#i don't really know how diabetes work

[kirineofan]

My personal headcanon is that Tim has dermatilomania, mi boy drinks energy drinks and/or coffee like he needs it for breathing, which obviously gives him his anxiety and paranoia, and, as someone whose own dermatilomania skyrocket when I got a panic attack, I think Tim would to

[girlivealwaysbean]

it's not sinking in that today might be the last day in my house and town for many months to come

[fvckw4d]

I'm not much of an angry rant kind of guy most of the time. But god it's so fucked up to be trapped in a body where I can't move around too much or I won't be able to to move around much at all for the next several weeks and the general culture is just obsessed with whether or not I'm excercising enough. I have to prevent myself from moving. I want to move around and have to stop myself. I have to carefully ration every movement my body makes. I have to decide regularly whether or not bending down to pick something up is worth the cost of present and future pain and lack of energy.

It's also weird because so much of my life is defined by hunger. I have to actively try to ignore it because most of my day is thinking about how hungry I am, how I'm going to get food, am I going to have enough energy to make food, or even eat it, what can I do to temporarily stop being hungry, and dreading how much pain I'm going to be in when I eat. And I'm not really food insecure in the same way I was even a month or two ago. I spent a good chunk of time actively starving.

I do fucking yoga. I try to go outside and stare at birds for a while instead of being on my phone. I have to walk pretty much everywhere I go. Almost all of my meals are home cooked and with the best ingredients available to me. But the message is constant that it's not my circumstances, I just don't try hard enough. So I fucking sympathize with people who are constantly told the same, not by one person, but kind of by everyone, when that makes no fucking sense. Excercising is good, eating nutritious foods is good, but there are circumstances outside of your control.

Letting go of control was hard enough for me, being told I dont take enough control of my life and that's why it fucked me is really fucking exhausting.

[vamptastic]

it's so fucking annoying that the public opinion on SSRI seems to be that they make you into an emotionless zombie and the side effects are clearly not worth taking them, the implication being that nobody was in a bad enough state before taking them that they may consider the side effects worth it. like idk man i just don't care that much when you compare it to uncontrollable mood swings and constant intrusive suicidal thoughts. like ppl act as if this is some kind of anti-pharma progressive line of thought but they don't actually give a shit about informed consent before beginning the medication in any meaningful sense, they mostly just seem to think depression isn't real and nobody would continue taking antidepressants if they knew there would be drawbacks. i assure you my consent is very informed i just don't like being completely out of control and scared of myself, which is what i was fucking like off medication. maybe someday if i have a few months of my life free to have outbursts at people and desperately want to kill myself ill try a new medication or weaning off this one or whatever. if you want it that bad you can prepare the cash and some apology letters.

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Weird Brain Hacks That Help Me Write

I'm a consistently inconsistent writer/aspiring novelist, member of the burnt-out-gifted-kid-to-adult-ADHD-diagnosis-pipeline, recently unemployed overachiever, and person who's sick of hearing the conventional neurotypical advice to dealing with writer's block (i.e. "write every single day," or "there's no such thing as writer's block- if you're struggling to write, just write" Like F*CK THAT. Thank you, Brenda, why don't you go and tell someone with diabetes to just start producing more insulin?)

I've yet to get to a point in my life where I'm able to consistently write at the pace I want to, but I've come a long way from where I was a few years ago. In the past five years I've written two drafts of a 130,000 word fantasy novel (currently working on the third) and I'm about 50,000 words in on the sequel. I've hit a bit of a snag recently, but now that I've suddenly got a lot of time on my hands, I'm hoping to revamp things and return to the basics that have gotten me to this point and I thought I might share.

1) My first draft stays between me and God

I find that I and a lot of other writers unfortunately have gotten it into our heads that first drafts are supposed to resemble the finished product and that revisions are only for fixing minor mistakes. Therefore, if our first draft sucks that must mean we suck as writers and having to rewrite things from scratch means that means our first draft is a failure.

I'm here to say that is one of the most detrimental mentalities you can have as a writer.

Ever try drawing a circle? You know how when you try to free-hand draw a perfect circle in one go, it never turns out right? Whereas if you scribble, say, ten circles on top of one another really quickly and then erase the messy lines until it looks like you drew a circle with a singular line, it ends up looking pretty decent?

Yeah. That's what the drafting process is.

Your first draft is supposed to suck. I don't care who you are, but you're never going to write a perfect first draft, especially if you're inexperienced. The purpose of the first draft is to lay down a semi-workable foundation. A really loose, messy sketch if you will. Get it all down on paper, even if it turns out to be the most cliche, cringe-inducing writing you've ever done. You can work out those kinks in the later drafts. The hardest part of the first draft is the most crucial part: getting started. Don't stress yourself out and make it even harder than it already is.

If that means making a promise to yourself that no one other than you will ever read your first draft unless it's over your cold, dead body, so be it.

2) Tell perfectionism to screw off by writing with a pen

I used to exclusively write with pencil until I realized I was spending more time erasing instead of writing.

Writing with a pen keeps me from editing while I right. Like, sometimes I'll have to cross something out or make notes in the margins, but unlike erasing and rewriting, this leaves the page looking like a disaster zone and that's a good thing.

If my writing looks like a complete mess on paper, that helps me move past the perfectionist paralysis and just focus on getting words down on the page. Somehow seeing a page full of chicken scratch makes me less worried about making my writing all perfect and pretty- and that helps me get on with my main goal of fleshing out ideas and getting words on a page.

3) It's okay to leave things blank when you can't think of the right word

My writing, especially my first draft, is often filled with ___ and .... and (insert name here) and red text that reads like stage directions because I can't think of what is supposed to go there or the correct way to write it.

I found it helps to treat my writing like I do multiple choice tests. Can't think of the right answer? Just skip it. Circle it, come back to it later, but don't let one tricky question stall you to the point where you run out of brain power or run out of time to answer the other questions.

If I'm on a role, I'm not gonna waste it by trying to remember that exact word that I need or figure out the right transition into the next scene or paragraph. I'm just going to leave it blank, mark to myself that I'll need to fix the problem later, and move on.

Trust me. This helps me sooooo much with staying on a roll.

4) Write Out of Order

This may not be for everyone, but it works wonders for me.

Sure, the story your writing may need to progress chronologically, but does that mean you need to write it chronologically? No. It just needs to be written.

I generally don't do this as much for editing, but for writing, so long as you're making progress, it doesn't matter if it's in the right order. Can't think of how to structure Chapter 2, but you have a pretty good idea of how your story's going to end? Write the ending then. You'll have to go back and write Chapter 2 eventually, but if you're feeling more motivated to write a completely different part of the book, who's to say you can't do that?

When I'm working on a project, I start off with a single document that I title "Scrap for (Project Title)" and then just write whatever comes to mind, in whatever order. Once I've gotten enough to work with, then I start outlining my plot and predicting how many chapters I'm going to need. Then, I create separate google docs for each individual chapter and work on them in whatever order I feel like, often leaving several partially complete as I jump from one to the other. Then, as each one gets finished, I copy and paste the chapter into the full manuscript document. This means that the official "draft" could have Chapters 1 and 9, but completely be missing Chapters 2-8, and that's fine. It's not like anyone will ever know once I finish it.

Sorry for the absurdly long post. Hopes this helps someone. Maybe I'll share more tricks in the future.

[fashion-runways]

hi!! new pinned post, because the last one had gotten long again-- if you want to read previous posts, here's the first one, here's the second one. the tl;dr from those is that my dad got wrongfully imprisoned abruptly, our place was raided, the cops broke a bunch of shit and took a bunch of our things and still haven't returned them, they left all the broken things for us to spend money in repairing, we had to spend money on a lawyer, trips to visit him, new clothes, medicine and food for him in jail, etc. it was a mess, way more details in both posts. he's back home now, with an ankle monitor because technically his case isn't being investigated yet, they haven't done anything about it at all, the case hasn't moved one ounce lmao it's great, always trust the judicial system and cops!! ugh, anyway!

we found a therapist for my dad who can help her deal with all the stuff he had to deal with while in prison, all the bullying, the depression, the starving, the separation, etc. he needs to get a bunch of other medical appointments, has to get surgery, among other things, but for now things are much better on that front. that being said, he did lose his job and my old redbubble account got suspended without a warning months ago, plus argentina's economy is... really bad right now. food prices rise every day, public transportation prices went up like a 200% in a couple of weeks, salaries are low and stuck there, subsidies are gone, the local peso keeps falling, we have an absolute psychopath as a president who spends more time insulting or threatening anyone who oppose him than caring about people. it's a disaster. for updates on argentina in english, this person on twitter makes very good informative threads if you're interested.

anyway, i used to make around 30/40 dollars a month in redbubble, and that used to help adding up to the donations i got here, and it got suspended, so now i make like 1/2 dollars on teepublic monthly. so... it's a huge loss. there's a lot of things me and my mom are in charge of paying-- groceries, power and water and gas, medicine (she's diabetic, i have some sort of chronic sinusitis), our dog and cat's food and medicines, wifi, phone bills, public transportation, healthcare, my dad's new therapist... so, you know, i really need anything people can donate. even if it's just a single dollar, literally any amount helps. i love fashion so much and i love this blog, i work really hard on it even when my brain says no, and i really appreciate how much you guys love it too. i love seeing people discover new styles, new designers, new things to be inspired by. so, yeah... i'm never going anywhere, but i do need help to basically stay afloat.

as usual, my kofi link is this one: https://ko-fi.com/fashionrunways and my teepublic link is this one: https://www.teepublic.com/user/dinah-lance. thanks for being around and sharing and reblogging my posts, thanks for asking questions about fashion, and of course thanks for helping to the ones who can, and thanks to the ones who can't too, i know how that feels like, don't worry about it. love you 💖

[iatrophilosophos]

Hey I'm hearing uh. More, and more, and more buzz about GLP-1 agonists like ozempic from random ppl and healthcare providers alike and there's like a terrifying lack of lucidity abt it so I just wanna say, if you've heard some stuff and are curious:

Ozempic is a chemically-aided crash diet. That's it.

Like metformin, an older diabetes medication used off-label for weight loss, it's functioning as an appetite suppressant in this use-case. It's not magic; it's not changing how your body makes or uses fat; it just makes it less miserable to eat less. It is contraindicated by histories of disordered eating and should absolutely not be prescribed without a full screening for above-adequate food intake and nutrition *and* ongoing screening for adequate nourishment/malnutrition: this is broadly not happening.

I've also seen no indication that ozempic/GLP-1 agonists are any less likely to lead to weight cycling (w/o constant use) than a straight crash diet, or do anything meaningful to limit the known, significant health risks of weight cycling.

Nothing has changed:

The main things we know from a western scientific perspective about weight and weight loss are that 1) almost all people who lose significant weight gain it back and 2) weight cycling causes cardiovascular and metabolic health complications. Yall we aint even have strong evidence to suggest that weight loss is beneficial to health conditions associated with higher weights. This *should* point to Dr's never ever reccomending weight loss (we do know it can hurt, don't know it can help) but yknow we live in uhhhh fucking world.

We are possibly ripe for an aggressive intensification of anti-fat medical rhetoric, especially in pediatrics

Among the projections for an RFK FDA that ive gotten from folks i know in these fields is a renewed focus on childhood obseity and general military-style fitness. As the ozempic fad has already been ramping up, I'm kinda! concerned! about this being a major point of focus for the oncoming administration--i figure we're ripe for another mass diet craze associated with a wide variety of deaths anyway and that existing cultural+market inertia added to it being literally on the agenda spells some not great things. I really seriously reccomend paying extra attention to this area.

Clinics love ozempic because it's extremely popular and extremely profitable--i even know someone who's job was threatened for refusing to prescribe it. We already know that we cant trust doctors to be informed around weight or for the system to sound public alarms.

Obviously, people have the right to do whatever they want--but the disclosure just isn't there and people are being sold this stuff based on the idea it'll make them *healthier* and prevent disease. It can't and it won't.

If the claims here about weight in general are new to you, start here: (Don't love the title of the article, second the exasperation)

If you want to understand more about glp-1 agonists specifically, like, start with the Wikipedia article and do some googling it lays out the pharmacology in relatively plain language. Sry i ain't doing a buncha work to find citations ppl won't click; there's not a lot of good critical stuff out there that's actually published but it doesn't actually take a lot of reading up on critical weight science to form a critical take on the sources singing ozempics praises.

Peace, good luck, do whatever you want forever, maybe tell ur mom that this isn't any different from the disastrous weight loss fads of the 90s.

[cripplecharacters]

Futuristic Settings and the Erasure of Disabilities

The common theme in a lot of futuristic, sci-fi or not, settings, is the abundance of cure tropes that are thrown in there. Disabled people either don't exist, or aren't actually disabled - they get a magical device that undoes their injury, or get a mech suit that basically does the same thing.

Often the setting is treated like an excuse that can't be rebutted in any way: “but my story is set in the future where medicine is better!”

So: is that true? Does better medicine actually mean less disabled people?

Historical Accuracy

[large text: Historical Accuracy]

In 1900, the life expectancy of a person born with Down syndrome was 9 years. Try putting yourself there and imagining that 2024 is the Future - better medicine, basically sci-fi in comparison to what they had back there. In that future, what is true?

a) There's no people with Down syndrome.

b) People with Down syndrome live to be 60 years old on average.

Answer: B. The only countries with fewer people with Down syndromes are the ones engaging in widespread eugenics, which is a topic I will not be getting into in this post, but I'm mentioning because the only places without disabled people are eugenicist.

The “better medicine” of the future didn't make Down syndrome curable, it made people with it survive longer. 50% of people born with it today will live to be over 60 years old. In the future, there will be retirees with Down syndrome. In the past, 50% of them wouldn't have made it into their teens.

Why does that matter?

[large text: Why does that matter?]

Future medicine won't make disabilities disappear. It will make them more manageable. Less deadly. Easier to survive.

If you base your knowledge and perception of disability throughout the times on sci-fi novels by able-bodied writers, you're going to hate how it actually works in real life.

Have we magically- technologically gotten rid of diabetes? No, 11% of Americans have it. 103 years ago, diabetes were lethal. There aren't fewer diabetics compared to the past. They live longer. You probably know or heard of someone who has diabetes.

You need to expand your understanding on how disability and medicine work, because “future = no disability” is genuine nonsense. It doesn't work like that, and it really frustrates me how writers dead-set on “logic” in their setting fail to see this.

Are paralyzed people walking around in various mechs, or are they using better wheelchairs than those from 100 years ago? Wheelchairs that make it easier to be independent? That help with symptoms of their disabilities by preventing pressure sores, or providing alternative methods of maneuvering?

In the future, why would there suddenly be those futuristic transplant* spines instead of wheelchairs that can be used with one's brain or eyes, for those who can't move their hands, mouth, or head? Why wouldn't there be wheelbeds for those who are currently bed-bound because they can't manage being upright in any way?

*Also, how are all of these magic disability-fixing transplants never actual transplants? Receiving a transplant basically always ends up in being immunocompromised because of the very way the body works. If you're writing about humans, this isn't going to change.

Things like sign language or wheelchairs have been used for thousands of years, they're not going away anytime soon or not-so-soon.

Future = More Disabled People?

[large text: Future = More Disabled People?]

We already discussed that there are presently common disabilities that used to be lethal a century ago or even less. If we use this fact for a futuristic setting, you suddenly have a myriad of new possibilities.

There's vastly better medicine? A lot of people deal with post-rabies syndrome because it's finally survivable, but it leaves people with the effects of the meningitis that rabies cause. There's way more quadriplegic people because the survival rates are much higher. Cancer survivors are more common because people live longer. Physical therapy for people who had prion diseases because they aren't fatal anymore but cause severe disability. Head trauma is more treatable, so there's more people with TBIs and fewer people dying in vehicular accidents.

The technology is super advanced? People with locked-in syndrome can operate an AAC device with their eyes, fully customize its voice to their liking, and not have to worry about battery life of their powerchair because it has sonar panels. Canes that can fold themselves with the click of a button so that they can fit in one's pocket.

There could be so many more adapted sports. Tools and technology that can adapt a house exactly to one's needs. Wheelchairs that are actually affordable. A portable pocket sized device that makes ableds behave normally around disabled people.

The point of this post isn't to completely shit on sci-fi settings, but instead to urge abled writers to think a bit more and try to be creative in the way they go about speculative fiction. Write. Something. New. There's one billion stories about how impossible it is for disabled people to exist in the future, and it's upsetting at best to read that constantly when you're disabled. As long as there are people, there will be disabled people.

mod Sasza

[ohtobeleah]

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Epilogue: Part One [Boulevard of Broken Dreams]

Summary: You received a call you and Bradley Bradshaw have been waiting on for what felt like a decade. Jakes mother causes a scene as worry consumes you. And does Jake want the very thing that put him in the hospital in the first place?

Warnings: Jake Seresin Whump. Mentions of Religion. F!reader x Jake Seresin. Angst, Mother-in-law issues. F-18 crash. Bad Medical representation.

Word Count: 6.2k

Author Note: EEEPPPPP we're almost there. this is the chapter EVERYONE has been waiting for. Just what the hell is going on! Please don't forget to let me know what you think.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

December 23rd 

Your genetic makeup, the genes that you inherit from your parents, determines who you are biologically. They’re your blueprint so to speak. Everything from your eye colour to your height to your laugh. Even some diseases like asthma, diabetes, and various cancers. 

But who you are at the core of it all goes far beyond your genetic makeup. Who you really are is the result of many, many things: How you deal with fear. Who you surround yourself with. And how you show up when it matters most. 

The sea breeze was a gentle reminder of how quickly life could change in the blink of an eye. As you walked along the sand with small, barely there waves lapping at your ankles, the sight of families running after beach umbrellas and holding down sandy towels after the sudden gust of wind came through and caused a disturbance, really made you smile. Smiles were a treasure that was few and far between. It had been for months. 

The somewhat sunny day was shrouded in the unknown. Chronic winds continued to wreak havoc on unsuspecting families just trying to enjoy their weekend. A storm was brewing off the coast. But for you, something much more life-altering was wreaking havoc. Something all-encompassing and certifiably depressing was eating away at your soul. 

Your boyfriend and the love of your life had been severely injured in a work accident just over two months ago. His mother is certifiably insane and clearly doesn’t like you even existing on the same planet as her son… and his best friend hasn’t left you alone in what felt like a century. 

But who were you to compare tragedies on this fine, sunny day? 

“There you are!” The second you heard that agitating, grading voice, you rolled your eyes so hard you could have fallen into the shallows. The flightless bird you knew as Bradley Bradshaw was racing after you, making his presence known along the shore as he ran to catch up. “God, you had me worried for a second there. I was talking to Sue for like five seconds and you were just gone.” 

“Some bodyguard you are,” you huffed as Bradley finally caught up to you. It wasn’t that you didn't like Rooster, it was more about the fact he felt obligated to keep an eye on you given the circumstances. “How is Sue anyway?” 

“Uh–” Bradley looked back over his shoulder hesitantly to see the woman he’d been dating for the last few weeks walking away. “I don’t think we'll be seeing Sue much anymore.” It was all the explanation you needed. And if you were to be completely honest you didn’t blame the women. Who wants to fight for attention with a man whose sole responsibility these days was to keep his best friend's unborn children safe? 

“You should be paying more attention to the women you’re trying to sleep with you know,” you replied as you kept walking down the pristine beach. The place that had become a home away from home. “I’ve told you, I don’t need a babysitter. We’re good, I promise.” 

It had been an unspoken understanding since meeting Jake’s wingman that Rooster would look after you if anything were ever to happen to Jake. It went both ways for the two aviators from hell. Although at times the pair couldn’t be in the same room as one another without starting World War Three, it was a given that they would always be there for the other’s loved ones. It was brotherhood in its finest and rawest form. 

But it was driving you mad. 

“Jake wouldn’t–” Bradley tried to explain, but you’d heard this explanation too many times by this point. So much so you could finish Rooster’s sentence for him. 

“‘Jake wouldn’t forgive you if something were to happen to me’, I know I know,” you huffed again. Your right hand came down to rest across your growing bump. Two little souls were currently using your internal system as their personal development grove. Two little Seresin babies that were as unexpected as they were blessed— or at least, to you. “But you– for as much as I appreciate everything you have and will continue to do for us Rooster– are driving me insane.” 

“Too bad,” couldn’t help but laugh as he pulled you into his side. His arm slung over your shoulders before you could even protest his actions. “You’re Jake’s girl and Jake’s not here so therefore I gotta do what I gotta do and that my dear Y/n–” Bradley paused for a second before he continued just like the small waves that lapped at your ankles. Fear threatened to overcome Rooster’s nervous system. Yet, fending off fight or flight mode, he continued. Playing the role you needed him to be: Caregiver brick wall extraordinaire. “---Is to be right here, by your side, until that idiot wakes up.” 

They say time heals most wounds. And for the majority of people that saying is pretty spot on. But for Jake Seresin, that hadn’t been the case. Jake had been in an induced coma for weeks after his near-death accident. The experienced aviator was no match for the panic attack that took him hostage mid-training exercise. His body currently lay battered, burnt and bruised in the Miramar Base Hospital in the intensive care unit. His soul remained trapped inside the mind you sometimes hated to love and loved to hate. 

And when Doctors tried to wake him from the state they’d put him into in order to heal…he didn’t wake up. 

That was back in November…It was now approaching Christmas Day and still, there was no sign of Jake waking from his coma. He’d battled and fought what seemed like everything the world could throw at him: Broken bones. Third-degree burns. A swollen brain. Organ damage. Pneumonia. You name it and Jake had battled it. 

He was a fighter. Someone who was going to fight until he had nothing left. Doctors assured you there was brain activity. A good indication of a recovery.

But when he would wake was entirely up to him…

“Some idiot huh?” you teased playfully at your boyfriend’s expense. But the reality of the situation was that with every passing day, with every complication or turn of events, you missed Jake more and more. “He’s coming out the other side of the phenomena though, which is a good sign.” 

Bradley walked by your side as the two of you debriefed about what the day would bring. First, you needed to shower and change into something that wasn’t kissed by the salty air of the beach you liked to walk along every morning. It helped you clear your head from all the noise. Since Jake’s accident, your head hadn’t been quiet. Voices echoed all day long inside your mind about what you could be doing better, more of. What you could have done differently.

Sometimes those voices would grow louder and stronger the longer you tried to avoid them. However, averting your gaze and pretending the voices didn’t exist was a harder task than first thought…especially when the voices that escaped your mind were coming from Jake’s mother. 

That self-proclaimed holier than thou mother fu—

Next, you needed to eat something. You hadn’t had much of an appetite your entire pregnancy. Bradley liked to think it was because of the additional stress Jake’s hospitalisation had caused. You knew he’d say something if you didn’t at least try to consume something of substance. 

And finally, to you, the most important part of the list of to-do’s, was to get over to Miramar Base Hospital and see the man who’d captivated your entire heart. The goal every day besides growing two human lives was to be by Jake's side. 

Even if at the end of the day the result of all this turmoil and trauma was a breakup you knew his mother was already actively praying for, you’d still be able to say you weren’t the one who walked away. 

“Come on,” Bradley gently placed his arm around your shoulders. “Let’s get outta here. I’m sure Jake’s waiting for us.”

“His mother will be there,” you said without hesitation. There was a frustrated sadness in your voice. A longing for privacy. A declaration for peace. You knew Bradley was aware of the hostile relationship between the two of you, he'd been present for a few altercations. But you also knew he was right and Jake would want you there if you could be.  And it was a could-be day. For both you and Rooster. “I was thinking maybe we could go a little later in the day, give her some time alone–”

“Y/n?” 

Yeah?” You knew what was coming, it felt like the two of you had had this same exact conversation every day for the past four weeks. 

“You’re the mother of Jake’s soon-to-be twins. He’d want you there more than Janise.” 

“It’s Janeen, Roo,” you grinned to yourself as you looked down at your growing bump with a loving hand resting over your belly button. “And Hell would probably freeze over before she realises that.” 

“I thought you weren’t a religious person?” Rooster frowned momentarily as he searched his brain for any conversational remarks he may have missed in passing that would have led him to forget your religious values. He wasn’t a God-loving man himself, but there had to be something out there, right?

“I’m not.” You had never followed a religion or its practices, but the longer the love of your life remained in a coma after sustaining life-threatening injuries, the more you were open to whatever religious being extended a helping hand first. Including but not limited to Satan. You’d sell your soul in a heartbreak to bring Jake back. “But a girl can dream, can’t she?” 

Your non-religious self-awareness was the deciding factor when it came to Janeen not accepting you. Ever since Jake had brought you home to his parents one winter break back in your college days, you knew it was a battle not worth fighting. 

You were the girl who got away. The rogue agent. The true crime writer with an appetite for knowledge and literature. Jake was the aspiring college football star turned Naval Aviator. 

Jake broke it off in the spring before he went to basic. You wanted roots and stability he at the time couldn’t offer. He was off to see the world and the world would be his oyster. You couldn’t stand in the way of that no matter how much you believed Jake Seresin was the one for you. 

You knew Janeen was over the moon with joy and delight that her precious boy had come home to his faith and exiled the woman who was leading him down a road of treacherous sin. 

Get the fuck outta here. 

It wasn’t until about a year or so ago that you and Jake reconnected after he’d come back from a mission that had him staring death right in the face and questioning what he had to look back on. 

All he saw was you in that library at college smiling across at him while explaining that Christmas was fake. Something his mother would have burnt him at the stake for believing. 

So, Jake called. And like a love-sick loser, you came running from across the country. Rhode Island was your home, but wherever Jake Seresin was in the world was where your heart would be. 

“I bet she cries herself to sleep at night more over the fact you and Hangman are having children out of wedlock than she cries over the fact he nearly died,” Bradley growled. 

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” you replied as a gust of wind picked up a beach umbrella in the distance. “I’m something straight out of the book of the damned, Bradshaw. The idea of us having a child together, let alone twins, took twenty years off her life.” 

“Jake would have loved to see her face when you told her,” Bradley chuckled. Then he cleared his throat and did his best to steer the conversation back on track. “We still have to go to the hospital.”

Reluctantly, you agreed. “Fine, but you’re taking me to get a muffin from Bells Bakery first,” you said all the while Rooster rolled his eyes. You knew he couldn’t say no. How do you say no to a pregnant lady who just wants a sweet little treat before spending hours in the same room as your comatose boyfriend and his overbearingly religious mother? You don’t. You don’t say no, you simply nod in agreement. 

*************************

Every disease has its unique course it takes in the body when left untreated. The process begins with exposure to a root cause that sends a ripple effect throughout the body. The disease then progresses, ultimately resolving in one of three possible outcomes…

You get better, you stay chronically ill, or you die. 

The weather had taken a drastic turn since you and Rooster left the beach earlier that morning. The slightly overcast and windy day brought in a nice north-easterly storm. Rain was the only thing that filled the silence as you sat waiting patiently. You caught yourself thinking of what you’d give to hear Jake’s voice before the new year. 

The carefully cultivated interior design of Bradley’s Bronco was something straight out of every single bachelor’s wet dream. This car was what you expected the inside of his soul to look like. And if you were to ever become anything like Jake’s Mother, you’d think this car would be Bradley’s version of a perfect heaven. 

Then, like a premonition, your phone rang, splitting the quiet like lightning through a dark sky. 

"Hi, Y/n,” Doctor Hughes sounded rather cheerful as you sat in the passenger seat of Bradley’s Bronco. 

“It appears that our dear friend is waking up," his voice was urgent but steady. For a moment, your mind stumbles, caught between disbelief and hope. Then you’re moving — grabbing keys, kicking on your sandals, heart pounding louder than an engine roaring to life.

“Rooster?” you whispered as you clambered out of the parked Bronco. The curb hated to see a Bradshaw coming. “I’ll be there as soon as I can!” You awkwardly spoke into your phone before hanging up without hesitation. There was no time to waste on small talk. Jake was waking up. 

The world outside blurred into streaks of light and shadow as you walked as fast as you could, each passing second stretched thin by desperation. Memories flashed — hospital visits, whispered promises, tear-soaked prayers, or whatever bullshit Jake’s mother insisted on mumbling. 

“Rooster!?” you yelled as panic, fear, and anxiety overcame your nervous system. “Bradshaw?” you yelled once more as you entered the small locally owned bakery..

“Hey, what’s wrong? I just ordered a coffee to go and your apple cinnamon muffin.,” Rooster could tell by the look on your face and how sickly you looked that something had happened. “Is the Bronco okay?” 

The fact that was the first thing his mind jumped to angered you to no end. “Yes, the fucking Bronco is fine, you idiot,” you sighed as your belly felt heavy with two Seresin children, a nervous shit, and impending vomit. “Jake’s waking up.”

“No way, who called?” Bradley kicked into fifth gear before your eyes as he ushered you out of the cafe without his coffee or your muffin. 

“Rooster, our order?” you protested as he barrelled out of the cafe with your shoulders in his hands. “Hold up!” 

“We gotta go, you wanna be there when he wakes up, don’t you?” Rooster asked, thinking the answer you’d give him would be a straight-up “yes”. There shouldn’t have been any other answer. But the longer you stood still not answering, Bradley knew something was eating away at you. “Y/n, why are you being weird about this? He’s okay, everything’s gonna be alright.” 

“What if he doesn’t want this?” your eyes welled with tears in the middle of the walkway. “What if he doesn’t want me? What if…what if he doesn’t want the ki–our kids?” 

Surgical intervention doesn’t always work when it comes to disease. Sometimes, despite best efforts, the disease wins. It takes over our cells one-by-one…until the damage can no longer be reversed. When that happens, all you can do is take the loss and move on. But when you can change the course of someone’s disease, you can change the course of their life. It’s enough to make you want to come back for more. 

“Oh, Y/n, no,” Bradley cooed as he drew you in for a much-needed hug. “Jake’s a lot of things, and he’s done a lot of stupid things, but giving you up all those years ago was his biggest mistake,” Rooster reminded you as the tears you cried stained his T-shirt. Your face was buried in his chest. A chest that had soaked up far too many of your tears these last few weeks. “I know there’s a lot of unknowns, but if there’s one thing I know for sure it’s that Jake’s never gonna let you guys go. I promise you.”

“He didn’t want the baby before he–” You couldn’t finish your sentence without breaking out into an all-out wail. Bradley held you tighter than he ever had before. He didn’t know what you hadn’t told him. And what you hadn’t told him was the whole truth…

The whole truth was that Jake’s accident had been your fault. Or so it felt like it. 

“Hey, hey, you’re good,” Rooster tried his best to soothe your soul all the while the lady who’d taken his order before kindly brought it out. He was sure to thank her silently over your shoulder as she placed the muffin in its brown paper bag and his takeaway coffee on the bench. “Whatever happened before all this, I’m sure it’s gonna work out. Jake loves you so much,” Rooster beamed as he rubbed your back. “He’s not letting you or these kiddos go.” 

**********************

As the Bronco sped down the rain-slick streets, tires hissing against the wet pavement, Bradley’s hands gripped the steering wheel as tight as possible. His knuckles were white with tension. You sat anxiously in the passenger seat, phone clenched tightly in your hands, replaying the call from Dr. Hughes in your mind over and over again like a broken Rolexes that held only one memory. 

"It appears that our dear friend is waking up,” Jensen Hughes, Jake’s primary doctor who had been with him since the first day he was brought into the hospital, had said. The words echoed in your head, filling your mind, body, and soul with equal parts hope and fear.

"We’re almost there," Bradley muttered, more to himself than to you. His jaw was set, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. His best friend was waking up from a coma he never really thought he’d come out of. He’d been looking after you and his unborn children since the accident. Jake had missed so much and nothing all at the same time. 

"He’s strong. He’s been fighting this whole time." You reached over, resting a hand on his arm. Bradley nodded in return but didn’t speak. The memories of countless nights spent at Jake’s bedside haunted you both. Each mile seemed endless, stretched by the weight of anticipation.

The hospital's glowing sign finally appeared through the rain-streaked windshield. Bradley exhaled sharply, parking the car with a jerky halt. Without another word, you both dashed toward the entrance, hearts pounding, ready to see Jake — ready to hope again. 

**********************

The elevator doors opened with a subdued ding as you and Rooster stepped into the hushed hospital hallway. The dim overhead lights cast a pale glow, reflecting off the sterile white walls. Neither of you spoke as you walked toward Jake’s room. Both too anxious to say anything that could jeopardise this significant moment in Jake’s recovery. 

As you approached the familiar door, you hesitated. Your breath hitched in your throat. Bradley gently squeezed your hand, grounding you in the moment. You felt like you were going to be sick. Your twins pressed on every vital organ they had shoved to whatever side they could to make room for themselves. Here you were, Jake Seresin’s pregnant girlfriend, about to see him awake for the first time in what felt like a decade. Rounding the final corner, you saw the familiar door, slightly ajar, light spilling into the hallway. For a moment, neither of you moved, overwhelmed by hope and fear intertwined.

"We’re here," Bradley whispered, his voice steady though his eyes betrayed the weight of his worry.

As you pushed the door open, you were met with the soft beeping of the heart monitor and the steady whoosh of the ventilator. Jake lay still, his face pale but peaceful, lost in the depths of his coma. His mind was a world away, carried off into the subconscious. His body was the only remaining evidence to suggest he was still with you. 

Your throat tightened, tears threatening to spill as you stepped closer. Why were you expecting him to be awake and alert? Wishing thinking once again overcomplicated your usually realistic outlook on how things worked in this world. Perhaps it had been the way Doctor Hughes spoke to you on the phone. Or maybe it was the pregnancy hormones that allowed for more hopeful endings. Either way, neither explanation added up to the expectation you had set. 

"Hey, Jake... it’s us," you whispered, voice trembling. Bradley pulled a chair close and ushered you to sit beside the bed. 

"We’re not going anywhere," he said firmly. "You hear me? We’re right here." Resting a hand on Jake’s forearm, Rooster was quick to let his wingman know he was there. The room remained silent except for the rhythmic beeping, but neither of you moved, holding onto hope with every passing second. 

“We heard what you’ve been up to while we’ve been gone, baby,” you cooed softly as you stroked Jake’s cheek gently, taking in the sight of his peacefully unaware self. “And we don’t plan on going anywhere until we get to see those beautiful eyes of yours.” 

“What’s going on here?” The familiar voice made your heart sink into your stomach as you tried to get as comfortable as you could in the world’s most uncomfortable hospital chair. Janeen stood in the doorway with a fresh coffee from the cafe downstairs in her aging hand. Her nails, manicured to perfection, clutched around the paper cup so much so that you swore the scolding hot liquid would burst through the weakened structure. “Did something happen? Why the urgency to not go anywhere?” 

“Did–” you paused for a second as you allowed yourself to sink a little further into your chair with a protective hand strewn across your ever-growing baby bump. “Did anyone call you?” 

“Why would anyone call me when I’m already here, silly girl.” Janeen scoffed as she walked further into Jake’s room. A room that had been his for weeks. A room that your mother had helped you decorate with Christmas lights and decorations as the season approached with every passing day. A bleak, barren hospital room was no place for a soul full of such joy and fun and high-octane energy. Jake deserved more than white walls and sterile floors. 

“Right, my bad for asking,” you sighed as Rooster rolled his eyes discreetly and tried to hide his disdain for his best friend’s mother. A mother he knew Jake wasn’t so fond of either. Especially when it came to you. 

“Jane!” Rooster beamed as he broke the tension. “Long time no see. How long has it been?” Bradley smiled as he shot you a cheeky look of mischief. This was who Rooster was at his very core. A shit-stirring moustache-having gold star kid. The best there was. He’d been a rock for you during this whole ordeal. There had never been a moment these past few months where you hadn’t been able to cry on Rooster’s shoulder or vent to him in full confidence that everything you said would stay with him and only him. 

“I saw you yesterday, son,” Janeen replied sternly, not a single hint of amusement in her tone. Yet, Rooster continued with his antics. He knew well enough by now to know if he kept going, Janeen would cut you some slack. Rooster had been an on-and-off fixture in the Seresin household for years. Ever since Jake and Bradley met in the academy. And boy did Janeen Seresin have a soft spot for the man who grew up without parents or any sort of guiding light. She saw real potential in the Bradshaw kid. If he just applied himself to God, he could be one of his finest soldiers. 

“Really? I’d never forget seeing you! Are you sure it was yesterday? I heard dementia is kinda contagious in these sorts of environments,” Bradley grinned as he pulled the shorter, aging woman with that signature older mother smell into him for a hug. He was sure to send you a wink over her head. 

You had to stuff the boisterous laugh that threatened to spill from your mouth right back down into the depths of your stomach before World War Three could erupt right here in Jake’s hospital room. To be perfectly honest though, you wouldn’t be opposed to that diagnosis. Perhaps then you’d have somewhat of a chance at developing some sort of relationship with the grandmother of your children. Even if each and every day brought a new personality and memory bank. Oh, a girl could dream. 

“Y/n, be a dear and get me a chair will you?” If you weren’t already sitting down, you would have fallen over with shock. 

“Oh, I can do that,” Bradley quickly jumped into action, not wanting you to get up. “I’ll go get you one, I’ll be right back.” He grinned at Janeen before sending you a worrying look of concern. A look that didn’t necessarily look the best on him. “Don’t–just don’t kill each other while I’m gone, alright?” 

“Scouts honour,” you held your hand up as if you were swearing on the bible. Something you’d never actually do. But as Janeen looked over at where you were sitting, she nodded in agreement. 

“Right, I’ll be right back,” Bradley groaned hesitantly as he left the room. Leaving an unconscious and comatose Jake to fend for himself. “Sorry pal, she’s your mother,” he mumbled to himself as he shook his head and continued out of sight. The second Rooster was gone…it was on for young and old. 

“I’ve organised a paternity test for when you have the babies–” Janeen informed you like it wasn’t the worst insult you’d ever heard.  

“Excuse me?” you replied rather harshly as you sat up in your chair. In what world would these not be Jake’s children? How was this happening right now? How was she doing this when Jake was slowly waking up from his endless sleep? 

“You heard me,” Jeneen smirked. “I need to protect my son,” For a woman who preached about being God’s seeing eye, she really was doing the devil’s work. 

“Your son should have listened in sex-ed a little more.” You knew even the mention of sex would have Janeen’s skin crawling. Sex out of wedlock! How dare you, how would you ever be cleansed of your sins? “Are you being serious right now Janeen?” 

“I almost lost him once!” Jake’s mother raised her voice as she stepped closer to his bedside, taking in the sight of her grown, adult child. “I’m not losing him again and certainly not to some wannabe writer who wants to live off my son’s achievements.” 

“Almost doesn’t matter because almost never happened,” you made sure to say before you went on to unleash a declaration of war against your not-so-mother-in-law. “But I can guarantee if you try and destroy this family before it has a chance to grow, so help whatever God you believe in bitch…I’ll burn your entire life to the ground and smile when I watch the millions of dollars you put into that ranch burn too.”  

“You vindictive girl.” Janeen had nothing else to say from the other side of Jake’s hospital bed. 

“Don’t threaten my family and I won’t threaten yours.” It was the only warning you were ever going to give. 

“He’s my son!” Janeen shouted as Bradley made his wake back down the hall with a chair in hand. 

“And he’s my hu–” 

You couldn’t finish your sentence. With so many hormones and emotions coursing through your veins, you slipped. Jake wasn’t your husband. He wasn’t your fiance. He was your boyfriend. And for as much as you wanted to marry the man lying in that hospital bed after nearly losing his life, you knew that question was far from being asked. If it were ever to be asked. Jake Seresin had grown up watching his parents hate each other…he’d made it clear marriage was something he wasn’t interested in. Why would he be when he spent his childhood listening to his mother beg his father to fix some stupid faucet that never did get fixed? 

Why would Jake ever be interested in marriage when he could remember the intervention his grandfather gave his dad at their wedding, something about it wasn’t too late to back out. Hell, why would Jake be interested in marriage when he watched his father fall out of love so hard with his mother that she never really clued him in on her battle with breast cancer? Jake grew up under the guidance of God and his almighty word…

But the way his father had treated his mother throughout Jake’s life had truly left a sour taste in his mouth. And if Jake, through biological design, was anything like his dad…he was never going to put himself in a position where he could emulate any sort of resemblance to his father. 

Trauma am I right? (He’d told you so much about his childhood.) 

“Honey, you’re nothing more than an incubator,” Janeen hissed with a wicked smirk plastered across her face. “He’s my son, and my son knows better than to allow himself to stoop as low as ending up with someone like you.” 

“I thought I told you two not to kill each other?” Rooster tried to intervene as he placed the chair down beside where Janeen stood. He’s never seen you look so worked up. So angry. So hurt. 

“Janeen.” You took a deep breath in and closed your eyes. “When I have these children, Jake’s children, if I have it my way you will never see them. You will never get to know them do you hear me? No God or religion or wackadoodle fucking beliefs you have will ever help you have a relationship with my children because if you can’t look me in the fucking eye and see what your son sees in me then I’m not entertaining any sort of relationship with you.” 

“If they’re really my grandbabies then you can’t keep them from seeing their family–” 

“She’s their mother, Jane, I don’t think you have much say in the matter,” Rooster sided with you as politely as he could. He wasn’t going to be the one to point out that Jake's fingers were twitching either. 

“Better start praying really hard Janeen,” you chuckled, knowing that although you didn’t win this battle, you’d win the war. “Maybe Rooster will bring back a pillow for your knees,” you teased, a little out of line but it was so worth the look of horror on her face. “You’ll be on them for a hell of a long time.” 

**********************

The roar of twin afterburners pierced the sky as Jake pushed his F-18 Super Hornet through a steep climb. The clear blue expanse stretched endlessly above, the ground a distant memory. This was his element—a place where skill and instinct defined survival. Still, the only thing on his mind when he should have been focusing on controlling a multimillion-dollar piece of military equipment was you. You were pregnant. Jake was going to be a father. 

He should have listened to you when you said the two of you could talk about it after he got home from work. He never should have pressed you for more information. But Jake had and the second the words came out of your mouth, he heard nothing else after the words “I’m pregnant Jake–we’re gonna have a baby.” 

He wasn’t ready to be a dad. A father. Being a dad was the last thing Jake thought he should ever be. He wasn’t raised to procreate. He shouldn’t be responsible for another human being. If Jake was even an ounce like his own father, that kid, that poor fetus growing inside you as he raced through the sky, was about to have one hell of a childhood. It wasn’t even just having a baby that terrified him. How was Jake meant to teach this kid right from wrong when he was still learning that himself? 

“What if I told you that I wasn’t sure if I wanted kids, but I want you?” Jake knew the second that the question left his lips…that it hadn’t come out the way it should have. But the reality was he had said it, and the look in your hopeful eyes quickly shattered and was replaced with a reluctance to continue with the conversation. 

Self-doubt radiated off Jake like his life force was fading. Today's training was a high-intensity combat simulation over the rugged terrain of Redstone Valley. Jake and Rooster were executing advanced dogfighting maneuvers against an elite training squadron. Every turn, every roll, every burst of speed was a calculated dance of power and precision.

"Bandit on your six!" Bradshaw’s urgent voice crackled through Jake's headset. 

His wingman had questioned him earlier in the day about what had him so uptight. Jake hadn’t been himself today, he knew that much for sure. But that was because he couldn’t stop thinking about you and the very fact you were pregnant with his child. A child created out of love and endless passion. But that wasn’t enough to make Jake want to be a father after being so sure for so many of his adult years that he wasn’t supposed to be a father. “Hangman! Get your arse into gear man!” 

Jake yanked the stick hard left, pulling into a sharp barrel roll. The G-forces slammed him into his seat as he broke away, narrowly avoiding the pursuing jet's simulated missile lock. His pulse raced, his adrenaline surged as his heart beat against his cheat so hard he swore he was having a heart attack… 

Suddenly, the cockpit warning system blared—a mechanical shriek of impending doom. "ENGINE FAILURE—LEFT ENGINE!" flashed across the Heads-Up Display.

"Mayday, mayday, this is Viper One, experiencing critical engine failure. Attempting emergency procedures," Jake radioed, his voice steady despite the rising tension. The heart attack he swore he was having was a full-blown panic attack. Jake couldn’t catch his breath long enough to maintain focus. “Fuck, Rooster! I’m going down! Mayday–mayday!” Children’s laughter filled the cockpit as Jake spiralled out of control. 

“JAKE! EJECT EJECT EJECT!” Bradley shouted frantically through the coms. He watched on in pure horror as one of the best aviators he knew plummeted to earth without much control. “HANGMAN EJECT!” 

“Tell Y/n I love her–” was the last communication that Bradley received before Jake frantically gave up his battle with the controls to pull his chute. 

Much like Rooster’s late father, Jake’s emergency exit hadn’t gone according to plan. The roar of the F-18's engines screamed in Jake's ears as the warning lights flashed across the cockpit. Smoke billowed from the right engine, as his aircraft trembled violently. 

As Jake pulled his emergency chute, he was propelled into the sky as his F-18 was engulfed in flames so hot the heat melted his uniform into his skin. If he’d waited even one second more he would have been a goner. The emergency exit did little to stop the dramatic fall from grace Jake was experiencing. He plummeted unconscious from the sky towards the burning pile of rubble that was, just a few seconds ago, his Super Hornet. 

The ground felt like solid concrete as Jake slammed into the side of the valley, bones shattered on impact as Rooster watched on in utter agony. His helmet did little to cushion the impact, although that was its intended purpose. Emergency services had already been sent out to Jake’s last known location… but there was little that could be done for Jake as he lay in a twisted pile of his emergency parachute. Blood stained his flight suit as his body began to shut down.

He was dying, but the laughter of children filled the silence like sunlight filtering through leaves—light, spontaneous, and full of love. 

**********************

Tags: @blindedbythelightt @starset21 @tayl0rhuynh @marvelogic @itsmytimetoodream

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[scientia-rex]

Wound Care

Ok so, take this with a BIG grain of salt, because I may be a medical doctor BUT you need to know how much wound care training we get in medical school: none. Zip. Zilch. There may be medical schools where you do, but mine wasn't a bozo factory and there was NO wound care training. Everything I know I learned from one of several sources: an intensive 2-day wound care course I did in residency (highly recommend), the local Home Health wound care nurse (highly recommend), a completely batshit insane old white male doctor who started our learning sessions by yelling Vietnam War stories at me (do not recommend), a hospital wound care nurse (highly recommend), and experience (oh god do not recommend).

The first thing you need to know is that wound healing varies dramatically across the course of a lifespan. Kids? Kids will heal. If they don't, get their ass to a pediatrician because there's something genetic going on. Young adults will heal. Middle-aged adults will heal. You know who doesn't heal for shit? The elderly, and people with severe illnesses, and people with uncontrolled type II diabetes.

Your body needs several things in order to heal. It needs macronutrients, so you need to be able to EAT protein, fat, and carbs. If you are on total parenteral nutrition, aka TPN, aka IV nutrition, you are going to be worse at healing. If you are starving yourself, you are going to be worse at healing. If your body is desperately funneling all the calories you take in to surviving your COPD or cancer, you are going to be worse at healing.

It also needs micronutrients. If your diet sucks, you won't heal. Take a multivitamin once in a while.

There are two CRITICAL skin components to healing: collagen and elastin. Guess what we stop making as we age. Promoting collagen isn't just good for "anti-aging," it's good for NOT ripping your skin apart. Taking oral collagen is probably bullshit because your body is going to have to disassemble it to get it across the intestinal membranes to absorb, but it's also harmless, and if your diet REALLY sucks, who knows. Give it a try. Collagen is made of amino acids; think protein.

Another absolutely crucial component is blood flow. As people age, they start to develop cholesterol plaques lining arteries that eventually pick up calcium deposits. This makes blood vessels less elastic, which is a problem, but eventually also blocks them off, which is a much bigger problem. If someone has the major blood flow to their feet decreased by 90% by arterial stenosis, they are not going to heal for shit AND their foot's gonna hurt.

One component of blood flow I hadn't thought about before going into medicine is fluid retention. The way your body works, blood exits the heart at a very high velocity, but slows to a crawl by the time it gets into capillaries, the smallest blood vessels in the body. Water is a very small molecule and can leave the blood vessel, especially if there aren't big, negatively-charged molecules like proteins like albumin in the blood vessels to hold the water there. And we're built for this--some water is supposed to leak out of our blood vessels when it gets to real little vessels. It gets taken back up by the lymphatic system and eventually dumped back into the bloodstream at the inferior vena cava. But if you aren't making albumin--for instance, in liver failure--you may leak a LOT of fluid into the tissue, so much that your legs get swollen, tight, the skin feeling woody and strange. This isn't fixable by drainage because the fluid is everywhere, not in a single pocket we can drain. And because it puts so much pressure on the tissues of the skin, it often results in ulcers. Congestive heart failure, liver failure, kidney failure--these are all common causes of severe edema, aka swelling due to fluid in the tissues. And they're a real bitch when it comes to wound care, because we have such limited resources for getting the fluid back out, which is a necessary first step to healing.

Pressure is another common cause of wounds. Pressure forces blood out of those little capillaries, so you starve the cells normally fed by those capillaries, and they die. It's called pressure necrosis. Very sick people who can't turn themselves over--people in the ICU, people in nursing homes--are especially prone to these wounds, as are people with limited sensation; pressure wounds are common in wheelchair users who have lost some feeling in the parts of their bodies that rub against those surfaces, or diabetics who don't notice a rock in their shoe.

So, if you're trying to treat wounds, the questions to ask are these:

Why did this wound happen?

-Was it pressure? If it's pressure, you have to offload the source of the pressure or else that wound will not heal. End of story. You can put the tears of a unicorn on that thing, if you don't offload the pressure it won't heal.

-Was it fluid? If it's fluid, you have get the fluid out of the issues or else it won't heal. You can sometimes do that with diuretics, medications that cause the body to dump water through the kidneys, but that's always threading a needle because you have to get someone to a state where they still have juuuuust enough fluid inside their blood vessels to keep their organs happy, while maintaining a very slight state of dehydration so the blood vessels suck water back in from the tissues. You can use compression stockings to squeeze fluid back into the vessels, but if they have arterial insufficiency and not just venous insufficiency, you can accidentally then cause pressure injury. The safest option is using gravity: prop the feet up above the level of the heart, wherever the heart is at, at that moment, and gravity will pull fluid back down out of the legs. Super boring though. Patients hate it. Not as much as they hate compression stockings.

-Was it a skin tear because the skin is very fragile? This is extremely common in the elderly, because they're not making collagen and elastin, necessary to repairing skin. If this is the case, make sure they're actually getting enough nutrition--as people get into their 80s and 90s, their appetites often change and diminish, especially if they're struggling with dementia. And think about just wrapping them in bubble wrap. Remove things with sharp edges from their environments. I have seen the WORST skin tears from solid wood or metal furniture with sharp edges. Get rid of throw rugs and other tripping hazards. I had somebody last week who tried to a clear a baby gate and damn near destroyed their artificial hip.

The next critical question: why isn't it healing?

-Are you getting enough nutrients? Both macro and micro?

-Are you elderly?

-Are you ill?

-Do you have a genetic disorder of collagen formation?

Fix why it's not healing and almost anything will heal. If you're diabetic, find a medication regimen that improves your sugars and stick to it. If you're anorexic, get treatment for your eating disorder. If you have congestive heart failure, work with your doctor on your fluid balance. Wear the damn pressure stockings. Prop up your feet.

If, after those two unskippable questions are done, you want to do something to the wound--apply a dressing, do a treatment--that's a whole other kettle of fish. I'll write that later. The dryer just sang me its little song and I need to put away the laundry.

[luveline]

Hiiii, I don’t know if you’re up for any marauders requests- so no pressure!!

If you are though, I recently sprained my wrist pretty (really) bad at work and have been not great about taking care of it, resting, ect.

If it’s not too much trouble- could I get a lil thing about the marauders absolutely doting on reader over an injury? Like so soft and sweet it could give you diabetes.

Thank you!!!

hope this is okay sweetness! fem!reader, 2k

"She's trying to stand up again," James says, finger hooked in your belt loop. 

You glare at him down on the sofa. "Tattle tale," you scold. It's hard to maintain; he looks very sweet today, everyday, and more than handsome. 

Remus stands in the doorway to the living room, the smell of the honey tea he's making on his heels. "Why, dove?" he asks, sounding amusedly horrified. "Can't you stay still for ten minutes?" 

"I just thought I'd help with the tea," you say, taking a painful step toward him. James gasps and actually stands himself. 

Your eyes widen. James is more of a threat-giver than an enforcer. He loves telling on you or better yet enabling your bad behaviour, but if he's getting up it means he won't be allowing you any further self-detriment. 

"Be gentle," Remus says. 

James raises his eyebrows at you and crowds you, hands on your hips. He gives you a little push. "Sit back down." 

You sit, and your ankle feels better for it immediately, but you cross your arms over your chest and huff so they know you don't appreciate being bossed around. James laughs, more than aware. 

"It's for your own good," he says. 

Remus returns with your tea and you say thanks even though you're pretending to be annoyed with them both. "I would like to be allowed to get my own tea," you say, pleased when James sits back at your side with his own cup of tea, his arm heavy against you. "It's not as bad as you think it is, I promise." 

"You have a bruise bigger than Jersey on your ankle and…" James lowers his voice slightly, "I know it's hurting even when you aren't standing. You get a notch between your brows, right here," he says, tapping the space above your nose. 

"The less you use it the quicker it will get better," Remus says. 

"That logic only applies to injury," says a new voice. The front door closes, and after a second Sirius appears in his coat and jacket. "The more you use me, the better I get." He winks at you. 

You wink back. Delighted, Sirius peels out of his coat and shoes and swiftly takes the empty seat on your left. He kisses your cheek hello, his slender fingers tucked deftly behind your ear so he can turn your face to his. 

"Have you been resting?" he asks. 

"No," Remus and James say at the same time. 

"She's done the opposite," James adds.

"Yes, well, she's not perfect." He shakes his head at you hurriedly, mouthing, "You are perfect." 

You know he's joking but you get all melted, tight shoulders lax, head dipping back against the sofa cushions. Sirius hums his approval and strokes your cheek with his thumb. He's not usually the most affectionate of the boys, but when you're injured he acts like you're on your deathbed and deserving of the world's collective sweetness. 

"How was work?" you ask him. 

"Agony," he says quietly, and he's putting it on, trying to make you squirm. It's working. "I was worried about you." 

"I take offence to that," James says. 

"I know you're taking care of her," Sirius says, "don't be daft, I just know she won't behave. Especially if I'm not here." 

Half of a biscuit soars toward Sirius and hits him in the chest. Entertained, you follow its trajectory back to the source and find Remus in the big armchair, cup of tea cradled atop his knee. "What?" he asks, seemingly chewing the first half of the biscuit. 

"Sirius–" James warns. 

"Prick," Sirius says. 

Remus swallows his biscuit and takes a sip of tea. "Oh, sorry. Slipped." 

"Why have you chucked a biscuit at me?" Sirius asks. 

James takes the biscuit and eats it. You laugh from behind your hand. 

"No reason. Y/N, dovey, do you want a biscuit?" Remus asks you. 

You nod and start to stand to retrieve one, but two arms grab your waist. James' arm, tan, steely without any effort, stops you from getting any further. Sirius', less strong but twice as eager, pulls you into his side with a groan. 

"Please sit down," he says. 

You sigh and let your head drop onto James' shoulder. "I'm sitting. I just want a biscuit." 

Remus sits on the coffee table in front of you with a funny look on his face, a mixture of love and disbelief. "I was bringing them to you." He squeezes the tin closed in his lap, his eyes resolutely on yours so you're forced to meet his gaze. He's handsome, too, they all are, but Remus doesn't know it, unaware of the effect his eyes have on you, the colour like browned honey and the little specks of amber that surround his pupil. "I'll give you a biscuit if you promise to stop making it worse." 

"Really," James seconds, "we want you to get better, that's all." 

You slouch further into his shoulder, away from their doting concern. "It's not as bad as you think it is."

That's a bad lie. You and Sirius had been walking back up the garden steps after a red squirrel stakeout —the squirrels keep eating from Remus' bird feeders and therefore scaring away the birds— and you slipped in a strange way. You ended up sprawled out on your back and you'd burst into laughter, while Sirius looked down on you absolutely horrified. It was only later, an hour or so afterwards, when you'd been helped up and placed affectionately in bed, that your ankle started to ache, and you found you couldn't put any weight on it after all. Your panicked tears had terrified the three of them. They've been ridiculously lovely since then. 

"Maybe I could have another look?" Remus asks. 

It's a well-organised dance when you're together, and this part's no different. Remus hands the biscuit tin to James as he stands, and Sirius pushes the table back with his foot so Remus has room to kneel down in front of you. James opens the biscuit tin and knows your favourite without having to ask, offering it to you as Remus straightens out your leg. 

"Is this compression thing a good idea all of the time?" Sirius asks. 

Remus pulls it down, humming as you hiss in pain. "Oh, I know, dove. I'll be really quick," he promises. 

"It's not so horribly bruised," James says. 

"I hate that we're all looking at my foot right now." 

Remus squeezes your toes. If you weren't wearing a sock under the compression support you'd have to break up with him. 

"I think it looks less swollen," he says eventually, rolling up your sock and putting the compression back into the proper place. You gasp at the sudden movement and his brows crease in sympathy. "Sorry, dove." 

"Let's elevate it, right?" James asks. 

"Yes, I think so. I'll get you a pillow," Remus says.

He stands up, turns to leave, and then turns back to press a kiss to your temple. 

"Me too," Sirius says, kissing your cheek. 

Having refused to move from James' shoulder in your embarrassment, you're out of the way for James to kiss you too, and it's a good thing. Anymore sweetness and you'd probably melt into the threads of the sofa. 

"I'll owe you one," James says. 

Remus gets a pillow to prop up your foot. James becomes your dedicated human blanket. Sirius looks for a film to watch on the telly while discussing takeaway options, even when Remus claims that he's going to cook tonight. 

"Takeaway is too expensive," Remus says. 

"Cooking makes a mess that you'll insist on cleaning," Sirius argues. 

"Takeaway also makes a mess," James says. 

"We can't cook because I can't help," you declare. "And that's not fair. You guys will all be laughing and flirting in the kitchen and I'll be sat here by my lonesome watching Footloose."   

"Footloose isn't on until ten," Sirius says, looking at the TV info bar with a smile, "you'd be watching Night Rider." 

Remus holds his hand out from the armchair. It's miles from reaching you, but you know he's suggesting an alliance. "How about," he begins softly, "we have a takeaway and those two can do whatever they want." 

"Remus," James says. 

You stand up on your uninjured foot. The boys groan at your moving but don't argue, letting you limp to the armchair where Remus is sitting with little more than a chorus of defeated sighs. He puts his arms out for you, his hands and grip strong as he helps you down into the seat next to him. There's not really enough room for two, but he makes it, his arm crossing over your chest and under your arm to lock you in against him. 

"This is ridiculous," James says. 

Sirius shuffles across the sofa into the gap you've left behind. "We could always hide the menus," he says to James. "Neither of them know the numbers. Plus, she can't walk and he can't be bothered." 

Remus pulls you in impossibly closer. "That's true." 

The two boys opposite spring up from their seats, laughing as they begin plotting a cruel plan. You rub your fingertips up and down the length of the arm holding you, letting your head flop back into Remus' chest as you say, "They'll realise they like us too much to starve us soon enough." 

"I know." His hold on you relaxes. "I really do wish you'd stop putting weight on your foot. Please. It needs time to get better." 

"Okay," you say, a sucker for him when he talks so softly. "Sorry. No more walking around while it heals." 

"Don't be sorry, just get better quickly. I need reinforcements against their nonsense." 

"You love their nonsense." 

James and Sirius return looking pleased with themselves not long after, and an hour passes quietly. When the doorbell rings, you're unsurprised to find they've ordered your favourite takeaway. 

"You're predictable," Remus says.

"Well," Sirius says, lifting his chin, arms laden with cartons, "how else is she supposed to get better? She needs food." 

In an example of extreme overkill, Remus and James act as crutches, helping you walk the short distance from the living room to the kitchen table. You're surprised James doesn't just attempt to pick you up in a fireman's lift, as is his usual style. 

Sirius sets the table. Remus makes drinks. James doles out the portions of food, knowing what everyone wants without having to ask, and you miss being able to help. You're usually moving with them, an integral thread, ebbing and flowing in tandem. It's nice to watch them together, but you miss doing your part. James' hand warm on your hip as he eases you out of the way, or Sirius' childish attempts at tripping you up on the way to the silverware drawer. 

"Sorry for being so useless lately," you say, twisting the fork in your hand over and over. 

Three glares pierce you at once. "Who says you're useless?" James asks. 

"You're out of commission for the moment," Remus says agreeably, "that's far from useless." 

"I feel bad, having you wait on me. I know I'm making it worse all the time by refusing to just rest but I don't like you having to do everything for me, it's not fair." 

Sirius sits down in the chair beside yours, tucking himself in quickly. "You realise that we'd look after you forever, right? Like, if you needed this much help and looking after every day, that wouldn't be a problem." 

You shake your head. "Don't be silly." 

James clears his throat. "No, listen to him. He's right." 

"We don't mind helping you to the table, or carrying your washing downstairs for you, or any of the things we've offered to do for you since you hurt your ankle." 

Remus sits in the seat across from you with a pointed look. James joins him, a packet of painkillers in hand. He pops two out for you, saying, "You're not useless just because we've had to give you some help. And if you were useless it wouldn't matter. So don't say sorry." 

Remus nods. "Exactly. Don't feel guilty about an accident, dove." 

You look at Sirius unsurely. "You really don't mind looking after me?" 

He reaches over to handle your thigh. "No," he says, gaze soft, fingers squeezing into the fat of your leg lovingly, "we really don't mind." 

[c28hunter]

You call me a bich like it's a bad thing

Paring: Rockstar-reader X ex-Lance Stroll, Rockstar-reader X Max Verstappen

Face claim: Lzzy Hale

Summary: Y/N broke up with Lance and everyone thought that she won't be back in the paddock. They were wrong.

Final info: it's all fake and not meant to be treated seriously! It's also my first work in such a format so keep that in mind

y/nl/n_official

Liked by maxverstappen1 and 54 870 more

y/nl/n_official: Amsterdam you were 🔥FIRE🔥 last night! Thank you so much for screaming my newest single from the top of your lungs, couldn't have expected a better song release! "You call me a bitch like it's a bad thing" now available on every streaming platform!

see the comments:

y/n'sbich: I WAS IN AMSTERDAM SHE SMILED AT ME PEOPLE SHE SMILED AT ME

l/n4life: I lost my voice in Amsterdam, has anyone found it? liked by y/nl/n_official

y/ns_version: OKAY but can we talk about how she absolutely DESTROYED Lance Stroll in that song, like, QUEEN YOU ATE AND LEFT NO CRUMBS

mskmberly: YES!!! Like, calling his house a "little crib"?! Girls just fok smashed his door

livelaughlancestroll: I mean, doesn't it just mean that she's still obsessed with him 😒

mskmberly: she just publicly destroyed his ass, do you think she really wants him back?

amy.y/nsfan: I'm so happy she broke up with that guy, they haven't even matched each other

stroll_army: bruh why was she even invited to the paddock in the first place? She can't even sing

landos1stfan: eat shit and die

megfanartist: she's the most accurate celebrity to be invited to the paddock, since she's been an F1 fan. And she ACTUALLY knows what the sport is about

maxverstappen1: amazing concert! Can't believe it was real

y/nl/n_official: can't believe you were actually there!

y/nfanpage: OMG, MAX IN THE COMMENTS?!

f1arson: hello max???

verstappenfan: HUH?! HE WAS THERE WHAT THE FUCK?!

maxverstappen1 posted a new story

maxverstappen1: best shot of y/n that I got in Amsterdam last night

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

y/nl/n_official

Liked by maxverstappen1, georgerussell63 and 50 876 more

y/nl/n_official: Gald to be back in the paddock, you have no idea how much I missed this 🙏 Thanks to the @/redbullracing team for an invitation! Keep pushing guys!

see the comments

georgerussell63: good to have you back in the paddock!

y/nl/n_official: good to sing a duet with you again!

britneyf1: THAT. WAS. THE. MOST. HILARIOUS. THING. EVER.

rassell2.0: PLEASE MAKE A DUET!

winvictor: GEORGE MAKE A COVER OF Y/N'S NEWEST SONG

redbullracing: thank you for your visit! We hope to see you for the next race ❤️

y/nl/n_official: 🫡

y/nsversion: she's always been a redbull girlie I was right

maxverstappen1: paddle on Tuesday?

y/nl/n_official: just so you could beat me again? Sign me in

leclercs.verion: stop flirting in public, it's giving people diabetes

formula.formula: did you notice that she interacted with all teams APART FROM Aston Martin?

user56: well, she did have a chat with Alonso

george.the.mighty: you really thought she was going to go chit-chat with her ex AFTER releasing that new single?

~~~~~~~

y/nl/n_official & maxverstappen1

y/nl/n_official: New hair, new show, new companion. Thank you Milan, you were amazing!

see comments

maxverstappen1: 😘❤️

y/nl/n_official: 🥰

landonorris: so that's why you couldn't go play paddle with me huh 🤔

maxverstappen1: priorities man

landonorris: simp

y/nl/n_official: @/landonorris paddle on Wednesday?

landonorris: with you? always

maxverstappen1: 😑

byelando: them. on tour. together. I can't

ferrarisversion: can't believe he actually got her

redbullracing: but you will deliver our driver safely for the next race, right?

y/nl/n_official: of course! And don't worry, I am keeping him fed and physically active

redbullracing: 😄👍

maxverstappen1: ... really?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[foggycritter]

Love seeing the take about Anarchism and insulin, it's funny how MLs really only have that one thing on anarchy. Saying shit like "If we don't force people to work under threat of starvation and exposure, how will we keep diabetics alive?" with a totally straight face, no self awareness at all.

To be clear, I of course believe that society should make an effort to maintain regulated methods of producing medicine, and we shouldn't just let any doofus make and distribute insulin out of like, their house. That being said, I never see Leninists explain why it's necessary to maintain a hierarchical structure in society in order to make medicine available for the public. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen a Leninist demonstrate any real knowledge of how insulin gets made. I'll admit, I don't know how insulin is made! If a Leninist actually took the time to explain why there's not a way to standardize medicine without a hierarchy in place, I'd be more than willing to rethink my stance.

[torturedtypewritersdept]

proclivity - pt. seven - kyoto

✯ pairing:

ex!bff!rafe cameron x diabetic!kook!fem!reader

✯ summary:

at one point in time rafe was your best friend. can summer romance erase all the damage he's done?

✯ [7k]warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, heartbreak, diabetes lingo, injury, ghosting, fluff and fear, domestic violence (not rafe), mean!ex!jj etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was originally posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) trying out a new format with this post, hope you like it!

Midsummer’s was the event of the season and everyone in the Outer Banks knew it - even the Pogues, who weren’t even socially relevant. The preparations for the pretentious party started exactly one year ahead, booking venues, and caterers, and getting together the oh-so-important list of people that needed to attend to continue to make it relevant. You often joked that this party derived from the origins of your favorite play did a disservice to the work of Shakespeare. You weren’t sure that when he wrote A Midsummer Night’s Dream exactly what he was thinking but you were sure it didn’t include an ostentatious party with false pleasantries and too much alcohol. Yet, this year the overarching theme of love that can be found in many of his works, infiltrated your entire being. This year was just like any other, except this year you’d be attending with Rafe. This year you weren’t annoyed by the presence of the event in your life and instead, you actually welcomed it. You were excited to wear your dress and had planned every detail of how you’d wear your hair and what makeup products you’d use. This year you were excited to be in a public setting with the boy you loved and you were patiently waiting for him to ask you specially but wondered if he was even planning to after having lunch with Topper at the club. 

Once every week, you had lunch with Topper. It was a tradition he had started with you two years ago and had somehow managed to keep up with. The first one was right after your diagnosis and he wanted to make you feel loved so he instructed you to wear your best dress and accompany him to lunch. This is why you were now wearing a white form-fitting dress, with lace that went right to your mid-thigh with brown wedges. Your hair was curled, sitting just passed your shoulders and your skin was glowing in the sun as you conversed back and forth with Topper over a ridiculously expensive egg salad sandwich. Luckily, Top was buying. 

“So, are you excited for Midsummers? What color are you and Rafe wearing?” 

He asked cheerily, excited for the event, excited for you, knowing what it meant for you. 

“I, uh, actually don’t know. He hasn’t mentioned it to me. I’m not sure if he’s going to ask at all.” 

You spoke awkwardly, fidgeting with your hands.

“Wait what? He hasn’t mentioned anything about it?” 

Top looked at you in confusion. 

“He said he was going to wear a navy suit, but that’s it.” 

You tried to hide the sadness, but your tongue betrayed you. 

“Well, do you know what color you want to wear?” 

“I already bought my dress like six months ago, you know how my mom is over Midsummers. It’s a champagne color.” 

You pulled out your phone to show Topper the pictures from when you tried it on. Turning the screen around and placing it in his hands, you chuckled as his face lit up at the sight of you. The gold-tinted satin curved effortlessly around your body and you loved the way it made you feel.

“Y/n, Rafe’s gonna have a heart attack. You look so beautiful!” 

Topper almost shouted through the restaurant. 

“I don’t know, I really don’t think he’s gonna ask, Top.” 

You spoke in a defeated tone, not sure if he even really needed to. You were his girlfriend now, maybe that meant he just assumed you were going together. 

“Why wouldn’t he? You’re his girlfriend.” 

“I don’t know, it’s just a feeling I guess and it’s still new, maybe he doesn’t want people to know or maybe he doesn’t think he needs to ask since we’re together now.”

You shrugged your shoulders, but Topper knew this was important to you. Not only was this your first time going to Midsummers with Rafe, but this was also your first time going with anyone who wasn’t of the female sex. You went with JJ last year, but you didn’t count that since he hadn’t asked you and he was only able to come because of your status on the eight. This was a big deal. You’d seen your friends one by one get asked to Midsummer's in various special ways, similar to promposals and you wondered when it would be your turn. When you’d have a handsome boy sweep you off of your feet with the kindness of the question and it seemed like now you had that, but your mind was plagued with the notion that he wouldn’t ask. Mostly because every year you waited for him to and he never did. 

“You have to know that isn’t true.” 

Topper said, breaking you from your thoughts and bringing you back to the conversation at hand. 

“I don’t know, I guess I’ve just been waiting on the other shoe to drop.” 

You shrugged your shoulders again. 

“Come on, you’re talking about the same guy who beat someone half to death for you. Trust me, I know Rafe, he’s going to ask. He probably has something special planned and you’re going to be embarrassed when I have to say I told you so.” 

“Whatever you say, Top. What happened with JJ by the way? Is Rafe gonna get into trouble?” 

Your brows furrowed in worry.

“No worries, sweet girl. Rafe isn’t in trouble. JJ’s fine, he spent a day or two in the hospital and had a severe concussion and whiplash from what I heard. His face is gonna scar. He got what he deserved.” 

Topper’s tone was smug and you let out a small smile at what Topper said. It wasn’t that you wished ill will on JJ or wanted him hurt, because frankly, you didn’t. But it felt damn good that he got what he deserved, after what he had done to you, and it felt even better that it was at the hands of your boyfriend. 

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom Top, I’ll be right back.” 

You smiled in his direction and he was already pulling out his phone to text the boys a 911 message by the time you had turned around. 

    Kook Kingz 

Top: 911, meeting at the club in 15 

Rafe: cool

Kelceo: be there soon, but I'll be late 

Rafe: Wow what a surprise

When you returned to the table, Topper made a shitty excuse about needing to meet Kelce and after exchanging a hug and a kiss on the cheek, you made your way to your car, leaving the club to meet your mom downtown for a shopping day. Topper sat at the table the two of you had previously occupied and waited for Rafe. Fifteen minutes later, he strolled through the club, black dress pants, loafers, and a white, quarter-length button-down shirt covering his body. His hair was messy, he kept little gel in it these days per your request. He sat across from Topper and placed his hands on a menu with no real intentions of ordering anything. He looked up, meeting the eyes of his friend. 

“So, what’s this about Thornton?” 

Rafe asked with a hint of annoyance in his voice. Having just walked out on his dad because of the supposed emergency, he didn’t want to be here any longer than he had to. 

“Your girl.” 

Rafe’s ears burned at the mention of you. ‘Is something wrong?’ He thought. He almost spiraled at the notion, wondering where you were, what your blood sugar levels were if you had eaten enough, and how you were feeling today, though he had talked to you just a little ago. 

“And I’m listening…”

Rafe muttered. Kelce was still nowhere to be seen, he was always running behind schedule. Rafe and Topper often joked he’d be late to his own funeral. 

“You’ve got her all stressed about Midsummer’s: “will he ask me? Won’t he? Does he want me to go with him? Does he want to keep us a secret? Does he think I assume we’re going together because we’re dating? Oh Topper, please help me!” Dude, you’ve got to talk to her.” 

Topper pleaded with Rafe to clear up the confusion, but not before a pretty spot-on impression of you left his lips, minus the improv and over-emphasis he threw in to get his point across. 

“What’d I miss?” 

The third musketeer chimed in, arriving ten minutes later than his predecessors. 

“Kelceo, nice of you to finally join us.” 

Rafe quipped, a sarcastic smile plastered on his lips. Topper tipped his drink at Kelce, giving him a warm island boy welcome. 

“Didn’t miss much, just y/n freaking out because Rafe hasn’t asked her to Midsummer’s.” 

“Yet!”

Rafe exclaimed. 

“You are going to ask her right? Don’t make me beat your ass.” 

Kelce said flatly. 

“Of course, I’m going to, okay? I didn’t mean to make her freak out, I’ve just been having a hard time figuring out how to do it. She’s so perfect. It has to be perfect. But, I have a plan.” 

“Well, let’s hear it then! I’m not about to let you ruin this for her.” 

Topper stated with a hint of attitude. 

“What do you mean ruin this for her?” 

Rafe was genuinely confused, it was a just stupid party. He wondered why you cared so much. You never had before.  

“She’s never been asked before. This is a big deal for her and she’s wanted you to ask her for like fifteen years. So, the thought of you thinking you didn’t have to or that you didn’t want to go with her, it hurt her feelings, Rafe.” 

Rafe swallowed thickly, thinking back to all the years that he wanted to ask you but was too much of a pussy to, not knowing he was hurting you every time he took someone else instead. He remembered the sad look in your eye when you were there with JJ last year. He now knew why, he now knew your eyes weren’t just sad, they were pleading, begging him for help. Help he didn’t offer because you were better off without him, right? 

“Earth to Cameron! What’s this supposed plan?” 

Kelce interjected and Rafe let out a sigh, parting his lips and proceeding to spill his guts.

-

Rafe walked up your brown cobblestone driveway, planting one foot in front of the other, just itching to see your beautiful face. He made his way to the coral-colored front door and knocked three times. It had been two days since you’d gone back home to be with your parents after they returned from Thailand and man, did he miss having you in his bed every night. He was nervous because he was planning to ask you to Midsummer’s today. He knew you wouldn’t be expecting it which was good for him, he wanted it to be a surprise. But, he also felt guilty that you had been agonizing over it for so long, for so many years now and he had yet to deliver. Today that was going to change. Today he was going to show you how different he was. 

He stood in front of your home, hands in the pockets of his khaki pants as he looked down at the gray Vans that covered his feet. His shirt was a gray quarter length button down and he wore a baseball cap that sat backward on his head. He got lost in his thoughts of how he was going to ask you, what he’d say, and the what if’s of how you’d react when the door opened. He lifted his eyes from the ground to meet yours at the sound of the door handle twisting and that Rafe Cameron smile took over his features. That smile made your chest tight and suddenly, it didn’t matter if he asked or didn’t because you knew his heart belonged to you. 

“Hi, baby.” 

He spoke sweetly and you smiled. 

“Hi, sweet boy.” 

“Come out to the truck, I have a surprise for you.” 

You smiled at him and brought your bottom lip in between your teeth, curious at what he could be surprising you with on a Monday afternoon. He took your hand and led you down the steps to where his truck, a deep navy blue, was parked. He led you around to the back driver’s side door and pulled out a bouquet of pale pink tulips, your favorite. 

“Rafael!” 

You squealed in excitement and he let out a soft chuckle, fully expecting this school girl reaction from you over your favorite flowers. You loved the small things in life and he loved that about you. He knew he’d be willing to go into a store every day and purchase pink flowers until he took his last breath, at that moment, if it meant he’d get to see you this joyous forever. 

“Thank you, sweet boy! I love them.” 

You gave him the best doe eyes you could muster up, thankful that he remembered they were your favorite and that he brought them to you today.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. That’s not the surprise though, follow me.” 

He stated, taking your hand in his once again and leading you around the back of the truck to his tailgate. You wondered what he could be hiding inside of it and before you could ask any questions, he pulled it down by the latch, revealing your favorite bottle of wine and a blanket with two rattan pillows. 

“Are you recreating our first date, already?” 

You teased him and he grabbed your other hand, lacing his fingers through yours, now holding both of them at thigh level. 

“No, it’s better than that.” 

He gave you a smug smile and picked you up by your hips, placing you on the edge of the tailgate before reaching behind one of the pillows and grabbing a lime green gift bag with confetti-colored tissue paper. 

“This is for you, angel. I’m sorry it took so long.” 

You were confused. What was he talking about? You thought, but instead of asking him, you dove into the gift, throwing the tissue paper behind you on the blanket. When you made it past the threshold of the tissue paper, you gave a simple smile to Rafe, as you read the name of your favorite sugar-free dessert shop that you showed Rafe when you went window shopping downtown on your first date. While it was only a week ago, it still felt so special that he remembered such a tiny detail about you. As you took the box out of the bag, Rafe stilled your hands before you could open it completely and reveal whatever dessert he had gotten for you. 

“Before you open it, I have something I’d like to say.” 

You swallowed thickly, wondering why in the world he was being so weird right now. It’s just a dessert, you thought. Rafe took your hands in his and sat beside you on the tailgate, turning his body to look you in the eyes. 

“I know I haven’t delivered in years prior and that you’ve wanted me to say what I’m about to say for a long time. So, here goes nothing. I love you, sweet girl and I just wanted to tell you that I have never felt this way about someone before. I’m sorry that it took me so long to tell you that and one day when I figure out how to, I’ll explain why it all happened - why I disappeared. You are so special to me and I want to show you how much, so you can open the box now.” 

At the sound of the last word leaving his lips, you followed his instructions, carefully removing the bow that tied the box of treats together and prying the cardboard open. What sat inside made your heart leap out of your chest, it was your favorite sugar-free cupcake, red velvet with cream cheese icing, and in pale pink writing it read “Midsummers?” 

You pulled the cupcake out of the box, dipped your finger into the icing, and wiped it across the tip of Rafe’s nose. 

“It’s about damn time, Cameron.” 

You whispered before leaning and placing a sweet kiss on his nose and licking the icing off. 

“So, is that a yes or?” 

He asked playfully. 

“Yes, it’s a yes. It’s always been a yes.” 

You gave him a sweet smile and he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours as he parted his lips and planted a passionate kiss on your lips. You thought about a lot of things at that moment, but your mind settled on wanting to remain here, with this man, forever. 

-

If there’s one thing you could say for certain about Rafael Cameron, it’s that he was a gentleman. That was what you were thinking about, as he waited for you to descend down the staircase of your parent’s home and accompany him to Midsummer’s. You had told him he didn’t have to pick you up, that you could meet at the venue and just walk in together. But, he protested a good amount until you gave in, wanting to escort you there, himself. A gentleman, you thought. You were anxious, sure. You’d only been on a couple of laid-back dates with Rafe and it felt like this was your coming-out party. After this, everyone would know you were his girl. You relished in that, happy that you had caught the uncatchable eye of him. Unaware that you had always had it and that he was uncatchable because he had always belonged to you. Rafe stood talking business with your father with his back to the stairs and at hearing the click of your heels hit the hardwood, he turned his body toward them, again, waiting on your descent. You kept your eyes on your feet, afraid to fall. As clumsy as you were, you weren’t sure why your mother deemed it appropriate to put you in six-inch heels and you knew you’d fall or be in a great amount of physical pain by the end of the night. Your hand gripped the railing of the staircase and you held on for dear life. Please don’t let me fall in front of him, you thought. Rafe’s radar for you must have been going off because he made his way up to you as you met the halfway mark of the stairs and he grabbed your hand ushering you the rest of the way down. Your cheeks suddenly became hot as you took in his tall, muscular form covered in a navy blue suit, a white dress shirt peeking out from the jacket with no tie. He had cut his hair off the week prior, tired of the North Carolina heat and the buzzcut was doing wonders for his jawline, especially in this outfit. You felt your core grow warm and cursed yourself internally for being so attracted to this man. 

As you made it to the end of the staircase, Rafe stepped back so he could take every inch of you in. It was almost like he was taking a mental polaroid so he could save this view for later. The champagne-colored silk of your dress cascaded like a waterfall over your curves. You took note of the overwhelming admiration in his eyes and it made your chest grow tight. You hoped he’d look at you like that for the rest of your days. Your mother and father interrupted your gaze and posed the two of you for pictures. 

“You look like heaven, sweetheart.” 

Rafe leaned down, whispering in your ear as your mother continued to capture photos of the two of you. Blush laid on the surface of your cheeks at his words. 

“Thank you. You look handsome, baby.” 

You smiled at him and placed a kiss on his cheek. 

“Okay, big smiles, you two!” 

Rafe laced his hand around your back and held on to your waist tightly. The two of you smiled big as you leaned into him. You loved the way his broad shoulders and toned biceps held you there close to him. 

“Okay, let’s get a kiss for the camera!” 

You rolled your eyes at your mother’s antics. She was excited that the boy you had been in love with for so long, a boy she had loved alongside you, was officially yours and she wanted to document it. Rafe turned towards you and placed his hands on your freshly flushed cheeks and he dove in like a hungry animal, kissing you, just soft enough to make you groan into his mouth. 

“Rafael. Not in front of my parents.” 

You sneered and he let out a light chuckle. He secretly loved how your body responded to him. 

“Okay, mom, that’s enough. We’re going to be late. Love you.” 

You spoke softly, but you had enough and were ready to go. 

“Love you, angel. Be careful with my baby, Rafe.” 

She retorted with a sweet smile. 

“Always am, she’s precious cargo.” 

He spoke before opening the passenger side door and helping you in, buckling your seatbelt for you, like he always did. He quickly made his way to the driver’s side door, opening it and placing his body in the seat, starting the truck up, and buckling himself in. He placed his hand in yours and brought it up to his mouth, placing a kiss on it, as he pulled out of the driveway and headed to the venue. 

When you and Rafe arrived, he got out of the truck and made his way to your side of the vehicle, opening your door and helping you step down onto the concrete and making your way outside of the club. You stood there for a moment, waiting for the rest of his family. You were expected for pictures with the rest of the Cameron crew before you all walked in together. Rafe deplored the idea of waiting outside for them, but he was happy to have more photos with you, so he didn’t complain as Rose demanded pose after pose. Once you made your way inside, you spotted Topper and Kelce from across the grass standing at the bar, already pretty close to drunk as they swung back more Mai Tai's. You shook your head at them and you and Rafe shared a giggle. Rafe led you to the bar where they stood with his hand placed at the small of your back.

“Well hello, beautiful!” 

Kelce whistled as you and Rafe made your way over to the drunk pair. Rafe rolled his eyes at his antics. 

“Hi, Kelce.” 

You smiled in his direction and gave your pleasantries to Topper, who sent back a slurred “hey pretty girl” before continuing his conversation with the blonde in front of him. 

“Do you want something to drink, baby?” 

Rafe questioned, his arm never leaving your waist. 

“I’m okay, I don’t think they’ll have anything I can drink anyways.” 

“They might not, but I do.” 

He said with a smirk and pulled out a flask from his inside jacket pocket. 

“Rafael! What is that?” 

“It’s your favorite non-alcoholic beverage.” 

He smiled cheekily and you giggled.

“How did I get lucky enough to have a grown man fill a flask with chocolate milk?” 

You chuckled and took it from his hands, taking a swig. You handed it back to him and laced your hands around his middle clutching to him for dear life. He laid his chin on top of your head for a moment before pulling you back from him and kissing you sweetly. 

“Oh my fucking, God!” 

Topper borderline screamed. 

“What, Top?” 

You both questioned in unison, confused at his outburst. 

“You fucked didn’t you?!” 

Your face flushed. The drunk version of Topper was always unpredictable but you never expected this kind of outburst from him at Midsummers of all places. You felt all eyes on you and you were embarrassed. Your first time at seventeen and now all of figure-eight was aware of it. 

“Topper, cool it.” 

Rafe growled at him, aggressively, feeling your body stiffen around his hand. He knew you were embarrassed and uncomfortable and he knew he needed to fix it. 

“So you fucked him, huh?”

The eerily familiar voice of JJ Maybank bellowed down your spine and made your ears hot. You turned around to meet his accusatory blue eyes, unsure of where his voice had come from. 

“JJ-”

You whispered. He cut you off in the middle of your sentence, you should've known he’d never let you speak. 

“You slept with a fucking drug addict, but you wouldn’t sleep with me?!” 

You felt confused at his words. Rafe wasn’t a drug addict, he was far from it. 

“A drug addict?! Are you high, JJ? You are a drug addict! I’m sorry I didn’t lose my virginity to the boy who beat the shit out of me every day for a year! What are you even talking about?” 

You shouted, anger now controlling your body, as it coursed through your veins.

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask your perfect boyfriend, princess.” 

Rafe’s face fell as his eyes met yours and that was the moment you knew he had lied to you. You couldn’t believe it. For once, JJ Maybank was telling at least some version of the truth. Rafe had lied to you. 

“Rafael, what the hell is he talking about?” 

You whispered out, tears rimming your eyes, thinking this had to be some sick cruel joke. 

“I-I can explain, angel.” 

Rafe stuttered out. 

“Cut the nickname shit, Rafael.” 

You seethed in anger. 

“Let’s go somewhere and talk.” 

He spoke softly as he felt you slipping through his fingers. 

“Yeah, let’s. You’ve got some explaining to do.” 

Rafe swallowed thickly, too scared to reach out to touch you. Too scared that once you knew the truth, once you knew who he was, you’d look at him like you were looking at him right now like he wasn’t human like he wasn’t worth anything after all. 

taglist:

as always, if you'd like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please send me an ask or comment on this post so i can keep track!!

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey @yagirlwrites @obxbabygirl @rafeecameronsbitch @klutzy-kay24 @roseczbalt @allsmilesreally7 @akobx @pogueprincesa

[r0-boat]

Headcanons for favorite ice cream flavor of your favorite whb characters?

I will do all of them

ALL WHB DEMON CHARACTERS AND THEIR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR

Ultimate whb ice cream headcannon! Please let me know how you think of them in the comments I love reading them :)

Cut for length.

Gehanna

Satan

This man is an cookies and cream bastard. He crushes Oreos and puts them into his ice cream the more the merrier. He'll still eat his ice cream even though it's just a pile of cookies and little bits of ice cream. Genuinely gets mad that there's not enough cookies in his ice cream.

Sitri

I think he would like a more uncommon flavor like pistachio or matcha. He understands not many people like his flavor but it's his.

Juno/Ppyong

Chocolate ice cream with chocolate chip. Drizzled with chocolate... He just really likes chocolate.

Leraye

He likes those character popsicles with the eyeball gum. he always takes out the eyeballs first and then eats their heads.

Belial

He likes sherbert with gummy bears. I can see him really liking fruity flavors. Occasionally he does also have sprinkles.

Paimon

Bubble gum flavor is a masterpiece and if you disagree you're wrong.

Astaroth

Rocky road. He likes the richness of chocolate paired with the nuttiness of the almonds and the softness of marshmallows delicious!

Zagan

Chocolate chip! He's a simple man.

Tartaros

Mammon

Anything with caramel has his heart, it's sweet and delicious and he likes watching it roll down. So butterscotch caramel. Don't forget the gold shavings

Bimet

He'll have whatever Mammon is having having. extra gold shavings please... (a scoop of pineapple with coconut shavings)

Eligos

Strawberry with sprinkles! He is a strawberry die hard. Constantly getting into fights with chocolate and vanilla fans.

Valfor

Butter pecan with caramel as well. He'll also politely ask what ice cream flavor are you having and then politely asked for some of yours in exchange for some of his.

Hades

Leviathan

Neapolitan ice cream because it has three flavors and that's better than one. but then would rudely steal a spoonful of yours and wants to try everyone else's because he's jealous of what you're having because it looks good.

Foras

He also likes Neapolitan not because he wants to copy Levi He just genuinely likes the flavors.

Glasyalabolas

He can't decide between Cherry or raspberry. He just really likes strong fruity flavors. He doesn't mind a little chocolate drizzle either.

Barbatos

Of course he would like red velvet And he likes mixing bits of brownies.

Orias

Cotton candy with sprinkles. Anything sweet enough to give you diabetes

Abyssos

Beelzebub

His favorite changes every other day once you ask him It will take in about 10 minutes to think of an answer just to change it three times.

(funny headcanon one time visiting Leviathan He got into his ice cream stash to separate the three flavors and reorganize them as a prank. That's how he got banned from Hades for 100 years.)

Bael

Likes root beer float, He likes it because he can mix it in and then drink it while he's working.

Amon

My brain is telling me that he likes cookie dough. I don't know why I feel strongly about this.

Naberius

Peanut butter. He's such a sucker for peanut butter ice cream. He'll be eating it with his tail wagging happily.

Stolas

Strawberry cheesecake ice cream! And don't you dare tell him it's girly or be mean because he will cry!

Paradise Lost

Lucifer

Moose tracks is the most old man dad flavor I can think of.

Gamigin

He's more of a snow cone guy. But he likes Sorbet anything with citrus and he'll be there.

Marbas

He's a plain guy He just likes vanilla. If he feels like something different than he'll add to it it's perfect.

Beur

He likes vanilla but he's more of a French vanilla person. He thinks of himself as the better vanilla fan. He's kind of prideful about it.

Morax

Not much of an ice cream fan but he'll have whatever you're having

Niflheim

Belphegor

Mint chocolate chip. We don't know much about him it's just a vibe.

Gusion

Coffee flavor, no one saw this coming.

Bathin

He likes flavors from different countries like Ube, moonmist or hokey pokey. Any flavor that's specifically unique to that place he'll try it.

Andrealphus

Rainbow sherbert he likes tasting all the little flavors. He also likes the name because if he could see he wants to see all the pretty colors it has. Probably just as beautiful as he imagines it.

Abbadon

Dantalian

Man likes grape flavor He's just dying to get stabbed.

Phenix

Banana split. He eats the banana whole ;)

Ronove

Mango surprisingly normal...

Other

Minhyeok

Always orders the same ice cream as yours when he's alone he just orders vanilla topped with MnM's

[neechees]

Hi! Do you have any information about how to vet PayPal-based donation blogs based in Gaza? I got an ask from this user (screenshot below) and on their blog it seems that the only donation source is PayPal, but my understanding was that PayPal didn’t work there. I really don’t want to not help people because I misidentified their blog as suspicious but I don’t want to lead anyone to a false link or donation. Any help super appreciated.

First of, this user is a scammer. They're already on the scam list, and their pinned post is directly copying this genuine gfm (buy we know this can't be the person from the gfm, because the gfm doesn't link to this tumblr or offer that paypal the tumblr blog uses as a form of accepting donations)

Regarding vetting, I'll say, and this is important, that 1. I myself don't do the vetting, I call out the scams that are definitely scams and that I have proof of, and 2. The people who are doing the vetting are multiple Palestinian users on here (such as 90-ghost, nabulsi, el-shab-hussein-, & others) who have been on tumblr for quite some time, and who can confirm what Palestinian fundraisers are real because they either know them, know someone who knows them, or have talked to various Palestinians who have made new blogs and determined them to be genuine due to a number of factors. Most scammers are either not trying to talk to real Palestinians doing the vetting because they know they'll get caught lying (and many will block the users doing the vetting), OR the ones that DO are quickly found out anyway for various reasons (such as for obviously using something like Google translate).

But if you want tips on how to suss out who you think might be a scammer on your own, try these:

If a suspected blog claims to be "vetted and verified!" In their donation post or ask, go and look at their posts and blog: most genuine fundraisers who claim to be vetted will @ the users that vetted them, sometimes might even provide a link to a post of the vetter confirming them to be genuine, and/or you'll see a Palestinian user verbally confirming them to be genuine in the notes in one of their posts, OR you can go to a vetter's blog & look for their url. If they're actually vetted you'll find them there. Additionally, the person confirming them to be genuine MUST be a popular Palestinian user who is currently volunteering to be a vetter, it CANNOT be the suspected blog in question "verifying" themselves or any other rando. But many scammers are lying by starting off their post by saying they are "vetted" & sometimes even name dropping random users hoping nobody will double check to see if they're lying. Double check. You won't find any vetter in their notes confirming them to be real. If you're still unsure, don't interact with the blog or reblog their donation posts until you find evidence theyre vetted.

Go to the blog @kyra45 and have a look at our resources where Kyra helpfully gives tips on how to spot scams, and lists the really popular scammers & the stories they like to reuse. Also keep tabs on the "users pretending to be Palestinian" post there, where Kyra & others give daily updates on which users are scammers pretending to be Palestinian on the same post & give proof for why.

Connected to our resources post, but look at the tips posts, anc give the blog a scan to see if it fits any of the common red flags that of a scammer (and remember, these things have to be taken in context together, it can't just be one thing). Does the blog fit the description of any of the scammers we listed (such as one who constantly reuses the fake story of being a diabetic Palestinian & mentions humalog)? Does their paypal location match where they claim to be (such as, they say they're in the U.S but the paypal link says they're located in the Philippines)? Are they using a knockoff site instead of the more popular one (such as gogetfunding instead of gofundme)? Do they ONLY link to a paypal set to USD instead of a gofundme? Does their profile photo show up in another place but they're claiming its a photo of themselves (such as one I found where the photo belonged to a woman in Pakistan, & the scammer pretending to be Palestinian claimed the photo was of them)? Copy & paste the ask or parts of the ask they sent you: do other asks with the exact same or similar wording show up on lots of other answered asks in the tumblr search from now deactivated blogs? Does their donation post seem to have multiple replies, but the replies section shows nothing except a notification that says "some replies may be hidden or deleted", and/or replies are turned off? (<- this usually is an indication that this blog is a scammer, and people were calling them out, & so they hid those replies so no one could see the evidence). Does their url show up in the scam list? Things like that.

But if you're still unsure and want some help, and think a blog might be a scam, bring it to one of us scam busters (& there's about 8 of us currently active) & we'll have a look at it. If you think a blog might be real, visit a Palestinian vetter's blog and see if that url shows up. In the meantime when you still aren't sure, don't interact with blogs claiming to be Palestinian that you can't be sure are genuine.