#opeli's blood pressure is high enough as it is

[themistdragon]

*If the Dragang head back to Katolis post-s5*

Opeli: King Ezran, what on earth is that glowing orb thing??

Ezran: Oh, it's nothing, just the prison of the most dangerous, evil being in the history of Xadia

Opeli:

[lay-z]

Simon Riley, who fucks a pocket pussy for the first time.

On one particularly nerve-racking afternoon, Simon finds a sleek black gift box on his office desk. The little card attached to it is signed by both Johnny and Kyle.

Almost reluctantly, he opens the lid with a deep sigh and immediately feels his heart drop at the sight of the shiny new fleshlight greeting him, a red bow wrapped around it.

And then the Lieutenant bristles as he recalls that brief yet incredibly stupid conversation his Sergeants had during a break on their last op, another chat he didn't even wanted to be involved in.

“Oi, ye own any sex toys, Lt.? Like a pocket pussy? Cock ring?” Johnny had thrown at him bluntly while you and Kyle tilted your heads like a pair of owls, patiently waiting for your fucking superior to answer.

In that moment, Simon had known that every single answer he’d give the bloody Scot would be the wrong one—and the thoughtful gift he just received is a clear sign of that.

Negative, Simon has never owned a bloody sex toy. Never even thought about getting one; the sheer thought of walking into a sex shop, already looking like a bloody creep with his mask and all, is enough to give him high blood pressure and heart palpitations. No, his hand has served him just fine up to this point.

Yet, as he keeps staring down into the box, his cock chubs up in his cargos as he imagines sinking into this perfect mould of a cunt, heart fluttering more violently when he notices the tube of lube that the two numpties have thought of putting in there as well—oh so fucking considerate.

And so what if he ends up fucking himself with the toy while he sits in his office chair? Prick and balls out, manspreading widely, biting his bottom lip so harshly, he’s drawing blood, when he first watches its silicone folds spread as it swallows his throbbing, flushed cock whole.

It squelches obscenely when his hips jerk up and he bottoms out so nicely, his eyes roll back into his bloody skull, blinding him momentarily. His chest heaves with shuddering breaths, balls drawing up painfully as his orgasm builds up pathetically fast at the base of his spine, and his mind is reeling at the feeling of its tight, wet channel gripping his thick shaft so easily.

And so what if he ends up cumming barely a thrust later, when his mind slips him and he imagines it’s your pussy—warm and real and all his—that he’s currently buried inside while you’re riding him?

Well now he sure has a fucking problem.

[zeroseuniverse]

Dance of Familiarity

Word Count: 1.4K Summary: “You... should’ve let me die,” he managed, his voice rasping with pain. “Not a chance,” She said, her hands working quickly to apply pressure to the wound, staving off the worst of it. “You’re not getting off that easy.” Pairing: Hyunjin X Fem Reader

Disclaimer: Please be aware that this is apart of the from the ashes series. This series will have aspects of violence, weapons, angst, blood, injuries, killing, and will heavily focus on oppression and segregation of mutants, Look after your mental state if any of these make you uncomfortable please.

Series Masterlist

Navigation

The neon-lit city hummed with a pulse of danger, its streets lined with shadows and secrets. Beneath the buzz of illegal deals and whispered alliances, a storm was brewing—one that would threaten to unravel the delicate balance of power.

She had always prided herself on staying out of the underworld’s mess. A bounty hunter for hire, she’d worked the fringes, always calculating, always detached. Her reputation was built on precision, taking down targets with a mix of skill and efficiency. No emotions, no attachments—just the job.

But tonight was different. The contract she’d accepted felt... off, like a wrong turn down an unfamiliar alley. The target was a rogue assassin, someone who had been dismantling high-profile crime lords like clockwork, leaving bodies in his wake. No one knew his name. No one knew his face. All she knew was the trail of chaos he left behind, each kill more graceful than the last.

The job was simple—or so it seemed. Track him, kill him.

She had followed the breadcrumbs to a run down warehouse at the edge of the city, the scent of rust and rot in the air. Her eyes scanned the area, picking out every detail, every movement. She’d been hunting killers long enough to know when things didn't feel right.

The moment she stepped into the building, the air shifted—like the world had held its breath.

She’d barely noticed the shadow darting across the rafters above, a quick movement almost too fluid to track. Before she could react, a blur of motion descended, and she was face to face with the one person she never expected: the rogue assassin.

Hyunjin stood still, his backlit figure framed by the dim light filtering through the cracked windows. His eyes locked onto theirs, the faintest flicker of recognition crossing his face, though whether it was curiosity or something else, she couldn’t tell.

"Didn't expect company," Hyunjin’s voice was smooth, like velvet, yet laced with danger.

Her grip tightened on her weapon, but she didn't fire. Not yet. This wasn't just any target. There was something about Hyunjin—something different.

"You've been killing our clients,"She said, her voice steady, betraying nothing of the storm brewing beneath her calm exterior. "I’m here to put an end to that."

Hyunjin smirked, the glint of a blade flashing in his hand, his movements a slow, deliberate dance. "I’m not your enemy. Not unless you make me one."

And in that moment, she knew this wouldn't be like any other hunt.

A deadly game of cat and mouse began, each of them testing the other’s limits, their movements a blur of precision and grace. Every strike, every counter, seemed more like an intricate performance than a fight for survival.

But the moment the ground shifted beneath their feet, they both knew they were no longer alone. A third party—rival syndicate operatives—had entered the fray.

It wasn’t about the mission anymore. It was about survival.

As the chaos erupted around them, Hyunjin offered a brief glance, the unspoken challenge clear in his eyes: “We fight together, or neither of us makes it out alive.”

For the first time in years, she hesitated, caught between the urge to fight and the strange pull of an unexpected alliance.

The sound of gunfire echoed through the crumbling warehouse, and the once tense, calculated fight between her and Hyunjin morphed into something chaotic. The rival syndicate’s operatives flooded in, their weapons drawn, intent on silencing both of them.

Hyunjin didn’t flinch. His every move was fluid and precise, as if this was nothing more than a familiar dance. But her instincts were sharper than most—she had no choice but to adapt quickly, her mind racing.

In the midst of the chaos, Hyunjin's movements began to change. Where his strikes had been lethal, now they seemed... restrained. He wasn’t going for the kill shots anymore. His every motion was a carefully calculated move to incapacitate, to subdue, and not to finish the job.

It was subtle, but she caught it—a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, a momentary look that passed too quickly to decipher.

A sudden realization hit her like a punch to the gut. Hyunjin wasn’t here to eliminate her. He wasn’t even here for the syndicate’s contract. Something deeper, more personal, was driving his every action.

But before she could process the thought, one of the rival operatives made a dangerous move—aiming directly at her.

Instinct kicked in. Hyunjin lunged forward, faster than she could react, taking the bullet meant for her. The impact sent him crashing into a stack of crates, the air thick with the sound of his breath escaping in sharp gasps.

"Hyunjin!" her voice broke through the din of the battle, her focus snapping to him. He lay there, vulnerable, blood seeping from the wound.

She rushed to his side, ignoring the gunfire still ricocheting around the warehouse. He was breathing, but barely, his hand clutching the bullet wound in his side. His face was pale, his usual cold demeanor slipping for the first time since their encounter.

“You... should’ve let me die,” he managed, his voice rasping with pain.

“Not a chance,” She said, her hands working quickly to apply pressure to the wound, staving off the worst of it. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

Hyunjin’s eyes flitted between her and the approaching enemies. “They’re coming for you next. They won’t stop until you’re—"

"Then we leave," she interrupted, her eyes flickering to the shadows as she dragged Hyunjin to his feet. "We don’t have time for this."

But as they turned to run, something struck them both at the same time—a figure in the shadows, hidden just beyond the edges of their vision. Someone had been watching the entire time, someone who shouldn’t have been there.

A woman stepped into the dim light, her eyes cold and calculating. Her features were sharp, her movements smooth like she was part of the night itself. She was dressed in black, the faint shimmer of a blade at her hip—one that seemed eerily familiar.

Y/N froze, her pulse quickening. She recognized her.

"Well, well," the woman said, her voice smooth like Hyunjin's but colder, more menacing. "You thought you were the only one tracking him down?"

Y/N’s throat went dry. The woman was no stranger. She was the one who had hired her.

"You," Y/N growled, her grip tightening on Hyunjin’s arm as realization dawned. "You set me up."

The woman’s smile was dark, almost cruel. "Not exactly. I just... provided the right incentive. You see, I don’t care who kills him. I just need him gone. But I’ll admit, the two of you working together has been... entertaining."

Hyunjin struggled against Y/N’s hold, his gaze flicking back to the woman. "You knew," he whispered, a flicker of understanding passing between them. "You knew I was dismantling your empire."

The woman’s lips curled. "And you were never meant to get this far. Hyunjin. And you," she turned her gaze to Y/N, "Well, you’re just a pawn in a much bigger game."

The realization struck Y/N like a thunderclap. The woman wasn’t a contractor. She was the one pulling the strings, the real mastermind behind everything. She had orchestrated the entire scenario—the rogue assassin, the rival syndicates, even Y/N’s involvement—just to clean up a loose end.

Everything she had believed about this mission was a lie.

The world around them tilted as Hyunjin pushed himself to his feet, his eyes locked onto the woman with burning fury. "You’ve been playing us both from the start," he said, his voice low and deadly. "But you’ve underestimated one thing."

"What’s that?" The woman arched an eyebrow.

Hyunjin smiled—a dark, dangerous smile. "I never play by the rules."

Before she could stop him, Hyunjin lunged, his movements so swift and graceful that the woman didn’t have time to react. In a heartbeat, the blade he had hidden in his coat was in his hand, and with one swift motion, he sent it flying.

The woman barely had time to dodge, but not fast enough.

The blade sank into her shoulder, and she staggered back, fury flashing in her eyes.

"Game’s over," Hyunjin muttered, his voice cold with finality.

But Y/N could see it now—the uncertainty in his eyes. The fight wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was about something far deeper, something far more personal than either of them had realized. They had both been players in a game they didn’t fully understand, and now the stakes were higher than ever.

Now, there was no turning back.

[cscorvid]

Nikolai x Fem! Reader

> this fic started because of an idea i got from a close friend. Read at your own risk, i dont really know what tags to use for this fic

Chapter One: New Blood, Old Scars

You had been recommended to Price through channels he trusted, Laswell being the primary one who vouched for you. The glowing remarks about your skillset, your stealth, your uncanny ability to adapt under pressure…they all painted a picture of an operative too valuable to pass up. But when Price read your file, or at least the fragments that weren’t blacked out, he hesitated. It wasn’t your skillset that gave him pause. It was the notation tucked neatly between lines of clinical jargon and commendations.

Omega.

An omega on an alpha-dominated team was a gamble. Omegas had a reputation, one Price knew firsthand. Emotional. Fragile. Prone to distraction and often a liability in high-stakes environments. It wasn’t that he believed the stereotypes, but experience had taught him caution. And with a unit like 141? Full of dominant, battle-hardened alphas? The potential for chaos was high. Still, Laswell rarely backed the wrong horse.

“Give them a chance,” she had said. “You’ll be surprised, John.”

Surprised was one way to put it.

What Price hadn’t expected was a spitfire.

From day one, you weren’t the docile, obedient omega most alphas were accustomed to. You didn’t tuck tail and bow your head. You challenged. You pushed. You questioned orders, second-guessed decisions, and refused to follow the unspoken hierarchy that kept the team running smoothly.

Even when one of the alphas on the team tried using their alpha voice, the commanding tone laced with pheromonal authority designed to compel obedience, you met it with steel in your spine and a glare that could flay skin. You’d stand toe-to-toe with Ghost, jaw set, eyes burning with defiance. You’d snark at Soap with a wit that left him blinking. And you’d give Gaz a run for his money when it came to strategy debates.

But Price?

You met him with a stubbornness that grated on his last nerve.

It wasn’t just the backtalk. It was the refusal to back down, to fall in line. And for an omega? It was unheard of. Price was patient. He gave you more leeway than he would have with anyone else. But even his patience had limits. And you were testing every damn one of them.

The last straw came during the latest mission.

Everything had been running smoothly, or at least as smoothly as things usually went for the task force. Ghost was a phantom in the shadows, eliminating targets with ruthless efficiency. Soap was setting charges, whistling softly to himself like the chaos unfolding around him was just another day at the office. Gaz was providing cover, his shots precise and unrelenting. Price was barking orders, keeping the operation on track. And you?

You were in your element.

Fast. Lethal. Calculated. Until the chaos hit.

A sudden shift. Enemy reinforcements. A miscalculation in the enemy’s numbers. And amidst the chaos, an order came from Price, an order that you ignored.

He had told you to fall back, to reposition and provide cover while Soap finished rigging the last of the charges. But instead? You pushed forward.

You took a calculated risk, one that you thought would turn the tide. But instead, it threw the entire op into disarray. Ghost had to change his position. Soap was caught mid-charge. Gaz’s cover fire was compromised. The ripple effect was immediate and nearly catastrophic.

The task force barely made it out alive.

By the time the dust settled and the team was holed up in the safe house, tension was thick enough to choke on. Ghost was silent, his body language tight and unreadable. Soap was unusually quiet, his usual humor absent. Gaz was pacing, jaw clenched. And Price?

Price was livid.

As soon as the door was secure, Price grabbed you by the arm, not hard, but firm enough to leave no room for argument, and dragged you away from the group. His expression was a storm barely contained, the veins in his neck visible as he fought to rein it in.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

His voice was low, but there was no mistaking the anger simmering beneath the surface. The alpha in him was radiating authority and frustration, and this time, even your defiance couldn’t shield you from it.

“Do you have a death wish? Because that’s the only explanation I can come up with!” Price’s voice cut through the stale air, each word hitting like a hammer to your skull.

“You disobeyed a direct order.” His jaw clenched. “An order that nearly got everyone killed.”

You didn’t flinch, but the weight of his words pressed down on you. It wasn’t just the anger. It was the disappointment. The betrayal of trust. And that cut deeper than any reprimand could.

“Do you think this is a game? That you can do whatever the hell you want and the rest of us will clean up the mess?” His tone was sharper now, laced with something that made your stomach twist.

But it was the next words that cut the deepest.

“You’re just like every other omega I’ve had to pull out of a firefight.”

And there it was.

The thing you had spent your entire career fighting against. The label. The stereotype. You’d heard it before—hell, you’d lived it. But hearing it from Price?

It hit like a bullet to the chest.

Each word, each cutting remark, echoed the same insults you had been bombarded with during bootcamp, during training, and every mission where an alpha thought they knew better. Fragile. Reckless. Emotional. A liability.

But Price wasn’t done.

“You almost got my men killed.” His voice was quieter now, but no less dangerous. “And I don’t give a fuck what rank you hold or how many commendations you have—if you can’t follow orders, I will personally make sure you never step foot on another battlefield again.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Your throat was tight, but you refused to let it show. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

But deep down?

The damage was already done.You barely had time to breathe after Price’s verbal lashing before he made another move. Back at base, the tension still lingered thick in the air. The team avoided you. Ghost was cold, distant, his usual dry remarks absent. Soap had barely said two words, a strained look on his face whenever you were near. Gaz? He kept his distance, a rare edge to his normally laid-back demeanor.

And Price?

Price was done.

You felt it the moment you stepped off the transport. He didn’t even look at you. His silence was louder than any reprimand he could’ve given. You half-expected another verbal beatdown in his office, but he was too quiet. Too composed.

Which was worse.

So when he finally called you to his office that evening, you braced for the worst. But instead of the expected lecture or reassignment orders, you walked in to find Nikolai.

The Russian alpha was leaned casually against Price’s desk, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Ah,” he drawled, his accent thick, “so this is the little spitfire, da?”

The air in Price’s office was suffocating.

Tension coiled in the space like a snake ready to strike. You stood at attention, spine rigid, refusing to show even an ounce of weakness despite the knot tightening in your stomach. But your eyes flicked between Price and Nikolai, trying to make sense of the situation.

Price’s expression was carved from stone, jaw clenched, lips pressed into a thin line, and those piercing blue eyes… eyes that had once held grudging respect but were now clouded with frustration and something else.

Defeat.

“Fix her, Nik.”

The words were a low growl, barely audible but weighted with years of experience and exhaustion. Price’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his control hanging by a thread. “I’ve tried everything. She doesn’t listen. Won’t follow orders. Challenges authority at every fucking turn.”

Your pulse hammered in your ears, the words hitting you harder than a bullet to the chest. Fix her. Like you were broken. Like you were a liability, a loose end that needed tying down before you unraveled everything Price had built.

“She’s going to get herself killed,” Price muttered, his voice dropping, barely more than a rasp. “Or worse… one of my men.”

The ache in your chest was sudden, sharp, and vicious, but you swallowed it down, forcing your expression to remain impassive. You wouldn’t let them see it. Wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

Nikolai, on the other hand, was the picture of calm.

Leaning against the desk with the easy confidence of someone who had seen it all and walked away without a scratch, Nikolai merely quirked a brow. His dark eyes flickered to you briefly, just a glance, but enough to make your guard shoot up instinctively.

“Fix her, da?” Nikolai’s lips curved into a wry smile, but his voice carried none of Price’s exasperation. Just mild curiosity. “And what exactly do you expect me to do, John? Put her on a leash?”

Price’s jaw clenched so tight you could hear his teeth grind. “I don’t care how you do it. Just… get through to her.”

You barely heard what came next.

Blood roared in your ears, drowning out the conversation as white-hot anger surged through your veins.

Fix her.

Put her on a leash.

It was always the same. The same fucking bullshit wrapped up in different words. You’d heard it before, too many times. Alphas who thought they could break you, tame you, mold you into something palatable. Something weaker. Easier to control.

You were an omega, that’s all they saw. Never mind the countless commendations, the missions where you’d pulled their asses out of the fire. Never mind that you’d bled and fought alongside them, proving yourself over and over again. None of that mattered. Not when the first thing they saw was a designation they thought made you less.

Your jaw clenched, muscles tight enough to ache as your nails dug into your palms. You didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. But inside?

Inside, a storm was raging.

I should’ve fucking known.

You had almost let your guard down. Almost started to believe that maybe, maybe, Price was different. That he didn’t see you as a liability. But hearing those words? Hearing him pawn you off to Nikolai like some unruly problem child?

It cut deeper than any wound.

You barely caught yourself before your emotions slipped, before the bitter sting of betrayal cracked through the wall you’d built around yourself. But you wouldn’t let them see that. Not here. Not now.

You stood perfectly still, expression blank, body rigid with tension. But your mind was already retreating, locking down the ache and shoving it into that deep, dark place where it couldn’t touch you.

Don’t let them see. Don’t let them fucking see.

Because the second they saw weakness? They’d pounce.

They always did.

And Nikolai? He was no different. Just another alpha sent to do what Price couldn’t. Another one trying to clip your wings and shove you into a cage.

Not a fucking chance.

You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

But Nikolai… didn’t move.

He didn’t try to assert dominance. Didn’t use that commanding, pheromone-laced tone that alphas loved to throw around.

No.

He just… watched.

Tilting his head, dark eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your rigid posture, the way your shoulders were locked like a coiled spring. He wasn’t looking at an omega who needed to be fixed.

He was looking at a soldier.

And that unnerved you more than anything.

“Da,” Nikolai finally murmured, his tone so soft, so devoid of the arrogance you expected that it threw you off balance. “I see.”

His eyes lingered on yours for a beat longer, then he pushed off the desk with that lazy grace that screamed confidence without needing to prove a damn thing.

“I’ll handle it.” His words were directed at Price, but his gaze was still on you.

Not a challenge. Not a command.Just… patience.

What’s your game? you thought, narrowing your eyes slightly. But Nikolai didn’t press.

He didn’t need to.

“Come.” His voice was low, smooth, but there was no trace of the alpha command in it. No force behind the word.

An invitation. Not an order.

You should’ve snapped back. Should’ve told him to fuck off and stormed out of the room, but… you didn’t.

Something about the way he said it, gentle, like he wasn’t trying to control you, made your feet move before your brain could catch up.

[sevasey51]

The request “The Emergency Bag” has the code word “Charlie Crate” can you do a request where it’s used🥺 maybe a syncopal cascade. It gets charted in the vitals log and everyone in the emergency contacts that has access, like always gets alerts. Thnak you hun ❤️

Charlie Crate

Summary: It’s a code phrase they’ve never used lightly. “Charlie Crate” was designed to be the trigger—the quiet panic button that meant this is bad, this is real, and it’s happening now. When Y/N enters a syncopal cascade and her body begins to shut down too quickly to self-report, the emergency bag gets deployed, the phrase is used in the log, and Connor’s world narrows to one thing: getting to her fast. Because once “Charlie Crate” goes out, every contact in the network is already on their way.

The day had started fine.

Not perfect—she hadn’t slept well, and her heart rate had been annoyingly high all morning—but fine. She kept up with fluids. Ate something. Even did a quick walk around the apartment with Charlie, the shaggy golden shadow always trotting at her side.

But by afternoon, something shifted.

The heat behind her eyes grew dense. Her limbs heavy. Her body started sending all the familiar warnings—blurry vision, chest pressure, the sensation of her nervous system tightening like a coiled spring. She’d felt it before, dozens of times.

But not like this.

This felt fast.

Too fast.

She stumbled toward the emergency kit Connor kept in the bedroom. The infusion kit was ready. Her meds were labeled. The port flush was already in the backup pouch.

Her hands were shaking too hard to grab the vial.

“Charlie,” she rasped, trying to crouch, “go crate.”

Charlie whined, then bolted—not to his crate, but to the emergency alert tablet on the wall.

Just like Connor trained him.

With one paw, he hit the red square button.

The phrase went live:

CHARLIE CRATE — SYNCOPAL CASCADE SUSPECTED

Time-stamped. Auto-synced.

Sent immediately to the vitals log.

Push notifications activated.

Within 60 seconds, five phones across the city lit up.

Connor, halfway through post-op notes, felt the buzz first.

He didn’t even read the full notification.

The words CHARLIE CRATE were enough.

He was on his feet and running before the second beep hit.

Ava, in between ICU rounds, caught the alert. She spun on her heel and told the charge nurse, “I need the ED trauma bay prepped. She’s crashing.”

Hannah, reviewing consults in OB, saw it and immediately forwarded the most aggressive uterotonic protocols to the on-call pharmacist—just in case.

Will, in the ED already, grabbed a trauma nurse. “Clear Bay 3 and get a line kit. We’re about to get a cascade in.”

Jay, off duty and at the gym, was already pulling on his hoodie and texting Connor.

“On my way. ETA 8.”

Back in the apartment, Connor reached her just as she collapsed fully onto the living room floor, Charlie pacing in frantic circles.

Her breathing was shallow.

Skin clammy.

Heart rate: 169.

Blood pressure: 72/40.

And dropping.

“Hey. I’ve got you.” He was already unzipping the emergency bag with shaking but practiced hands.

Her eyes fluttered open, then rolled.

Connor accessed her port, flushed it, and started a bolus of fluids. He was already charting it into the vitals log as he called Ava directly.

“She’s not compensating. I need a unit ready. ETA ten minutes.”

“You’re not doing this alone,” Ava replied. “We’ve got you.”

By the time they arrived at Med, Ava was waiting at the doors. Will stood beside her, gloves already on.

They took over, Connor staying right at her side as she was stabilized in Trauma Bay 3, a full cascade response in motion.

Once the dust settled and she was breathing easier, wrapped in warm blankets, infusion running slow and steady, Connor finally leaned close and whispered into her hair:

“You scared the hell out of me.”

Her voice was raspy but present.

“I said the words.”

“You did,” he whispered back. “You used Charlie Crate. And because of that, everyone came.”

Because they built a system that didn’t wait until it was too late.

Because love, in their world, meant being ready for the worst.

And because sometimes, a two-word code could save your life.

[lurafita]

CEO!Magnus and personal chef/bodyguard!Alec

(There is every chance that I have posted this before, I just can't remember. I tried to search through my archive, but.... there is a lot of posts there, did you know? 🤣😂 Anyway, in case I'm making you read this twice, sorry. 😅)

Magnus being like this really big shot CEO who has meetings 24/7 and charity events and social appearances and all that other busy stuff going on. So he gets a personal chef to keep an eye on his nutrition. And Alec is ruthless when it comes to making sure Magnus eats healthy. Magnus: "You know I love your cooking, Darling, but how about a good old fashioned fast food break?" Alec: "All that grease is bad for you. Eat your carrots. You look pale. How much sleep did you get last night?" Magnus, innocently: "Enough?" Alec: "Unlikely. No more caffeine for you today."

Magnus trying to sneak all kinds of unheathy Snacks, and Alec foiling him at every turn. Magnus had an energy drink hidden away in his desk, but as he opens the drawer, there is a bottle of water with a note attatched with "stay hydrated".

Alec even convinced the close by Cafe to not serve Magnus anything with Caffeine, after Magnus' last doctors appointment showed high blood pressure.

Maybe Alec is some kind of ex-agent or ex-military, who got into cooking for an undercover op, but really enjoyed it and wanted to pursue it further when he quite the force.

When one of Alec’s old colluegues comes visiting him, Alec is crouching behind the entertainment system to find Magnus' latest snack hidey-hole. Alec: "He gets more creative every time. Some of the drug dealers we busted could have learned from him."

Bet you Magnus is the type of CEO who has a loyal Twitter following and he tweets about everything Alec cooks for him (and the things he doesn't let him eat.) The Internet already ships them.

Possible tweet: The_Magnificent_Bane: Thank you for the suggestion @randomfollower, but unfortunately Alexander didn’t go for the argument that carrot cake counts as a vegetable.

Why am I know picturing a fight in the kitchen where Alec uses kitchen utensils and food to knock out people who have come to kidnap Magnus

Imagine someone broke into Magnus' place, and the police are called and as they arrive Magnus is like: "Thank you for coming. My chef has already apprehended and restrained the perpetrators, and is waiting for you to take them off his hands in the living room." Police: "... Your cook apprehended them?" Magnus: "Yes. Sadly, the confrontation did not result in the death of that cursed celery he bought earlier."

Magnus: "Tomatoes can't be trusted, my darling. Are they a fruit? Are they a vegetable? No one knows." Alec: "They are fruits." Magnus: "That's what they want you to believe."

[lorreii]

In every beat

---

Pairing: Kirishima x Reader x Bakugou (Poly)

Genre: Angst / Comfort / Medical Drama / Hurt-Comfort

---

You'd always been the tough one. You had to be, growing up in a world of heroes, quirks, and impossible expectations. But nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared you for the moment your doctor looked you in the eye and said the words:

"You need spinal surgery. Soon."

The pain had crept in over the past few months—numbness, weakness, that deep, stabbing ache in your lower back that never quite went away. Kirishima noticed first, watching the way you hesitated before lifting anything heavy. Bakugou noticed when you collapsed in the gym.

Now, the three of you sat in the cold pre-op room, with Kirishima gripping your hand tightly and Bakugou pacing like a tiger behind the curtain. His explosions were quiet—barely a twitch at his palms—but you knew him well enough to read the tension.

"It's gonna go great, babe," Kirishima said, trying to smile, but his voice cracked.

You swallowed hard. "Yeah. Just getting my spine sliced open. No biggie."

A nurse entered the room, soft smile on her lips, and held a clipboard. “Alright, Y/N. We’re ready. Time to prep you for the OR.”

Kirishima kissed your forehead. Bakugou stepped forward, finally still, his jaw clenched. He didn't say much, just took your other hand and muttered, "Don’t fuckin’ die in there."

---

Bright lights. Sterile white. The air had that sharp, antiseptic tang. Nurses bustled quietly, checking machines, laying out instruments. The operating table was narrow, padded only slightly, and intimidating under the large round surgical light above.

You were wheeled in, eyes flicking over every detail. The table of tools gleamed—retractors, clamps, bone saws, suction tubes, a drill. A tall IV pole stood beside you, a saline bag already hooked and ready. Beside it, a pulse oximeter beeped faintly with each of your anxious heartbeats.

A nurse gently placed a nasal cannula just under your nostrils. “This is just oxygen to help you breathe better,” she said, adjusting the flow on a nearby machine. Cool air hissed faintly.

Next came the blood pressure cuff wrapped snugly around your arm. It inflated automatically, making your fingers tingle. Then the EKG electrodes—small sticky pads—were applied across your chest, feeding data into the heart monitor beside the table. The beep-beep-beep of your heartbeat felt far too loud in your ears.

A soft voice at your side. “Hi, I’m Dr. Himura, your anesthesiologist. We’re going to start with an IV, and then I’ll have you breathe through a mask. You’ll be asleep before the first incision.”

A sharp pinch in your hand as the IV catheter was inserted. Cold fluid began to flow almost immediately.

Finally, the anesthesia mask was lowered over your face—a clear dome connected by tubing to a humming machine. “Deep breaths now. You might feel a little lightheaded.”

The scent of plastic and gas—sweet, artificial—flooded your senses. The room blurred.

---

With the patient fully under general anesthesia, the team scrubbed in. The area of operation—your lower back—was sterilized with povidone-iodine, then draped in blue sterile sheets.

An incision approximately 4 inches long was made along the lumbar spine with a #10 scalpel blade, carefully slicing through skin and subcutaneous fat. Blood welled immediately; suction tips removed it quickly while hemostats clamped bleeding vessels.

Electrocautery was used to dissect deeper, through muscle layers, revealing the vertebrae. Self-retaining retractors were placed, pulling the muscle away from the bone with a tense metallic click.

The damaged disc between L4 and L5 was removed with pituitary rongeurs, the grating crunch of cartilage audible in the quiet room. A hollow remained.

A high-speed surgical drill was used to clean the bony edges, shaping them to receive the bone graft. Screws were inserted with a pedicle screw system, each one turned precisely with a torque wrench. Titanium rods were placed and locked in with set screws, realigning your spine and relieving pressure on the nerves.

Finally, a bone graft—a mix of harvested marrow and synthetic matrix—was packed into the hollow space to promote fusion over time.

Drainage tubing was inserted. Then came the long, careful closure: layer by layer, muscle sutures, fascial closure, subcutaneous tissue, and skin—closed with nylon sutures and surgical staples.

The total blood loss was 550cc, managed via suction and sponges. Your vitals were stable. Oxygen saturation stayed strong. Total OR time: 4 hours, 22 minutes.

---

You came to slowly. A heavy weight in your spine, an ache so deep it felt molecular. Beeping surrounded you again. Oxygen hissed faintly from a nasal cannula, and the IV line in your arm felt sore but present.

You blinked, vision hazy—and saw them.

Kirishima, his eyes red-rimmed, still in his hero gear. Bakugou, arms crossed, looking like he’d fought an entire army just to sit in that chair.

“You’re awake,” Kirishima whispered, voice breaking. “You made it.”

Bakugou leaned forward, fists clenched. “Told you not to die, dumbass.”

Your throat was dry. You couldn’t speak yet, but the weak squeeze of your fingers was enough.

They both leaned in, hands holding yours.

And through the haze of painkillers, blood loss, and surgical trauma—you smiled.

---

[gouraminnow]

WIP game!

rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Tag as many people as you have wips. People send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

---

I prefer Read-mores just so things are more readable hsdfdsf

Tagged by my friend @hannahbarberra162 thank you!!! Heehee! All but one of the published ones are still on chapter one... I do not write fast :') Honestly, the one person I'm comfortable tagging is the one who tagged me, soo... breaking the rules already lol. Anybody who sees this and wants to, please do! (It's not bc I have problems with anyone, she's just the only one I talk to regularly. I'm kinda new to this lol)

No Rest For the Wicked - Yandere modern serial killer Sabo/Koala x Goth reader. (Literal hurt/comfort. Stalking implied, murder is gonna happen. Was meant to be a one-shot debut of sorts on Halloween, but it got too long...)

You're a goth student at a small university, and someone you thought was your friend lures you into a Carrie-style Halloween prank- But it goes wrong and the bucket they drop cracks your head open. Luckily, the Grad Student Instructor and his partner happen to be there and are awfully eager to help you out.

Galley on 4th - Yandere Modern (but with dfs eventually) Thatch x reader. (Also hurt/comfort. Gonna get increasingly sketchy as time goes on. Stalkng. Maybe smut? Omg nooo hot chef don't intrude on my life and insist on caring for me noooo)

Raising your kid sister all by yourself is hard enough on it's own. But add classes, poverty, and several jobs to juggle and the pressure builds awfully fast. Most employers will drop you on a whim and it's all you can do to stay afloat… So when you somehow manage to land a well-paying position at The Galley on 4th Avenue, a famous, high-end place run by some well renowned Chef- You're desperate to hold things down. Good thing your new Boss is so friendly and understanding, huh?

Birds of a Feather - Marco & OC (entirely platonic. Hurt at the start, comfort, tooth-rotting fluff. Has artwork for it!)

Marco the Phoenix is found by an orphaned harpy child that mistakes him for one of their own kind. It takes less than a day to commit to adoption- he really is taking after his father.

Unpublished:

Bleeding Heart - What was meant to be one fic for my self-insert OC has splintered into several snippets. Born with CAVC, they thought they were lucky to receive corrective surgery as a child, only for that surgery to be botched. They now have to use the blood-blood fruit- a devil fruit with countless horrific urban legends attributed to it- to compensate for their faulty heart by manually managing their blood flow in secret. Very grumpy and easily overwhelmed bc who wouldn't be in their situation? One version they go with the WBP and in another, with the Strawhats.

Untitled Whitey Bay oneshot- sweet, smutty f/f oneshot that ends in reader eloping to a life on the seas. Reader is a lonely, wistful barmaid who dreams of something more exciting than waiting tables in a dingy bar. One day, a striking lady pirate docks on your island, stopping by your bar... and just your luck, the tall, blue-haired woman seems just as interested in you as you are in her.

Untitled Isekai idea- Reader is brought to the world of OP by a devil-fruit reader with portal-related powers. He's a self-proclaimed mad genius but is actually a jackass wannabe-Ceasar who piggybacks off of the works of others- even utilizing his ability to hopefully grab something useful from other realms rather than making shit himself. But it's random most of the time... cue reader.

Untitled dark Thatch oneshot- honestly not sure if I want to post this when it's done. Non/dubcon. Yandere Thatch finds a promising little chef and lays on the charm, but they won't leave with him. Months later, he finds them cowering in the Galley of a Marine ship and assumes they're in bed with the enemy. Unaware that they were forced to work there and too amped up to listen, he steals them away like he wanted to on that damn island. Meaner than what I tend to go for, but ends with him doting on them. Very unsure abt this hfdsfg

Yandere Nami idea

Second set of ASI hcs, but centered around Marco

I want to elaborate on the Crocodile x Selkie reader idea

[nursingwriter]

Hospital Case Study If the first requirement of any successful case study is a detailed and analytical examination of the situation, the emotional component of so called "high stakes" issues can make this requirement difficult, indeed. The simple fact, however, is in order to find good solutions and policies regarding the problem presented in the case study, one must apply the three main questions of "situation," "remedy/s," and "method/s." Although this may seem difficult in some situations, the emotional component must not be considered. A good example of this fact occurs in the examination of an unfortunate case involving the botched heart/lung transplant of a 16-year-old girl, much like the recent incident at Duke Hospital. In this case, a young girl died as a result of receiving miss-matched organs. Unfortunately, in this case, all of the supposed safeguards of the system, imposed to assure that proper blood typing of both donor and organ recipient are compatible failed. As a result, the young girl was not only transplanted with incompatible organs, but, due the significant downturn in her health following the procedure, doctors failed to obtain another set of matched organs with the speed necessary to possibly save her life. Because it is believed that certain ethical questions contributed to the slow decision to re-transplant, it has been decided that the hospital ethics committee consider the main ethical questions involved -- both to ease the pressure on physicians and staff in the case of a similar situation, as well as to reassure potential patients that all measures will be taken to assure a successful outcome. In order to achieve the above goals, the committee must identify the ethical questions at hand. After much deliberation, the conclusion was made that the two main questions are -- 1 / Should assumptions concerning the likelihood of survival post-op impact the decision to grant a second set of organs should the first ones fail for any reason? And 2 / If a medical mistake be found to be directly responsible for patient deterioration, as well as responsible for the immediate need for a second set of organs influence the decision to quickly obtain (if available) those organs? When one considers the first question regarding the eligibility of patients for transplant in the case of failing health has been debated extensively in the medical and ethical community. Of course, this debate is based on the unfortunate fact that there are many who desperately need organs for their continued survival, while there are simply not enough organ supplies to go around. Consider, for example, the following: There is a huge gap between the number of people who need an organ transplant and the number of organs available. Each year, 3,000 U.S. patients die while waiting for a transplant -- and another 100,000 people die before they can even be put on the transplant list. There are some ways to narrow this gap -- but they raise both ethical and practical problems (DeNoon, 2000). Based on facts such as these, it has been put forward by some that the important decision regarding just who gets a new organ should be based on the likelihood of survival post-transplant. However, the ethical implications of this position present some real problems. Presently, there are several criteria affecting the level of one's placement on transplant lists. Of course, the most obvious determining factor is that a patient be determined to be in desperate need for the organ -- that is, without the rapid procurement (in some cases, depending on the organ involved, this may be just a few days or hours (Keen, 2001)) of the needed organ, the patient will die. Although there are presently more than one "list" on which patients are placed for organ donation, the organization known as the UNOS, or the United Network for Organ Sharing is charged with producing and maintaining those lists. According to this agency, the method by which patients are assigned organs involves assigning those in the most urgent need the most appropriate organ for their needs, taking into consideration issues of blood type, as well as the size and condition of the organ (Keen). Interestingly, however, there are times when other factors in addition to "urgent need" come into the frame. For, although UNOS expressly claims that organ decisions are made irregardless of age, sex, race, lifestyle, finances, religion, or personal affiliation (Keen), there are times when a patients overall health situation is taken into account as a liability. When any organ becomes available for transplant, those who are highest on the list are given precedence if at all possible (CTDN). Further, as stated above, the number one criteria determining one's placement is the current status of one's health dependent on the failing organ. However, it is important to understand that health status as a result of other, non-organ related issues may place otherwise qualified candidates at a distinct disadvantage. Over the years examples of these factors have included health issues such as HIV and AIDS infection, Hepatitis C infections, and lifestyle issues such as drug use or alcoholism. Interestingly, even if the UNOS lists do not place any emphasis on these factors, it is worth noting that several transplant hospitals do, placing an entire other level on the ethical debate. One example of this, of course, is the infamous position of the nations Veteran Administration hospitals on the issue of transplantation of AIDS patients, whom they refuse to serve at all (Chibbaro, 2004). Even more troubling is the habit of refusing to perform transplant surgeries on anyone who is unable to pay for the procedure -- making obtaining transplants largely within the reach of the middle and upper classes (DeLong, 1998). Perhaps what is most important in this case, however, is the hospital's ability to comply with the legal and ethical requirements of the United States Government under the Department of Health and Human Services. Not only does this help to ensure the transplant program of the hospital, itself, but it also protects other programs dependent on the hospital's ability to comply with national transplant guidelines (most notably, Medicare). In fact, the government has, in an effort to reduce such ethical quandaries, has developed an eligibility plan upon which Medicare funded hospitals are required to be bound. In short it requires: Decision to transplant, and placement on donor lists should be decided only on patient need. This need is based on likelihood of death without transplant. Age, lifestyle and cause of disease must not be considered (DeLong). Although, as a Medicare hospital, we are required to operate under the HHS guidelines, there remains the underlying ethical issue that not only gave rise to the above rules, but also perhaps led to the delay of the second transplant in the patient in question. For this reason it is important to consider these issues. It is simple human nature, given the horrible organ shortage that questions regarding the future utility of the transplant be in the background of any organ allocation. After all, who does not take pause at the idea of a frequently hospitalized race-car driver, for example, being given a kidney transplant over a child who is perhaps only a small degree healthier? So, too, does one naturally wonder at the years of life expectancy in a seventy-year-old patient compared to one who is only eighteen. It seems that taking such details into consideration should be natural. Why, then does HHS refuse to do this? Like many issues of ethics, transplant issues are often more complex than first thought. After all, if hospitals and transplant list administrators are allowed to differentiate based on the projected utility of the organ, based on time, quality of life, lifestyle, etc., there opens a window for not only grievous abuses of the system, but also a national transplant program in which no centralized decision can be made. In this reality, important life and death decisions would come to be based on subjective criteria, often based on the personal beliefs of a few. The repercussions of this could be devastating. Given, however, that the first issue is resolved, and it is decided that the hospital will comply with HHS rules regarding transplantation eligibility, physicians must be instructed as to the acceptability of using more than one set of organs during an individual transplant procedure. Talk to any transplant physician, and he or she will tell you that one of the greatest dangers for any transplant patient is known as "primary non-function." In simple terms, this means that once the new organ or organs are "hooked up," it simply fails to function. Unfortunately, when this event occurs, the usual outcome is death. However, there are instances when a transplant team have been able to swiftly acquire a second organ or set or organs in sufficient time to save the patient. Should this be any different in the case of medical-induced non-function, or even projected non-function? There was little question after it was discovered that the wrong blood-type organs were implanted in the subject patient that non-function and death would be the near-future result of the surgery, and that another set of organs were vital to the patient's survival. However, in this instance, the second set of organs were not immediately sought. Although grevous medical errors such as the one that occurred in this case are hardly uncommon, in this case, the error was compounded by the failure to seek (as opposed to failure to obtain) replacement organs quickly (Mitchel, 2004). However, it is also possible to consider another angle on the problem. Because the medical team had reason to believe that the patient would have significant reduced likelihood of survival, as well as a questionable quality of life following a second transplantation, all indicator point to value judgments on the part of the hospital transplant team, causing them significant pause concerning the ethics of pursuing another set of organs for their patient. Clearly, the issue of organ scarcity was paramount in the delay of treatment. However, had the transplant team been thoroughly briefed on hospital policy regarding responsibility as defined by the governmental standards concerning transplant eligibility, they would have known that their fundamental responsibility was to the preservation of the patient, not the supply of organs for more promising candidates. The simple fact was that they realized their error, the patient was compromised but not dead, and as such they were charged with finding every means at their disposal to save her. The sad fact, here, is that the patient required an additional set of organs, yet they were not actively and quickly sought. Further, the reality that if the case were different, and organs were not scarce, would have resulted in her immediate re-transplantation indicate that the value/ethical judgment was an inappropriate factor in this case. The simple fact is that under hospital policy, the physicians were not qualified to act in the interest of the organ program over the interest of their patient. Not only did she obviously still present a dire need for matched organs, but her condition indicated certain death without them. By not aggressively pursuing their acquisition, the team, in effect, gave up. Further, because the team failed to do this based on their inappropriate (based on governmental rules) consideration of future organ utility, they put the continued health of the transplant unit in extreme jeopardy. The fact is, the patient, under governmental criteria, was clearly eligible for a second set of organs. The decision to delay was inappropriate and tragic. Not only should this serve as an example of the difficult nature of transplant ethics, but it should also serve as a springboard for an educational campaign aimed to assure that this issue will never arise again. Although the issue of organ scarcity is necessarily an emotional one for all involved, there remains the salient truth that the physician's responsibility is to the patient before him or her (MCPM). To consider the greater issue of organ supply and utility over the immediate need of the patient on the table is a gross violation of this responsibility. What should be done, then, to help future transplant teams avoid similar errors? First and foremost, the initial typing error must never again occur. Indeed, its very occurrence raises extreme doubt as to the safety of typing procedures nationwide. Therefore, an aggressive study of an appropriate typing procedure should be immediately implemented, developed, and applied. Second, while it cannot be denied that there is a shortage of organs available for transplant, to place responsibility for this issue in the hands of hospital doctors and staff is a dangerous practice. The current wisdom clearly errs on the physician's responsibility to his or her immediate patient. To allow other ethical issues to arise necessarily violates patient trust. Further, in this case, the ethical decision presumably (if not overtly) violated HHS criteria as well. Here, implementing an educational campaign concerning the ethical responsibilities of transplant team members will be entirely dependent on a clear and open example of communication (CSU). If the team is not aware of a clear and defined protocol for situations like the one presented here, there is simply a greater chance that they will rely on personal subjective judgment. To allow this is to invite error. The reason that individual hospital employee or physicians should not be allowed to exercise ethical determinism in the treatment of their transplant patients is directly attributable to the complexity of the ethical issues surrounding transplantation, itself. A great deal of difficulty and ethical debate has gone into the national system for organ assignment. To allow the issue to be hashed and rehashed with every case invites disaster. Therefore, the following plan should be adopted: The transplant procedure must begin with a new system of blood type matching that has a large degree of "built-in safeguards." Not only should this system be based on independent verification techniques, but should also be checked more than once. A clear and well communicated program of education must be devised in which physicians and staff clearly recognize their ethical responsibilities. The ethical responsibility of the transplant team are to be first and foremost to the patient "on the table." No other issues should be considered. The current criteria for organ eligibility is dire need. Post-op life expectancy, or quality of life criteria is not to be invoked as part of a decision to acquire organs. The dire shortage of organs, although tragic, is not to be considered when one has the opportunity to acquire an organ for one's patient. The same amount of effort is to be applied to the acquisition and implantation of transplant organs as the procurement of any other medical supply required in the operation. No value judgment is to be placed on the organ. Medical errors are an inevitable part of health care. As such, there must be an environment in which such errors are immediately documented, communicated, and learned from. Physicians and transplant teams will always use swift action to acquire needed organs. No patient should die as a result of hospital delay (as opposed to availability problems, which are out of hospital hands). Value judgments concerning quality of life will not be considered with regard to acquiring a second set of organs post-procedural error. The fate of other patients awaiting transplant must not be considered when transplanting a patient with lower probability of survival or a lower expectation regarding quality of life. Policies communicated thorough as a result of this case must be applied to similar cases, should they arise. This includes cases involving staff error, as well as other factors that affect perceived outcomes/quality of life issues. Conclusion Again, understanding the dynamics in any case study marked by human tragedy can be problematic. The young girl in this case unfortunately was the victim of error based not only due to blood typing, but due to unfounded ethical considerations as well. Therefore, it is essential that the hospital put into motion educational plans to prevent any such breakdown of hospital-patient responsibility in the future. Clearly, transplant ethics are tricky. The shortage of organs is a dire problem, and the issues surrounding the rules of allocation are complex. For this reason, it is imperative to communicate a clear hospital policy on all foreseeable issues. Bibliography Chibbaro, Lou. (2004) Victory Claimed in HIV Suits. Washington Blade. Web site. Retrieved on August 8, 2004, at http://www.washblade.com/print.cfm?content_id=2771 Colorado State University Writing Center. "Case Studies." Retrieved from Web site on August 2, 2004 http://writing.colostate.edu/references/research/casestudy/com2a1.cfm CTDN. California Donors Network. (2004) Facts about organ and tissue donation. Web site. Retrieved on August 8, 2004, at http://www.ctdn.org/resources/faqs.php?id=3&NoHeader=1 Duke University. (2004). UNOS and DUH Safeguards for Organ Transplant Safety. Duke Medical News. Retrieved on August 7, 2004, at http://dukemednews.org/filebank/2003/06/28/UNOSandDUHSafeguardsforOrganTransplantSafety.doc De Noon, Daniel. (2000). As Transplant Gap Widens, New Organs Sought. Web MD. Web site. Retrieved on August 7, 2004, at http://my.webmd.com/content/article/27/1728_60333?printing=true Keen, Lisa. (2001). HEALTH: News Analysis: People with HIV reaching top of transplant lists Anti-viral drugs may trigger liver problems, but are also making organ receipt available. Washington Blade - September 28, 2001. Retrieved on August 7, 2004, at http://www.aegis.com/news/wb/2001/WB010904.html. MCPM. Massachusetts Coalition for the Prevention of Medical Error. (2004) Patient Safety Tools. Web site. Retrieved from Web site on August 8, 2004, at http://www.macoalition.org/publications.shtml Mitchel, Steve. (2004). Transplant Safeguards Already in Place. MedServ. Retrieved on August 8, 2004, at http://www.medserv.dk/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=1892 Read the full article

[mingos]

❛  why won't you just tell me what i did wrong?  ❜ from little law in his locked room :))

❝ enough. whining. ❞ 

　doflamingo felt like his head was splitting. the sounds burrowed their way through eardrums, scraping at bits of brain and the interior of his skull. or maybe the culprit was his blood pressure, spiked beyond the realm of mortal understandingーso high, he quivered with rage beneath the silhouette of his suit, a mess of grinding teeth & contorting hands. so high, the donquixote didn't need his glasses to know he saw red.

six months. six months was all it took for his brother to taint law like how a toxin whittles away at the human body. to undo the two years of work doflamingo had done and reduce the boy to... this. a repulsive creature he didn't recognize. one that cried when struck, a sense of resolve replaced with meekness, whose eyes were no longer filled with the admiration doflamingo had come to expect. it had taken the man several hours to pinpoint what exactly about this display enraged him so much. then it clicked. rosinante.

six months was all it took for law to embody all of rosinante's worst traits from doflamingo's memories of their childhood. the boy who refused to reprimand slaves for not doing their tasks, sobbing when doflamingo showed him the proper way their uncle taught them. the boy who, no matter how much his brother demanded, refused to identify the specific townspeople that beat himーa misplaced guilt having convinced himself he 'owed it to them' to prioritize their safety & keep it a secret as penance for what their ancestors had done. the boy who, when mother passed from her fever, threw himself at her bedside and wouldn't leave for days. needlessly attached to her corpse. to an object.

rosinante's physical body might be rotting away in the snow of some forgotten ghost town hundreds of miles from here, but none of that mattered when he ensured the worst parts of his spirit lived on through the body of this brat. law was no longer doflamingo's shadow, but instead that man's.

the elder donquixote could have killed him a thousand more times, shot a million more bullets into him, and it still wouldn't be enough to quantify the rage he felt. it would never be enough. the same goes for law.

were he a god of even a fraction less restraint, doflamingo would have decapitated the boy and thrown his corpse into the north blue hours ago. torn open his gut and seized the op op fruit by force. restricting himself to just leaving shallow wounds & bruises now was almost too much mercy for him to bear. he wanted to skin this child alive.

but, regrettably, that was no longer an option. his plans had changed, and his new plan hinged on keeping the boy alive. for now. he couldn't risk losing the fruit again. he couldn't risk potentially wasting another decade searching for the fruit again. not when it was this close. doflamingo simply had to grit his teeth & internalize the fact that law was more valuable to him alive than dead. for now.

　but that didn't mean he couldn't make him suffer in the interim.

　❝ those miserable sounds you keep making were enough to manipulate my brother, but i’ll sooner shove a cracked thermometer down your throat and add mercury poisoning to your list of sicknesses than entertain a second more of it. ��

[mt-lowercase-m-derogatory]

{typical tumblr discourse disclaimer: trying for a chill vibe, I'm just taking an aside to peddle some of the nuance OP was talking about. This post was probably not addressed at whatever collagenopathy mutation "never before documented in the literature" I've got, and I'm not trying to imply OP wronged me somehow}

What is medically/legally considered "schwerbehindert" here might be different, but I really urge caution around thinking someone isn't severely physically disabled because they walk and move perfectly well using light/no mobility aids

Personally, in the health state when I actually present to the world, there are very few non-exercise activities an abled person could do that I cannot also do for a bit, albeit with some pain and uncertainty. The trouble is that something bad is happening while I do things or sit/stand upright for longer, and all I'm sure of is that it's not my respiratory or (probably) my circulatory system.

I'll be at a rare and cherished social gathering for a few hours, just seeming a bit loopy and dissociated in the latter half, then I'll safely arrive home unaided if the Vienna underground is in sight, not even using mobility aids! (I've tried a few but my physio found none to be safe for me). I'll manage to change clothes and go to bed, and then... I'll manage to be awake around 60-70 hours the following 7 days, mostly out of my mind with more brain fog than brain.

The only answers my doctors have feel more like questions: it might be an unrelated hypersomnia that just didn't show up on the polysomnography, it might be post-exertional malaise, it might be some kind of comorbid kleine levin syndrome, it's so odd that it's not POTS, it might just be a symptom of "whatever is going on, let's call it Ehlers Danlos Syndrome because that was the original diagnosis", or my blood-brain barrier might just not work right with whatever third-grade materials my body made it of.

And all I personally know is that... I have the full physical and neurological capability to move, I can manage the pain, I can manage the psychological aspect... But any given activity still comes at a high cost beyond all that, and neither any process I can observe nor any version of god damn spoon theory can adequately explain it.

It's more like my mind is a bottle of water, and every few minutes I stand upright is a spoon of milk dropped into it. I lose full clarity basically immediately, and then it just becomes harder and harder to tell how far I'm gone until I stop being able to talk fluidly or make decisions.

And this is not something I just realized when it set in - like any good child used to being gaslit about their body-wide chronic pain, I didn't even realize I had any health problems when I started waking up disoriented, unsure whether my alarms had rang already, with me having decided to skip school and go back to sleep without remembering any of it.

It was only with covid lockdown that the physical attendance I was forcing myself into naturally tuned down, leaving my "free time" lucid and awake enough to become sure that I had a health problem beyond migraines, with my first few doctor's just leading to a psychologist suspecting schizophrenia

... Lockdown might genuinely have saved my life. I- I hadn't processed that before now.

I think I had something more in mind about this vague group of conditions science is recently getting much better at diagnosing. Especially how the problem in figuring them out is that the causes (and the most informative and dangerous symptoms) are physical issues outside the brain, but the signs that cause most of the Leidensdruck (the pressure of suffering a patient's diagnosis and treatment is in service of) are more classically studied and discussed in psychiatric disability.

... But I've been trying to write a coherent tumblr post for 3 hours now and my brain is trying to erase all caches so I think I'll just hit post.

Also the term "severely disabled" is getting stretched pretty thin too, I see a lot of people who are like... talking about how severely disabled they are and how their body is rotting and they're a total lost cause who can do nothing for themselves, and then I look at their blog and they're like... a cane user or something similar.

I really hate to be like "that's not that bad" when someone else is suffering, but it makes it really hard to find people who are in a similar boat as far as being nonambulatory and who need constant care from others. It's taken me a long time to find a precious few friends who share those experiences and that I can relate to and it certainly doesn't make it easier when the definition of severely disabled is stretched so thin.

I really don't think it's helping the impostor syndrome some people face either. There are a ton of people who are in constant pain with mobility issues and stuff like that who are on the fence about calling themselves disabled at all because they see people talking about how their glasses that correct their vision to 20/20 are a disability aid that makes them Visually Impaired and Disabled and want to avoid looking or sounding like them.

There's a lot more nuance to this than I could put into words because holy cow I don't want to hurt people that don't deserve to be but also I want to be able to find and talk to people who are also disabled without sifting through 10,000 "I'm severely disabled because I need to eat microwave meals when I don't have the spoons to cook" people first. I don't have the capacity or ability to do that sifting, it's almost like I'm severely disabled or something.

[sevasey51]

After Y/N coded and was discharged days later .besides when they came home discharge day what would the days after look like? Bed rest? Constant vitals? Vital data logs?

After the Code

Summary: Days after her code and emergency hospitalization, Y/N is finally home. But home doesn’t mean the danger has passed. With strict post-discharge protocols, vitals to track, and her body still recovering from the trauma, she’s on total bed rest. Connor—trauma surgeon, husband, and deeply shaken caregiver—builds a quiet routine of healing around her. It’s not about overreacting. It’s about never letting her fall that far again.

The first day home was quiet.

Too quiet, really.

Y/N lay tucked under the softest blanket Connor could find, her port dressed neatly, fluids running slow through the line he’d already primed. The house smelled like ginger tea and eucalyptus, and every light had been dimmed to a soft gold glow. Charlie lay curled at her feet, rarely looking away.

Connor didn’t sit down much that day. He moved between the kitchen, their bedroom, and the data log, checking vitals every hour like clockwork.

Her heart rate still ran too high at times. Her blood pressure wasn’t stable yet.

But she was here. She was breathing. And that was enough—for now.

Day Two

Bed rest wasn’t a suggestion. It was non-negotiable.

“Not even to grab a book,” Connor said gently when she tried to move from the couch. “I’ve got it. Just ask.”

He kept her favorite paperbacks stacked on the side table, infusion kits in a sealed box underneath, and the vitals monitor set up where he could see it from the kitchen.

She hated how weak she felt. How the crash still echoed in her bones. But every time her voice faltered or her vision blurred, he was there—kneeling beside her, hand on her cheek, soothing with quiet words.

He didn’t say it aloud, but she knew: the fear hadn’t left him yet.

Day Three

Hannah stopped by. Ava called in between surgeries.

“You’re doing everything right,” Hannah assured Connor while reviewing the log he kept obsessively updated.

“Still,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “her rate’s not where I want it.”

“Connor, she coded four days ago. She’s not going to bounce back like a post-op recovery case. You know that.”

“I know.” His voice cracked. “But it almost wasn’t enough. I was right there, and it still—wasn’t enough.”

Hannah rested a hand on his shoulder. “You being there is why she’s here now.”

Later, Y/N caught him crying in the kitchen—just for a second.

She didn’t say anything. Just curled her fingers into his and let the silence speak for both of them.

Day Four

She asked for tea that morning, voice still hoarse but steadier.

Connor’s hands shook slightly as he brought it to her, as though the request itself was fragile and precious.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

“You scared me.”

“I know,” she said. “I scared me too.”

He kissed her temple. “You’re still not moving off this couch.”

“Wasn’t planning on it. Charlie growls if I so much as shift.”

The dog gave a quiet woof of agreement.

Day Five

The alerts stopped coming.

Her vitals—logged carefully every hour—began trending toward stable. Still fragile, still slower than they liked, but steady.

Connor lowered the fluid rate just slightly. Allowed her to sit up for lunch. Let her pick the movie that night.

But he still checked her pulse the moment her eyes fluttered mid-afternoon.

He still whispered, “Stay with me,” even when she was just dozing.

Because fear doesn’t fade fast. And recovery isn’t linear.

But they were doing it—together.

Day Six

She woke up before him.

It was the first morning her head didn’t pound, her chest didn’t flutter with adrenaline before she even moved.

Connor stirred when he didn’t feel her weight beside him. He bolted upright—

Only to find her sitting in the armchair near the window, Charlie at her feet, holding a warm mug with both hands.

“Hey,” she said softly. “I’m okay.”

He blinked, throat tight. “Yeah?”

She smiled gently. “Yeah.”

Because healing wasn’t just about stabilizing her vitals.

It was about proving—to both of them—that she was still here. Still fighting. Still herself.

And Connor would track every heartbeat if that’s what it took to never lose her again.

[barefoothighlander]

absolution - to be alone

-simon ‘ghost’ riley x wife!reader

-warnings: mdni (18+) angst, canon typical violence, death, kidnapping, mentions of blood

-word count: 3.5k

-summary: the secret of your marriage gets out and you and Ghost have to deal with the consequences

prev chapter masterlist

a/n: fair bit of violence this chapter, apologies that it took so long to write I’m having insane writers block, not proofread

“What do you mean Price knows” His voice was calm, he never yelled at you but for some reason you wished he was. His stoic state making you even more nervous,

“I had to tell him Simon he knew something was up”

“He didn’t know shit”

“Whatever he did, or didn’t know, or thought he knew, it doesn’t matter. He knows now, he understands why we didn’t tell him but atleast that weights of our chest”

“It’s not off our chest, what happens when he had to put it in our files? When he accidentally let’s slip that we’re married?”

“He wouldn’t do that”

“And you know that how?”

“Because you trust him, you’ve trusted him for years”

“Yea well the people you trust can hurt you the most” He says, standing to leave the room,

“Simon please, I’m sorry”

“It doesn’t matter now”

He closes the door and your emotions hit you, you regret everything about your decision to go to Price, but the sinking feeling in your chest wouldn’t let up until you told him. He had been surprised at first, he just assumed that the two of you were hooking up, he had no idea that you were married let alone knew each other prior to the mission, your file had pages about your previous ops but none mentioned the Lieutenant. Price was understanding in your secrecy, a little offended that Simon didn’t trust him with the knowledge but understanding none the less, he promised to keep it from the team no matter what and that was good enough for you.

Simon on the other hand wanted to wring the Captains neck, he could try to threaten him into sworn secrecy but he knew it wouldn’t work, he was furious. His only rule for your relationship being that it stayed between the two of you, and now it was compromised, yes he trusted Price with his life, but not with yours.

Simon marched his way to Prices office, his hands clenched at him sides as he knocked on the door, opening it once he heard the Captains voice.

“Simon”

“Sir”

“I understand congratulations are in order”

“Don’t”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You know why”

“I’ve read everything in your file, i know about your past, your family”

Simon winces at the mention

“You can trust me with this son”

“You need to take her off the op”

“You know you can’t make that request”

“I’m not asking as her Lieutenant”

“She’s an imperative part to this op”

“Find another sniper”

Before Price can respond Simon breezes out of the room, a cloud of fury following behind him as he storms through the halls to his shacks. He releases a deep breath, pulling his mask from his head once he’s inside. He felt betrayed, a vow as sacred as the ones you made the day you got married and you had broken it, technically he understood why, you were never great under pressure from higher ranks, he knew you couldn’t keep a lot of things to yourself given all the gossip you had told him over the years, but he trusted you with this.

He feared for you mostly, he knew he was in danger everyday, he had enemies across the globe and if word got out that you were married, a big red target would paint itself on your back. He didn’t want to think of the things his enemies would do to you in order to get to him, it made his stomach churn.

You stand in your quarters, thinking of all the things you could say, how you could apologize, and nothing comes to mind. You understand the weight of your decision but you’ve had people trying to kill your for years, you’ve made enemies of your own, you huff a breath holding yourself high.

You walk down the halls to Simons quarters before Price calls you into his office,

“Yes sir?”

“I have a favour to ask”

“Sir if it’s anything about my private life I ask that you keep it to yourself”

“It’s nothing about that Strider, trust I’ll keep that information confidential”

You nod “What do you need”

“I need recon on the building, you’re the only one with training that suits the op”

“Are you sure”

“I need the others here, you’re my only option Sargent”

“When do you need me”

“You have 3 hours to prep, a car will drop you at your view point and you’re alone from there, it’s a 3 day op but you’ll have comms”

“You need me to watch for three days?”

“There’s intel stating a transfer will occur within the week, I need your eyes to track movement”

“So no engagement”

“You do not have execute authority”

You nod, “Okay”

You leave his office, your argument with Simon gone from your mind, replaced with the anxiety of your mission. You approach his door and knock, you hear shuffling in the room before he opens it.

“Hi”

He opens the door to let you in, his head leaking out to make sure the hallways were clear. You glance around the room, his desk is a mess with open pages,

“You’re writing again?”

“Just, had some stuff I needed to get out”

“Si”

“I don’t want to fight about it, what’s done is done”

“Okay.. I’m leaving for a few days”

“What do you mean? You’re going home?”

“No”

He raises an eyebrow in question,

“Solo recon”

“Absolutely not”

“Simon please”

“Is he trying to punish me for not telling him about us?”

“What are you talking about”

“He’s sending you out alone, to punish me”

“Simon no one’s punishing you, this is the reason Price asked for me”

“I don’t want you out there with no backup”

“I’ll have comms to the base, I won’t be close enough for them to get anywhere near me”

Simon’s skin heats with anger, you move toward him, hands holding his at his side as you try to calm him.

“I’ll do this, then i’ll go home” You say with a heavy breath. You feel his muscles loosen slightly, his head moving down so his eyes can stare into yours, those dark orbs so full of emotion.

“Three days” He says and you nod, bringing your cheek to rest against his chest, his hands moving to roam your back.

“Three days and i’m back home”

“Safe” He mutters, his arms holding you against him.

You leave Simons room a few minutes later, bidding your goodbyes before moving to your quarters to pack your gear. You have 20 minutes before you have to meet your car, you’re breathing deeply, the mission wasn’t rare to you, spending time alone peering from rooftops was practically half your job in your last team, but being there, knowing Simon was only so far away. You knew he risked his life every time he left, you never asked the details, you didn’t want to stress about every little thing, this felt different, you were so close yet so far apart, you throw your bag over your shoulder and walk towards the outer doors.

Ghost is standing beside the car, his arms crossed over his chest.

“What are you doing here”

“I’m driving you, Captain owed me a favour”

You scoff at him jokingly before loading into the vehicle, as the two of you drive off. Your position wasn’t that far, about a 40 minute drive till you got dropped off and had to walk the rest of the way.

“Keep channel 4 open, that’s where you’ll contact me”

“I’m only supposed to talk to Price”

“Keep it open” He says with a glare, his gloved hand moving to rest on your thigh. You watch the terrain pass you by as you keep driving, dry mountains breezing past your eyesight. You arrive at an dirt road and Ghost turns the engine off, he sits silently for a few minutes, his free hand roaming across the wheel before you turn your body, taking his hand in yours.

“It’ll be okay”

“I know”

“I’m very good at what I do”

“I know that too”

“I’ll see you in three days”

He huffs a breath and nods, hands moving to pull his mask up slightly before leaning in to kiss you, he holds your cheek deepening the kiss before pulling back and resting his forehead against yours.

“Just be careful”

You squeeze his hand tenderly before stepping out of the car and grabbing your gear.

“I love you” You say

“I love you too doll”

You begin walking away, while Ghosts sits in the car until your figure fades from view, there was nothing he could do now but leave, he had to trust you.

Your walk was harsh, the dry terrain mixed with the beaming sun doing damage to your lungs, huffing your way across the ground before you made it to the small city, navigating around back alleys. You locate your view point, climbing an outer ladder to reach the top, sneaking into an open window where you position yourself, your scope settling on the target building in the distance.

“Alpha leader this is Strider how copy?”

“Good copy Strider, are you in position”

“Affirm”

“Alright, keep eyes, take note of any movement in or out, I want a head count”

“Copy, out”

You settle in to your position, eyes locked onto the building for signs of movement. Hours pass without anyone going in or out, you’ve traded your scope for spotting binoculars as the sun went down slowly, the warm air encompassing you in the abandoned building. No movement anywhere that you could see, no cars, no people, you had no idea what you were looking for.

Night falls and you have to toss your visionary aids aside, relying on trying to spot lights from the building, there’s a single room illuminated, you can see through the window but you can’t make out any bodies. You return to your scope in hopes of recognizing someone in the room, watching but you see no shadows or movement.

“Strider how copy?” Ghosts voice rings through your comms.

“Hey babe”

“Keep it professional, may have prying ears”

“Copy”

“You alright”

“No movement, getting bored”

“Bored is better than dead”

You huff a laugh, “That’s true”

“How are things on base?”

“Price wants us shipping out in the morning”

“So you’ll be gone when I get back”

“Most likely”

“Alright” You try to hide the sadness in your voice

“He thinks the mission should be finished within the the next weeks”

“Oh”

“I’ll be home with you before you know it”

“I’ll be waiting”

“I have to go, be safe”

“I love you Simon”

“I’ll see you at home”

You smile, only a handful of days and you’d be back home, safe with your husband, not worrying about the state of his life, just enjoying being with eachother.

“Strider this is Price”

“Sir”

“Reports of a convoy moving near your position, do you have eyes”

You take a minute too look around, your scope landing on a group of trucks passing by a road.

“Copy, count 5 vehicles”

“Are they carrying anything”

“Negative, doesn’t look to be any cargo”

“What about people”

“Count maybe 17 men, all armed”

“Do you see our hostage”

“Sir I thought this was recon”

“Do you have eyes Strider”

You look around, “Sir is that?”

“Affirm, you see her?”

“Affirm Sir, I have eyes on the hostage, she’s bound, they’re moving her into the house”

“Copy, keep watch, do not engage under any circumstances”

“Copy Sir”

Your comms go silent as you watch the scene in front of you, a middle aged woman with blonde hair has her arms bound behind her, a cloth mask over her eyes as the group of men force her towards the building before disappearing inside. You aim your scope at the windows, trying to get a view but all the curtains are drawn, you can vaguely make out shadows passing by.

You watch as the figures look by the windows, they sit the women down in a chair, 3 men gathered around her. You can’t make anything out, adjusting your scope to get a closer look before your eyes sting from the light, one of the men had opened the curtains to look outside, leaving them that way, enough space for you to get a clear view.

They’re yelling something, speaking to each other, you watch the woman tremble and flinch every time one of them shouts. You know your orders but every bone in your body is urging you to help.

“Sir permission to assist”

“Negative, do not interfere”

“Captain they’re going to kill her”

“Your orders are to watch Sargent”

“Sir”

“Do not engage”

You think over your options, your instincts taking over, fuck it I’m off the team either way.

You race down the side of the building, disassembling your rifle for close range shots, your legs are moving faster than your mind as you sprint towards the building, you find a high point and settle into the grass. There’s atleast 15 hostiles in the building, you scope around, 7 outside scattered, you can pick them off.

“Strider, report”

“Sorry Sir”

You take your ear piece out, with a deep breath you push yourself from the ground, hastily moving through the darkness, advancing towards the house. You make your way around the back, pulling out your knife, one man turns the corner and you grab him, digging your knife into the side of his neck as his body drops.

You make your way around the perimeter, killing them one by one, your breath heavy for the exertion. You find the last man, your hand moving to cover his mouth as you slice his throat, the blood pouring from his wound coating your skin seven down, eight to go. Your whole body feels sticky, covered in a layer of blood, sweat and dirt as you wipe off your knife, putting it away in favour of your sidearm.

You attach the silencer and open the front doors, immediately firing off two rounds into the heads of the men.

six

You turn your body, peering around corners, there’s one in the kitchen.

five

You clear the bottom floor, slowly inching up the stairs, one at the top and you shoot him, his body falls down the steps, landing with a thud, you pray it wasn’t loud enough to alert anyone. You start upstairs, clearing the rooms, two are arguing in the office.

two left.

You clear the rest of the area, making your way to the large bedroom at the end of the hall, even through the men arguing you can hear Prices yells through your comms.

You take a breath, counting your bullets, you had three left. You open the door firing one off into the head of the man in front of you, the woman in the chair screaming as the shot rings through the air.

You move to fire at the other man but he grabs your hand, you miss. He pushes you to the ground, your bodies fighting for control as his weight pins you, your arms reach for your gun as his hands grasp around your throat. You’re thrashing under him trying to throw him off, choking for air as he tightens his grip.

Your vision spotty as you lose strength,

“Strider! Get out now!” Ghosts voice comes through your comms, enough to bring you back as your fingers feel for your weapon, grabbing it and hitting it against the man’s temple. He releases you, stumbling over your body as you brave yourself and shoot, his body falls onto you with a thud, his blood pooling around your head as you gasp for air.

You use all your strength to push him off, steadying yourself before stepping towards the woman, she’s writhing against her constraints.

“It’s okay, you’re safe, i’m gonna get you out”

You slowly pull the mask from her eyes, they’re bloodshot and pooled with tears.

“I’m with Captain Price, I’m gonna get you home”

She’s a wreck of choked sobs as you cut her constraints, her body falls against you as you hold her up, walking her out. She’s looking around as the mess of bodies, clinging to you as you descent the stairs.

You exit the building, walking slowly in tandem with her as you reach a patch of grass tall enough for cover.

“Here, sit down” You hand her a small bottle of water and she takes it with shaky hands, gulping down the liquid before settling.

“Thank you”

“Does she know you’re here” You ask

The woman nods, “She watched them take me”

Your hand moves to slowly caress her arm, a small attempt to comfort her.

“Price”

“Sergeant you better have a goddamn explanation”

“I have the hostage, she’s safe”

Price signs deeply, “Are you hurt”

“Negative”

“Get her to the city, we’ll extract from there”

“Copy Sir”

You sit for a while, allowing the woman to compose herself before you help her up, the two of you making your way back to the streets of Panama.

The noise was overwhelming, a stark contrast from the silence you kept the last 24 hours, you find an old building, smashing the window to access the door lock before guiding her in.

“Shouldn’t be long”

She nods

“Does she know I’m safe, does Kate know?”

“I don’t think so”

“Okay”

Ghosts voice calls through your earpiece, “Strider, what’s you position”

“In an old building, northeast end of the city, there’s a small restaurant across the street”

“Copy, closing in”

You wait in silence, the sound of tires passing over dirt grabs your attention, you move to the window to look outside. You see Price and Ghost exit the car, looking around for hostiles, you move back to settle at the woman’s side,

“Okay” You touch her shoulder

“Monica, my names Monica”

“Okay Monica, my team is here, they’re gonna bring you back to our base where the doctor will check you out, then we’ll get you home”

“You trust them?”

“With my life”

She nods, you lock your arms under her shoulders, helping her to stand as the two men enter the building, dropping their weapons when they spot you.

“Jesus christ Strider, did you kill then all yourself”

“Something like that”

Price takes over hold on Monica, helping her to the car as Simon stands in front of you, his eyes staring daggers.

“Si”

“I don’t want to hear it, you’ll go home tonight”

“What, I have to make sure she’s safe”

“The team will take over, you disobeyed direct orders. You’re going home Sargent”

You stand to argue but he just turns and leaves, you’re alone in your anger before you walk to the car, settling in beside Monica in the back as Price turns the engine on. The ride was dead silent, not a word exchanged between the four of you, Monica had stopped shaking by the time you arrived back at base.

You help her out of the car, moving to help her inside before Price stops you,

“Your flights in two hours, be on deck before then”

You stare at him, unable to hide the disappointment in your face as you walk to the medical wing. You get Monica settled in to the bed and she falls asleep almost instantly, the stress taking a toll on her body. You sit with her for a few minutes, ensuring that she was okay before you move to your room to shower.

The water runs red as you wash the blood from your skin, feeling like you could finally breath, you need to talk to Simon but you don’t know what to say. You know if you leave base angry it won’t do you any good, he didn’t do well with emotions, he’d bottle them up before even dating to expose himself.

You spend some time packing your things, making sure to grab everything, your hands toying with the ring around your neck making your way to the plane deck.

Simon is standing in front of your plane, you move to him with regret in your eyes, your arms wrapping to envelop him but he pushes you back.

“Keep it together”

“I’m sorry Si”

“No time for that now” His hand moves to grab yours, his thumb rubbing tender circles over the skin. “I’ll see you at home”

He leaves without another word, you watch his form recede before stepping into the plane, the sound of the engine drowning out anything else before you feel yourself lift into the air. You’re filled with dread as you watch the base get smaller, you won’t be able to contact your husband for upwards of a month, and your last memory is him mad at you, you hated arguing in any form.

You lean your head back, settling in as the plane reaches the clouds, closing your eyes in an attempt to dream of anything but your anxiety.

Taglist: @chloepluto1306 @thychuvaluswife @valdemarismynonbinarylove @simply-vulpecula @lostinsideourminds @pampeop @bloodandthestars @tomhollandisabae @copiasratscheese @giveme-gaskarth

[nursingwriter]

Hospital Case Study If the first requirement of any successful case study is a detailed and analytical examination of the situation, the emotional component of so called "high stakes" issues can make this requirement difficult, indeed. The simple fact, however, is in order to find good solutions and policies regarding the problem presented in the case study, one must apply the three main questions of "situation," "remedy/s," and "method/s." Although this may seem difficult in some situations, the emotional component must not be considered. A good example of this fact occurs in the examination of an unfortunate case involving the botched heart/lung transplant of a 16-year-old girl, much like the recent incident at Duke Hospital. In this case, a young girl died as a result of receiving miss-matched organs. Unfortunately, in this case, all of the supposed safeguards of the system, imposed to assure that proper blood typing of both donor and organ recipient are compatible failed. As a result, the young girl was not only transplanted with incompatible organs, but, due the significant downturn in her health following the procedure, doctors failed to obtain another set of matched organs with the speed necessary to possibly save her life. Because it is believed that certain ethical questions contributed to the slow decision to re-transplant, it has been decided that the hospital ethics committee consider the main ethical questions involved -- both to ease the pressure on physicians and staff in the case of a similar situation, as well as to reassure potential patients that all measures will be taken to assure a successful outcome. In order to achieve the above goals, the committee must identify the ethical questions at hand. After much deliberation, the conclusion was made that the two main questions are -- 1 / Should assumptions concerning the likelihood of survival post-op impact the decision to grant a second set of organs should the first ones fail for any reason? And 2 / If a medical mistake be found to be directly responsible for patient deterioration, as well as responsible for the immediate need for a second set of organs influence the decision to quickly obtain (if available) those organs? When one considers the first question regarding the eligibility of patients for transplant in the case of failing health has been debated extensively in the medical and ethical community. Of course, this debate is based on the unfortunate fact that there are many who desperately need organs for their continued survival, while there are simply not enough organ supplies to go around. Consider, for example, the following: There is a huge gap between the number of people who need an organ transplant and the number of organs available. Each year, 3,000 U.S. patients die while waiting for a transplant -- and another 100,000 people die before they can even be put on the transplant list. There are some ways to narrow this gap -- but they raise both ethical and practical problems (DeNoon, 2000). Based on facts such as these, it has been put forward by some that the important decision regarding just who gets a new organ should be based on the likelihood of survival post-transplant. However, the ethical implications of this position present some real problems. Presently, there are several criteria affecting the level of one's placement on transplant lists. Of course, the most obvious determining factor is that a patient be determined to be in desperate need for the organ -- that is, without the rapid procurement (in some cases, depending on the organ involved, this may be just a few days or hours (Keen, 2001)) of the needed organ, the patient will die. Although there are presently more than one "list" on which patients are placed for organ donation, the organization known as the UNOS, or the United Network for Organ Sharing is charged with producing and maintaining those lists. According to this agency, the method by which patients are assigned organs involves assigning those in the most urgent need the most appropriate organ for their needs, taking into consideration issues of blood type, as well as the size and condition of the organ (Keen). Interestingly, however, there are times when other factors in addition to "urgent need" come into the frame. For, although UNOS expressly claims that organ decisions are made irregardless of age, sex, race, lifestyle, finances, religion, or personal affiliation (Keen), there are times when a patients overall health situation is taken into account as a liability. When any organ becomes available for transplant, those who are highest on the list are given precedence if at all possible (CTDN). Further, as stated above, the number one criteria determining one's placement is the current status of one's health dependent on the failing organ. However, it is important to understand that health status as a result of other, non-organ related issues may place otherwise qualified candidates at a distinct disadvantage. Over the years examples of these factors have included health issues such as HIV and AIDS infection, Hepatitis C infections, and lifestyle issues such as drug use or alcoholism. Interestingly, even if the UNOS lists do not place any emphasis on these factors, it is worth noting that several transplant hospitals do, placing an entire other level on the ethical debate. One example of this, of course, is the infamous position of the nations Veteran Administration hospitals on the issue of transplantation of AIDS patients, whom they refuse to serve at all (Chibbaro, 2004). Even more troubling is the habit of refusing to perform transplant surgeries on anyone who is unable to pay for the procedure -- making obtaining transplants largely within the reach of the middle and upper classes (DeLong, 1998). Perhaps what is most important in this case, however, is the hospital's ability to comply with the legal and ethical requirements of the United States Government under the Department of Health and Human Services. Not only does this help to ensure the transplant program of the hospital, itself, but it also protects other programs dependent on the hospital's ability to comply with national transplant guidelines (most notably, Medicare). In fact, the government has, in an effort to reduce such ethical quandaries, has developed an eligibility plan upon which Medicare funded hospitals are required to be bound. In short it requires: Decision to transplant, and placement on donor lists should be decided only on patient need. This need is based on likelihood of death without transplant. Age, lifestyle and cause of disease must not be considered (DeLong). Although, as a Medicare hospital, we are required to operate under the HHS guidelines, there remains the underlying ethical issue that not only gave rise to the above rules, but also perhaps led to the delay of the second transplant in the patient in question. For this reason it is important to consider these issues. It is simple human nature, given the horrible organ shortage that questions regarding the future utility of the transplant be in the background of any organ allocation. After all, who does not take pause at the idea of a frequently hospitalized race-car driver, for example, being given a kidney transplant over a child who is perhaps only a small degree healthier? So, too, does one naturally wonder at the years of life expectancy in a seventy-year-old patient compared to one who is only eighteen. It seems that taking such details into consideration should be natural. Why, then does HHS refuse to do this? Like many issues of ethics, transplant issues are often more complex than first thought. After all, if hospitals and transplant list administrators are allowed to differentiate based on the projected utility of the organ, based on time, quality of life, lifestyle, etc., there opens a window for not only grievous abuses of the system, but also a national transplant program in which no centralized decision can be made. In this reality, important life and death decisions would come to be based on subjective criteria, often based on the personal beliefs of a few. The repercussions of this could be devastating. Given, however, that the first issue is resolved, and it is decided that the hospital will comply with HHS rules regarding transplantation eligibility, physicians must be instructed as to the acceptability of using more than one set of organs during an individual transplant procedure. Talk to any transplant physician, and he or she will tell you that one of the greatest dangers for any transplant patient is known as "primary non-function." In simple terms, this means that once the new organ or organs are "hooked up," it simply fails to function. Unfortunately, when this event occurs, the usual outcome is death. However, there are instances when a transplant team have been able to swiftly acquire a second organ or set or organs in sufficient time to save the patient. Should this be any different in the case of medical-induced non-function, or even projected non-function? There was little question after it was discovered that the wrong blood-type organs were implanted in the subject patient that non-function and death would be the near-future result of the surgery, and that another set of organs were vital to the patient's survival. However, in this instance, the second set of organs were not immediately sought. Although grevous medical errors such as the one that occurred in this case are hardly uncommon, in this case, the error was compounded by the failure to seek (as opposed to failure to obtain) replacement organs quickly (Mitchel, 2004). However, it is also possible to consider another angle on the problem. Because the medical team had reason to believe that the patient would have significant reduced likelihood of survival, as well as a questionable quality of life following a second transplantation, all indicator point to value judgments on the part of the hospital transplant team, causing them significant pause concerning the ethics of pursuing another set of organs for their patient. Clearly, the issue of organ scarcity was paramount in the delay of treatment. However, had the transplant team been thoroughly briefed on hospital policy regarding responsibility as defined by the governmental standards concerning transplant eligibility, they would have known that their fundamental responsibility was to the preservation of the patient, not the supply of organs for more promising candidates. The simple fact was that they realized their error, the patient was compromised but not dead, and as such they were charged with finding every means at their disposal to save her. The sad fact, here, is that the patient required an additional set of organs, yet they were not actively and quickly sought. Further, the reality that if the case were different, and organs were not scarce, would have resulted in her immediate re-transplantation indicate that the value/ethical judgment was an inappropriate factor in this case. The simple fact is that under hospital policy, the physicians were not qualified to act in the interest of the organ program over the interest of their patient. Not only did she obviously still present a dire need for matched organs, but her condition indicated certain death without them. By not aggressively pursuing their acquisition, the team, in effect, gave up. Further, because the team failed to do this based on their inappropriate (based on governmental rules) consideration of future organ utility, they put the continued health of the transplant unit in extreme jeopardy. The fact is, the patient, under governmental criteria, was clearly eligible for a second set of organs. The decision to delay was inappropriate and tragic. Not only should this serve as an example of the difficult nature of transplant ethics, but it should also serve as a springboard for an educational campaign aimed to assure that this issue will never arise again. Although the issue of organ scarcity is necessarily an emotional one for all involved, there remains the salient truth that the physician's responsibility is to the patient before him or her (MCPM). To consider the greater issue of organ supply and utility over the immediate need of the patient on the table is a gross violation of this responsibility. What should be done, then, to help future transplant teams avoid similar errors? First and foremost, the initial typing error must never again occur. Indeed, its very occurrence raises extreme doubt as to the safety of typing procedures nationwide. Therefore, an aggressive study of an appropriate typing procedure should be immediately implemented, developed, and applied. Second, while it cannot be denied that there is a shortage of organs available for transplant, to place responsibility for this issue in the hands of hospital doctors and staff is a dangerous practice. The current wisdom clearly errs on the physician's responsibility to his or her immediate patient. To allow other ethical issues to arise necessarily violates patient trust. Further, in this case, the ethical decision presumably (if not overtly) violated HHS criteria as well. Here, implementing an educational campaign concerning the ethical responsibilities of transplant team members will be entirely dependent on a clear and open example of communication (CSU). If the team is not aware of a clear and defined protocol for situations like the one presented here, there is simply a greater chance that they will rely on personal subjective judgment. To allow this is to invite error. The reason that individual hospital employee or physicians should not be allowed to exercise ethical determinism in the treatment of their transplant patients is directly attributable to the complexity of the ethical issues surrounding transplantation, itself. A great deal of difficulty and ethical debate has gone into the national system for organ assignment. To allow the issue to be hashed and rehashed with every case invites disaster. Therefore, the following plan should be adopted: The transplant procedure must begin with a new system of blood type matching that has a large degree of "built-in safeguards." Not only should this system be based on independent verification techniques, but should also be checked more than once. A clear and well communicated program of education must be devised in which physicians and staff clearly recognize their ethical responsibilities. The ethical responsibility of the transplant team are to be first and foremost to the patient "on the table." No other issues should be considered. The current criteria for organ eligibility is dire need. Post-op life expectancy, or quality of life criteria is not to be invoked as part of a decision to acquire organs. The dire shortage of organs, although tragic, is not to be considered when one has the opportunity to acquire an organ for one's patient. The same amount of effort is to be applied to the acquisition and implantation of transplant organs as the procurement of any other medical supply required in the operation. No value judgment is to be placed on the organ. Medical errors are an inevitable part of health care. As such, there must be an environment in which such errors are immediately documented, communicated, and learned from. Physicians and transplant teams will always use swift action to acquire needed organs. No patient should die as a result of hospital delay (as opposed to availability problems, which are out of hospital hands). Value judgments concerning quality of life will not be considered with regard to acquiring a second set of organs post-procedural error. The fate of other patients awaiting transplant must not be considered when transplanting a patient with lower probability of survival or a lower expectation regarding quality of life. Policies communicated thorough as a result of this case must be applied to similar cases, should they arise. This includes cases involving staff error, as well as other factors that affect perceived outcomes/quality of life issues. Conclusion Again, understanding the dynamics in any case study marked by human tragedy can be problematic. The young girl in this case unfortunately was the victim of error based not only due to blood typing, but due to unfounded ethical considerations as well. Therefore, it is essential that the hospital put into motion educational plans to prevent any such breakdown of hospital-patient responsibility in the future. Clearly, transplant ethics are tricky. The shortage of organs is a dire problem, and the issues surrounding the rules of allocation are complex. For this reason, it is imperative to communicate a clear hospital policy on all foreseeable issues. Bibliography Chibbaro, Lou. (2004) Victory Claimed in HIV Suits. Washington Blade. Web site. Retrieved on August 8, 2004, at http://www.washblade.com/print.cfm?content_id=2771 Colorado State University Writing Center. "Case Studies." Retrieved from Web site on August 2, 2004 http://writing.colostate.edu/references/research/casestudy/com2a1.cfm CTDN. California Donors Network. (2004) Facts about organ and tissue donation. Web site. Retrieved on August 8, 2004, at http://www.ctdn.org/resources/faqs.php?id=3&NoHeader=1 Duke University. (2004). UNOS and DUH Safeguards for Organ Transplant Safety. Duke Medical News. Retrieved on August 7, 2004, at http://dukemednews.org/filebank/2003/06/28/UNOSandDUHSafeguardsforOrganTransplantSafety.doc De Noon, Daniel. (2000). As Transplant Gap Widens, New Organs Sought. Web MD. Web site. Retrieved on August 7, 2004, at http://my.webmd.com/content/article/27/1728_60333?printing=true Keen, Lisa. (2001). HEALTH: News Analysis: People with HIV reaching top of transplant lists Anti-viral drugs may trigger liver problems, but are also making organ receipt available. Washington Blade - September 28, 2001. Retrieved on August 7, 2004, at http://www.aegis.com/news/wb/2001/WB010904.html. MCPM. Massachusetts Coalition for the Prevention of Medical Error. (2004) Patient Safety Tools. Web site. Retrieved from Web site on August 8, 2004, at http://www.macoalition.org/publications.shtml Mitchel, Steve. (2004). Transplant Safeguards Already in Place. MedServ. Retrieved on August 8, 2004, at http://www.medserv.dk/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=1892 Read the full article

[drwcn]

I promised myself I was gonna stay in my lane and not do this, but goddamn it here we go: why most health care professionals vaccinate while some don't.

Aren't we all healthcare professionals?

Well. Yes.

But is our knowledge base the same? No.

And I'm not speaking from the high pedestal of someone who belongs to medicine looking down at professionals in nursing, physiotherapy, audiology, speech language pathology - no. That's not what I'm saying (although, out of all the health professions, physicians on average do learn the most in-depth pathophysiology and are more equipped to speak about infections, not because they're better or smarter or whatever other bullshit, but because that's literally the requirement of their job). Even within medicine itself, practitioners of different specialties have very different knowledge base. Once upon a time, they were all undifferentiated, wide-eyed, sponge-brained medical students. But then we go through training, we specialize, we pick and choose the subspecialty we want to practice in and... well the truth is after 25 years, if you stop using the area of knowledge you once learned, then the details of it kind of become fuzzy. Not to mention the stuff you learned as a medical student is the most rudimentary of medical knowledge. For instance, if an ophthalmologist who's been practicing for 25 years caring for people's eyeballs, and hasn't even remotely touched immunology and infectious disease since his end of medical school exams... well, they're not gonna be a big expert on COVID, even if they are an MD.

And then there's the question: even if we belong to the same profession, is our day to day experience, scope of practice, population of patients the same? Absolutely not. I've had this conversation with many of my nursing colleagues, some of whom are close friends of mine, and what one of them working in the ICU said to me really stuck.

She said to me: because they don't see it.

A nurse working on a surgical floor - that is, caring for patients after they've had a surgery - is going to have a vastly different experience compared to a nurse working on a internal medicine floor, or in the ICU. You would think, from tv and whatnot, that surgical patients are very sick. Well, they can be. But most surgeries are elective, and most patients going into surgeries are fairly healthy.

My roommate, who is also in medicine, said to me she enjoys surgical patients so much more, because they're healthy in general, other than the acute thing that they're getting surgery for. Example: 45 year old with acute cholecystitis, gets wheeled into the OR, gallbladder gets taken out laparoscopically, post-op Day 1 or 2, the guy is walking, drinking, voiding, passing gas, pain is managed, and is ready to go home. So, if a patient like that gets a positive COVID swab (because all patients getting admitted now is getting swabbed in our hospital), well... he could very well be an asymptomatic carrier and feeling completely fine. This is what we call an incidental finding; that is, we didn't expect it, and while we were screening, we just happen to find it. The reason for this patient's hospital visit is inflamed gallbladder, not COVID. A nurse caring for him after a time, could think, well... I've seen COVID patients, they're not so sick, I don't need the vaccine.

A nurse on the psychiatric ward may also feel the same way.

The nurse working on the acute in-patient medicine unit, on the other hand, will have a vastly different experience. When patients come in to hospital because they're very sick with COVID, they will be admitted under internal medicine, and if they're even worse, they get moved to the ICU, where they maybe be intubated, sedated, put on vasopressors because they can no longer sustain their own blood pressure. Nurses working in medicine and ICU see the worst of the COVID infection. They see the older adults with multiple comorbidities who really don't have enough reserve to fight the infection, they also see young adults who was otherwise healthy but still required hospitalization. Pediatric ICU nurses see kids and teenagers hospitalized for COVID, and even the nurses on the maternal ward see pregnant moms hospitalized with COVID and has to have C-Section because she's decompensating.

In a situation like this, what we have to do is look at the big picture. If you're only making decisions based on anecdotal evidence, or the stories of one or two people you know, then you're going to be doing yourself a big disfavor. COVID is real, it's here, and anyone can be susceptible. The vaccine is out, millions and billions of people have gotten it. Some people say "well it causes clots", but guess what, COVID infection itself is a HUGE risk factor for developing coagulopathy and clots, and it's not a theoretical risk either like the vaccine. Literally all the COVID patients I've cared for were put on anti-coagulants. And it's true, we don't know what could happen in 10 years, but I know that if I catch COVID, I could die next week. So... to me, the math seems pretty simple.

[a-weird-cryptid]

Random water bender I drew once

And yes, before you ask, I don't know how to draw water AT ALL. It might as well be slime or sth XD.

Also: What's the most op Avatar-the last Airbender element and why is it water?

Serious though, most people don't seem to understand the full potential water bending has. It has ALL the advantages and no disadvantage.

Disadvantages:

...

Most of the advantages can only be used if you're a skilled water bender, I guess...

Advantages:

Healing (an ability that none of the other benders poses)

Stop yourself and others from bleeding to death because of fatal wounds (by blood bending)

Get any kind of poison or penetrative objects (such as bullets) out of your system (by blood bending)

Create your own weapons and shields/armor out of ice (and that stuff can be hard af, almost like stone)

Cut through anything if put under enough pressure (yes, even stone and metal, as shown in the show)

Get to basically anything that isn't water proofed (by bending water in a way that opens for example a lock)

Fast travel by ice skating

Obstacles can be easily moved (by putting ice under it) or heck, even destroyed (think about stones and glass bottles filled with water and then you freeze them)

Obstacles can be simply avoided (by creating your own path around it)

Trapping opponents by freezing them in ice, which even works against skilled fire benders (think about the Agni Kai/fight between Katara and Azula at the end of the show)

Underwater breathing, by forming an air bubble around their head (I guess theoretically they could also bend the water in a way that would pull all of the oxygen around them, basically becoming "water bender fish")

Water can be found literally anywhere. From air, to plants, to animals (including humans) to even astroids in space. And it doesn't even matter in which state the water is in, since we saw that benders can change the state of water at will during the show plenty of times. Heck, you could put a water bender into fire nation territory without any obvious water surroundeding them and they'd still be the one with a high adventage. Why? Because to water benders, humans are nothing more than walking, talking, water buckets. You can literally use any bodily fluids for bending. And we tend to have a lot of them (around 60%/39 liters).

And on top of all of that they get a power boost every full moon, as if they weren't op enough already

And those are just the things I could think about from the get go. Be more creative when it comes to abilities, guy! Think outside of the box!

Feel free to add any other dis-/advantages of water bending, as well as arguments for another element being the most op one if you're opinion differs from mine. :)

For more discussions, reviews as well as other original stories and more, check out my master list of series.