#medical error

[lifewithaview]

Sela Ward and Hugh Laurie in House (2004) The Mistake

S2E8

Chaos ensues after Chase's negligence leads to the death of a female patient. Now, after an inquiry from the hospital board, and a subpoena from the patient's brother, it's up to Stacey to protect Chase's career, as well as House's.

*At the beginning of the episode, Kayla's daughters tell her that Sally Ayersman has been teasing them, to which Kayla responds, "If Sally's mean to you again, I'm just gonna have to key her daddy's new convertible." However, later in the episode, House blackmails a surgeon into doing Kayla's liver transplant. The surgeon is a Dr. Ayersman, whose wife, getting an "anonymous" tip about her husband's cheating, decides to key his new convertible. In House's words, "Enough irony for us all."

[stormr]

After mentioning a medical error to the "day surgery" department, I finally got an answer! In short, the neurologist indicated the wrong arm for the biopsy. What incompetence! So the information was changed in time and I had confirmation of my muscle biopsy scheduled for this week! Obviously, this will take place on Friday the 13th. How ironic!

[ssjandtechno]

On an entirely serious note, if you haven't already done so, I sincerely recommend the book "Complications" by Atul Gawande. It's a book about error and falibility in medicine in the last century or so.

I devoured it in about 4h.. may have missed a meal by accident.

why is it so hard for able bodied people to believe that doctors are sometimes just incompetent? you realize doctors are people, right? people that can be bad at their job. that happens sometimes. they don't know everything because there's a piece of paper on their wall that says they're smart, actually. they can sometimes be wrong, actually. they can sometimes cut corners and take the easy way out, actually. they can sometimes hate their job and make that their patients problem, actually. doctors aren't all saints who do everything right the first time. please stop invalidating disabled people when they complain about their terrible treatment at the hands of medical professionals. please stop putting the feelings of doctors over the lives of their patients.

[haridiva]

Kesalahan Penegakan Diagnosis dalam Pemeriksaan Kedokteran: Sebuah Tinjauan Keselamatan Pasien

Kesalahan diagnosis dalam praktik kedokteran merupakan isu kompleks yang dapat berakibat serius bagi keselamatan pasien. Kesalahan ini bisa terjadi karena berbagai alasan, mulai dari keterbatasan pengetahuan medis hingga kesalahan komunikasi antara dokter dan pasien. Dalam konteks keselamatan pasien, kesalahan diagnosis tidak hanya menimbulkan risiko kesehatan yang tidak perlu tetapi juga dapat…

[waterfish123]

he ate engie's brain through kissing

[voidshrub]

"Follow me!"

[sevenriddles]

NOOO OLD GERMAN MAN!!! DON’T GO INTO THAT PARADE!!!

[bleue-flora]

Do you ever think about the fact that Punz’s hoodie is white?… like do you think he got home after the prison break and saw splotches of blood stains on his hoodie (from Dream’s hug) and got concerned? Or did he brush it off as injuries from the fight or whatever…

Like just imagine, hours later after the adrenaline has died down and he’s taking off his white hoodie and he notices blood. Alarmed, he looks down at himself but sees no wounds as expected. He scans his brain - then where would the blood be from? And then he thinks about their meetup, this time noting Dream’s appearance. The tears in the orange jumpsuit, the blood new and old crusting its edges, the scars peppering the spots of skin not covered and he realizes that “little south” meant Hell…

[meatballsander]

Decided to get silly and draw the inverse of the iconic "Victory Soldier" poster. And make it Heavymedic, of course.

Inspiration, progress pics, and alt versions under the cut

This poster! Always been a fan.

Initially I was gonna keep the same setting & color scheme, but the original poster distinctly has the top two thirds warm tones/bottom third cool tones. If I wanted to keep the piece cohesive it'd have to be RED Heavymedic vs BLU Soldier. And the more I thought about that the less it felt explicitly like Heavymedic fanart and more like propaganda for the RED team.

So I set it on Snowycoast! Its sky box and layout let me have cool top thirds/warm bottom third. Also it's one of the most beautiful maps in the game and I love drawing night scenes. Literally no downsides.

Progress pics!

Textless version, and an alt text version I made at the request of a friend:

And finally, since you've reached the bottom, some memes I made while working on it.

:)

[whump-in-the-closet]

A Healer's Hands

poll results came in: team whump, medic is broken down to be made an example of

cw: gore, medic whump, creepy whumper, team dynamics, captivity, torture

The Medic's crew stumbled through the cell door, one after the other.

Captain, with a black eye and a limp, lifted two fingers to their temple in a mock solute. Their clothes were torn and there was blood on their uniform's collar.

Youngest trembled as one of the henchmen shoved them inside the gated door. They looked around, eyes brighter than a deer's in headlights. "H-hey Medic." They wrapped their arms around themself.

"Hey," Medic swallowed down the twisting feeling that rose up. He forced his voice to soften, to not carry any of the sharp panic he felt. "Where are you hurt?"

"We're fine," Captain cut in, gesturing behind Medic's shoulder. "It's--"

Medic had already whirled around.

Lieutenant.

The Lieutenant held onto the cell wall with a shaking grip. Where he touched it, blood trickled down the stones in a steady faucet run.

Drip.

Drip.

"Lieutenant?"

He glanced up. His nose was gushing red. It stained his uniform, bright and electric in the dull light.

"Turns out those fuckers can throw a punch after all," said Lieutenant with a hoarse laugh. Still unceremoniously reckless.

But he let Medic hold a makeshift bandage--ripped from Medic's shirt-- to his nose.

As Lieutenant sat down, Medic crouched beside him, correcting how he was holding the bandage. "Don't tilt your head up."

Lieutenant winced when Medic readjusted the bandage.

Medic drew away and reevaluated the situation. "It's broken," he said.

"It’s just a new look I’m trying out – call it avant-garde." Lieutenant tried to laugh but ended up grimacing. He waved Medic away. "I'll survive."

Medic shook his head. "Wiseass." But he smiled. Then. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Lieutenant tilted his head against the wall, pieces of choppy hair falling away to reveal a swollen eye and pulsing bruises. He closed his eyes. Through a clenched jaw, he managed, "I think they broke my ribs."

Medic swallowed down a wave of helplessness. "Just stay still."

Lieutenant kept his eyes closed, breathing shallowly. "My pleasure."

Medic turned to Captain and Youngest. "So, you and you, where are you injured?" He only asked to make conversation. He had already identified that Youngest's arm was dislocated, hanging loosely at their side. And on Captain's right thigh was a raw-edged wound, seeping and damaged.

Medic took off his jacket, ready to tear it into makeshift bandages and a sling.

But neither looked at him.

Youngest was staring at something over Medic's shoulder. They pressed back into the wall, shaking.

"No," they whispered. "No. Not again."

Captain put a comforting hand on their shoulder, mouth set in a thin line.

Electric fear whispered a spider-like path down Medic's spine. They turned just as the cell door opened.

Whumper entered with two henchmen strolling behind them. Whumper grinned, teeth canine-sharp. His blood-red hair was tied back, accentuating fox-like features. He didn't look quite human-- too tall, too much of a bounce in his walk.

And he wouldn't stop smiling.

He swung a crowbar.

Even Lieutenant flinched.

Oh.

Oh.

Whumper arched an eyebrow when Medic stood his ground. "You're Medic?"

Medic glanced at Lieutenant-- saw panic and web-woven fear-- then back at Whumper. "Yes."

Whumper flicked the crowbar side to side. He kept talking, a paper mache smile at the corner of his mouth. "I don't appreciate you wrecking what I'm trying to build here."

Medic failed to understand. "I'm a medic. I have to provide care," he said automatically.

His head buzzed. He couldn't-- couldn't think clearly.

Whumper appeared to consider this. He tilted his head to the side. "I see. Well, I have to do things too, I get it."

"Yeah. Wait. No, what?"

The henchmen grabbed Medic. One kicked him in the back of the knees, forcing him to kneel.

Medic struggled, lashing out like a trapped animal.

A henchman brought the edge of their gun over Medic's head and Medic slumped forward.

His vision suddenly doubled.

The short-wired tension burst into flame.

Captain lunged forward. "Leave him alone!"

It took two henchmen to restrain Captain, pinning their arms behind them, and another to kick Lieutenant in the ribs, so he doubled over coughing. Incapacitated.

Whumper leaned over Medic, tilting his chin up to look him in the eye. "You should have left well enough alone," he whispered.

Medic snarled something unintelligible. A curse. A plea. He didn't know.

Whumpr straightened. To the others, he said, "You all break as easily as his hands will. And if you don't believe me? Watch."

There was a sharp intake of breath. Realization hit with a dull, sick thud. "No!" Lieutenant cried out, "No! No-- don't!"

But the henchmen had dragged Medic's hand out and splayed it on the tiles, kicking him when he tried to pull it away.

Whumper lifted the crowbar.

Medic's eyes widened in horror.

"No-- no, nonono! Please--" His voice arched into a desperate cry, more animal than human.

Crack.

A splintering sound.

All Medic could see was white. Electric pain filled every nerve, spilled into every bone, coating his teeth and burning-- burning, burning, burning.

A terrible sound ripped itself out of his throat.

And then again--

Crack.

His left hand.

Medic screamed.

Maybe he had screamed before.

Had always screamed.

Maybe he would scream forever.

Darkness filled the corners of his vision, blurring the sharp flashes of red of white--

Electric, pulsing red.

Burning, vicious white.

Blood trickled down his arms, bright and throbbing with a cinching pain.

Whumper wiped the gory crowbar on Medic's shirt.

His henchmen let the unconscious medic slump to the floor, little more than a bundle of clothes. They released Captain, who sank to the cell floor, unable to look away from Medic.

Whumper bent down by Lieutenant, whose breaths were coming in sharp drags. He wiped a tear off of Liutenant's face. "Crying?"

"No." His voice shook.

Whumper smiled generously. "Oh, no." He stood. "Tomorrow, one of you will offer up the information on your base. I do not make idle threats."

The door locked on the blood-soaked cell.

Lieutenant muffled a sob.

"We...we can't," said Captain. Sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry.

They didn't know if they were apologizing to the unconscious Medic or to what remained of his hands.

tagging the people who interacted with the poll: @acer-gaysimpstuff, @yet-another-heathen, @another-whump-sideblog

[onebizarrekai]

I've been going back and forth trying to decide whether I want to make the old ibvs oneshots be available on ao3 but every time I look at them I go into a state of shock at how… absolutely teenager they are

also this

[dandelion-wings]

For the angst/gore prompts, could we please have “06: Not Realizing They’re Injured” from the first list with Kujou Sara? Especially something to do with those poor wings I sincerely doubt she was ever taught how to properly take care of.

Thank you for the ask! <3 I have to apologize for this one too, anon, because it's another one that ended up not very whumpy--more a mix of hurt/comfort and angst (and a dose of 'how much can I villain Takayuki?'), because your particular prompt sideswiped a fic idea(s)(really more a constellation of fic premises and themes) that I've been turning over for a while and just kind of. stuck to that until it was irretrievably gummed together. I hope it is still sufficiently wing-focused to earn your forgiveness!

---

Kujou Takayuki has never once told Sara that she isn't permitted to fly.

She remembers his frown when she was a child, the one time she had leapt into the air to gain an advantage in training. Even though it had given her tactical superiority, he had penalized her for it when evaluating those training exercises. At the time, she had thought it about honor, about the unfairness of exceeding her peers not by outdoing them through the same efforts, but by using an advantage they did not.

When she was older, rising through the ranks in the field, she had once in extremis made an attempt to scout from the air. That time she had seen the frowns on other officers' faces before she had even landed, and understood that honor didn't figure into this at all. It was about being different, being *other*, about the fear some of her soldiers couldn't hide when reminded that she was a youkai, about the contempt some of her superiors showed when they thought she could not see or hear. About her adoption by humanity and what was required of her to uphold the Kujou name.

By the time she becomes a general herself, she doesn't need to be told to stay on the ground.

Flight might have been an advantage for her on the battlefield, but it had never been a necessity. No other tengu has served in the Almighty Shogun's military for almost five hundred years. *Certainly* none served in Watatsumi's. Perhaps she might have gained an edge by taking to the air, but she did not lose significantly by refraining.

After the war, after the Sakuko Decree is lifted, after Takayuki is removed as head of the Kujou Clan and the Tenryou Commission alike, that changes. Gliders have existed for hundreds of years, but have never before been a popular import, nor often even a permitted one; they are different and foreign, and the Almighty Shogun was so long resistant to things that were different and foreign that the Tri-Commission feared to march in lockstep. So has it been with many imports that the Kanjou Commission is only now slowly coming to authorize.

Gliders are particularly popular, due to the mountainous nature of many of Inazuma's most populated islands, where they no doubt would have been popular long before if not for the Tri-Commission's care, but the traveler had made their use seem particularly alluring and permissible. Unfortunately, it isn't only law-abiding citizens who can obtain them now that the sea around Inazuma is clear. The Doushin are struggling to keep up with bandits and smugglers who can just glide away from arrest.

Kamaji, after the third report of such in a row, orders a shipment of gliders from the Knights of Mondstadt to be distributed to the Doushin. When he tells Sara, he smiles, and nods to her wings, and adds, "Though you're fortunate enough not to need them."

Which is all but an order. Even if Takayuki *had* told Sara she wasn't permitted to fly, this would be the new head of the Kujou Clan countermanding that instruction. That the thought of spreading long-disused wings leaves her uneasy doesn't affect her duty.

---

The next such encounter occurs before the shipment of gliders has even arrived. This is a particularly troublesome group of bandits, who have escaped the Doushin twice before; when another report of their activities comes in, Sara leads her forces after them herself. They find the bandits' camp on the edge of a cliff, and when they're startled while celebrating their ill-gotten gains, it seems inevitable that the less drunken and more sharp-witted of them attempt to glide to an escape.

"You, securely bind our existing captives. You, take your troops down that way, and you, that way," Sara orders, pointing out the fastest safe routes down the cliff. "They seem to be aiming for that cliffside, so they may have a secret tunnel or hatch. I'll attempt to cut them off before I get there."

She turns away as the Doushin rush to follow her commands, and spreads her wings at the edge of the cliff. This isn't the first time she's done this, of course--flight is powered by muscles, and any muscle must be exercised. As soon as Kamaji had given his instructions, she'd begun practicing each day, finding a private place in the caverns beneath Inazuma City and attempting first short glides, then short flights, then longer ones. None have been in so open a place as this mountainside with the canyon at its foot, wind whistling through, but she trusts in her training. She could have flown this easily as a child.

Her wings catch the air as she leaps off the edge, and then she's swooping down, flapping to gain speed and get past the gliding bandits, diving towards the cliff to which they're trying to flee. From now she can indeed see a too-deep shadow at the base, where bushes grow. Despite the seriousness of the situation, there's a lightness in being aloft in the open air, a *joy* in flight, that only now that she feels it again does Sara recall, dimly, from her boisterous early childhood. She smiles to herself, all the unease she'd felt when anticipating this change falling away.

The bandits are behind her now, and the cliff close ahead. She flares her wings again to catch herself in the air and adjust, so that she can turn the dive into a plunging attack before she hits the cliff-

A gust of wind hits her broadside as she spreads her wings wide. The force of it wrenches her right wing with a pull that flares into lancing pain, and then the wing collapses in on itself at the wrong angle.

Sara finds herself spiraling as she flaps only the left, desperately trying to slow herself down, to change her bearing. Shifting her grip on her bow, she closes that wing before she reaches the cliff, the other not drooping and dragging limp, and manages to plummet the last few meters and land on both feet. Her right ankle twinges at the awkward landing.

She still manages to turn and straighten and aim before the bandits actually reach her. The uncooperative wing is still alight with pain, but she grits her teeth and lets Electro crackle around her. The bandits hesitate and spread wide to flank her, putting themselves right into the arms of her Doushin.

Lowering her bow, Sara takes a step forward and collapses to one knee as the fractured bone in her ankle snaps under her weight.

---

To add to the humiliation of being carried home by her subordinates, one of her officers goes out of their way to report her injury directly and immediately to Kamaji.

He arrives in the infirmary before the medic has even finished wrapping her ankle. Sara can't even rise to acknowledge his presence properly, only straighten her back, stiffening against the urge to wince when that grinds her injured wing against the back of the chair.

"The operation was a success," she tells him, keeping her voice level even as the medic pulls the bandage tight. "We've captured the entire gang. Their leader is undergoing interrogation now."

"I'm glad to hear it," Kamaji says. "Are you all right? The Doushin told me your wing... it doesn't look good."

Sara looks straight ahead, poised to give her report as best she can. "I trained inadequately for the conditions in the field, and overestimated my ability to handle them. I will have to temporarily remove myself from field operations. That will make the Tenryou Commission's situation more difficult if any complicated matters come up, and I apologize. However, I am still fit to coordinate the Doushin's administrative affairs and handle concerns within the city."

"You can delegate the physical work to your subordinates until you recover. This is a good opportunity to season some of our new officers. If anything serious arises, I *am* the Provisional Clan Head, and willing to take personal responsibility."

Which is in theory his duty--but Sara is accustomed to being Takayuki's right hand, the reason he didn't *have* to handle what he assigned her to personally, even if she had once or twice failed him in that role. She doesn't let herself think, sitting here directly in front of him, that Kamaji also lacks the experience to handle very serious Doushin affairs on his own, but certain conversations with Masahito do impinge vaguely upon her dismay. What matters is not his capability, but her responsibility to manage this department of the Commission, and that he currently considers her unable to do so.

"It will be useful for determining which officers are ready for more advanced duties," Sara agrees. It isn't her place to argue, especially with the results of her own failures. The medic has moved to her wing, prodding at it cautiously, and Sara grits her teeth against a stab of pain.

Kamaji smiles at her. Then he looks at the medic at work, and his smile fades. "How bad is it?"

"I'm not sure, Lord Kujou," the man says. "I've never treated a tengu's wing before. I think I can splint it, but I don't know how well it will heal."

"I don't see how it would be any different from my ankle," Sara says. "I have broken bones before. So long as it's properly aligned and held straight, I've always healed well."

---

The ankle heals faster. Sara is on her feet again within three weeks, though the medics are firm about limiting how much she walks about, and free of their restrictions in six. Her wing, though, lags behind.

It hurts at every slight bump against the back of a chair or a too-close wall, hurts jagged and sharp the first time she grasps a would-be escapee from an unwary Doushin by the arm and he turns and strikes her, and burns bitter and aching if she sits or stands for too long without finding something on which to prop the unwieldy limb up. The medics attempt a frame of bamboo that leaves it stuck awkwardly out; Sara has to discard that after a day of turning sideways to pass through doorways and feeling a fool in front of her men. At no point do they feel it's knit enough to abandon the splint and exercise it again.

A few days after that she's summoned to the Almighty Shogun's presence regarding some aspects of the palace's security. She can feel the Shogun's eyes on her splinted wing, impossible to fold completely against her back, for much of the discussion. Fortunately, the Shogun doesn't force her to recount her mistakes and explain her condition.

Instead, the next day Kamaji summons her to his office and opens with, "I received a message from Her Excellency yesterday regarding your wing." The mortification is so immediate that Sara almost doesn't hear him continue, "Once I explained everything, she arranged for help from Guuji Yae."

That explains the shrine maiden standing in the corner--not one of the bright-eyed young women or sweetly maternal figures who serve the public, but a grey-haired old woman with a lined face and keen eyes. She steps forward before Sara is able to suggest any place private for this examination and begins examining Sara's wing.

"They call this a splint," the woman mutters, and begins to undo it, her gnarled hands steady and sure.

As this was the Shogun's will, Sara simply extends her wing as far as she can when instructed and stands impassive as the woman pokes and prods at it, much more confident than the medics but no more gentle. Kamaji watches with unaccountable anxiety. His expression makes Sara have to breathe deep to quell some of her own. She has no idea what results the Shogun may wish from this examination, nor what instructions she may have given Kamaji regarding Sara's disposition if it does not go well.

Grasping the outer edges of Sara's wing, the woman flexes the joint to its fullest extension, pushing it so far past the point of comfort that Sara can't hold back a gasp as strained and swollen muscles complain. Then she folds it in to the same extent, almost as tightly as Sara has ever pinned them to her back. It can't quite make the full pivot in either direction.

"It never healed properly the last time," the woman says, waspishly. "Breaking it again has only made it worse. Did he have someone with a Vision heal it? I told him it should heal on its own."

"Heal what?" Sara asks, and at the same time Kamaji draws a breath in and says, "He did have a military medic with a healing Vision treat her. He said he didn't have time to wait for her to lie in bed."

The question's context falls into place. Sara knows she had needed tending, and healing, after her fall as a child, even with the Almighty Shogun's blessing to keep her alive. The haze of pain she'd been in afterwards had seemed to wrack every part of her, inspecific, but yes, she well could have broken a wing, plummeting from the air like that. Furthermore, she does recall the healer who tended her after she was brought to the Kujou stronghold, a man whose Vision's power had seemed another blessing on top of the one the Shogun had already given her.

"Not if they weren't used to hollow bones. They over-thickened it and impinged on the joint. And the way it's mending--have you been skimping on your grit?"

"My... grit?" Sara dislikes being so on the back foot in this conversation.

"Powder, sand, whatever you call it. Your mineral supplement. Don't tell me he listened to Mirei and you've been drinking *milk* all this time. I don't want to think about what that could do to your digestion."

"I don't have a mineral supplement."

The woman's grimace of disgust falls away a little too quickly to have been anything but performative, especially given the look that follows. Sara has seen medics giving dire news before. "That does explain why this isn't healing. And shattered into so many fragments, at that. Tengu are just like ravens in this respect. If they don't get enough grit in their diet, their bones go brittle. *Especially* the wings."

"Ah." Sara feels the air go out of her, and makes herself draw it back in. "What is the supplement composed of? I'll begin adding it to my diet immediately."

"Ground eggshells, or fish bones, or snail shells. But that's not going to fix this. It's started setting wrong, and it was already so fragmented that breaking it and resetting it would be a fool's errand. You needed to have been eating your grit the whole time to hope that this could be mended now, especially with that earlier break."

"Are you saying that it won't heal?" Kamaji asks, sounding agonized. Sara wonders again what instructions the Shogun may have given him.

"Not properly. Not such that she'll be much of a flier ever after."

Sara holds herself very still against the wave of despair. She is a competent warrior and an able servant of the shogun without her wings; she's served in that way her entire adult life. There should be no import to being told that she must continue to do so. Even if the issues with the joint preclude a tengu's proper flight, perhaps she can glide, or a glider can be adapted to her, so she can continue to assist the Doushin as Kamaji wishes. Even if the Almighty Shogun desires her wings mended... surely Sara's service has been sufficiently loyal that the Shogun will not reject her for this alone. Even if that disastrous flight had begun full of joy, the satisfaction in carrying out her duties should eclipse this strange sense of loss at something she had for years voluntarily put aside.

The woman seems to sense something in her stillness, though Sara knows she's kept her feelings off her face. "Honestly, I'm surprised this hasn't happened well before this, the number of battles you've been in."

"I've never flown in battle," Sara corrects her, voice flat. "This was the first time I've attempted to fly in the field."

"Why," the woman asks, looking at her in disbelief, "would a *tengu warrior* stay grounded?"

Sara holds her tongue, because she knows the answer. She knows it, and yet to say it would be to disparage Takayuki--to suggest that he had forbidden her to fly, when he never had, when he had never said a word on the subject one way or the other. He had only frowned.

He had only impatiently had her healed in a way this woman, familiar with ravens' wings and apparently with tengu's, had advised against. He had only disregarded the same woman's instructions on her diet, knowing that it would be to her detriment should she attempt to take to the air. He had only put her in a position that destined her, when she did try to take wing, to inevitably fall back to the ground.

"We'll find a solution to this," Kamaji says, determined in that way Sara has always admired, as if she, too, would be cause to challenge the Almighty Shogun if he had to. The words barely register as what Sara had always thought her understanding of the situation shifts once again.

Takayuki has never had to tell Sara she isn't permitted to fly. He's built that limitation into her very bones.

[mammoth-clangen]

ohh, i already love Bat and his singular brain cell… was he born without his leg, or did he lose it?

Tyyyy! He's my special little guy, I care him a lot ❤️

And he has amniotic band syndrome! Aka congenital amputation.

Discussion of medical nonsense below ⚕️

Bat was technically born with all 4 legs, but the constricted one was already dead and had fully withered away be the time he was a few weeks old. People who have cared for kittens with ABS have said the limb tends to die even with intervention- so I imagine it's sort of like band-castration in steers.

Bat doesn't remember ever having his right leg. It already had no feeling when he was born, so thankfully, he's spared from phantom pain that later-in-life amputees get. He does have a fully developed scapula and part of his humerus, hence him wiggling the stump in Moon 4 part 2!

I don't want to get into spoilers, but while Bat doesn't get phantom pain, he's not free from amputation related health issues. Little/domestic cats aren't a 1:1 comparison because Homotherium is (obviously) much heavier on their joints, and much more reliant on grappling large prey.

Make of that what you will for now...

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all! Do you have any advice about making smoothies? Like, what kinds of fruit and veggies go well together, what combos very much don't work, and especially if you have any advice on what frozen fruits or veggies work best. I am thinking about trying making smoothies but I know pretty much nothing about it lol

[tanadrin]

on reflection, i think there's a symmetry to, say, doctors who are willing to refer patients to osteopaths or other ""holistic"" healthcare providers and the susceptibility of engineers to certain kinds of crankdom (of the "i-disproved-relativity-in-my-garage" type). both are forms of scientific training of a sort, but they're heavily outcome-focused and not theoretically focused. in large part, this is good! you do not as a doctor need to have a robust theoretical defense of every treatment you provide to patients, and it would be impossible to do so, because medicine is a huge and complicated subject. you do not, as an engineer, need to have a subtle grasp of theoretical physics to build a bridge; you just need to know what the latest developments in bridge-building are.

but it means in both cases you can have people who are skilled in their field, or who even excel, but who don't understand very well why certain techniques work. and in the case of alt medicine, where there has been considerable work to try to obfuscate or deceive people on how shaky the theoretical basis for their techniques are (stuff that literally if you remember your high-school physics and biology at all will make you go, "wait, there is no plausible mechanism for this, that's not how any of this works"), doctors who do not have time to read studies on RCT trials of every type of medicine they have ever heard of will blithely recommend stuff to patients that's actually complete horseshit, especially if the culture around them has been normalizing that woo as part of "holistic" therapy for the last hundred years, spurred on by alternative medicine practitioners and a public with a fear of needles and ~chemicals~ that medical practitioners have not done enough to allay.

it does not help that medicine only emerged very recently from being about 99% bullshit. like maybe at the end of the 19th century at best medicine was starting to be put on a broad-based empirical and theoretical footing--before that it's truly insane the stuff that wasn't just considered perfectly normal medical practice, but was considered serious Science. i mean, this is why we developed double-blind studies in the first place--because theoretical explanations of medical treatments are still necessarily often secondary to the process of finding ones that actually work, so we need really robust mechanisms to avoid confirmation bias or outright charlatanry. and while mainstream medicine is far from perfect in this respect, "alternative medicine" is all far, far worse.

[whumpbug]

hi bug!

for your boys, just a thought: a moment where archie has to patch simon up. role reversal. like if simon tried to protect his boy and got himself hurt, and now he has to talk archie through patching him up.....

your boys are so lovely. i can't wait to see them get whumped to bits in the event!!!

- @whump-kia

kia this was genuinely such a blast to write that it ended up a tad longer than i originally planned for, thank you SO much for the prompt (˃ᆺ˂) i hope u like it as much as i loved writing it because these boys are SILLY.

to anyone else: see this post for character info!

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There was a rumor circulating that there was an “inconspicuous medical student” spotted “aiding the activities of a notorious vigilante” in the city, and it was safe to say the crime lords and such were not happy about it.

The rumors were true, of course, but it didn’t make them any easier to deal with.

And Simon was currently dealing with them.

He should have known his extremely selfless and abundantly kind nature towards Archie would come back to bite him in the ass.

He’d be sure to rub it in Archie’s face when he saw him again.

“You’re the kid that’s been helping that little punk, aren’t you?” The man spat in Simon’s face as he shoved him up against the wall.

Judging by the way he was dressed and the way he smelled, Simon had half a mind to assume he was a goon from the drug ring Archie had been after for some time now.

Fortunately, the guy clearly wasn’t the brightest. No experienced lackey would start heckling a target in the middle of an open alley way without checking if anyone was around first.

Unfortunately, the guy was quite a bit stronger than Simon and there really wasn’t anyone around after all.

Just my luck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Simon spewed back, struggling against the man’s grasp.

The man’s hand tightened around Simon’s neck and the gravity of the situation began to sink in.

He was alone in this alley. Sure, he had used the emergency button on his watch that sent signal to Archie as soon as he recognized he was in danger, but it had been a good amount of time and Archie was.. nowhere to be found.

“Don’t play dumb with me!” The man shouted, sending a knee slamming into Simon’s gut. “You’re going to tell me everything you know!” Another knee to his middle sent him stumbling back and doubling over.

“I don’t.. don’t know anything..” Simon sputtered, coughing harshly and tasting metal.

Simon knew he was in hot water. He had no combat training, so self defense skills, and despite being decently fit, he was no where near the league of a guy who beat people up for a living. He needed to get out of there as fast as possible.

Alright Simon, c'mon. Focus. You can handle this. Just think.

Before Simon could form another coherent thought, a fist connected with his face that sent him reeling. Blood began leaking from his nose all down his mouth, and he choked on the taste. Before he could recover, his whole body was rammed against the brick wall and his arm was pulled awkwardly behind him. 

The punch had left him dazed, so dazed that he didn’t recognize the sound of two other guys approaching the scene.

“For god’s sake, don’t kill the kid! Rough him up, get some information, but don’t kill him. We'll have more use for him later,” A deeper voice chided.

Simon heard vague mutters of obedience before he felt his arm being strained again.

“Alright kid, since I’m feeling so nice, I’ll give you a chance to redeem yourself. Answer the question and you’ll be on your way,” The man sneered. Simon could hear muffled snickers behind him, but couldn’t quite get the angle to look. “What is the little punk’s real name.”

He knew he should be sizing up the scene and determining the best course of action, but goddamn his arm hurt. He could feel every tendon being strained at the orientation the man had it at.

Still, no matter what, he wasn’t going to sell out Archie. Archie would come. He always did.

“N-No idea,” Simon spat, stomping on the man’s toe in an attempt to buck out of the hold.

Unfortunately, the man was still significantly stronger than Simon, so his attempt at retaliation only served in angering him further.

“You little—“ The man growled, before twisting Simon's arm and yanking it fully out of its socket.

Simon let out a stuttering wail as the pain temporarily blinded him. Suddenly, his head was being slammed against the wall again and he couldn’t figure out what was hurting more now: his head, his arm, or his stomach.

He was almost sure he was done for, until he heard a familiar shout and the sound of a fist connecting with a face.

Took him long enough.

Simon let himself slide down the wall once the man was pulled off of him, cradling his aching shoulder as he watched. Through hazy vision, he saw Archie made quick work of the lackeys. It was a flurry of hollers and yelps and limbs flying, but eventually, Archie emerged unscathed and rushed right over to Simon.

“I’m so sorry I was late! I was working, and I didn’t see the alert and— oh god, your arm!” He blurted, hands awkwardly hovering over Simon, a complete contrast to the ruthless machine he had been not a few seconds earlier.

Simon wanted to be mad, he really did. The emergency alert was there for a reason, after all. But how could he stay angry when Archie was looking at him with such sincere concern and regret. Simon sighed.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.. it’s dislocated, but I’m pretty sure it’s not broken so we won’t need to go to the hospital,” Simon explained.

Archie gave a small huff of relief.

“You do, however, need to help me pop it back into place.”

Archie blanched.

“Pop it back into place?! Isn’t that dangerous?! I don’t know what I’m doing!” He babbled.

“Relax, I’ll walk you through it. It’s not that hard. You just have to kinda.. push it until it feels right. I’ll let you know,” Simon replied, absurdly calm for the situation at hand.

“..Ok..” 

Simon carefully instructed Archie on where to place his hands and where to push in, and after a bit more coaxing, they were ready.

“Alright. Don’t give me a countdown. You have to just do it, or else I might tense up involuntarily and that could— URGH!”

A sickening snap reverberated from Simon’s offending limb.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! You said not to give you a countdown!” Archie mewled, pulling his hands away as if he’d just been burned.

“It’s fine.. it’s.. I’m good.. you did good,” Simon placated, squeezing his eyes shut at the lingering pain.

“Okay.. okay, that’s done. We should get you back to your apartment and patched up.. that black eye looks.. pretty rough..”

“Don’t I know it..”

Archie tenderly helped Simon to his feet, and supported the taller’s man weight with ease.

“Thanks for not, uh, selling me out by the way..” Archie murmured, as they began their arduous journey back to Simon’s home.

“Well, what type of ‘inconspicuous medical student’ would I be if I just went around telling everyone how I ‘aid the activities of a notorious vigilante’?” 

“...You’re an idiot.”

Simon grinned. Yep. All worth it.

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