#Medications Management

[heavenlyhandsservicesllc]

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[boulevardpharmaceuticalcompoun]

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[nopanamaman]

What’s the deal with Tsar and Arthur?

Today we’ll look at the two most popular members of Sanya and Yura’s friend group, Tsar and Arthur, a.k.a. Anger Management. How did they meet? What’s their life like? And most importantly, why the hell are they so angsty?

Let’s start with the older one.

Arthur Sokolov

Joining the orphanage

Arthur was brought to the orphanage not long after being born. He never met any of his parents.

Growing up in a state-funded shelter meant developing a clear understanding of what kinds of behaviours will and won’t result in getting your shit kicked in. You can’t be too cocky, and you can’t be too weak. Follow the hierarchy, but don’t let your fear of elders show.

Arthur learned to navigate that little society well. He had earned respect among kids his own age and younger, and avoided being pushed around by the older teenagers too much. Less due to a noble heart and more because of being too proud to act like a doormat. 

However, that didn't make him immune to peer pressure.

Correctional psychiatry

Business trip.

Many low-end orphanages across the former USSR had been essentially transformed into incubators for future gang members. “Businessmen”, either by bribe or threat, came to these institutions to recruit impressionable children into their organisations. One such uncle visited Arthur’s foster home.

For kids like him, the course of action was simple:

misbehave;

get sent to a mental institution for corrective treatment;

sneak as many bottles of trihexyphenidyl as you can into your bag during your stay;

leave the hospital as normal;

transfer the trihexyphenidyl to a gang representative and get your paycheck.

Under that business model, Arthur became a frequent guest at psychiatric wards. Having witnessed their indifference and medical callousness firsthand, he had developed a massive disdain for all kinds of mental health professionals.

It started even before joining the gang, of course – way before. It’s hard not to foster a vendetta when you get thrown to the looney bin for any misstep. At first he tried to honestly convince the doctors working there that he was fine, but he eventually realised it was futile: they were always in on the punishment.

Hustling continues

Arthur and Ivan at 15 and 17 respectively.

As Arthur grew older, he got more deeply involved with the gang’s activities alongside other kids. This meant participating in transfers, standing watch during certain deals, acting as a “treasure man” (i.e. hiding drugs in agreed upon places for clients to pick up), and so on. Fights were frequent.

He knew it was a slippery slope, but getting out was not an option – not an easy one, at least. This was the period during which he grew close to Ivan, who was commonly assigned to work with Arthur and other children from their institute.

They bonded on the basis of wanting to leave the business, though for different reasons: most of all, Ivan didn’t want to disappoint his grandma.

Getting out

First meeting with Yura.

The sudden disbandment of the gang was a relief to both Ivan and Arthur. A major member got caught and ratted almost everyone out, except for the dozens of orphans involved. So while Ivan went to turn himself in, Arthur got to walk free.

Before going, Ivan suggested Arthur replace him at his pop’s car repair salon. The boy seemed to have a knack for fixing things, and the two had developed a trusting relationship over their time working together.

While everything was looking fine, Arthur still wanted to destroy all traces of his activities - even those that couldn’t reasonably be tracked down to him. This led to him encountering Yura. Despite the very rocky start of their acquaintance, they went on to hang out together pretty regularly.

As of today, Arthur continues to do part-time at the workshop alongside Ivan. Both are committed to never getting back into the criminal business. Unless you count Sanya's Dynamo. Which you shouldn't. Having experienced what actual gangs are like, Arthur finds it hard not to look down at the girl's little roleplay.

Tsar

Joining the orphanage

Before coming to the orphanage, Tsar lived with his grandma. She died when he was 6. Since his parents had lost their parental rights due to alcoholism a couple years prior, there was only one place for him to go.

Tsar had a very hard time adjusting to the rigid hierarchy of the foster home. He was lucky enough to catch Arthur's attention and, in a sense, got scooped under his wing. The boy disliked relying on the older kid too much, but was too weak to stand on his own.

Gang involvement

How come mom lets you have two trips to the mental ward

Since Arthur got dragged into gang activities earlier than Tsar, the younger kid felt jealous. He, like most other children, fully bought into the romanticised idea of criminal life that was pushed by the uncles visiting the orphanage.

But as years went on, he saw the toll it had begun to take on Arthur. Tsar had taken a couple of correctional trips to mental wards as well, though he'd never participated in any illegal schemes. Those times were bad enough - he couldn't imagine going there again and again on purpose.

By the time Tsar would be old enough to get recruited into the business, Arthur forbade him from it. The kid still wanted to join to prove his worth, to earn his share, to show his guts. But his trust and respect for Arthur were stronger.

As much as he hated the idea, he stuck to the sidelines.

Contact with parents

Teatime with family.

Tsar’s parents reached out to him a couple years after he was transferred to the orphanage. He could only meet with them under supervision up until he was 13 years old. Afterwards they were allowed private meetings.

Today, he occasionally comes to visit them at their apartment. They still drink, but to Tsar, they just seem quiet and pitiful. He usually lends them the pocket money he receives from the orphanage. He knows they won't return it.

Anger Management

Ural models are known for their incredible durability and a baffling number of switches.

Tsar found a creative release in music and wrote songs to vent his frustrations. The orphanage had an old acoustic guitar that he learned to play, but it got completely broken when the boy was 13. After Arthur joined the workshop, he bought a black Ural from Ivan’s dad for cheap, upgraded its port, and gifted it to Tsar.

As it turned out, Ivan’s dad was hopping from one band to another in the 80s-90s, so he was happy to accommodate the kids' creative endeavours. He allowed them to use the spare garage space to practise and even supplied an incomplete drum set.

Tsar begged Arthur to back him up with drums. The latter begrudgingly agreed to learn them, but ended up really enjoying hitting barrels with sticks. Right now their band has a tiny local following, mostly in the face of Sanya Kazarina.

Some notes

I remember sitting down and reading about actual orphanage experiences in the post-soviet space – it was eye-opening, but also gave me a lot of material to work with, as heartless as that probably sounds. A lot of things simply clicked into place.

I didn't go into too much detail here, but FYI, I've downplayed the severity of certain situations. Trauma aside, I'd say both Tsar and Arthur got quite lucky in the end.

[feminist-space]

"Joy Spence, 21, said she visited emergency departments at two hospitals in St. John's over the course of nearly two weeks this May.

What began as weakness and abdominal pain on her right side quickly deteriorated into blacking out from the agony in her torso.

But no matter how dire her symptoms got, doctors kept sending her home.

"They would just tell me, 'Your bloodwork's normal, there's nothing we can do.' They would send me home, then same thing again," she said. "I would go back again. They would get me to do the bloodwork, say everything's normal."

Ultrasound and CT scans apparently turned up nothing, but Spence, in such severe pain, says she had no option but to keep returning to the hospital, where she says she was eventually left screaming in a waiting room, ignored by hospital staff.

"If somebody doesn't help me, I'm going to die," she recalls wailing, watching doctors and nurses pass her by.

At one point, she was dismissed outright by a walk-in clinic nurse, she adds.

"Somebody said to me, 'I don't know what you expect me to do,'" she said. "'You're a healthy 21-year-old young female.'"

One night, she says, her boyfriend had to help her into an ambulance. Spence was in so much pain she couldn't stay conscious and stand on her own.

"I remember the man in the ambulance telling me … how often he sees other young women going into the hospital and seeing them be misdiagnosed and not taken seriously," she said, speaking through tears.

"He said that he would do his best to … get things going for me."

Spence says she went to an ER at the Health Sciences Centre or St. Clare's Mercy Hospital about 10 times over a 12-day period, beginning on May 21. She also visited her family doctor, who could do little except tell her to speak directly to the surgeon at Health Sciences Centre, she said.

Each time she saw a doctor, she says, she was sent home and told to dance around her living room or do yoga to cure what physicians believed was anxiety or sluggish bowels.

"I had so many laxatives," Spence recalls. "I would tell them … nothing's even coming out anymore. It's not just this, I don't think. But no, they were dead set on the constipation and only constipation. Like, it can only be that."

...

Spence says doctors only began to take her seriously once she began vomiting in a Health Sciences Centre hallway. The contents of her stomach were green and black.

An older doctor walking past her happened to notice, stopping in his tracks. Spence says he immediately identified the issue as appendicitis.

At that doctor's urging, Spence was finally wheeled into an operating room, where she says her burst appendix — now gangrenous — was removed.

"I think when I walked into the room and they seen a 21-year-old young girl, they immediately dismissed me and thought that there couldn't be anything wrong with me," Spence said.

"I was not on their minds and not on their radar. And if they didn't have that preconceived idea of me, those thoughts wouldn't have been formed and maybe I would have gotten the proper care that I should have."

...

Spence is still struggling to recover from her ordeal. Physically, she's now fine: her appendix was removed and her stitches have healed.

But she's lost an alarming amount of weight, she says, wakes up gasping in the middle of the night and can't stop herself from crying whenever she remembers the hospital.

"I've been losing a lot of hair," she said. "Mentally, it's just been a struggle."

Spence only received an apology from the health authority after CBC News requested comment and confirmed that Spence had done an interview — a move she says felt hollow and frustrating, since the manager who called her didn't give her an explanation about why she was repeatedly ignored while waiting to be admitted.

The ripple effect from her illness, and how she says she was treated when seeking care, has uprooted her life. She's taken a year off her studies in Memorial University's social work program and has lost her job. She's looking for trauma therapy, but now doesn't have the money to pay for it, she says.

"I think as young women we're always told what we're supposed to do, how we're supposed to think, and not to trust our instincts," she said.

"But most of the time … the gut instinct is right. I knew I was sick. I knew what was happening wasn't right, and I could have died if I didn't keep going back to the hospital.

"If I had listened to those doctors and went back home — what could have really happened?""

[steddieas-shegoes]

Just started thinking about labor and delivery nurse Steve Harrington having to fill in for his best friend Robin in the ER at the last minute on his off week

And who stumbles in (comes in on a stretcher) but rock star Eddie Munson who fell off the stage at his show just because he’s incredibly clumsy (this isn’t even the first time it’s happened). His leg is very obviously broken at the knee because he broke his fall with it and he’s struggling to focus on questions because of the pain.

One of his bandmates came with him, Jeff, who Eddie keeps referring to as his mom on the road. Jeff calls Eddie’s next of kin so they can focus on giving him a scan, pain meds, and setting his leg as soon as possible.

The pain meds kick in fast and he’s flirting with Steve nonstop.

And he’s good.

He hits all of Steve’s buttons: the obnoxious pet names that should be annoying but aren’t, the casual touches to his hands and arms as he gets him comfortable, the lines he’s using that are stupid but adorable.

He has no reason to stay after they take care of his major injury and the one spot on his arm that needed stitches. He didn’t hit his head and passes all the concussion protocol tests, his stats are normal, his pain is being managed with a prescription of Tylenol with codeine. He can go home.

But Eddie insists he should have Steve’s number in case he gets worse (he won’t) or has questions (google is available). Steve gives him his number.

He texts him almost immediately.

And keeps texting him for days.

Weeks.

Calls him every morning before Steve’s shifts. Every time his post-show adrenaline matches up with Steve’s lunch breaks. Every time their schedules sync up.

And then he shows up randomly to get his cast removed.

Steve reminds him he could’ve gone anywhere, especially because he was working his usual floor.

Eddie reminds him that he wanted an excuse to see him.

Steve manages to grab a 30 minute lunch break when all his fellow nurses and doctors find out his Eddie is visiting.

When Eddie leaves, it’s with a promise to be back when tour ends in less than a month, a promise to take Steve on a real date, and a promise to be the best damn boyfriend Steve’s ever had.

[youngchronicpain]

It is okay to need pain medication to function with your chronic pain. It is okay. I promise. I know everywhere you turn pain medication is demonized. I know that it is scary to talk about. It is okay to be grateful that you have access to pain medication. Pain meds have greatly improved my quality of life and I wouldn't be able to live my life outside of my bed without them. And that's okay!!!

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 310

Shadow core Danny? Shadow core Danny with Hazmat AU? Indeed, with a hint of a twist. 

See that hazmat helmet beneath the hood? Yeah that’s erm, that might be his actual face now. It might be able to split open into a proper maw, as he found out during one of the early fights. He thinks it might be a shadow-core thing though, because Fright Knight has something similar, along with the Keeper. Who's apparently a ghost that keeps track of other shadow-ghosts, which, cool. Cool library covered in flesh, nothing spooky there. 

He mentions this? Because apparently even if all ghosts partially feed on emotions, shadow cores need Fear the most. Which, thankfully shadow cores are apparently more rare than he’d expect, so he’s not going to go into a territorial frenzy or something on a bad day, yay! 

But uh, he might… count as a ghostling since he’s only a year dead- in fact he’ll continue to be as such until he’s at least 100 years dead, since he didn’t die as an adult. Which in turn… means he needs even more fear, at least until he’s old enough to generate it on his own. 

So what’s a ghostling to do? Take a trip to one of the most fear-soaked cities in the world, y’know, just a little weekend trip every month. Gotham isn’t that bad, and he can stay invisible- mostly! What’s going to happen, he run into a vigilante? Ha… oh no.

[hysteric-machine]

Hi fellow under medicated chronically ill and disabled homies. If you read this, it's your sign to take your "just in case" medication if you need it. I was in excruciating pain this morning and you know the drill, wasn't gonna take my painkillers just because, you know, waiting for it to get worse lmao?? My s/o gave them to me and, wow, who would've guess, it is now so much easier to get out of bed and move on with my day (you can insert a shocked Pikachu face here).

So yeah, grab those meds homie. If it is really bad now it probably won't be better in a few hours and it will cost you spoonies to suffer anyway. So if you can ease it up just a little, do it.

[collophora]

TBB cadets ideas

[gearbroth]

kiss me I’m seeing red

[zarla-s]

Two little snips of dialogue I really wanted to put in the hanahaki fic but just couldn't find a good place for them. At least now they can live on...

[patreon]

[overtake]

if you’re still doing prompts: ⁹¹⁾ six missed calls

Car mechanic Daniel, driver Max.

Daniel’s brain pulses inside his head, kissing the fragile walls of his skull with every second he’s awake. His nose simultaneously runs out of one nostril and is stuffed up in the other. Even through his slightly blocked hearing, he knows his breathing sounds wheezy and congested.

He props himself up onto a shaky elbow and almost collapses with the motion. His whole body aches. There’s spine-chilling shivers sent through his bones one second and hot flashes the next. Groaning, he finally adjusts himself to a seated position and takes a second to regroup.

Reluctantly, he reaches for his phone to turn off do not disturb. He hates to call out of work, made worse by how nice Cyril always is about it. The garage is a lot for the two of them to handle, let alone Cyril by himself.

Daniel blinks when he realizes he has six missed calls from the garage. He’s definitely running a bit behind his usual schedule, but Cyril doesn’t set specific hours for him so long as Daniel gets his work done. There must be some emergency, which is fucking great. He’ll be taking medicine and going after all.

He sees spots when he stands to his feet, but he grabs his bedside table and manages to stay upright. He puts the phone on speaker and drops it on the bed while he pulls on the first respectably clean items of clothing he can find. Not like it matters, really. He’ll sweat through them within five minutes of working through this fever, and grease always seems to permeate their coveralls no matter what they do.

Cyril picks up in a state of panic — which, for him, still sounds remarkably calm and stable.

“We have an emergency repair,” he informs Daniel. “It’s going to take me all day, probably. I need you to cover everything else so I can get this done.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” Daniel promises, trying his absolute best to sound as if he’s not deathly ill. Cyril is too caught up in frantically relaying this emergency to Daniel, who has entirely tuned him out in pursuit of getting on pants without passing out and splitting his head open. He probably ends the call rather rudely into Cyril’s story, but he needs to focus all his attention on driving into work without a dizzy spell.

Cyril takes one look at him and tries to send him straight back home.

“No,” Daniel protests. “I’m good. I’ll go home if it’s still bad by midday, but I’m alright. You have that emergency repair for someone important.”

The reminder of this seemingly VIP client perks Cyril right up. “You would not believe who is in our office right now,” he says, dropping his voice to a low whisper.

Daniel shrugs. He probably can guess. A tiny auto repair shop on the outskirts of Perth doesn’t exactly attract high profile visitors. At best, it’s probably some dickhead politician or half-famous musician. They definitely have money, based on the nice ass car Cyril was working on when Daniel walked in.

“Go and look,” Cyril says excitedly, shoving Daniel toward the door that leads into the office space.

This mystery guy has his back to Daniel, bent over on his phone. Daniel sees broad shoulders and scruffy hair in that nebulous area between blond and brown.

It’s only when the guy turns around that he realizes he’s looking at Max Verstappen.

Daniel hasn’t paid actual attention to F1 in years. He did his time in Italy, tried to prove himself worthy of a real shot. He got it, too. He did races with HRT, made it two races with Toro Rosso, and then collapsed in the paddock before quali and was diagnosed with a heart condition. Manageable, they said. Shouldn’t affect his length or quality of life, so long as he took medication and stopped putting his body through the enormous strain of racing.

He’d considered saying fuck it and racing anyway. It felt more important to him than anything else at that time. To a 22-year-old with his dreams at his fingertips, he figured there was no quality of life without F1.

His mum, though — it would have destroyed her. He returned to Perth and laid uselessly in bed for two months, then found the closest job to cars he could stomach without driving himself mental over what he’d lost.

“Everything okay?” Max asks, twisting and facing his body toward Daniel when he hears the door open. His blue eyes widen when they take in Daniel, probably looking just as spooked as Daniel’s do right now. Daniel knows he’s sick, but he didn’t realize he looked atrocious enough to scare people.

“Hi,” Daniel says. His words come out phlegmy, and he tries for a casual cough to clear it. He can feel it’s not successful, but forges on. “Uh, I don’t know if Cyril mentioned it, but your repair is going to probably be an all-day thing. You don’t have to sit in here.” Then, panicked that he sounds as if he’s kicking Max out, he hastily clarifies. “Obviously, you can stay if you want. There’s just probably more exciting things to do.”

Max looks at him drily. “I don’t have a car.”

“Right,” Daniel says. “Like, no offense, but I think you’ve got the money to rent a new one.”

Max doesn’t look remotely offended. He laughs, something genuine and higher-pitched than Daniel expected.

“I’ve done all the tourist things anyway. I leave tomorrow. I don’t really mind just sitting here.”

“Alright, well. Just wanted to let you know.”

“Thank you, Daniel,” Max says. He has a nice smile, Daniel thinks, and admires the pink shape of it before Max turns back to his phone.

It takes his hazy brain ages to realize he never told Max his name.

Max hunches over his screen, shooting the odd glance at the door to make sure no one’s about to bust back through. He types in the Instagram handle he’s visited countless times over the years. Daniel Ricciardo, who shook his hand at a karting event with a big grin and imprinted himself permanently on Max’s psyche.

Max had spent ages on his dad’s computer after that collapse, refreshing the search over and over until a news article confirmed that Daniel was alive.

Daniel had faded in and out of Max’s memory in the years since, but he never left completely. Every so often, Max would look at his social media and watch the profile picture change with the times. Those pixels on a locked-down profile were the only documentation he had that Daniel was still out in the world somewhere and doing okay.

He didn’t come to Perth for Daniel. He didn’t even know if Daniel still lived here, for one. Plus, it would be incredibly creepy to track him down based on the foggy memory of a decade old karting event.

Max had watched back Daniel’s limited races, breathless at the raw potential. He’d wondered a few times what it would’ve been like if Daniel stayed and fought his way into Red Bull long enough for Max to race beside him.

Even still, he didn’t pick his vacation spot for Daniel. Subconsciously, maybe it influenced his choice, but he had two spare weeks after Melbourne and an ache to see something besides his white bedroom walls.

Fate, not Max, made his ludicrously expensive rental car break down in the Perth suburbs and brought him to Daniel’s garage.

He looks down at Daniel’s profile. 32 posts. A profile picture of him in a colourful bucket hat sipping a drink. No mutual followers, despite the countless people that connect them. Daniel didn’t make this page until he was out of F1, and Max assumes he blocked out that world entirely.

He hovers his finger over the follow button, then exits the app before he can make that kind of bad decision. Instead, he stands, pats his jeans to check for his wallet, and marches out the door toward the cafe a few doors down.

He thinks of Daniel’s raspy voice and ruddy, fever-red cheeks and hopes he likes soup.

[scintillatingshortgirl19]

gee i wonder if the issue could be at all related to the fact that the current treatment plan for his chronic pain consists solely of FUCKING IBUPROFEN

[creekfiend]

I used to get an arguments on facebook and it bit me in the ass enormously because it turns out that when you get an arguments on facebook habitually, you'll be interacting with a lot of other people who get an arguments on facebook habitually, and most of these people are deeply unpleasant and they will be super mean to you in really fucked up ways. so for a couple of years I just sort of dropped off ever interacting with anyone who said things that I did not agree with. I would just scroll past stuff or I would get upset about it privately and move on. I did not ever engage. and the last couple of weeks I've started being able to say things in response to things I don't agree with in ways that I feel lay out what my perspective is but do not get overly invested in "winning" or "proving" anything -- I will say my piece generally for the benefit of other people who might be reading the conversation and need to hear what I have to say. and then I will turn notifications off and go do something else.

anyway. wow. y'all heard about this? pretty cool shit.

[turtleblogatlast]

Headcanon that Leo really loved to give his family massages growing up. We know that he’s good at them from the episode “You Got Served” and we know he likes spas and relaxation and getting massages himself from when he tried to get these in “Bad Hair Day” and from when Donnie made a tennis ball massage machine in “Smart Lair.”

So I think it’d be cute to think that maybe one day Leo overheard Splinter complaining about a bad back and immediately Leo thinks back to a comic or movie or something he saw where a massage helped so he offers to give one and it actually ends up helping Splinter.

Then April swings by the Lair at a later time and mentions her back hurting because of her backpack from school and Leo’s all like “I gotcha!”

From there, he occasionally manages to convince Donnie to sit for one because Donnie’s shrimp posture does not help him any (Leo pokes fun at how sandpaper-y Donnie’s shell is despite knowing it’s always like that and Donnie smacks him for it.) Donnie usually prefers hand massages instead however as all his typing and inventing adds up over time, and shoulder massages too once he starts wearing his battle shells more. Leo also figures out how to give massages to Raph and Mikey’s shells as well, though it’s a struggle at first to not scratch his hands on Raph’s spikes.

I think since Leo has such bad luck with spas and the like, he tries giving himself massages (though it’s not as helpful.) Like, with how his abilities work his legs are probably always aching from his portal jumping and one foot landings, so maybe he branches past back massages out of a need to help his own aches too. (Though he really wants a shell massage himself, the same way he’d give them…the one time with Donnie’s tennis ball massage machine was but a short moment of what Leo’s been missing out on and what he’ll continue missing out on…)

I don’t know, I just think it’d be cute to think Leo could have honed his massaging skill this way in order to help out his family (and also partially because he wants a massage himself.)

[farshootergotme]

Hot take, anyone who thinks Dick Grayson has a persistent case of anger issues just doesn't know what anger issues are.

Does he get angry? Yes (I sure would hope so since he's a human being). Would I call it anger issues? No, not really.