spinal injury in the crash.

okay, so that's like the best case scenario here, but it's really important to know where things can go wrong as well. even if you put on a proper made-for-purpose tourniquet with a windlass, there are a number of ways things could go wrong: if you don't adequately tighten it, the tourniquet is placed at a joint (like the knee or elbow) and cannot be tightened, the tourniquet becomes loose over time but bleeding is not checked, or the tourniquet is deliberately loosened because the patient doesn't like how it feels (painful, and also really tingly). all of these can be corrected (or, if not obvious, mitigated) by focusing on evaluating the original problem: is the patient still bleeding? if they are still bleeding, or if you are able to address it, continue direct pressure. if that's not working, pack the wound with gauze. if you don't have gauze and direct pressure still isn't working, repurpose any cloth you have at hand to pack the wound, and continue direct pressure. you might be picking up on a theme here.

but what if you dont have a proper tourniquet? don't repurpose something like a shoelace! a belt or strip of thick fabric around 1-2" wide may do in a pinch, especially if you have a way to wind or tighten it; however, it's not something you can really trust, and should only be applied if you can't stop bleeding by direct pressure--you'll probably need to continue to apply direct pressure, either on the makeshift tourniquet, or the site of the wound after application, if it's not working, you'll go back to packing the wound and so on--ideally you have two people so one person stops the bleed with pressure on the makeshift tourniquet and the other person is treating the wound itself here, but it turns out okay because paramedics show up in twenty minutes and the people treating it are paying close attention to the situation.

but what if you're in the edge? there's a couple considerations here, the first being the timeframe. as i understand it, tony hopkins doesn't know when he and alleged manslaughterer alec baldwin will be rescued by the forces of american air mobility, so how do you decide what to do? sources on how long you have to have a tourniquet applied to cause damage, be it from gangrene, nerve damage, necrosis, or otherwise, vary from two to twenty-four hours, which is something to keep in mind. moreover, the journal of special operations medicine (great looking website) in an abstract that i read which makes me a total expert are all like using a tourniquet in subfreezing temperatures might mean you get frostbite faster ig.

this gives a good argument for applying whatever tourniquet you can to treat the wound and, if you can control it through any other method, loosening the tourniquet after an hour or more (especially to regain mobility of the joint in the spirit of the Walk) might be your best bet for survival.

in short, massive bleeding will kill you before basically anything else after a traumatic injury. if you're ever in one of those school shootings where the cops don't do anything for hours, or in the alaskan wilderness with your in-the-closet friend who wants to fuck your wife, it might be better to risk losing complete function of a limb over your life. but remember, dont if you end up getting ahold of a CAT or other device for your medical kit, make sure you learn from proper sources how to best apply and use it, and avoid causing harm through neglect.

its like 4 am so im gonna go to bed now

this was a fascinating read I’m choosing to insist perfectly vindicates everything I said, thanks so much

[bumblekastclips]

KYLE CROUSE: Here's a question from rabbithaver! "I love that nearly all the Mobians in this universe are like, 3'6" on average. I just want to pick them up and hug them. So how would the cast react to being picked up and called adorable by a random human in our world? Especially Team Sonic, the Chaotix, and Silver & Blaze." [chuckles] That's assault!

IAN FLYNN: Sonic would tolerate it briefly. "Haha, alright, you're a big fan, that's cool, time to let go." KYLE: Mhm. IAN: Uh, Tails would be incredibly bashful about it, but wouldn't be able to like, fight against it because he wouldn't want to hurt anybody's feelings or be insulting. Amy would be kind of- likewise, flustered, and if it lingers a little too long, she'll go from flustered, to a little impatient, to possibly violent. KYLE: [laughs] IAN: Knuckles... it depends. If it's like, a small child or one of them lady types, he might actually kind of endure and be kind of flustered, and not know what to do. 'Cause he doesn't know how to handle the ladies, and he's not gonna punch a kid. KYLE: What?! Why not?! IAN: He's a good guy! KYLE: [laughing] Oh, okay, fine. IAN: Now, anyone who doesn't fall into those two categories? No, you're getting punched right then and there. KYLE: [chuckling] He'll punch a bat lady, though! IAN: Eh, if she steals his stuff, but the minute she does anything remotely flirtatious, he just doesn't know what to do. KYLE: I mean, same, but still! [laughs] IAN: [chuckles] Uh, Charmy would be all like, "yay hugs!" KYLE: Yeah. IAN: Espio would be extremely uncomfortable, but- KYLE: And go invisible. IAN: -just kind of endure it, he- yeah! [laughs] Just turn invisible and hope they think he's gone. "I can still feel you, you know." [annoyed groans as Espio] KYLE: [laughs] IAN: Uh, Vector's a good bit taller than everybody else, but- KYLE: Yeah, he's like, human height! Or maybe even a little taller. IAN: Pretty close. So, I don't know... Vector strikes me as the type of guy as- if he sees that dude at a convention, trying to be all creep-o with the sign, "free hugs," he'll take that hug. KYLE: Yeah, he'll do it! IAN: He'll teach that guy a lesson. [Vector voice] "Hey, I love free stuff! Come here!" KYLE: [cackling laughter] IAN: Uh, Silver's in the same boat as Tails and Espio. He's just gonna be a flustered puddle of, "I don't know what to do." He's probably starved for touch, considering his timeline. KYLE: [chuckles] Poor Silver. IAN: [Silver voice] "Physical contact that doesn't involve applying a tourniquet! Wow!" KYLE: [chuckling] Aw! IAN: Blaze will not have it. KYLE: Blaze is not interested, no! IAN: No, no, no, no. She will not be violent, but she will not humor it. No, Sir. KYLE: No, no... you're gonna get burned a little. Just enough, just enough to put that fear in 'ya. [laughs] Oh, man. And Big! Big's like, [Big the Cat voice] "Okay!" IAN: [Big the Cat voice] "Yay, hugs!" KYLE: [Big the Cat voice] "Yay!" IAN: You're not really hugging Big, so much as pressing yourself to him. KYLE: Yes, yes. IAN: If you have the wingspan to hug Big, I don't know what you are, but you ain't human. KYLE: [laughing] It's very comfy. It's like- it's like, uh, hugging a Snorlax. IAN: A beanbag chair that smells of fish. KYLE: Hugging a Snorlax... [laughing] Aw, man. Alright, I think that's enough.

--- TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Please remember that nothing that is said on BumbleKast is canon! It's just some guys and their opinions occasionally spitballing ideas. If you don't like an answer, you don't have to take it as Word of God or anything like that. It's all just for fun! ----- Do you want a specific question transcribed and posted? Send the question and the episode date to my ask box! Or if you just want questions about a certain character, send me their name and I will see what I can do!

[comfortless]

write swagger. anything for swagger. anything. i’ll take a crumb, I’ll take medic x swagger i’ll take any overdone trope give me something for this man!!!! i love u and your writing sm syl i’m sorry this isn’t a köni request but..

Spin Cycle

Roland “Swagger” Kaminski x mercenary fem!reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS: 18+ minors do not interact! violence, enemies -> lovers, implications of sex (no actual smut), swagger points a gun at your head sorry, reader may have a gun kink.

i hate(love) you, lele!! i listened to this guys voice lines so many times they’re just embedded in my brain at this point. lil rushed & not proofread, so there may be some mistakes, sorry!

wc: 3k

Cold. Wet.

This isn't the weather for a battle. This isn't a night to die. But some lack taste in the intricacies of being victimized, and as her sight settles on the enemy maneuvering through the war torn warehouse, she realizes he certainly doesn't have a preference in which way he's ripped apart. The mask covering his face tells her everything she needs to know, he's dead already, hiding beneath an ugly cover to conceal his identity; an unknown, evil thing in her eyes. She would be doing him a favor. Mercy for the man marching around wearing a face not his own.

She slowly positions her pistol, quietly aiming as her finger brushes the trigger. Once, to prepare herself for more blood on her hands. Twice, to make peace with his creator in his stead— he wouldn't have the time nor the delicate nature for it. Thrice, because she likes the feel of the cold metal against her fingertip; it grounds her, tethers her to the reality of what she’s here to do. Lucky numbers be damned, it was all for the thrill of it.

She pulls the trigger and the bullet rips from the barrel as she bites her lip.

To her chagrin, it buries itself in the wall behind her target. To her relief, it definitely struck. The man buckles to the dirtied floor with a groan, gloved hands reaching out to apply pressure to the gash in his calf. It's not enough to kill, they both knew it, but it would put the buck down long enough for her to reload and fire a shot right into his brain. She wonders if she could tell what his face actually looked like when his mask was blown off and gray matter spackled  the floor behind him.

"Knew you were in here, you slimy bastard."

The voice pulls her from her thoughts, and if she were forced to have any sort of virtue left she could be honest and embrace the fact she isn't the most coordinated mercenary out there. Her pistol clatters to the floor. She quickly slips further into the dark, not bothering with her lost weapon for the time being as she positions herself behind a crate to hide.

"Your aim is shit. Your hands must be shaking."

The man's voice continues to rasp. He's taunting her, wants to lure her out. There's something playful about his voice that sends a swell of unease from her chest to the pit of her stomach. The man had just been shot, and that surge of confidence couldn't stem from a wounded man unless he had some sort of a plan. She's been here so many times with so many different flavors of prey that the warning signs aren't lost on her.

She swears she hears the click of him replacing his magazine, the static of his radio, the sound of ripped fabric and a lightening quick application of a makeshift tourniquet. The thought that the gunfire gave out her position crosses her mind.

"Come out, fucking coward."

She's been here so many times, in the dead of night, playing this one-sided game of cat and mouse. She's seen blood, felt the sting of a bullet carving it's way through her, and she's never been afraid. Not until tonight.

This isn't a night to die, yet she's pissed off the fucking grim reaper.

A church bell rings out in the distance, some small mercy. It plants the seed of an idea and she follows the path her mind carves with her hand grasping for a knife at her belt. The knife rips through the quiet air of the warehouse, coming to a clatter some three meters behind him after she tosses it. The man takes the bait, fires several shots in the direction of the noise as she quietly finds her escape. Delivered from death by the heavenly portal of a broken window.

But when it comes to the intricacies of being victimized, it's very rare that things play out so simply. Hunting is a messy task, and one slip up can so quickly prove that prey often have fangs, too.

Her target, some Polish elite soldier, Roland Kaminski, isn't a buck at all. Bucks are easy, they're skittish and stupid. You fire off a shot at one of them, they buckle or prance back into the plush foliage of the forest for cover. When thundering footsteps can be heard in the dark, just past the safety of the broken window, she realises she's not dealing with another deer. Shes got a frenzied boar at her heels.

She's defenseless, her arms scattered in the darkness of the warehouse the boar is charging from, and she finds she lacks the will to break her ankle jumping down onto the pavement below. This is the line where the hunt becomes a proper fight. Her pulse beats like the thunder tearing apart the sky above her, every muscle in her body pulled tight like a spring waiting to maul her impending threat.

The fight never comes.

One moment, he's charging through the wreckage inside like a behemoth with a taste for human flesh, and the next he's simply staring at her while he's shrouded by the dark. It's almost comical, really, her thoughts flood with pictures of horror mascots as she teeters on the windowsill, staring right back into the wide, dark eyes of his mask. They remain in a stasis for a moment, both breathing shallow, both watching the other. Then, he does something that surprises her. Surprises and infuriates her.

He pulls his radio up to his mask, breathes out a heavy sigh as the sound of static cuts through this pair's silence. The grim reaper has the audacity to pretend his frustration over arches her own, and she's gritting her teeth wondering how likely it was she could free his esophagus from the column of his neck with her mouth alone.

She feels his gaze rove over her, lingering along the empty holster at her hip and the garter on her thigh.

"Target's down."

He's lying to his team, lying because he pities her, and she can't think of a thing more insulting. A mercenary is no different than a prostitute, money for flesh, pain or pleasure. She's aware of it, she's seen her fellow mercs gunned down without a second thought from their enemies. She's heard the men in her company boast of ravaging paid women without thought. For some time, she's considered they may all be beasts, but the grim reaper is sparing her. Sparing her, because he doesn't see her as a threat at all. A defenseless woman clinging to a broken window like it's the only tether she has to the world at all. He's no boar, no blood-stained reaper, just a person. He doesn't see her as pounds of flesh to march into battle before him. She sees humanity, and he sees an insect unworthy of his bullet.

"I tried to kill you," she breathes out, enunciates each word careful and slow as she tries to get a read on him, praying her assumption isn't true. There's the creaking of broken glass beneath the toes of her boots as she pivots herself to fully face him, standing in the window with the backdrop of a dark sky threatening violence. The man shrugs his broad shoulders, turns away, as though nothing has even happened. Her stare drifts to the tourniquet on his calf, and it dawns on her that he isn't even limping.

"I wouldn't even need a minute with you." He sounds bored. The pity stung enough. She wasn't just a hapless rabbit in his eyes, she was a gnat. A nuisance to top it all off. "Who are you working for?"

She falls silent, teetering on the ledge of the windowsill in silent debate. The jump would end in injury, but the darkened sky and the rain could cover her. There’s a building less than half a mile away and if she just made it there then—

“Answer.” Roland’s gruff voice sounds out in the quiet warehouse again, and she hazards a glance up just in time to catch those dead eyes of his peering at her from over his shoulder.

“I don’t know.”

“No?”

“I don’t have a name.”

Roland merely huffs at that, rolls his shoulders a little. He’s confident, a bit too arrogant for a man that’s been shot. She may have seen a boar, and he may have seen an ange, because he has the audacity to give her a comforting pat on the shoulder with a gentle swipe of his thumb along her neck.

Tells her, “Get lost.”

Follows it up with, “Let us never meet again.”

She doesn’t die on this frigid, rainy night, but a part of her is lost with him. Lost with a man that looks at her as though she had tiny angel’s wing, buzzing at her back. Lost with a man who’s entire existence is an enigma to her. Shoot to kill, and she hadn’t. Shoot to kill and not ever would she again, not to him, not to the man who gave her mercy when she deserved none.

— — —

She finds herself working alongside the Polish GROM. Realistically, she had returned sopping wet to her shabby hotel and spent hours researching how to work her way in. She doesn’t know why, but she’s found herself enthralled in a shadow, worshipping him in her own way. All for a chance to see her should-be reaper. And she’s no elite, can barely keep her trigger finger steady, but supplementing for a fallen soldier is the standard and she’s got enough falsified experience under her belt to look the part of a proper gunman.

It pays enough to keep her afloat until the next thing piques her interest or her contract ends, whichever comes first. Her room is simple, a barren mattress and dark walls, a concrete floor. It doesn’t feel homey, but no place ever does nowadays. Small blessings are found in the fact she doesn’t have to share the space, it’s hers and hers alone.

She spends her first few hours inspecting the place for bugs, then takes to staring up at the ceiling, listless, because what the hell had made her so impulsive? Roland could have already had his head blown clean off by anyone else by now. Did she even want to see him? To choke him with his own words or thank him for his kindness?

All of this uprooting driven by impulsivity for a man who told her not to meet him again and yet she’s here, walking about the compound like she truly belongs.

She should have cut her hair, tried to make herself look different from the trembling mouse on the ledge that night, but a part of her wants him to see her. Recognize her, bring him down from that gilded throne of his where women like her are just nuisances instead of a proper challenge.

Only, she’s not a challenge. Not at all, because the second she meets him in the stairwell her mind starts swimming and all she can do is stare. He looks a bit tired, likely having just returned from some dreadful mission, even wearing all black he’s covered in sprays of dust, the denim of his trousers painted darker in some places, blood.

“Ja jebię.”

He hadn’t forgotten.

His breath sounds shaky, and she’s not sure if it’s because the gas mask in its proper place or if he’s actually surprised, startled. If anything could shake him down from his pedestal she imagined meeting the woman who tried to kill him once again would do it.

“How’s your leg?”

“Better than your aim, pizda.”

She imagines that he would probably like nothing better than to put a bullet through her right then. The man merely laughs, something breathy and low. She’s surprised him, probably both startled and impressed that she even had the balls to face him again. She likes that, likes that little laugh, that his voice isn’t angry, that he’s playing with fire just as much as she is.

“What are you doing here?”

“Contract,” she states simply, not bothering to hide the way her gaze rakes over his body in the yellow haze of fluorescent lighting. “Just a few months, filling in a gap.”

He mutters something under his breath, a string of Polish and French that she doesn’t quite catch. She knows that he knows she’s infatuated, taking to follow after a wild coyote like a house pet.

It’s a dirty word, infatuated; dangerous in a way that scares her more than facing down the barrel of a gun.

Roland takes a step towards her, brushes her hair from her face with a touch too rough and leans in close to look at her, inspect her as though she’s not even really here, some figment of his vile imagination. She just… lets him. Despite her better judgement she lets him grip at her face like she’s nothing but putty in his hands.

“Here to kill me?” He asks his question as he retreats from her and drops his hands to his sides, staring at her as though she’s not an implant in his force, but an implant on the planet itself.

“Not this time.”

He gives her a tilt of the head and a grunt in response before brushing past in a hurry.

— — —

The following morning, she wakes to several rapid knocks at her door. Sounding just impatient enough to pull her from her sleep with her heart fluttering like a small bird in her rib cage. She readily hops out of bed and dresses before turning the knob to reveal something she didn’t expect— Roland. It’s the first times she’s seen him without his gas mask, but she recognizes him immediately. He’s more handsome when he doesn’t look the part of a famished buzzard seeking out carrion.

“Kaminski.”

“Swagger,” he corrects and she can’t help but laugh at the usage of his callsign. She wants to know how he got stuck with that, something so embarrassing it makes him sound as though he’s some teenage boy desperate to fit in or perhaps even a pirate, not the man she sees before her.

“We aren’t on the field.”

“Today we will pretend.”

He grabs her arm in the very same boorish way he had grabbed at her face just yesterday, and leads her down an empty hallway in silence. Each step seems to echo louder than the last. She wonders for half a moment if he does intend to kill her, hazards a look up at him expecting to see some flame of gruesome determination in his eyes only to be met with a calmness that makes her reconsider.

Today isn’t a day to die, either, it seemed.

He leads her to a room of bulletproof glass and well-placed targets. Pulls his gun from his holster after inspecting that she hadn’t thought to bring her own. She feels silly when his touch goes to prod at her hip, dips along the waistband of her trousers to seek out a weapon that just isn’t there. She’s ill-prepared and now her face feels hot all while Roland didn’t seem to have so much as a care.

“I’ll teach you to shoot,” he huffs as he steps behind her and places his gun in her hands, an ugly thing she recognizes to be a SIG P226. The metal feels cold and heavy in her hands, but she handles it well enough. It doesn’t particularly help that one of his arms curls around her middle to keep her steady. It’s even worse that one hand remains splayed over hers as she holds the gun.

Shooting when you’re in a desperate situation is difficult enough. The thought that death could be approaching doesn’t keep most grounded, not her at least. It makes her shaky. This is far worse. The man is so close she can smell him, gunpowder and something pungent and clean like mint. She feels his warmth cover her back, his fingers digging a bit into her side.

“I’m ready.”

He grunts in response, maneuvering her a bit closer to a small window carved out in the glass.

“Then shoot.”

So, she does. She misses, of course, and she feels even more silly when he mutters something into her shoulder and deliberately moves and angles her arm properly. The only thing good is that the gun’s recoil is soft, because if she were pushed any further against him she may very well melt down into putty.

Again and again she takes aim and fires at the brightly colored target through the window. After what feels like hours she’s finally hit some place that makes Roland give her an appreciative pat to her tummy.

“I’m improving.” She feigns his confidence, puffing out her chest a little in pride.

“Are you?”

He steals the gun from her hand and draws away to face her properly. There’s a tension she can’t place, something strange in the flicker of his eye.

“You saw—“

Her words are cut off when the man tackles her to the floor, covering her entirely as he pins her from either side. A sharp intake of oxygen is stolen as her spine tingles in pain from the sudden force. She yelps, he laughs, and none of it is funny because he’s still holding a loaded fucking gun. Only, worse, when he presses the muzzle against her cheek and uses his free hand to fix her wrists to the cold floor beneath her.

He tuts at her when she doesn’t try to fight him off, only looks up at him with wide-eyes and parted lips, a face too warm to only depict fear. If he didn’t know before, he knows now. She catches a mischievous glimmer in his eyes right before she tilts her head to kiss the cold steel clutched tightly in his fingers.

Roland stiffens above her for a moment, every muscle in his body pulled taut, jaw clenched and eyes fluttering.

“Not pizda,” he whispers as he clicks the safety back on and shifts to holster the weapon. “You are like a…”

“Ange?”

“Non,” he laughs. “Aniołku.”

If she didn’t know before, she knows now.

— — —

Any training session is spent with Roland.

Every mission they’re tethered to one another.

Any free time she finds yourself having is spent with him, even seeking him out herself just as often as he comes pounding at her door.

It feels both natural and absurd, sharing meals with the man she almost murdered, covering him as he covers her, both finding themselves less and less willing to be on their own as the days pass by. The progression just doesn’t halt, a train plowing off track, the man has his blunt talons curled into her and she just doesn’t have the sense to beat him back because she knows she’s got her teeth embedded just as deeply into him.

It doesn’t even come as a surprise when she starts her mornings peeling herself away from him, still sleeping peacefully in her bed. His room lacks taste— too barren, too bogged down with well-oiled metal and violence. She’s spruced hers up in the free time she has with small items, things she can pack up and carry with her to whichever side she finds herself pulled to next.

The thing she keeps most sacred, however, is a little photograph of him, one he had insisted on her keeping on the bedside table, despite being in flesh, wrapped tightly around her each and every night.

She picks it up, turns it over in her hands a few times before the weight of a heavy hand splays itself out across her middle, languidly tugging her back down.

“Stay,” he murmurs, someplace lost between dreaming and waking.

“Just for a bit,” she whispers in reply, nestling close, curling against his chest.

“Forever, aniołku.”

With a soft inhale, she falls back against him in a tangle of limbs and warmth, a part of her lost to the fantasy of permanence.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

ange: angel (French)

Ja jebię: fuck me

pizda: cunt

non: no (French)

aniołku: angel

[witchofthesouls]

I like the idea of Tourniquet being there for the bonding peroid with the second set of triplets simply because he can't be kept away and it was deemed unwise to atempt. After the Soundwave check that no spy, Camians are Just Like That™️, Soundwave is making sure he's sent for. Probably by putting a seguestion in Kaon's audial.

The DJD has a time with this. Vos may have fallen in love. Nickel approves of his bedside maner. The bitties are happy to be showered in affection.

And if this is in an Overlord being a menace timeline, well if he shows up quick enough he can help disposeof Overlord. If not well Tarn presenting Reader with Overlord's corpse for catharsis isn't too terrible.

Or, in the High Priest!Megatron verse, Tourniquet literally hitchhiked across galaxies to go track his child. Not only Tarn interacts with his creator-in-law, but Hook gets his wish on knowledgeable medical personnel willing to train.

And promptly starts to have regrets because it's a Camien Healer, but not to point to ask the mech to stop because Decepticon Medical Division needs trained staff.

Caminus is a very collectivist society as a necessity from their Seekerkin roots and pragmatism from resource deprivation. They take resourcefulness to a different ballgame.

Because of the low population and Caminus' inability to fully interact with them as he once did, they take communal responsibility very seriously, such as healthcare.

As far as the Order of Luminara is concerned, Tourniquet is on sabbatical and had requested he document any planetary systems that would aid their community. There are specific metals that are necessary for Titans to function, and they're constantly search for it.

Meanwhile, Tourniquet is ever-so-slowly "addressing critical issues" in mechs' medical records. He first sends a friendly warning. If there's no appropriate response (aka mechs coming into fix it), then Tourniquet starts hunting.

Mind, he's used to targeting vicious predators, cannibals, or lifeforms with extreme transformation sequences, and he trained with a Healer who was a devoted follower to the Path of Suffering that specialized in collecting rare samples in unstable/hazardous terrains.

The Decepticons got nothing on him. They think Tourniquet has a death wish as he constantly requests to be sent to Deathworlds or planetary systems that are extremely hazardous to mechanical lifeforms, and his body language is too 'open' as Camiens typically mingle in each other's space and aren't as reluctant to physicality.

Tourniquet can fold them like a chair with a pleasant expression on his face.

Most likely with Nurse's third clutch (second with Tarn as the ignitor) because Tarn jinxed them with his wet-cat sadness on how the first trio are growing up to run around instead of toddling on shakey pedes. He yearns for those early thousand years of soft frames and crawling struggles. One of them still has an endearing lisp because their mouth is crowded out by rows and rows of serated denta. Tarn will forever deny it, but he was mournful when the first clutch got their own room via converting Nurse's old habsuite. He got separation anxiety and empty nest syndrome. Nurse had to elbow his side because of all the sad music on replay, and it's confusing the newsparks.

But on the other hand, it would be hilarious that Overlord shifts his focus onto Tourniquet. Not only does Tarn have his in-law nearby, but he gets front row tickets to Overlord and Tourniquet having a Thing and a medical boot camp, Camien-Healer style.

This includes extreme survival training in radioactive terrain, learning effective pharmaceutical concoctions in a bucket, and close-quarter weaponry combat. Nurse helps Tourniquet with the remedial courses.

[ettraxx]

Broken Mirror

Tori’s breathing came in short shallow gasps. She was exhausted but she still needed to stay hidden. The masked slasher was still stalking the blood splattered house.  

She never in a million years saw this happening, her friends and classmates being hunted down by a psychotic killer, and she couldn’t stop thinking about Jade. 

Miss too cool for all of it, decided to throw a party. A party full of teenagers while a slasher was praying on them all. Tori initially refused to come. But as soon as she heard that Robbie and Cat were on their way to the hospital in critical condition, she had to make sure that Jade was safe. 

Being a cops daughter finally seemed to be paying off. She had access to her dad’s back up gun, and she knew the police frequencies so she at least got a request for help out. They still weren’t here, because she was not that lucky. She had pushed inside the front door as soon as she saw the bloody handprint. 

The power had been cut so it was dark, but she could already see the damage and the blood. The living room was torn up, but empty, and a long hallway lead her to the kitchen. The blood inside the kitchen was enough to choke Tori up. But she still didn’t see Jade. 

She followed a bloody trail out the back door and towards the pool house. Inside she found the bodies of Burf and Sinjin. Burf had done his best to drag Sinjin to safety but it was too late for the bespectacled blonde. Burf himself bled out cradling his best friend. 

Returning to the kitchen she spotted the missing butchers knife from the block. She listened carefully, but couldn’t hear anything. She decided to take the back stairs and crept up as quietly as she could manage. Once upstairs she had to hold back tears and vomit. 

Three bodies were scattered down the hallway. She couldn’t even recognize two of them they were so badly sliced up. One was trying the reach the very stairs she had just climbed when they died. One was just exiting a room and was sliced up. 

The third, who she recognized as Ryder, stared up at the ceiling with an expression of terror. His throat was split open and his chest and stomach were covered in stab wounds. Tori carefully stepped around the bodies and down the hall. She saw no signs of life, and no sign of Jade. 

Reaching the master bedroom she pushed the door open with her left hand. Her right gripping her father’s revolver so hard her knuckles were white. She could see signs of a struggle and flashed up bedding. The window was ajar, and the door to the bathroom was splintered. 

Making her way to the bathroom, she spotted movement from under the bed in the reflection of the shattered mirror. She froze mid stride, her heart pounding in her chest. She looked at the bed but couldn’t see what caused the blur of motion. Drawing a deep breath she jumped away from the bed and dropped to her knee. 

With the gun trained on the hiding place she spotted the pale face of the girl she came for. Her eyes were filled with terror, and tears streaked her cheeks. Tori sighs and gasped in relief upon seeing Jade blink at her. She scrambled over to her and reached for Jade with her free hand. 

Jade was clutching a corkscrew in one hand and holding her thigh with her left. Once Tori pulled her out from beneath the bed she hugged her once rival. Jade even hugged her back with no prompting. Tori couldn’t forget about the existence of a crazed killer loose around them.

She broke the hug and used a piece of torn sheet as a makeshift tourniquet. She pulled it as tightly as she could on Jade’s upper thigh to cut off and bleeding. The dark haired and black clad girl almost slapped Tori in response. Instead she pulled Tori into a very quick kiss. 

Well Tori knew that Jade wasn’t mad anymore. At least not with her, so a small victory. The pair left the master bedroom hand in hand, Tori taking the lead with her revolver, and Jade refusing to let go of her own weapon. They made it halfway to the front steps when Tori stopped abruptly. 

Standing on the landing halfway up the stairs was a lone figure. Clad all in black, they held the bloody butchers knife. It didn’t take much to realize that they were looking away from the pair. Jade’s body shook involuntarily with recognition and fear. 

Tori had mere seconds to make a decision. She did not hesitate, raising the glistening silver revolver and taking aim at the killer. With a soft squeeze of the trigger a single shot screams out. Before the killer could acknowledge the shot, they were struck by a burning hot bullet. 

They dropped not only their knife but to their own knees. Tori did not hesitate to fire a second shot. This one struck as the man in the chest dropping him to the floor. Only then did the impossible register. The killer was none other than her friend and Jade’s on again off again boyfriend Beck Oliver.

The look of pure shock on his face as he registered the searing pain of the bullets and began to bleed on the hardwood floor. She could see his lips moving as he tried to speak as one of his lungs filled with crimson. What surprised Tori next was the warm sensation of Jade wrapping her arms around Tori and holding on to her for all she was worth. Tori instinctively wrapped her own arms around Jade who cried as she held her. 

All the while a Tori stared at Beck as the life drained from his face. As his final breath gasped out of his lips, she saw the red and blue light flashing through the windows. Jade refused to let go of Tori as the police entered and took in the grisly scene. Even after the paramedics arrived Jade wouldn’t let her go. 

Jade finally relented as she was having her leg examined. She obviously needed to go to the hospital. The words of the paramedic stuck in Tori’s ears. “You’re lucky, a quarter an inch to the left and he would have hit an artery.” 

Was she lucky, or was it intentional? Did Beck actually want to kill her or was it some kind of plan on his part? She rode with Jade in the ambulance, their hands locked together as the paramedic in the back monitored her. Her father’s cruiser was right behind them. 

Jade didn’t end up at the same Hospital as Cat and Robbie, they were attacked outside of school, and Jade’s dad lived in a wealthier neighborhood. She did finally hear that Cat was out of surgery, but Robbie was still under the knife. Jade called Tori her hero, as she lay in her hospital bed. She had a few dozen other minor cuts and some bruises all over. But for the most part she still looked like Jade. 

Tori studied Jade’s face as she gazed up at her. And she realized two things. Jade was so damn pretty that it twisted her up inside. And that her story sounded like a perfectly crafted horror movie. 

Jade had seemed genuinely upset when Tori refused to come to the party. But now she had to ask herself, was it because she just wanted to have fun with Tori, or was it because it ruined her carefully crafted narrative? The thought that Jade was the mastermind of the bloodbath that was the last few days, threatened to tip her heart in half. Could she really be in love with the woman who started all of this off by orchestrating her sister’s death?

No, of course not. She loved Jade because despite her dark interests, Jade was a good person deep down. And Jade loved her back, she had told her as much after Trina’s body was found. She was the one person who kept her from falling apart. And now Tori was going to help Jade keep it together.

*****

My attempt at a short horror story for spooky season. I found one of a million October prompt lists and this is what came out. I've never really written horror before maybe ill make this a full fic one day.

[sageandred]

911 Lone Star Rewatch Notes~ Season 2

Been recapping the episodes for myself as a refresher; posting this one late from the drafts, but oh well!

2x01: Back in the Saddle

why tf don't I remember a stolen military tank driving down the street? lmao

Police on the scene: "And if he decides to shoot at us with the cannon?" "..Duck." 🤭 Carlos <3

ohhhh now I remember: Owen->🧍‍♂️🚎<-the tank RT UP 2 HIS FACE

I remember loving Tommy's entrance/introduction. She was a great addition in s2.

Tommy is so calm, lol, while this roller derby girl has a piece of floorboard sticking thru her torso

..and her arm?!?! Ooo that looks painful

"Is it that noticeable [that he's stressed]?" "I noticed and I'm pretty sure I haven't looked at you since you walked in." Marjan (loml)<-->TK dynamic things & "I noticed her noticing." ok, i love Paul (nothing new)

Carlos massaging TK while he's stressed and telling his divorced-kid experience story. (it's abt the details)

Tommy getting harnessed up to climb a cell tower, making a tourniquet at the top, and being targeted by a crossbow shooter in her first episode. They put the paramedic in action.

lmao "We're taking fire." "Did you just say —? ..we don't hear anything down here." I love the crossbow angle; it's so unserious.

"You know if you get yourself shot again, you're never making it out of the doghouse." (he cares so much) -- "Firefighters. You really are a smug bunch." "You love it." ❤️

"TK knows [abt his dysfunctional divorcee parents hooking up]." "Everybody [knows]." I love their healthily dysfunctional lil family dynamic

2x02: 2100°

I never noticed Owen kind of side hugged his son-in-law before he was his SIL at the cancer remission party

Is this back-to-back episodes of the first (on-screen) times TK and Carlos call each other babe (Carlos in 2.01 and TK here)? They "moved in" and became domestic immediately.

How did Carlos get away with that obvious (poor!) deflection about meeting his parents?

Also how did I kind of miss TK's kindof delection (embarrassment) from how happy he was and jumping to progress the relationship by bringing up Carlos' parents casually in conversation (and he was soo offended in 2x04 after a full season of avoiding a relationship <3)

"I get to rappel into that?" " 'Get to?' That's an interesting choice of words. " Marjan-TK friendship gets to shine!

At the pool scene, why did Nancy actually freeze???

Ok, she redeemed herself and performed the rescue act.

I didn't necessarily expect Tim to survive, being a recurring character and all, but that impact of the lava ball was shocking the first time I saw it...right before the cut to commercial.

Mateo says he was asked to report on what HE saw? (ig they could just ask everybody, but..) I wonder if he and Nancy will ever talk about/mention Tim's death in conversation. [I think they do when they connect later (to go to counseling???)]

It's actually crazy how little time Captain Vega was there before some insane disasters occurred.

Buster (Keaton), the cat, this is your introduction.

Marjan and Paul boxing together ❤️

You see the difference in how long they've been together by how Grudd and Tarlos have their comfort scenes and TK not really expecting for Carlos to be waiting on the stairs vs the assurance with Grace waiting in the bed already and simply reaching back to hold his hand. Both couples don't need to say anything. It's a big moment for tarlos, because they're a newer couple.

2x03: Hold the Line

kind of pleased that I just so happened to reach this episode when I reached the s4 episode of og on my binge-watch

Tell me why I don't remember Eddie being from Texas (idek)??

"I think that guy [Buck] is staring at you." (and Marjan's head whip); this was so funny

Buck, Mateo, & TK being the ones to end up on digging duty is the most fitting scenario of what you'd expect for each of them (& ofc Marjan and Paul get out of it by volunteering for the other job)

First time I saw this I wasn't watching 911 and wondered why this guy was even flirting w/Marjan

Why do I think the pep talk Judd gives to the "scrawny" boy about fighting back is meant to be significant to his own exp. (I don't remember it coming up later; could relate to his ptsd idk)? Edit: I wonder if it was him thinking abt his friend we find out abt in 2x09?

tarlos phone call even when Carlos isn't in the episode <3

"Dumbass and Dumbasser"

TK and Carlos SHOULD find themselves in LA & reference the gaydar now that Buck is confirmed bi

2x04: Friends with Benefits

They mention Owen's fear of clowns here, before we ever find out how deep it runs.

"I do like people to know you're mine." & the "maybe we should [come here more often]." (no reason for this I just love) ❤️

This is based on nothing substantial but will Carlos & TK move at the end of season 5??? [oh my god i was right!] prob not (just cuz he wasn't set on staying close to family and asked would he move. "If it was for the right person."

I love the awkward Carlos parents meeting so much. Poor TK. This is why I was waiting w/all the TK getting settled into the new relationship notices (he's so much more outwardly emotional about things than Carlos atp)

note: Marjan is 25. She mentions with her fiancé that they always planned to marry in 5 years when they're 30.

2x05: Difficult Conversations

"Guardian Angle" poor Mateo

Gwyn and Owen were such a mess, but they were a perfectly matched mess

Poor Grace (father cheating) / Grace and Judd are so healthy/respectful of one another (Grace reassuring Judd before he has to say anything, and him respecting when she doesn't want to talk about it)

2x06: Everyone and Their Brother

I feel like they've been pairing Marjan, Paul, and Mateo more as a trio this season and it's a fun combo of personalities. Then, they've been showing a lot of Judd-TK.

"What made you change your mind?" "I am going to be a father." Do not do this to me. 😭 Do not say this to him.

and TK deciding he wants to be a paramedic this episode, making his own path away frm his dad (a good arc, I like)

2x07: Displaced

Poor Nancy; it's not just that she's missing Tim, it's that she's missing her old team and how she, Michelle and Tim had their own work fam dynamic

(because this brought unexpected hilarity) the Magnetic Field MRI call >

Did they just randomly mention that Paul has ridden a motorcycle (got into an accident)?

2 times they just randomly have Ronen wearing an earring this episode, & I know it's more fitting for his character than Rafael's, but the fact we'll never get both on screen at the same time..

It hurt my heart how the baby wasn't Owen's, but it led to some good stuff next ep, so ready for that!

2x08: Bad Call

marks 1 year of TK's sobriety

Why have I never noticed JUST how cute Carlos' ecstatic clapping at the end of TK's speech is? (also long Grace-Carlos embrace in bg of Gwyn & Owen talking!)

"I trusted my instincts like you always taught me." "Ah, yeah, see, but the thing is, son, you gotta have the right instincts." i love this Carlos-centric ep

Carlos and his future father-in-law this ep ❤️ (he actually gave him more encouraging advice than Gabriel abt trusting his gut 😢/ (both words can be helpful) )

TK just straight up told Nancy about his parents baby out of the blue on the way to the call (ok, they're friends!)

2x09: Saving Grace

1995(12 yrs old)->2020: Judd is 37 as of

I know Judd wouldn't feel this way, but the accident was actually his friend's fault by pushing down on the pedal

the correlation of Judd feeling responsible for his friend's accident to feeling responsible while he waits for Grace to wake up

😭😍😭 is all I have left to say for this ep

99% expecting Grace to be in Graduate School for s5; we'll see

2x10: A Little Help from My Friends

the Tarlos move-in episode (well their new home doesn't last long)

TK: "Carlos is making his grandma's ropa vieja.." 🥲 I can't wait for our husband's era

I loved the Mateo-Owen roommate arc

It just occurred to me how technically the fireteam (minus captain) will be only Mateo, Marjan, & Paul without Judd and TK's long-standing paramedic title now. (because this szn we see the 3 of them bounce off of each other a lot more & that will be present in s5)

Carlos was put on the spot during that intervention and he still doesn't feel comfortable calling him "Owen" my bby😄

2x11: Slow Burn

This is the second storyline where Marjan's been put in a position to feel like she needs to step back from something, because of perception w/her online presence.

"...a easy mistake-" "that our son should've corrected" why did I never notice the REAL accusation in that line?! (i think it just feels like it because of Carlos' reaction afterwards; i could write a whole analysis on the Gabriel-Carlos miscommunication + their backstory 😢 s5 is gonna break me!!!)

2x12: The Big Heat

idc, I like Billy now (his deadpan is funny)

The consistency of Judd playing video games in scenes is 💯 (appreciate the continuation)

Again, Tommy went thru it her introductory season. Charles 😭

2x13: One Day

not much to add here; this episode is really sad for Tommy-

but man, I forgot how heartbreaking that opening scene is!

2x14: Dust to Dust

2 weeks since Charles' death

wait I can't remember what happened after Tommy saying she was retiring...

Aww Nancy "..how I wanna be as a paramedic, as a captain, and hopefully one day as mom"

..oh, that's right, Tommy realized she needed to go out in the dust storm & that helping is her calling (duh)

Mateo's a firefighter! (I totally forgot this (when, i mean))

oh that's right, I hate Billy again!

I think I'm gonna write very little for these since I've seen all of this before and then, I end up with long posts.

[canaryy15]

It’s you!

It’s.. You?

It’s only you.

After everything, it’s still you.

i own barak :3 all art is done by me!

Notes:

A few weeks ago, I saw a friend (you’re here now hahah @feliden I SEE YOU) do this trend with the Undertale mirror interactions, showcasing their ages. In their case they only did three, the normal ones for Undertale, but I also added the “It’s Only You” from Deltarune.

As for the designs, I definitely wanted to show his changes from being born in Viper’s Veil, a cut throat place where the strong eliminate weak, and to joining MistClan under the wing of Smokethistle (@/havochellion ‘s character on discord, here’s their toyhouse as well: https://toyhou.se/Havoc_Hellion *also* @havochellion here, i’ve found your tumblr you FIEND /t).

The first one is when he’s from 2-3 moons old, showing his uncertainty of his home in Viper’s Veil. He doesn’t *like* killing, one of the main points of V.V., but it’s all he’s grown up with, he doesn’t know better. The uncertainty is whether it’s normal to be a killer, or if it’s psychotic. One point of V.V. cat’s designs are a little viper symbol in-graved somewhere in their body, his being on his left back thigh.

The second one is when he joined MistClan, becoming an apprentice and being at 6 moons. Barak is more tense and on edge, still adjusting to his highly different surroundings. When he first started training with Smokethistle, he thought every tiny mistake would mean punishment, which obviously was not the case. He had to adjust, learn that V.V. *was* psychotic. We see now that he has slashed out the viper mark, as he had kept it when he joined around 4 moons, but out shame clawed out the snake.

The third is in my early roleplay stages with him, and around 13-14 moons when he was made a warrior. He has adjusted more, but still cautious of cats he hasn’t met or socialized with, his brain quickly coming up with an analyzation at the sight. He also thought of a great idea, getting a leaf, cutting out the inside, and poking a hole in his ear and stringing it through to make an earring, or as he called it, a leafring. Around now he got to know Buttereyes (owned by @/puzzle5063 on discord), an easy tempered cat but more teasing when you get to know him. Their first interaction… wasn’t the *best*, as Buttereyes actually tore Barak’s left ear. As well, he had an interaction with his sister, Carmen (also owned by havoc :>) where he accidentally burned his shoulder, but it heals and closes up after a moon or two. Around now as well Smokethistle went missing, and a cat named Oleandertuft (owned by @/feliden. on discord, here’s their th: https://toyhou.se/Feliden_) was taking their place as a temporary deputy, which pissed Barak off quite a bit.

The last one is his current one, as… A lot happened in that turn of events. Barak had met some more cats who left V.V., becoming friends with them but also getting news about a Culling of Shadows, a Viper’s Veil event where the strong, mainly Enforcers, Second in Command, and the Leader, eliminate the weak. He remembered that kitsch are made apprentices at 3 moons, and some could be like him, killed off helplessly, so he wanted to help. Not long before that, Buttereyes insisted on coming with, in which he confessed to Barak that he loved him, and he did too. They both made their way to the camp, Barak being hit with a wave of bad memories and nostalgia, and spotting an enforcer attacking two kits and he tackled them, not winning but quickly whisking the two kits to a secret place he remembered from his time there. One had been bit on the throat, which he actually used his leaf earring as a tourniquet which he now likes to say, “Hey, that leafring saved a life!” He left them there and said he’d come back, but when he left was quickly tackled by the enforcer again, getting the side of his head bashed into a rock, and a rock stabbed in his back before one of his friends who had left V.V. helped him out, and he quickly retrieved the kits and left, homing them both in MistClan.

A bit of a time skip later after healing, Smokethistle returned along with a kit named Benjamin (also owned by feliden!), and he admitted snickered when Oleandertuft was “demoted”. Another time skip, he had an instinct Viper Veil was coming, sooner or later. BerryClan had been their (V.V’s) main target, but they already raided them, there’d be nothing left if they did it again. And all the other Clans had had something significant happen to them, MistClan was the strongest out of them and a threat. And, his instinct ended up correct. Viper’s Veil raided their camp, but as Snakestar (@/songfawn on discord, th: https://toyhou.se/Fawnsong annnd here on tumblr @songfawn ) already expected it they had been prepared, hiding the herbs, fresh-kill, and other resources where only her, Smokethistle, and Silentstorm (@/cloverhfjone on discord), the medicine cat, knew where. He had got into a fight where he had admittedly dropped a rock on their head and after getting a bad gash down his side (on the other side, not seen in image) ended up killing them easily, which was a chill down his spine. He found Benjamin cowering by the sidelines, and he quickly told the kit to go hide somewhere on the territory, but as the kit left, Oleandertuft and Swiftfur (also feliden’s) followed him… He didn’t have time to worry, so he ran to where Smokethistle had been after hearing V.V. was retreating, but he only found devastation. Smokethistle’s sister, Fangs (also havoc’s), was dead. He tried to comfort his mentor, and word for word said, “but… I’ll be right here, dad. I’m not going anywhere.”

After that travesty, he realized something: Benjamin was missing. He searched every corner of the territory, every border, and while he was at the MeadowClan border, started to piece it together. Oleandertuft had followed Benjamin, and Swiftfur had as well not long after. Oleandertuft had returned, but the other two had not. And he recalled a conversation the two had at The Moon Rocks, Benji saying he had saw Oleandertuft with someone he couldn’t recognize. It was too coincidental. And if Swiftfur followed and hadn’t returned… He kept going, coming to the CaveClan border untill he found a bloody fox trap. He scented it, MistClan, no trace of Stray, what Benjamin had been. He hadn’t been in MistClan long, so there would’ve been some trace if it was him. So maybe Swiftfur got stuck in it? The fox trap *had* to be staged, twolegs weren’t anywhere near here. While walking, his paw hit something. He looked down to see a dead cat. A literal corpse. He didn’t recognize them, and they had so much gunk in their fur, they’d be indescribable. It had to be Oleandertuft’s Companion that Benji saw. But none of this told him where he was. He had given up on looking, but when he returned, Oleandertuft started *pestering* him, and usually with Oleandertuft he had been snarky and retorting back with a sly grin, but now he was just pissed off that this cat had the audacity to try and kill what was essentially his brother, and go on like nothing happened.

Another skip later, Oleandertuft comes running into camp demanding for Snakestar, and is followed by Swiftfur carrying Benjamin, limp in her jaws where Oleandertuft starts framing Swiftfur. Barak was in the medicine den for his gash from the raid still, not bothering to hear the debate as he just thought it was just a common dispute until Smokethistle rushed in with the kit and Barak was in shock, but quickly did what he could to help. As well, Benjamin confessed that it *was* Oleandertuft who attacked him and Swiftfur, which Barak wasn’t too surprised. And then Smokethistle took their…rather fury induced leave, attacking Oleandertuft in the clearing while Barak stayed with Benjamin, making sure he was okay, safe and sound. After a few, long moments, Oleandertuft was dead—not killed by Smokethistle, but her apprentice, Patchpaw (also feliden’s!).

Oleandertuft wasn’t finished, unfortunately for Barak, and a day, day or two after she died appeared in his dreams and *attacked* him somehow. And the concept of the Dark Forest was unbeknownst to him, since MistClan was a Clan who didn’t believe in StarClan, let alone the opposite. Swiftfur had woke him up after he had tore up his nest, and he said (and did) he’d tell her later what happened, as there was a *certain kit* nearby he didn’t want to scare. But then she came again, but instead of crazed rage, she was back to her planning and venomous self that Oleandertuft was in life. He had surprisingly been winning the battle for a moment, but he knew that wouldn’t last long, and he got lucky again, being woken up, but by the worst cat, Benjamin, who immediately ran to get Smokethistle, who he hadn’t told personally as well. And so came that awkward conversation, and then after came him trying to avoid sleeping, but is absolutely terrible at it, but most of all the guilt of making Benjamin scared that Oleandertuft could hurt him, Barak, or Smokethistle when she was supposed to be *dead*, and causing more problems for Smokethistle when he desperately didn’t want them to worry.

WOO OK PHEW THATS ALL

[kissmeaboutit]

My @911actions prompt for @lavender-cat-studio ! Buck/Tommy to Tourniquet by Zach Bryan!

Everyone go send in your prompts 💜💜

[inkandguns]

What essentials should a chest rig support? Not necessarily yours, but if you were gonna throw one to someone to get into the fight, what does it need? Ammo, comms?, First aid, maybe a GP pouch? What else, if anything? Looking for other opinions.

The basic setup I use now as a civilian is what I consider the essentials. I like to have a fixed blade knife, a multi-tool, and a flashlight. I run 3 mags on the rig and 1 in the rifle. I attach a pair of gloves, and then a basic IFAK, usually in a dangler type pouch.

In the IFAK I pack a few compressed H&H gauzes, a CAT tourniquet, 2 inch 3m durapore tape, and a 3 or 4 inch ace wrap.

I also shove something to write with and something to write on in there.

Of course if you are doing a high intensity job you’ll be loaded with way more medical shit and NODs, marking devices like grenades or chem lights, any pyro you may be hauling, restraints, or breaching gear.

[original-character-championship]

Bracket F Round 1

Poll 32

Tourniquet (@oatchi) vs. Brandon Coal (@anothersmoldragon)

383. Tourniquet (@oatchi)

he/him

If you're familiar with Transformers Animated, you may have asked yourself before: "Why doesn't the RULER OF CYBERTRON have a medic on his ship when visiting a potentially dangerous organic planet?" Tourniquet is my answer to this! He's sweet and kind, if not a bit overly anxious about all the pressure on him.

You may also have questions about his name, which I can gladly answer! It comes from his Energon control tubes. Stored in his hands are clear tubes made of thick material, with claw like endings on them. One in each finger! He uses these to plug into bots and do things like help patch up internal leaks, do Energon transfusions, and even cut off flow to open wounds! Hence the name.

He treats everyone with high levels of respect, regardless of status, which can lead some people to think he takes his job too seriously. Underneath that, however, is a highly energetic guy with a love for knowledge. He's gotten into a bit of hijinks before, searching out data he really shouldn't have access too, but now does as a member of the elite guard.

He's probably the only person to think of Ratchet as a super important historical figure, to Ratchet's mild confusion and annoyance. He comes around to him, though. It's hard not to when Tourniquet's so genuine about everything he does, including infodumping to you about your own not so great past.

While typically a bit meek until he opens up to you, one thing that's very apparent is that he is meticulous. When needing to convey information, he's known to go on long winded spiels. Whether it be trying to justify his work, or simply defending the honor of one of his superiors after someone disrespected them, he can talk. It can be annoying, even to those who like him. He tends to need to be almost literally physically shaken out of one, once he starts to pace while talking.

Tourniquet has had a bit of a mixed bag past, being a top of his class student due to his love to seek out knowledge, but you know what they say... Curiosity killed the cat. Overall, he's just a very silly, sweet guy who has been through a bit and taken over every thought in my mind.

A red and white Transformer who turns into a motorcycle. He's an Autobot Medic, and his symbol is adorned with Elite Guard stripes. He has two large vials of Energon on his back.

(art is a commission by ratrocity)

384. Brandon Coal (@anothersmoldragon)

He/Him

He's a twenty five year old comic book nerd who works a nine to five and fights scary creatures on the weekends with his childhood best friend. Loyal to a fault and trying to overcome his anxiety, he's constantly dragged into trouble against his better judgement. A vote for Brandon is a vote for tea enjoyers forced to ingest coffee to finally Get Some Rest.

He wears a brown cardigan over a grey hoodie with three green rectangles on the front as a design with black pants and dark grey sneakers with green highlights on the bottoms. He has fluffy dark brown hair that goes down to his shoulders, green eyes with deep bags underneath them, thick dark brown eyebrows, a tall nose and brown skin. He is also six foot five inches.

[vtm-hunting-simulator]

grim reaper (intelligence 4, medicine 3) / hecata (with a little extra Protean) / prey exclusion: healthy mortals / hesitant to bite, will usually either draw blood with needles or a knife instead

Another night, another shift at the ospice facility.

Its not hunger per se that drives you to hunt tonight, tho the beast loves to tease you and make its needs known. No, you know not too mess with hunger, especially around patients with such a sensitive skin, but your rations have been running low. You need to bag more blood and who knows it, maybe you’ll allow yourself a fresh drink.

You walk around the almost empty halls, occasionally greeting one or two other members of the night staff. The only sounds accompanying you are your own footsteps echoing through the hallways and the beeping noise of the occasional heart monitor. Around you the flickering neon light creates games or shadows at the corner of your eyes. Or are those spirits? You wouldn’t be surprised either way. People here, at least the ones you work with, are usually close to their end, so seeing spirits here isn’t out of the norm.

You consider yourself lucky to have such a place to hunt: the night staff is sparse, clearly understaffed, like many other ospices, and the few that work the “graveyard shift”, as they ironically like to call it, are usually too sleep deprived and busy to pay any mind to what you’re actually doing.

You start by actually checking on the patients, their vitals, giving them their medicines, the shades following you room to room. Until you find her.

Laying on her bed, heavy breathing and a machine attached to her, keeping her in check. “She’s barely hanging on” you think to yourself and you’re not wrong. You walk closer to her, not even bothering to turn on the lights as your eyes gain a reflective patina, like that of a cat. The smell of sickness coming from her would make anyone else nauseous, but you have become used to it, and started to like it even. “Shes percect” you think, gathering your drawing instruments.

It has become a second nature to you. Put on your gloves. Tie the tourniquet on her upper arm. Open the needle case. Insert the needle in the pulsing vein. Attach the bad to draw the blood and… you should drink her. Really you should. Can’t you smell the savoury smell of her blood? Ho long has it been since you’ve eaten something fresh?

You shake you head, a failed attempt at keeping the thoughts at bay. You can’t be drinking from her. She’s too weak and they will find the incision if you cut her. The hematoma from the needle can be easily covered, as she is hooked up to machines and liquids already, but a cut? Sure you can lick it close, but its a risk with the sensitivity of old skin.

As you keep battling your thoughts you dont even realise you have already extracted your incision blade. “Ah fuck it. I need something fresh.” You detach the barely filled bag and extract the needle from her arm and slowly make an incision in its place.

You can barely contain yourself as you latch on to the bleeding wound. Her blood is savoury and lacks of the precious flavours of younger blood, but it flows down your throat like water. “Anticoagulants?” Your mouth feels warm and a shiver of pleasure runs down your back. You weren’t hungry when you walked in to the room, but now that the blood was flowing in to you, you feel as if you could never have enough. Yet you have to. Her vitals start to deteriorate the more you drink and you can hear her grunt and the machine beep.

You lick her wound close, turn the lights on, making sure you’re the only one attending this room. “I guess i will bag some blood tomorrow. Tonight i did more then i should’ve.”

You dont leave the woman’s side until you’ve made sure to somewhat stabilise her, the bliss of the blood still slightly altering your mind.

You might not have refilled your rations, but the beast is pleased, for now, and acting more tonight might attract more attention, so you settle your score and go back to your pretend job, keeping your herd just enough healthy to still be fresh, but very near the precipice.