#ekg system

[forgotten-daydreamer]

vent moment but my health is a bit worse than i let on, which is weird ik since it seems like complain about it all the time here, and apparently i also look sick, because two separate people in their 40s or 50s asked me, 24, if i needed their seat on the bus. kind of them. but humiliating nonetheless.

[vyeoh]

My proudest moment of the champions peice is after 3-4 years of not really reviewing the circulatory system I still drew the heart from memory

[malecardiolove]

The Test, chapter 4

Jack opened his eyes slowly, feeling a familiar weight on his chest. He was lying on a metal stretcher, his hands and feet firmly strapped with leather restraints, immobilizing him. The air in the room was heavy, oppressive, and the darkness was only interrupted by the glow of the machines around him. Beside him, a monitor displayed a real-time electrocardiogram and echocardiogram. The image of his heart, enlarged from prior testing, beat with a steady, powerful rhythm on the screen. The beats felt deeper, stronger, as if his heart had evolved after the tortures it had endured.

For a moment, Jack found himself fascinated. Despite the fear, pain, and suffering, he couldn’t stop staring at the screen that projected his own heart. The organ looked strong, robust, even after everything it had been through. But that fascination was soon replaced by a disturbing question: What would Dr. Ruiz do next?

Suddenly, Ruiz's voice echoed through the room via a microphone, clinical and calculating in tone. "Jack, I see you’re awake. I assume you remember that your heart started beating again after ten minutes of resuscitation. It was a challenge, but your heart is... fascinating. Resilient. However, this is far from over. The real test begins now."

Before Jack could process the doctor’s words, the atmosphere in the room began to change. The temperature rose rapidly, turning the room into a stifling oven. The air, already heavy, became almost impossible to breathe. Jack tried to gasp for air, but there wasn’t enough oxygen. Instead, a pink gas began to seep into the room.

"That gas you’re breathing, Jack," Ruiz continued, his voice terrifyingly cold, "is a bacteria designed to attack the heart at a structural level. Its goal is to degrade it, break the fibers, and weaken the muscle from within. If your heart doesn’t deteriorate during absorption, it will mean it’s immune... that your heart is, essentially, perfect. But if it’s not… this is the beginning of the end for you."

Jack felt his mind clouding as a memory surfaced. There had been a pandemic, many years ago, that ravaged the world—a disease that specifically targeted people’s hearts. Now he understood: that disease hadn’t been an accident. Was this part of some larger plan? Had they created the bacteria now infiltrating his body?

As his thoughts spiraled, he felt the gas brush against his feet. The cold touch of the gas, in contrast to the stifling heat, sent a shiver through him. Jack tried to resist, but it was impossible. The gas seeped into his nose, slowly invading his body. He could feel it filling his lungs and spreading through his system. A deep fear consumed him as he imagined what the bacteria would do inside him.

With his heart pounding faster, he turned his head toward the monitor. The echocardiogram showed an acceleration in his heartbeat. Faster and faster. Fear consumed him, yet strangely, his body showed no other symptoms. His heart, though agitated, kept pumping strongly, resisting the attack.

Thirty minutes passed. Jack continued watching the screen, expecting something catastrophic to happen. Each beat echoed in his ears, the only sound in the silent, oppressive room. But, surprisingly, his heart showed no signs of weakening. The pain he had feared never came. There was only the quickened pulse and the growing fear, but physically, he was fine.

Sweat dripped down his forehead, and his breathing, though rapid, remained regular. The pink gas kept filling the room, but his body resisted. Could it be true? Could his heart be immune, as Ruiz had hinted? Was it… perfect?

Note: after publishing this story, I'm planning to write another dark cardiophile novel here, but I would like to make a casting for the characters hearts. So, if you are a male cardiophile, you can send me by dm your EKG, Echo, Heartscans, your heartbeats, etc. And also, like a plus, photos of your male soles 😁 I'll give You credits.

[macgyvermedical]

what kinds of medical type careers exist for people who can't handle much physical strain? i'm fascinated by the ways the human body breaks but also frequently personally subjected to it

So.

Depends on how much school you are willing to do/can tolerate.

If you're looking for something that takes mostly on the job training or minimal training, look into becoming a hospital sitter (sometimes called a "patient companion"), a referral coordinator, front desk staff at a doctor's office or emergency department, or a hospital unit secretary. Hospital sitters are individuals who sit with patients who are at risk of harming themselves or need frequent re-direction. In-person hospital sitters need to stand and help patients occasionally (but it's a lot less physicality than a nurse's aide/CNA since it's only for one patient). If you can't do that, being a video sitter means you don't need to get up at all- it's all done from an office setting on a computer. Referral coordinators call specialists offices and coordinate appointments for patients, usually working through a primary care practice. Front desk staff checks patients in for appointments/ED visits, takes insurance cards, and sets things up for billing and coding. Hospital unit secretaries coordinate paperwork on a hospital floor, prepare physical charts, and check people in and out in the computer system, among other things.

If you're looking for something that requires some school or training before the job, think of scribing, billing/coding, or being an EKG monitor. Scribes take notes as doctors do their patient interviews and exams, and prepares those notes to file in a medical record. Billing and coding reviews medical charting and submits requests for payment to insurance companies. EKG monitors watch patients continuous EKG strips for irregularities and alerts the nursing staff if something is going wrong.

Hospital administration generally requires a bachelor's or master's degree.

A note on nursing: while there are plenty of jobs for nurses that are not physically demanding, including telephone triage, chart auditor, quality assurance, and insurance reviewer, nursing school is the unfortunate sticking point. Having been through nursing school I can say it is extremely physical and clinicals (which are a lot of the training) are heavily dependent on being able to do hands-on patient care, which can be very hard on the back, knees, and feet.

That being said, having worked with medical students, if you can fight the system well (the challenge is more the ableism than the actual demands of the job) it is much easier to get a physical accommodation in medical school. So if you want to be a doctor or a physician assistant, that is definitely a route you could look into.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

I don’t know if the prompts can be asking for more in stories you’ve already started, but I would love to see more of the Hero of Shadow and Wild Link interacting, or more on Abel’s heart attack in the HC AU, or more interactions with Zelda and Link after they had to get married (Golden Mercy? The Imprisoning War? Not sure what that one’s called). … Or basically anything involving hurt/comfort or Hyrule, honestly. 😂

I love your writing so much, thank you for sharing it with us! < 3

Hyrule snapped his fingers in front of his friend. “Wild!”

Wild blinked, flinching and taking a step back. “S-sorry—”

“You good? Was that another—I thought the meds—”

“No,” Wild shook his head. “I—it was—sorry, I just—he—”

Wild continued to stammer, at a loss for words. What was he supposed to say? He hadn't spaced out, he'd honed in, his mind had snapped with clarity, screaming at him and wanting nothing more than to run towards the stretcher.

That man—he was—

And he was having a—

"I-I just... need to sit down for a bit," Wild finally said, walking out of the ED.

Wild had yet to fully explain everything that had happened in his past. Everyone knew he had gaps in his memory, that he'd sustained a head injury, that it made him have absence seizures, but the cause of it... the people he'd left behind because of the aftermath...

How could Wild possibly ever explain? He'd failed in his mission, and it had gotten his entire team killed. He could never face anyone from his past, let alone his—

Castle Town had promised a new life, a new beginning, especially as memories had tried to piece themselves back together and make him want to run and hide all the more. If he told everyone... then there was no more running from it.

Wild buried his face in his hands, resting on an empty stretcher in the basement. His mind screamed with anxiety as his past caught up to the present, and his heart screamed with worry over his father.

This was a nightmare.

XXX

Fable looked over her room one more time. Ambu bag? Check. Suction? Check. Defibrillator? Check. She had her maintenance IV fluid set up, the plasmolyte liter set up, the wires for the cardiac monitoring system ready to go, chest tube suction at the ready, and her little trays had all the syringes, saline flushes, blunt tips, alcohol swabs, caps, lab tubes, and everything else she could think of prepared.

She'd chart stalked the patient while he was in the OR, and she'd already gotten report from the nurse. Forty-year-old male (oh he's young, Fable thought, used to seeing far older patients) presented to the ED via EMS with chest pain and shortness of breath, STEMI confirmed with EKG, and he was sent to the cath lab. There they found multiple severe occlusions and opted for an open heart bypass surgery rather than using stents, and off to the OR he'd gone.

The surgery had gone fairly straightforward from what she could see - he'd been on bypass for about an hour, and the surgery itself had been going on for about four. He'd gotten about 500 of cell saver, 2L crystalloid, and 1 RBC, and he'd only been defibrillated once.

Just as she looked over the chart again, roll call was sent out to the unit, and she gathered her thoughts as she went to the room, awaiting the patient. He arrived a minute or so later, and the room quickly filled with Fable, the charge nurse, the tech, another nurse, the anesthesiologist, the attending surgeon, the fellow surgeon, the respiratory therapist, the ICU attending, and the nurse practitioner.

Everyone slipped into different roles and tasks fairly easily and quickly. Anesthesia handed off to the RT, who attached the ET tube to his ventilator, the tech worked on putting chest tubes to suction and getting outputs, Fable assessed her patient and looked at what drips they were on (2 of epi, 4 of levo, 0.02 of vaso, 1.5 of Dex, 1.2 of insulin), charge took the admission note while the surgeons gave report and Fable listened vaguely, her other nurse was attaching the safe set to the arterial line to collect blood for labs and an ABG, and the ICU providers listened to the report.

Vasoplegia, not too much bleeding but enough to merit product, chest tube output was a little high but not alarming, and he was cold at 35.8. Fable asked her tech to get a bear hugger, and x-ray arrived to check ET placement as the surgeons finished report. Fable stripped the chest tubes alongside the surgical fellow before they all stepped out for x-ray. ABG resulted pH 7.33, pO2 107, CO2 38, bicarb 24, and lactate 3.1. Fable opened the extra plasmolyte fluid bolus up to try and help with the lactate, which was likely indicative that the patient was dry.

The surgery team left, and Fable remained to stabilize the patient. She and her charge nurse worked on detangling the lines while the tech covered him in a warm blanket. His blood pressure was within parameters, with a mean arterial pressure greater than 65, though his systolics were in the 120s, which was right at his upper limit, so she tried weaning the levo a little, going to 3 to see what would happen, before continuing to detangle lines, get a blood sugar for the glucommander that was determining the insulin levels to give him, and obtaining cardiac output indeces. His cardiac index was 2.8, and his systemic vascular resistance indexed for his body weight was around 2600. Good CI, a little higher on the SVRI end. Perhaps she should wean the epi too, assuming his MAP tolerated it.

After about an hour, Fable felt a little less overwhelmed, and she called her charge nurse, who had left the room a good while ago alongside the rest of the team. "Have we heard anything about family?"

"He has a wife and daughter," she replied. "But they're a fair distance from here, out in Hateno. I think last we heard they were making arrangements to get here, but it wouldn't be until tomorrow morning."

Fable glanced at the clock. It was almost shift change, so night shift would have to be the ones to wake the man up, get a neuro assessment, and then hopefully extubate him.

Nodding, she went back to work. She wasn't going to wean sedation until he was warm enough, so all she had to focus on right now was stabilizing him. His labs came back and his hemoglobin was a little low, and his two mediastinal and one pleural chest tubes collectively put out about 280mL of blood. It was still a fairly high amount, mostly evenly distributed (the meds were bleeding more, but neither exceeded 100mL for the hour), but not enough to think there was an active bleed that needed surgical intervention. Not yet, at least.

Overall, he looked pretty decent.

After another hour, one blood product later, Fable finally felt like she was starting to get everything settled. Her patient's temperature was normalizing, but she was twenty minutes from shift change, so she figured it was safer to let him sleep through report and then night shift could try to figure out weaning and bathing. His lactic on his repeat ABG was improving at 2.4, so they were likely addressing all the problems.

When a transporter walked by, IV pumps in hand, she noticed him pause in front of her room. She walked over to him. "Hey. Can I help you?"

The transporter, a young man with long blonde hair tied out of his face, jumped, a little startled. "Uh, hi. Yeah. Sorry. I just..."

"What room are you looking for?" she asked helpfully. "I don't need extra channels."

"Uh, these are for 4301."

"You passed it, it's back that way."

"Right," the man nodded, looking back in the room. "Right."

Fable waited a moment, and then asked, "Can I help you with anything else?"

"Is he doing okay?" the man immediately asked.

Fable smiled. "Yeah, he's looking pretty good, I think."

"Can..." the transporter swallowed, shifting anxiously. "Can I talk to him?"

"He's pretty sedated right now," Fable answered cautiously. "Why do you want to talk to him?"

The transporter sighed in defeat. "I... he's my dad. I... haven't seen him in a long time."

His dad? Her charge nurse had said he had a daughter, not a son. Though... looking between her patient and the transporter in front of her, the family resemblance was striking.

Well, she hadn't heard of any visitor restrictions for him. "Yeah. You're not on his chart, though - can I get your name?"

The transporter sighed, putting the supplies he'd been carrying on the counter of the nurse's station. "I wouldn't be on it. My family thinks I'm dead. It's complicated."

He—uh... what?

"My name's Link," he answered her nonetheless before entering her patient's room.

Link? Huh. That was...

Wait a second.

"Hey, are you one of my brother's friends?" Fable asked as she followed him into the room.

"Your brother?"

"Link. Likes to call himself Legend to differentiate," she replied with an amused roll of her eyes.

Link gawked at her. "You're Legend's sister? He never even said he had a sister!"

"You two are alike," Fable huffed. "He doesn't particularly want a bunch of people to know he's related to me. But never mind that. Go talk to your dad."

Link stood there a moment, processing the words, before he exhaled shakily and nodded. Fable moved to the computer, working on catching up on charting to give him some privacy but also keep an eye on things. This patient's safety was her responsibility, after all.

Link seemed almost timid to approach the patient, even though he knew he was sedated. He slowly slid his hand into the older man's, shakily and quietly saying, "Hey, Papa. I... I, uh... I-I..."

Fable glanced out of the corner of her eye, seeing the young man getting tearful, and she tried to focus on her work once more.

"I missed you," Link whispered. "I'm s-sorry... about... about everything."

She heard a sniffle, and then the transporter moved quickly out of the room, offering her a brief but quick thanks before disappearing.

Fable turned towards the doorway, and then looked at her patient uncertainly. That was... odd.

Sighing, she walked up to the man, brushing hair out of his face. "Buddy, your family drama sounds almost as crazy as mine."

[autumnleaffay]

I am struggling too much with the next chapter of The lost spirit, so have some brain rot instead!

Random Nations in health care

(based entirely on my experience)

Iceland: Uni Student (don't care if it's for nursing or art), but he does night shifts as a watch for agitated patients. For some reasons, no one can understand, his nights are always quiet. Not a single disturbance.

Finland: You would think maybe something caring like child care. No. Cardiology ICU, don't you dare mess with his lines and EKG cables!!!

Norway: forever the Nightshift. Not a single day shift in sight, put him in one and he's just a confused puppy.

Denmark: Trauma ward, broken bones? Let's go! But also very caring for the elderly after their hip replacements.

Sweden: NICU. He may be a giant but in his hands the preemies are always safe.

Switzerland: Private practice. Patients that pay out of their own pocket, just to get private rooms, special dinner, faster wait times and a news letter, but the medical care is just like on any other ward? Yep that's him.

Germany: The nursing supervisor and management. Oversees more than 10 wards but knows the shift coverage of each one perfectly.

Prussia: ER, he's the right kind of Crack head for that! Friday nights, alcohol intoxication: "Just a blood alcohol of 2,9? That's nothing Earl! Where is the 3,8 we know and love?!" (Ps, both are already very high numbers)

Lichtenstein: Med student, currently in pathology rounds and loving it...

Latvia: Med Surge. I am so sorry for him, but yeah, he would not have the heart to quit that job and just continues to work in that hell hole. Never says no to a shift change and overtime.

France: Urologists. Gets super annoyed to be woken up at 3:30 am bc another ward can't lay a catheter around the prostate hyperplasia, they've tried 5 times already. He comes, uses nearly the biggest size and sticks it in one go.

Poland: only late shifts, always gets food delivered. Seems lazy at first but is the most effective nurse you ever meet.

Sealand: Chronic heart disease, basically has become a part of the staff at this point. Helps out the nurses sometimes.

England: do you really think that I'll give a patient a lethal dose of Opioids? Think again.

America: How do I calculate IE again?! What's mg in dl again? (Most medications are always calculated with the metric system or international units)

Romania: Psychology nurse. Has done the "muffin man" meme with his patients before.

Spain: 6 am, everyone tired, doors open: HOLA CHICCAS!!!!

Portugal: always brings food on the weekend shifts

Japan: hygiene supervisor. If he enters a ward, everyone hides in patient rooms instantly.

Greece: Useless during early shifts, but a unit during the late shifts. Sleeps during night shifts.

Estonia: Got a Stanley Cup, because it's "in" sold it the same month because he usually ends up drinking from the water bottles directly.

Lithuania: Internal Medical practice. The same chaos that awaits Latvia but he's got it handled, stands up for himself.

Romano: He may not be the nicest colleague, but when you hear him talking to an elderly woman, alone and scared for her life, you understand why he is a RN.

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

I've been living in Japan, just outside of Tokyo, for a year and a half. It has been a lifelong dream of mine to live in Japan for about a year and a half, but I will be going home to America in short order.

Japan is a unique and wonderful place, however, I get tired of seeing leftist Americans touting it as some kind of socialist utopia. If one can support oneself without having to join the Japanese workforce, it's probably bearable, but the truth is, being part of Japanese society can be weighty business.

Having been here only a short time, I can't pretend to be an expert. I've only scratched the surface of a complex and nuanced society. Even as a student, though, the tireless bureaucracy, relentless work schedule, and comparatively introverted (and conservative, I might add) way of life is taxing. Albeit, I'm a rather undisciplined, artistic type. This is to say nothing of strict, upstairs/downstairs class etiquette, and of course, language barrier.

All of this is liveable, with the right mindset, but what Americans don't understand is how very fortunate we are for our freedoms and the services we often take for granted. Namely, the way our health care system operates.

Recently, I had the misfortune of getting a kidney stone, which is, of course, excruciatingly painful.

I have never had kidney stones before, and I'm alone in a foreign country; I thought I might be dying, so I called an ambulance. I thought, it's free, right? Why not? Even if I were in America, I might have called an ambulance, but then again, possibly not, because the great thing about the US is that most people have a car, and anyone with family or friends can get a ride to the hospital, if they need one. I'm also fortunate in that my older brother is a paramedic. In Japan, though, calling the ambulance seemed like my only recourse. And, indeed, it is free.

The ambulance came. I speak enough Japanese to talk with the paramedics. I got into the ambulance without my eyeglasses or my coat, and I was certain I would soon be given drugs to at least take the edge off. That's how it works in the US.

No such thing occurred. The paramedics took my blood pressure, and maybe listened to my heart. They asked me questions, and they drove me to the nearby hospital, which is less than five minutes from my apartment.

For almost an hour I was in the back of that ambulance, genuinely suffering, in pain, vomiting. We sat and sat. The paramedics kept saying, just a little longer. I found out later they have to have authorization from a doctor to administer any drugs, so they either decided for themselves that I didn't need any, or the doctor they contacted did. I suppose the level of my suffering was weighed according to outward appearance, and I will admit I pride myself on a high tolerance for pain; it was determined I most likely wasn't going to die and didn't need immediate relief from my pain.

Eventually, I was taken into the ER. They put me on the EKG and took my blood pressure, and then they left me alone with a little bucket to vomit in. A couple of nurses showed me compassion, but they were very busy. The old man on the other side of the curtain was in bad shape. I thought to myself, at least I'm not him. He kept complaining that he was cold and asking where he was. They kept telling him he was in the hospital and that his wife had been called.

For an hour, I lay in the ER with no medical attention and no drugs to stave off my agony. Eventually, I was submitted for a CT scan. After the scan, I was wheeled away into a corner where I received minimal attention and no drugs. In time, the doctor came to tell me I had kidney stones, and he prescribed me some glorified ibuprofen. The only nurse there who spoke any English asked me if I felt better, and, obviously, I didn't, but she told me it was time to go.

I managed to navigate the process of picking up my medication, paying my bill, and getting a taxi to take me home, but it was almost four hours after I called the ambulance that I was finally able to take the medication that at least somewhat dulled the pain, and I can tell you this: if I had known that I had a kidney stone, I would have stayed in the comfort of my own bed and taken Tylenol and suffered with some dignity.

In America, it's true we pay a lot to ride in the ambulance, and we pay a lot for health care. I have many times been subject to outrageous ER and miscellaneous medical bills.

However, the fact that we pay for these services does ensure that we will receive decent care unless something goes very wrong. American paramedics are authorized to administer drugs and do whatever is required to comfort and soothe the patients they've taken charge of.

And I can tell you this: I would much rather deal with the headache of insurance and trying to find a way to pay my medical bills than be left in seemingly endless agony for hours on end.

There are many wonderful things about Japan, but contrary to popular belief, health care is not one of them, and even though our system is not perfect, I will never again sit by and abide people who piss on it.

This is a great read and I would highly suggest you submit this somewhere for publication. It's also super interesting to me, because I had a kidney stone about a year and a half ago that I went to the hospital for, so I can directly compare our experiences.

I didn't take an ambulance. I live pretty close to a really good hospital, so I had my husband drive me. When I got there, I went to the receptionist and told her that I had a kidney stone and was in a lot of pain. She had me fill out my information and within 5 minutes I was being taken into the ER. A nurse came in very quickly, set up an IV, took vitals, and left. Very soon she came back with some pain medication. After about 20 minutes or so, I was taken to get a body scan, and that took maybe 5 minutes and I was back in my room. Another 5-10 minutes and a doctor came in, said my scans showed a kidney stone, and asked how I was feeling. I told him I was still in a lot of pain, and soon after he left another nurse came in and gave me morphine. During all this, they found out that I had a serious blood pressure problem. Like, I was two points away from where it would have been considered immediately life threatening. So they gave me a prescription for blood pressure meds, along with heavy duty opioids for the pain, and scheduled follow up appointments for me for the blood pressure and with a urologist to make sure I didn't have any kidney damage. I think I was there for a total of 2-2/12 hours, and they still offered me a hospital room outside the ER if I wanted because the pain hadn't completely stopped, but I'd much rather go home, so that's what I did.

The whole thing cost me nothing, by the way. I didn't have insurance, but I qualified for the hospital's own internal insurance for low income ER patients, which got me 90 days of free medical care, and after that was up, they extended it for another 90 days, and after that was up, they helped me get onto a real insurance plan. One that I'm still on now, though I'm probably going to get moved over to the plan my husband's new job gives him when the renewal period comes up. And while I'm not suggesting my experience is the norm, it does present an interesting contrast to yours.

[love-and-deepspace-wiki]

Helloooo your blog is a liver saver for lore enthusiast like me! You know, although infold hadn't release much info on certain crucial aspect in the game but I was wondering what's your take or theory on how Protocore Syndrome works? Is it just another name for a Heart failure Disease or something more? Would love to read more of your fanon idea on it! And thank you for creating this amazing wiki blog! 💕💕💕

Ayyyy lore enthusiasts gang~ And of course! Thank you for reading! Sorry this took SO long to reply to. Had to do some major studying for this one lol.

I want to start off by saying that medical knowledge is not my area of expertise, so this is purely a layman's best interpretation based on everything I could learn at Google University 🤣 I managed to decipher her electrocardiogram (ECG/EKG) report results. But as for what irl diagnosis those results indicate, I simply lack the expertise required to deduce that answer. Even though I couldn't answer the second part of your question (believe me, I tried so hard 😭), I hope this post is still useful to you! To any medical or med school folk out there, now is your time to shine and save the day (pls 🙏).

How Protocore Syndrome Works?

The basic in-game description of Protocore Syndrome is very rudimentary and doesn't really give us a lot to go off of. But here's what we know:

Protocore Syndrome: From the "Deepspace Messages" section of the in-game Spacepedia resource, we learn that it is a unique disease caused by Protocores. There are different types, and they harm the human body in various ways. Currently, the known types are A, E, and Y

Type Y Protocore Syndrome: From the description given in the World Underneath story "No Morning", we learn that it is a heart syndrome that involves that hides in various organs and systems, with a long latency period, and slow progression. By the time it's detected, it's often too late. There is currently no known cure.

Still digging for concrete information to confirm the protaganist's diagnosis, but the story seems to infer she has Protocore Syndrome. (If you have any screenshots or resources that definitively identify her condition, pls dm me and I'll credit you).

From Zayne's statements during her chapter 1 appointment, we learn that she has Protocore fragments in her heart. He goes on to specify the following symptoms:

Heart arrhythmia

Premature ventricular contractions (PVCs)

Heart murmurs

The game shows us glimpses of her medical paperwork too. We are shown her ECG report and summary. After covering her report, I'll explain some potential discrepancies (emphasis on "potential" since I'm nowhere near an expert lol).

ECG Basics:

We're going to get a little technical here. But I think we'll get the most value from the analysis once we understand what we're looking at. The ECG shown in-game is a standard 12-lead report, producing 12 individual strips.

Leads:

There are the six limb leads: I, II, III, aVR (augmented vector right), aVL (augmented vector left), and aVF (augmented vector foot).

Then, there are the six chest leads: V1, V2, V3, V4, V5, and V6.

Intervals & Waves:

For the report details to make more sense, here's a quick reference to aid in the interpretation of different waves, wave interval, gain settings, and speed settings.

And, based on the gain and speed settings detailed below, each small square on her chart represent 40 milliseconds (ms) and each large squares represents 200 ms.

ECG Report Analysis:

Gain, Speed, and Heart Rate:

Gain: 10 mm/mV

Gain is a setting on an ECG machine that controls the size of an ECG trace. The standard gain setting is 10mm/mV, meaning that 10 mm on the screen represents 1 millivolt (mV) of voltage. It appears that Akso Hospital's ECG adheres to this standard.

Speed: 25 mm/s

Speed is the paper speed setting on an ECG machine. So, the Akso Hospital's ECG machine is set to 25 mm/s (meaning that each small square on the chart represents 0.04 seconds).

Heart rate: 85 bpm

Pretty self-explanatoty, but this measures how many times her heart beats within one minute. For women, a normal resting heart rate is considered 60-100 bpm, and hers is within this range.

PR Interval: 138 ms

The PR Interval (or PQ Interval) is the distance between the start of the P wave and the start of the QRS complex. A normal PR Interval is between 120 - 200 ms. Since hers is 138 ms, she falls within the normal range.

QT & QTC Intervals:

QT Interval: 347 ms

The QT Interval is the time between the start of the QRS segment and the end of the T wave. It measures the electrical activity of the heart's ventricles. For a heart rate of 85 bpm, a normal QT Interval would generally be 380 ms or less. So, hers is normal.

QTC Interval: 411 ms

The QTC Interval is the corrected QT interval (thats what the "c" is for). It represents the time it takes the heart's ventricles to contract and relax. It is calculated by adjusting the QT interval for heart rate. A normal QTC interval for women is usually less than 460 ms. Since hers is 411 ms, she's within the normal range.

P, T, and QRS Wave Axes:

P Wave Axis: 38°

The P wave axis tells us the net direction of the P wave. A normal P wave axis is usually between 0° and 75°. Since hers is 38°, it falls within the normal range.

T Wave Axis: 65°

The T wave tells us the net direction of the T wave. A normal P wave axis is usually between 15° and 75°. Since hers is 65°, it is within the normal range.

QRS Axis: 35°

The QRS Axis tells us the average direction of electrical activity in the heart during ventricular depolarization. A normal adult QRS axis is between -30° and 90°. Since hers is 35°, she falls within the normal range.

SV1 and RV5:

SV1: 0.94 mV

SV1 represents the voltage of the S wave from the V1 lead. It is used to detect ventricular hypertrophy. A normal SV1 is considered to be less than 2.5 mV and hers is within this range.

RV5: 0.85 mV

The RV5 represents the voltage of the R wave from the V5 lead. It is used to measure electrical activity in the left ventricle. An RV5 reading is considered normal if it is less than 3.5 mV and hers is within this range.

QRS Interval: 71 ms

The QRS Interval the interval between the start of the Q wave and the end of the S wave. Represents the time it takes for electrical impulses to spread through the ventricles. A normal QRS Interval is 70-100 ms. Since hers is 71 ms, she's within the normal range.

Potential Discrepancies:

Okay. So, I thought it was a bit strange that all of her ECG readings were within the normal ranges. But I genuinely don't know if a patient can be diagnosed with an irl heart condition despite having an ECG that appears normal. Maybe its a diagnosis determined by other criteria we aren't shown?

Additionally, I looked up ECG strip examples of both cardiac arrhythmias and premature ventricular contractions (PVCs). And comparing them with her charts, I don't see indications of those symptoms in there.

[resus-pieces]

Are You Sure

Original here by get-the-paddles81

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure.”

“I've been dreaming about this.”

“Me too.”

Ellen smiled and kissed me. She flipped her long raven black hair out of her face, batted an eyebrow, then reached over and flicked the power on the EKG monitor.

I began to strip out of my street clothes. She grabbed my arms and began to assist. First unbuttoning my shirt, then pulling my t-shirt over my head. Before I could reach for my pants, she pushed me towards the bed next to the monitor. I sat.

She pulled out a packet of EKG tabs, tore them open, and began applying them to my chest one by one. The cool gel at the center of each sent a rush of adrenaline through my system and sped up my heart beat. She connected them to the monitor next to her bed.

71 beats per minute.

Ellen smiled and rubbed at the crotch of my pants.

“Already getting excited, are we?”

I didn't need to answer. She could feel.

“Lay down.”

I obeyed.

“I want to tie you down.”

“Okay.”

She reached into the same drawer that had housed her EKG tabs, and produced a set of soft, black rope handcuffs. First she restrained my right wrist to the head board of the bed, then my left.

Running her hand down my body, she unzipped my pants and pulled them down, spending an agonizingly long time slowly rubbing over my hardening cock.

Down to my undershorts, she climbed atop me and kissed me again.

“I'll be back. Don't go anywhere.”

I chuckled.

As she disappeared behind the closed door to her bathroom, I focused on the EKG, reading every one of my heart beats. I'd never fallen into the category of a cardiophile – I was chasing the resus - but in the moment, I found it entrancing.

Minutes passed, and my heart beat slowed. I felt drowsy.

Why was I getting so tired?

65 beats per minute.

60.

55.

50.

“Almost ready. Don't arrest until I get back,” Ellen called from the bathroom.

Arrest? This is not what we had discussed. She was supposed to stop my heart with the paddles.

I tried to pull at the restraints, but I was too weak.

The door opened.

Knee-high patent leather stiletto boots. Fishnet stockings with garters connected to black crotchless panties. A pastel blue corset. Her raven hair pulled back tight. Thick black eyeliner – winged - with smokey eyelids and long, false lashes. Heavy, dark blush. Jet black lips. A tiny diamond stud on her right nostril and a diamond hoop in her septum. My domantrix doctor.

“How do I look?”

I struggled to get words out.

“Perfect. Am I dying?”

“Yes, but I'm going to bring you back.”

She came to my bedside. God, she was perfect.

“I put something in your drink at dinner. Slow acting. We've still got some time.”

She pulled down my undershorts. My heart was slowing, but my cock was still rock hard.

“Better make sure these are ready to go.”

Ellen produced several syringes from her special drawer. She laid it out next to the defibrillator.

Then she grabbed the paddles.

“I don't know if I want your heart to stop first, or if I want to stop it.”

I tried to speak. I couldn't.

40 beats per minute.

“Lady's choice. First thing's first though.”

She laid her jet black lips to my unresponsive ones, kissing and tugging at them with her teeth. Grinding on my cock.

She eased her hips over me and slid down my shaft.

As she sat on my cock, she leaned over and grabbed the conductive gel. Slathering it on, she then rubbed the pads together and slid them onto my chest.

35 beats per minute.

She started bouncing on my cock.

Harder.

Faster.

30 beats per minute.

She moaned loud.

If my heart had been working properly, I know I would've enjoyed the orgasm more.

She kept working my cock as it dry heaved deep inside her.

“My turn.”

She slid off, and in the smoothest motion I've ever seen, set the defibrillator to charge to 200 joules, placed the paddles on my chest, and shocked me.

For 15 years, I'd wondered if being shocked would feel as good as it looked.

It did.

The electricity tore through me. The sensation was incredible - I felt it in every part of my body. I could hardly contain the pleasure. Like the best orgasm I'd ever had, just moments ago, but multiplied by 50.

My eyes relaxed. They stared straight up. I could no longer move them.

The EKG rang out – asystole.

Ellen put the paddles back in the cradle.

“You're mine now.”

I couldn't look, but I could hear – she went back to her drawer.

She re-entered my vision with a straight blade and an ET tube.

Goddamnit, she was amazing – she was going to intubate me.

She stroked my cheek lovingly.

I felt the blade go in my mouth and the tube go down inside me. She secured it with a Thomas holder.

Expecting her to start bagging me, she leaned in and wrapped her black lips around the tube and blew in.

I wanted to orgasm again.

She blew in one more time, then nuzzled close to me and nibbled at my ears a bit.

“I have to put a back board under you. CPR is worthless on a soft mattress.”

Out of my vision she went.

She rolled me towards the EKG, so I could see myself flatlining.

The backboard was cold.

“Alright, are you ready?”

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...

Ellen crushed my heart between my sternum and my spine. I enjoyed it less than the shocks, but I loved watching her tower over me. Her eyes locked to mine. My life completely in her hands.

“Here comes the Epi. This stuff is expensive. Please don't make me use two.”

She slammed the needle into my heart. It stung.

As she pressed the plunger on the syringe, I felt warmth spreading though my torso.

More compressions. Her perfect breasts bounced beneath the cradle of her corset.

She wrapped her lips around my ET tube and blew in two more times.

“Come on. Get that heart shaking for me.”

The warmth of the epi continued to spread, but the flatline tone continued.

More compressions. She seemed more aggressive now.

Still flatline.

“Okay, one more epi. But you have to revive me the next two weekends.”

I think I can manage that.

My chest went from warm to hot.

More compressions. More deep breaths from her black lips.

The tone on the EKG changed.

“Okay my dear, half the battle won. Charging paddles...”

She picked up the pads.

“No sense in dilly-dallying with a low setting. Let's go right to 360 this time, shall we?”

Ellen applied more gel to the still-shiny capacitors.

“Shocking.”

BAM! My body took off like a rocket. The hot feeling of the epi gave way to white flame engulfing my body.

The EKG made a different sound. A few beeps..

I felt something in my groin.

“Honey... you just ejaculated again! How...”

Just as quickly as the beeps started, an alarm returned.

“Ugh. Not going to be easy at all, are you? 360 again... shocking!”

BAM!

The alarm went from angry to furious.

“No! No! Don't you do that!”

I knew the sound of a flatline tone.

Ellen climbed back aboard my body and blew two more breaths into my tube, then ran her hands down my cheeks, my throat, before settling on my chest.

Re-interlocking her fingers, she resumed her assault.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5...

For the first time, the edges of my vision went blurry.

Was I dying? Like, not just clinically dying, but dying-dying?

Things got a little darker. Ellen's voice had an echo about it. But the EKG sounded different. V-fib?

“Going again at 360... come back to me!”

BAM!

“Again!”

BAM!

“Goddamn you, again!”

BAM!

Total blackness.

And then my eyes opened.

It was no longer night. Sun shined through the blinds.

A gentle beep, beep, beep from the bedside EKG.

The ET tube was still in, but nothing was connected to it. I was breathing on my own.

I turned my head to the EKG. 67 beats per minute.

I turned my head the other way.

Ellen looked at me lovingly. The dominatrix doctor was gone. Her face was freshly scrubbed. No more smokey eyes or black lips. She had had changed to a flannel pajama top. The clip on septum ring was gone, but she'd kept the diamond nose stud.

She stroked my cheek again. Then she rubbed the jewel glued to her nose.

“I like the nose stud. Should I get a real one?”

I squinted and pointed at the ET tube.

She giggled.

“I had to shock you five times at 360 to get you back.”

I gestured at the ET tube.

She giggled again.

“You want it out? It looks good on you.”

She came out from under the sheets, and climbed atop me again. She leaned in and wrapped her lips around the tube. The first time she blew into it, I was out of sync with her. But the second, third, and fourth were perfect.

She smiled.

“Cough.”

I coughed, and she pulled hard on the tube.

My coughing fit seemed to last forever.

“How did it feel?”

I smiled.

“Incredible.”

“How much do you remember?”

“Everything.”

She rolled back on top of me and kissed me like the first time she kissed me.

“Next time, it's my turn.”

I pushed her off.

“The next two times. And I have some ideas.”

[dreamscapesofimagination]

A/n: there is no love here yet for Jiro and i need to fix that bc mans is my top fav. We love a tall, sciencey man w hot girl tummy problems over here.

Formatted weird bc I am on mobile!

TW: Fluff! Jiro is a bit insecure. He is also head over heels. Ending kinda sucks bc i couldn't think of how to end it lol

Synopsis: Jiro thought he knew a lot about you- average blood pressure, enzyme values, how your lungs sounded beneath the stethoscope- turns out you are also a talented artist.

-------------

The floorboards creaked as Jiro stepped inside, thankful Yuri had been awake this morning to give him his medication before he had to come do this health check.

Without his meds, he knew he would have to scurry away quickly, and his condition would prevent him from sharing a small breakfast with you.

He didn't quite understand his feelings for you- sure, he knew how endorphins rushed through his system around you and triggered the increase of his heart rate.

He knew the scientific reasons behind his attraction- he just didn't know how to react to it. The two of you had been in limbo- not quite together but closer than just friends.

He knew you reacted the same to him- could see it in the way your heart rate would be erratic on the EKG when he would do it (Yuri had banned him from being around when your heart rate or blood pressure were monitered, and today Jiro was just to draw blood and ensure you appeared well) , or the way your cheeks would warm up when his fingers brushed your skin.

His eyes scanned the church, taking in the homey feeling you had created since moving in.

Plants littered some of the pews, and you had cushions placed around for the cats.

He could hear the shower running, and assumed you were in there. While he waited, he wandered across the old room to set his bag on the desk.

He began pulling out his supplies, before sighing when he realized he had forgotten his pen.

Surely you had one in one of the drawers?

He slid the top one open, eyes widening at what he saw.

A drawing.

Of him.

He carefully pulled out the sketchbook, unable to take his eyes from the drawing as his heart hammered in his chest.

He looked focused in the drawing, and he imagined you had drawn him from one of the times he had helped you study.

Flipping to another page, he felt as if he couldn't breath.

Him again, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

You had talent, and you used it to draw him, a chronically ill ghoul who struggled to hold conversations even with people he liked.

"Jiro?" the sound of your voice caused him to whirl around, guilty he had been snooping.

His breath caught at the sight of you standing there, in a tanktop and pair of shorts, toweling off your hair.

"I-uh- I was just waiting for you to finish, Yuri sent me to take some blood samples and make sure you are well,"

He winced internally at his stumbling words, feeling his stomach turn at his increased anxiety.

"I don't mind you looking at them, you're just so pretty and I wanted to draw you," a blush coated your cheeks at your admission.

He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, feeling his own cheeks burn.

You thought he was pretty? Half the time his already pale complexion was sickly due to his condition (and lack of sleep), circles that nearly matched his hair rimmed his eyes- not to mention his frequent bouts of nausea.

He jumped when your hand waved infront of his face, so lost in his own thoughts that your closeness had gone unnoticed.

"Ji, you okay? I'm sorry if I weirded you out." your voice was sheepish and oh so sweet, round cheeks burning with embarrassment.

He quickly shook his head, "no, you just surprised me. I've never really had someone be interested in me."

Jiro's voice was matter-of-fact, and clearly he was not searching for sympathy.

He had accepted his differences, and his schedule didn't exactly leave room for romance- nor did Yuri think such frivoloties were necessary. It wasn't until he met you that the consideration that he may be missing out had even entered his thoughts.

Yuri had even noticed, urging Jiro to just ask you out if only to stop distracting him with his 'mournful, pathetic expression and moony-eyed stares.'

Jiro had never really noticed nor cared about the captains absence of bed-side manner, though that comment had made him very aware of it.

"Well, now you do. I know you're very busy, but maybe one of the times you're free you'd like to do something?" you chewed your lip as you asked, n action he had long since learned you did when you were unsure of yourself.

An action that caused all his attention to fall to your lips, wondering what they would feel like.

"I think that would be enjoyable," his words came out softer than he intended, and your bright smile after his words caused his already hammering heart to nearly stop.

He wasn't sure he'd survive a date with you, but he would need to be incapacitated to not accept the offer.

[previousloversandmuses]

FREQUENCY: Episode 1 - A Soldier Boy Story

FREQUENCY: A Soldier Boy Story

EPISODE 1: “Frequency”

WORD COUNT: 5,118

PAIRING: Soldier Boy X Reader

WARNINGS: (NSFW) Mentions of suicide, mental illness, rape, and self harm. Foul language. Mentions of sex, or sexual innuendos. 

A/N: This story is dark, and covers mature themes. The main character, as well as other major characters, are offensive in nature, and may offend some people. Please peruse with caution, and remember that this is fiction. Reader discretion is advised. Please message me for any questions, comments or concerns. 

This is introductory, we do not meet Soldier Boy just yet. Please excuse any grammar or spelling errors.

Masterlist

I was pumped full of V at Vought Laboratories when I was born. My mother took a thousand dollar bribe for some dope in exchange for her newborn daughter. They placed me in a NICU unit, hooked my veins up, and hoped for the best. 

The scientists were worried at first. I showed no physical symptoms of compound V. There were no laser eyes, no fire aura, no electricity flowing from my fingertips. They kept their tabs on me. Ran test after test. Colic. They said I had colic. I cried over everything. There was no consolation. They thought I was a lost cause. Ready to pretend like this test subject never existed. A late term abortion ex-utero. Thank God a few of the doctors started catching on. 

It was door slams. Creaking floors. Burners boiling. Cleaning supplies. Microwave lunches. Music from a few floors down. The overhead lights. Open windows. High blood pressure. A baby crying. Tuna fish sandwiches. Bleh. Spoiled milk. Fireworks. Gunshots from the Police Academy in upstate New York. Ship horns. Cigarette smoke. Low blood sugar. An earthquake in Siberia. Nuclear detonation testing in the Pacific ocean. Car horns. Rush hour. 

See, they didn’t notice my abnormalities because they weren’t seen by the naked eye. They weren’t paralyzing mind tricks. Compound V took every ounce of my five senses and shot them up with gasoline, tequila, adrenaline, cocaine. A high voltage defibrillator to my nervous system. As if my sinuses were stapled open. As if my eardrums were plucked out by tweezers. I heard everything, even with my ears plugged. I saw everything, even with my eyes closed. I tasted everything, even with my mouth shut. I was everything, everywhere, all at once, and for an infant, that can be overwhelming. 

As I grew older, I was still kept in the lab until they were fully aware of my capabilities. Until they had studied every strand of DNA in my body. 

I didn’t have super strength, I didn’t have superpowers. They made sure of that. One time they strapped me to a chair, sticking ekgs on my chest. I passed out before they could even run a test. I could never stand velcro. 

Frequency is what I was called. My supe name, at least. They called me Freaq for short. Which I guess if you think about it, isn’t really a lie.

My hearing was my most valuable asset. What’s this radio frequency? They’d ask. Can you make out the voice in this? Is this a bomb or just a backpack? Listen in on this meeting. I need collateral. We have to know everything that’s said. Is this person lying? Is that person lying? Keep in mind, these were the tasks I was given at around six or seven. It was easier for them then too because I was so small. I would slide into the air vents and stay as quiet as I could, absorbing as much information as possible. I’d spew it back to them like a pawn.

Teen years the work really started. They’d be strong in their threats to others. People would get hurt. People would have their lives ruined. I’d spy on them for weeks, getting all the information I could. Listening in on their most intimate conversations. Their most profound, and personal moments. I’d spew it all back to Vought. And they’d use what I’d told them as collateral.

Thanks to my hearing, thanks to my sight, I was able to snipe better than any experienced veteran. I never even needed to use the scope. For the most part I would snap my fingers, or click my tongue, and sense the vibration of the objects around me. I’d shoot whatever I needed to right between the eyes. Everytime.  To this day I still can't get the sound of hot, metal rounds, piercing through brain matter out of my head.  Me stealing the life of a defenseless victim who unluckily got caught up in the mess. Even when I plugged my ears, screaming, nothing kept me safe from the deafening silence from their no longer beating heart. I was never caught. 

I had been cursed. By God? By Vought? Who knows. Mothers mourning the loss of their stillborn child. Smelling the cancer in people who walked by me on the street, on the way to pick up their young child from school. Gang violence. Break ups. A father beating his son to a pulp for not taking out the trash that day. Suicide. A young woman, screaming, begging for him to stop. This takes a toll on a young kid. No one should be forced to listen to the struggles of others, we have enough to deal with on our own. Hell, I’m sure if I focused hard enough, I could've heard the sound of my mother crying out to me, sullen and alone, from her perch on a rundown curbside. 

I had lost it, as expected. Cutting, acting out, pathetic suicide attempts. It got bad enough to where they had to isolate me off somewhere in Appalachia. Somewhere I could enjoy the peace and quiet. The nurturing lull of nature. Waterfalls, and animals, and the rustle of trees in the Eastern winds. Native music, and arts and crafts underneath a big, red harvest moon. I could see every crater out that far in the mountains. There was no light pollution. That was always the best part. If I looked hard enough, sometimes I could see Saturn's rings without a telescope. Of course they’d still call my handlers whenever they needed me, they weren’t that concerned for my wellbeing. But hey, at least I no longer had to deal with the sounds of the city on my off days. 

I had learned to resent Vought, which is understandable, and honestly a given. I mean what did they expect? I was cursed, to say the least. Every day was torture, and unpredictabe, even when I was all the way out in West Virginia. Some nights I’d hear a distant shotgun fire, and torpedo into the heart of a beautiful buck, with a sleepy, quiet family waiting for him a few hundred yards away in a clearing.

I wanted nothing more than to watch these people crash and burn. To listen to each and every one of them take their last breath. The only deaths I could, or would ever enjoy. The sweetest sound I’d ever heard. I could get off to it. And I would surely avenge that. That was a promise. 

After I turned eighteen I did end up getting a place back in the city. Which is where I am now. I cope with the overstimulation in my desperation for revenge. A desperation so wild and intense I would do anything. I would do absolutely anything to get what I want. 

The Homelander would tour the labs after his graduation every once and a while as I was growing up. He’d be intimidating. Stiff, and brooding. No one would ever amount to the power he held. None of us would ever become the specimen that he was. I’d look up at him with innocent, wide eyes. His body always sounded different than everyone else's. His organs moved with a horsepower. It was like his body took diesel. No one's insides ever sounded like his. I could feel the vibration of his cells dividing from half a mile away. He was so enchanting to a little gifted girl like me.

“What’s this one?”

“Heightened senses, Sir.”

“All five?”

“Yes. We find her hearing very promising.”

He had hummed in response. Staring back at me with an emptiness I’d get to know very well. He had only gotten worse since then. 

After I had moved back to New York, Vought would still use me on occasion, but for the most part they just saw me as damaged goods. I was invited to parties, and events multiple times, and got paraded around like a fucking circus freak. Advisors would bestow me upon rich donors. “Ooh, let me stand across the room! I want you to guess what I’m saying.” I’d shake my head. There was no “guessing”. It was a stupid game if you ask me. They could have stood twenty miles away and it still wouldn't be much of a challenge. 

I had felt him before I heard him.

“Repetitive, huh?”

I didn't even have to look at the donor across the room to know he was saying "orange". He had the audacity to whisper too. Your money paid for this, I thought. Don’t you have a little faith in me being more than a party trick?

“Yes, actually.” I said, turning around to see the symbol of patriotism.

“I didn’t know you had moved back to the city.”

I looked at him with the same eyes I did all those years ago, and he still stared back at me just as broken.

“Yeah, I’ve been here for a few months now.”

He placed a hand on my lower back. My skin tingling from the brush of his augmented fingertips. He walked me over to one of the large windows that overlooked the skyline. I had worn a tight dress, which he had taken notice of. 

“You’re not so little anymore.”

I had laughed at that. 

“If I’m honest I can’t remember the last time I felt like it.” 

He looked at me with a gleam of recognition. Realizing we weren’t so different. Sure, he could break my spine if he clapped too hard, but we were both stripped of the innocence we so desperately needed. John and I were never friends, we were just two children starved of loving parental affection. 

And now, a few years later, I sit perched on his lap. My legs falling off either side of his sturdy frame. His hands don't touch me. But he is smiling softly. His eyes glazed over and heavy. His nose rubs mine as I whisper to him. My hips moving up and down on the heat of his crotch. 

“Do you like what I’m wearing?” 

He tilts his head down, his thumbs sliding across the trim of my black lace underwear. He hums, a goofy smile spreading across his face. 

“I do,” I brush my lips against his, his teeth catching on the skin of my cupid's bow. “Although, I can’t help but think there is an ulterior motive here.”

My eyes shoot open, glaring at him. He's still smiling at me. 

“I needed you…” I’m an awful liar. 

He takes a deep breath in through his nostrils. Placing two big hands under my ass while he fixes his posture on the chair. He cradles the back of my head, lacing rough fingers into my hair. Pulling me back until I’m looking him in the eyes.

“What do you want?” He asks plainly. I sigh, rolling my eyes, trying to pry myself out of his grip. “You know this doesn’t work on me.”

He pulls me tighter, my hair follicles hanging on to my scalp by sheer luck. I whimper, the feeling knocking the breath out of me for a second. 

“You come up here to see me, of all people, wearing this pretty little get up.”

He uses his other hand to pull my lower half closer into his, wrapping his arm around my waist. My ribs could turn to dust under this vice grip.

“You know what I’m here to ask for.”

“We’ve been over this so many times now.” He tsks at me. “Tell me what’s in it for me, and I’ll consider it.”

I glare at him. This routine is like clockwork by this point. I come to him with a plan for revenge and he shoots me down everytime. I know he agrees with me, I know he wants it just as bad as I do, but this is his leverage. He can be so fucking evil. 

“Does the idea of getting back at these people not give you a hard on?”

He laughs at me, releasing his vice grip. I pull myself off of him, walking over to my jeans discarded on the floor. 

“Now why would I, of all people, want to get back at Vought?”

I pull my tight jeans up, one leg at a time. He walks over to me, looking down as I button my pants.

“You would be fine without them. Fuckin’ buddhist monks have your photo up at shrines in the himalayas for Christs sake.”

I walk past him, grabbing my shirt from off the ground. He slaps my ass as I pass by.

“I’ll think about it.” He suggests. I roll my eyes- he won’t. 

I pull my hair out of the neckline of my shirt. He stands in front of me, his gloved fingers pulling out my necklace. He adjusts it so the clasp is back where it needs to be. I look up at him through my lashes.

“Just the scientists that worked with Vogelbaum.” I whisper.

He brings his hand up to my chin, pinching it with his thumb. He places an out of character, gentle, chaste kiss to my lips. 

“...And Stan Edgar, and all the other top Vought executives…” He teases.

“No!” I pout.

“Yes,” He taunts. “And last time I checked you are perfectly capable of taking these people out all by yourself, one at a time, without ever getting caught.”

He's trying to pull it out of me. He knows why I need his help. He’s so smug. He wants to hear me say it. 

“Why do you really want my help?” He torments. 

I sigh, moving to grab my purse from off the chair in the corner of his living room. He stops me, gripping my wrist tight into his hand. I glare at him. Anything but this, I think. I would never beg him for anything…but I do.

“The gala…in the Summer,” I mumble, defeated. “Everyone will be there, even the scientists.”

“Ah, yes, the gala. Being applauded for their efforts in the creation of Temp V.” He smiles. “That wasn’t so hard was it?”

I shake my head, making my way back over to his front door. He doesn’t stop me this time, too satisfied in his successful grilling. 

“One of us has lasers for eyes, John, and it’s not me.”

“Why would I want to ruin my own party?”

Before I leave I turn to him, pointing my finger. My eyes welling up with tears. Why does he do this? Hes been fucked over by Vought more than I have.

“All of them are going to be there at the same time. In the same building. We could end this, we could fucking destroy these monsters, once and for all.”

He glowers at me.

“Compound V made me a hero.” He argues.

“Compound V made you despicable,” I counter. “You’d finally be a real man without them.”

I open the door, him tripping at my heels.

“Vought made me a God.”

“Made you a sad fuckin’ excuse for one. Come find me when you grow a pair of balls.”

I slam the door in his face. 

I met Billy Butcher at a speakeasy a little over a year ago. He was downing a bottle of whiskey at the bar. It was only 2PM. 

“William, I’m assuming,” I reached my hand out for a shake. “A little early for the bottle don't you think?”

He looked down at my gesture, ignored it, then slammed his booze back on the counter. 

“Freak, I'm assuming?” He had added an obnoxious emphasis to the ‘K’.

I nodded, pursing my lips. Extending my awkward, unshook hand back into my pocket. 

He reeked, and I mean, reeked. His insides had smelt like a nuclear bomb had gone off. His liver was already in the later stages of decomposition, to say the least. His eyes were sunken in, and dark around the edges. Irritated too. Like he'd been rubbing them raw. 

I took note of his entire presence, leaning over to the left a tad to take in all sides of his bloated, depressed body. I looked closer. His right ear was oozing what looked like old blood. It was black, like tar. It didn’t smell like blood though. It was pungent and harsh, almost similar to ammonia- radiation, maybe? The nuclear bomb inside him, I considered. 

“You have black rot coming out of your ear,” I stated plainly. He had reached his hand over to wipe it. “It’s disgusting, whatever it is. I’ve never smelt anything like that before. You should really think about getting that checked out.”

He ignored me, picking up a napkin, and wiping his tar-coated hand on it. 

“Let's get down to business, ey?” 

“Alright.” I added. Breathing through my mouth wouldn’t have helped either, I thought. 

“Me and the boys are going to Herogasm.”

“Congratulations. I’d recommend cleaning those ears out before you go.” I said, unimpressed. 

He rolled his eyes, then looked around the room. No one was in there besides a bartender, and an old man asleep at a rounded booth. He leaned in closer to me. 

That's when I caught it- a familiar scent. I couldn’t put my finger on it. A certain chemical compound I remember smelling often during my recent visits to the tower. 

“Look, to make a long story short, I got ten grand with your name on it, and a party infested with obnoxious supes. I need you to sit at high ground, and keep watch.”

“Why don’t you get one of your boys to do it?” I grill.

“None of ‘em have aim like you, sweetheart.” He said it with such a shit-eating grin.

I rolled my eyes, “I’m flattered, truly.”

He took a deep breath, getting even closer, I could feel his hot breath on my ear.

“We’re going to be...taking him out.”

I looked at him, hard. I squinted my eyes. Listening in on his slow, heavy heartbeat. His unrelenting, static blood pressure. He wasn’t lying, I thought. He knew better than to anyway. 

“Good luck with that,” I chuckled, beginning to stand up to leave. Had he lost his mind? I thought. I didn’t have the time for this. Plus, thinking hard on it, I didn’t even know if I had wanted John to die. I had people to get revenge on, y’know?

“We have a weapon,” He added, yanking my arm back down, nearly pulling it out of its socket. “The same one that killed Soldier Boy.”

The blood had rushed out of my face then. He really was serious. I looked around, trying to focus on anything, but my thoughts were racing, and my eyes had gone cloudy. 

“Want to know something even crazier?” He probed. “The weapon is Soldier Boy. The cunt was still alive. Had to fight a handful of Ivans to get the bastard out.”

“That's impossible,” I laughed, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. “Soldier Boy died in Nicaragua.” 

“Ten thousand big ones for a few hours of your time, sweetheart.” He smiled.

I swallowed hard, grabbing his bottle from off the counter and taking a big swig. 

“You have to make me a promise,” I held my finger in his face. “If homelander dies, you and your boys have to help me finish something.”

He put his hand out for a shake. 

“Anything you need.” He grinned.

“Anything I need if he dies.” I nodded along, grabbing his hand, my mind off worrying, my eyes glazed over with fear. 

“Anything you need when the cunt dies.” 

And that’s when I had smelled it, the Temp V. My eyes widened at him. Now that explained why his organs were rotting. The bastard had been shooting up liquid radiation into his veins in a lame attempt to put up an equal fight. His grip tightened around mine, threatening to shatter my wrist. 

“I’ll give you the address, you’ll need your own car. Don’t be seen by anyone.” He declared, beginning to stand up from his stool.

“I wasn't born yesterday,” I mocked. “And by the way, if you do any more of that Temp V, you can go ahead and sign your death certificate.”

As we all know, that plan never worked. Homelander survived, and Soldier Boy is off somewhere frozen solid, I’m assuming. I never ended up getting the chance to see either of them that day, my shitty car ended up breaking down on the side of the road only twenty miles out of the city. Maybe it was for the best, I thought. A lot of people died that day. 

And so here I am, a year later, still willing to help him, but now for a different reason. If John wasn’t going to help me with my plan, Butcher and the boys surely will. 

Butcher had told me to meet him at a sketchy apartment building in the Bronx, so here I was. Looking around, there isn't much to see. Piles of trash and hoards of rancid homeless people litter the streets. Gross, I think. Why can’t the city grant these invalids a communal shower or something? Doesn’t the mayor know some people can practically smell atoms? 

Before I buzz in for him, I catch the wind and listen for their lingering voices upstairs. They are on the roof, and I think by the heartbeats I can count four- no- five. There are five of them, and one of them is definitely a woman. Her heart is delicate, small. But pumped full of V? I think. It thumps with an exertion only jacked supes would understand. Sounds like a panic attack waiting to happen, if you ask me. 

“Any of you ever use one of these before?” A voice asks. 

“Eh, maybe a rifle but not a scope.” Someone replies, an accent thick...present.

“Frenchie, hasn’t she had combat training?”

“Combat training, yes, but not a fucking sniper.”

“Butcher, would you come over here please? Hughie, would you grab him?”

A giant group of idiots, I think. Maybe this wasn’t the greatest idea after all. I pull my hands into a finger gun and shoot it into my open mouth. This is going to be a long night.

I walk over to the entrance, looking down at my phone. Butcher is taking too long to answer me. I slap the side of the code box, listening to the stops on the inside. A thicker metal, and rusted too. But I can still make it out. 1111? Really? No wonder everyone gets robbed on this side of town. 

Typing in the code, I begin to saunter my way upstairs. I'm slouched over and panting by the time I reach the top floor. Man, it’s times like these where I wish I could’ve been V-blessed with some fucking stamina. Fuck you Vought. I slip my way out onto the rooftop. Everyone's heads fly around to see me as I walk towards the group. 

“Could you guys be any fucking louder?” I ask, walking right up to Butcher. He smiles down at me.

“Glad to see you’re in a good mood this evening.”

I roll my eyes, “Too bad I could smell your insides rotting from half a mile away.” I pat him on the shoulder as I walk by, heading towards the man at the edge of the roof with a rifle. 

“Butcher, what the fuck?” The scrawny one asks.

“He doesn’t bring too many girls around, huh?” I say. 

“Who the fuck is this?” The French one questions. 

Butcher smiles as I go up to the man holding the gun. I shoo him away, squatting down, and placing my finger on the trigger. I squint my eyes and look down the scope. 

“Which one is it?” I ask.

Butcher comes over, squatting next to me, as well as the guy who was holding the gun before. 

“Blue tie,” Says butcher. “Bad haircut.”

“Balding or buzzed?” 

“Neither. Short mullet.” He adds.

I nod, and suddenly stand up, moving to another spot on the rooftop.

“What the fuck are you doing? I just spent two hours setting that spot up!”

“The glass is bulletproof,” I state. “Can’t you see the reflection?”

I start laughing then, “I mean, can’t you hear the way it sounds as the wind gusts off of it? There might as well be a sign.”

He looks at me quizzically, they all do. It usually takes a second for most people to recall my pathetic existence. 

“This window here must've just been replaced, because it’s temporary. Not bulletproof, and frankly, not strong wind proof either. This thing is just asking to be shattered.”

I crouch down again, squinting my eyes, and looking down the scope. I hold my hand up, snapping quietly. In fractions of a second, I can feel, hear, and see sound waves bouncing off of every nearby surface. They rush through the open air towards the glass window, bouncing off, only then to reverberate around the inside. It wraps around the target's stature like a sheet in the wind. Bullseye. I pull the trigger, hitting him directly between the eyes. We all watch as all hell breaks loose within whatever party I just ruined. 

I stand up, handing the rifle over to Butcher. I wipe my hands off on my pants.

“We have five minutes before a swat team barrels up here. Do you mind if we talk in private?”

Butcher nods, he and I both begin to walk downstairs. Everyone grabs their stuff, and from the scrawny boy I hear a snap, like he's finally put his finger on it. 

“Frequency!” Ego boost, I think. “God, that makes so much sense.” 

That recognition hasn’t happened in a while. I'm embarrassed to say I’m beginning to blush.

The french one nods to him, “A freak of fucking nature. That is a hell of a gift.”

A hell of a curse, he means. If only they knew the half of it. The boys chuckle as Butcher and I disappear into a dark alley. There are sirens in the distance.

“I need a favor.” I say, stopping and turning to him. The only thing illuminating us is a musty street light. It's hazy and orange. He looks down at me with damp skin. His body is trying it’s hardest to detoxify itself. There is no use. 

“What's that, love?” He chuckles, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He brings one up to his lips, inhaling and lighting. He gestures the pack to me. I shake my head. I always end up tasting the pesticides. 

“Look, I’ve asked everyone. You and your boys are the only thing I have left.”

“Well, spit it out then.” He coughs.

I take a deep breath, looking down at my shoe and kicking a little rock with the toe of it. 

“I want revenge on Vought.”

“Get in line sweetheart.” I roll my eyes at him, why does everyone always say that?

“But listen, I have the perfect idea,” I explain. “Over the summer they will be throwing a huge event in celebration over the success of Temp-V. I’m sure almost, if not all of the major Vought scientists will be there. Oh, and executives too. And all of the supes we all hate as well.”

He watches me as I talk, just smoking his cigarette. He’s hard to read these days. His expression is always pained. Not surprising though, I can literally hear his body decomposing. 

“I just- this is my best chance to get back at these people for cursing me. For making my life, and everyone else's life a living hell. Think about it, you can avenge your wife!"

“Why don’t you ask the big man in the sky?” He scoffs.

“I did, he said no.”

“Well, there is your answer from me.”

“I’m sorry?” I glare at him, appalled. “Last time I checked all you wanted to do was avenge your wife! Say 'fuck you' to Vought, and to Homelander. Why do you suddenly have cold feet?”

He reaches around me, placing an arm on my shoulder. He begins to walk me down the alleyway. 

“If the cunt says no, then it’s a no. We show up there ready to blow a crater into the ground, he’ll be the first to know. You know better than I do that he ain’t gonna like it. Also, we got ties to the FBI and the CIA. The last thing they need is for their agents that are integrated within Vought to be a part of Supe 9/11.”

“You’re telling me the CIA isn't looking for an excuse to destroy these bastards?”

“They are,” He smiles. “Just in a way that won’t have a trail leading back to ‘em.”

We’re at the opening of the alley now. Police cars fly by as they respond to the murder I just committed a few blocks away. I should be in the clear, I’m hearing a lot of “Arab Supe-Terrorist” static over the vibrations of police radio. 

“Get Soldier Boy back, thatll make it even easier for everyone. They can just blame it on him.”

“That’ll come back on ‘em too, Love. They have him hidden with a frostbitten dick at a military compound. If the cunt got out on their terms they’d never hear the end of it.” 

Huzzah, I think. Now that is a good idea. I go to shake his hand. If he's gonna reject me too, I guess there is only one thing left to do.

“Where'd they end up keeping him anyway? My bets on upstate.” I question.

He squeezes my hand tight, smiling at me mischievously. 

“I know better than to tell ‘ya that, sweetheart.”

I laugh, not genuinely, more out of frustration by this point.

“Right,” I say, beginning to walk off in the direction of my subway. “Let me know if you are ever need any of my services. You know where to reach me.” 

He walks off the opposite way, his radioactive stench leaving a trail behind him. The plot thickens. Soldier Boy is upstate alright. And if no one is willing to help me, then I’ll just have to do it myself.

Masterlist | Episode 2

[pink-cheese-puffs]

So…if doctors are now free to talk about it here in Australia, without fear of losing their license….

Does that mean someone can finally tell me what the actual fuck happened to me the 4 months I was bed bound and suffocating, almost choking in my sleep for 4 fucking months, while everyone told me nothing was wrong with me??? In and out of hospital almost every day, every doctor I saw, my gp, specialists, no one could tell me what was wrong. Can someone now inform me??? Why to this day I still have chest pain and heart issues that I never had before hand???

Like please???? I have all the evidence. All the paper work. All the ultrasounds. All the blood tests. All the ekgs and hospital visits. Someone please for the love of god just tell me.

The vaccine was in my system for less then 30 seconds before my body freaked the fuck out and I feared for my life, unable to breath. Huge pains in my chest. Yet nothing was wrong….i couldn’t walk, I couldn’t get out of bed, I almost suffocated in my sleep more times than I could count. It honestly terrifies me to this day what happened to me. Please just someone tell me the truth.

[sincerelycetacea]

An introduction to my Chonny Jash loop role swap AU!! 💜💙♥️🧡

In each loop, there is infinite possibilities for interchange between each sections of the Whole, shifting the roles of them, but sometimes some faint {memories} of the writing is still visible even if the chalk on the board was wiped

More of my insane ramblings + some of the designs down below! ⬇️

“The Only Constant.”

The Whole, the living embodiment and host of the harmony, the time loop itself and the physical body, overseeing things from a distance

In a newly created time loop or in the rare case, harmony, the horns are the perfect shape of a halo but with each fight and argument, it dulls down with major incidents, shattering it and when the horns are no more, the loop shall restart.

The (Emotions)

- Most likely to have wings

- A birthmark-like spot on their cheek of their symbol

- Self-inflicted scars and broken horns due to the agonizing pain due to the emotional blast from the [Mentality]

- Projectile weapons

The [Mentality]

- Has a impulse to gain robotic parts, to become better than the flesh

- Holds their emotions deep down, when they finally snap, they’re fated to cause to catastrophic catalytic self-destructive overloads [think of an overheated transformer blowing up, literally that]. It can destroy most of their body, leading them to need prosthetics and reconstructed limbs, the blast also hurts others around them.

Often happens after major incidents [Ruler of Everything for instance].

- Sharp bladed weapons

The {Core}

- Fated to scar {A part of them turns into a scarred section, like Soul’s glitched half} due to the pressure of trying to stay in harmony and supporting the whole

- The first one to remember the whole, and often times, they’re haunted by partial memories of their old selves

- Wields a trident as their weapon and motive

For all of the three sections, the horns formed out of strong and painful emotions, and acts as a scar

(The Heart Acoustic), The love, The hate, the emotional side, the cardiac system

The Pacemaker Wave [Heart]

- The Cardiac Conduction System [Electrical Pathway of the Heart]

- Head of an EKG machine [his head is still there, not fully decapitated, the machine is there to help him recover. Still no signs of complete recovery, the machine is susceptible to leaks]

- Can see via heat and light sensors, has some vision however there’s lots of static

- Metal wings for cooling

Weapon: Sickles

The Plasma Fantasia {Heart}

- The Blood Plasma {contains proteins, nutrients, and other constituents of Whole blood}

{design/idea still in process!}

Weapon: Short curved trident/Trishula

[The Mind Electric], The logic, The nervous system

The Limbic Strings (Mind)

- The Limbic system and Midbrain (behavioral and emotional responses)

- Dragonfly themed, also has a seahorse hoodie (hippocampus!)

- Large ram-like horns with crown like horns (Reference to Computer RAM as the hippocampus deals with memory)

- Wears a cloth mask

Weapon: Chakram

The Astrocyte Étude {Mind}

- The Brain stem, the spinal cord, and the blood brain barrier {responsible for vital bodily functions, sends commands, and protects and serve the central nervous system of the Whole}

- Star themed

- scarred on the right side, shaped like an astrocyte

Weapon: techno Star trident

{Design/idea still in progress!}

{The Soul Eclectic}, The vessel, The musculoskeletal system

The Myosin Tempo (Soul)

- The Muscles

- Overworked muscles, shown as torn jacket (muscles break down and repair themselves all the time)

- Myosin structures, ATP, and cells shown on jacket

- Wears earmuffs to block out noise

Weapon: hand-held Harpoon cannon

The Myeloid Synth [Soul]

- The Bone Marrow/Skeleton

- Skeleton-like robotic prosthetic

[design/idea still in process!]

Weapon: Axe

[sexhaver]

i joined this facebook group for users of a "rife energy" healing system scam so i could laugh at them but it's consistently been nothing but depressing. people asking why hooking little EKG pads up to a waveform generator and sticking them on their fingers isn't curing their cavities and being reassured that they just need to wait a bit longer. and those are the more upbeat cases. usually you see stuff like this:

these users don't usually stick around for very long. i wonder why.

[trans-axolotl]

some of Eli Clare's writing about diagnosis feels very relevant to discussions on tumblr right now:

"It’s impossible to grapple with cure without encountering white Western medical diagnosis—ink on paper in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders and the International Classification of Diseases, a process in the hands of doctors, a system of categorization. I want to read diagnosis as a source of knowledge, sometimes trustworthy and other times suspect. As a tool and a weapon shaped by particular belief systems, useful and dangerous by turns. As a furious storm, exerting pressure in many directions.

Simply put, diagnosis wields immense power. It can provide us access to vital medical technology or shame us, reveal a path toward less pain or get us locked up. It opens doors and slams them shut.

Diagnosis names the conditions in our body-minds, charts the connections between them. It holds knowledge. It organizes visceral realities. It draws borders and boundaries, separating fluid in the lungs from high blood pressure, ulcers from kidney stones, declaring anxiety attacks distinct from heart attacks, post-traumatic stress disconnected from depression. It legitimizes some pain as real; it identifies other pain as psychosomatic or malingering. It reveals little about the power of these borders and boundaries. Through its technology—x-rays, MRIs, blood draws, EKGs, CAT scans—diagnosis transforms our three-dimensional body-minds into two-dimensional graphs and charts, images on light boards, symptoms in databases, words on paper. It holds history and creates baselines. It predicts the future and shapes all sorts of decisions. It unleashes political and cultural forces. At its best, diagnosis affirms our distress, orients us to what’s happening in our body-minds, helps make meaning out of chaotic visceral experiences.

But diagnosis rarely stays at its best. It can also disorient us or de- value what we know about ourselves. It can leave us with doubts, questions, shame. It can catapult us out of our body-minds. All too often diagnosis is poorly conceived or flagrantly oppressive. It is brandished as authority, our body-minds bent to match diagnostic criteria rather than vice versa. Diagnosis can become a cover for what health care providers don’t understand; become more important than our messy visceral selves; become the totality of who we are.

...

It is impossible to name all the ways in which diagnosis is useful.

It propels eradication and affirms what we know about our own body-minds. It extends the reach of genocide and makes meaning of the pain that keeps us up night after night. It allows for violence in the name of care and creates access to medical technology, human services, and essential care. It sets in motion social control and guides treatment that provides comfort. It takes away self-determination and saves lives. It disregards what we know about our own body-minds and leads to cure.

Diagnosis is useful, but for whom and to what ends?"

-Eli Clare, Brilliant Imperfection pg 41-42, 48.

[vintagerpg]

Escape the Dark Sector (2020) is Themeborne’s science fiction themed follow-up to Escape the Dark Castle. It introduces a number of new mechanics, but at the core, the experience is largely the same: escape your cell, explore the station, try not to die, then probably die, because it is still really hard to not die!

Dark Sector adds some tactics to the mix. The players can, if they have ranged weapons, opt for ranged combat before closing in for hand-to-hand. One character per round can opt to flank for a bonus. While in ranged combat, too, you can remain in cover and perform non-combat actions (so long as SOMEONE on your team is shooting, otherwise, close combat begins). Being in cover means avoiding potential damage, too, which is a bit relaxing after Dark Castle.

The inventory system is more robust, allowing for up to four items, depending on their size. Ammo is a thing, with different types having variable effectiveness depending on the enemy. Every character has a cybernetic enhancement as well, which is another tool in the toolbox. Oh, and Dark Sector has the best health tracker! Dark Castle just has a notepad, while the collector's box introduced a tracker styled as a chain that uses little black skulls, which is cool. But Dark Sector uses pre-printed EKG charts, so you can plot the peaks and valleys of your HP until you flatline. I love it.

Alex Crispin’s art fare pretty good here, too! I thought shifting gears to science fiction might mess things up, but that is definitely not the case. I might like the Dark Sector art a hair better, even. Oh, and the sold-separately soundtrack is a banger, featuring some nice synthwave influences.