#you and the medicine

[beaft]

i went to get my t-shot yesterday and it took me an hour and a half to get to the clinic and as soon as i got on the bed the nurse dropped my t-shot and it broke and now they're trying to make me pay for the replacement. i think the fuck not lmao

[thebibliosphere]

Still not over the head of cardiology, who said she wouldn't formally diagnose me with dysautonomia because she didn't want me to think of myself as disabled.

As if good vibes and a can-do attitude can stabalize autonomic dysfunction.

[great-and-small]

You know what I hate about the internet? Sometimes people will just lazily slap a “citation” on an infographic and trust that they’ll be completely taken at their word and nobody is going to dig deeper. And it works all the time. As an example, please look at this photo someone posted to dispute my assertion that garlic can be toxic to dogs.

Okay well, kind of a pain to manually type in that link but obviously I am going to look into this study that is confident enough to recommend people feeding their dogs garlic. So here’s the article, kind of a weird journal choice for this graphic to reference from but looks like a legit (though 20 year old) study

Funny thing is, almost immediately this article acknowledges that garlic can indeed be toxic to dogs. The health benefits mentioned in the graphic are referring to human health, not canine. This section is literally in the introduction of the article and one of the first things you read. Emphasis here is mine.

Crazy to me that someone would imply that this article encourages giving dogs garlic when it in fact immediately asserts that doing so has the potential to cause hemolytic anemia. The article does explore the anti-thrombotic effects of garlic components in dogs and humans, but by no means does it say that “contrary to misconceptions garlic is safe for pets”. It is dishonest to assert this in an infographic. However the creator of the image correctly assumed nobody would check, because the person who posted it took it as fact without further investigation.

I am begging you to be skeptical. Check your sources. Check their sources. Check my sources. Learn how to dig deeper and exercise that muscle as much as you can, especially on the internet. You will be absolutely shocked how much misinformation is casually stated and received as pure fact.

[shotmrmiller]

size difference where the one afraid to fuck you is simon. he thinks you soft. which is what you are. soft. fragile. small.

you're not like him. nothing like the guys. battle-scarred. muscles carved by relentless missions, scars that speak of duty.

your skin divots under his fingers, yielding to his weathered touch and if he squeezes hard enough, you'll have marks by morning. (he needs to be careful, he can't hurt you, won't—)

and so simon watches you touch yourself in the beginning, clever fingers swirling over your slippery clit with practiced movements even though his cock is straining against his trousers painfully. he can hear you mewl his name through bitten lips and it takes all of his self control to not tug his jeans off, slot himself between your spread, inviting thighs and push— stretch open your fluttering walls, so hot and slick, until he meets resistance, until he can push no more but—

he can't. you'd hurt. and he'd hurt because he hurt you. he won't.

after, when your eyes are heavy lidded, mouth slightly parted in exertion, you remind him that you aren't made of glass. that you won't break. you'll shatter— in the way you do when his tongue replaces your fingers— but not break.

"not a virgin either, for christ's sake," you groan.

maybe he's thinking too hard about it. he knows your teeth have edges, knows your bite is swift when deserved. but all he's truly good at is making things give. biology made it so with his bulky frame and raw mass.

his eyes trace the contour of your collarbone. delicate. then it darts to the pulse on your wrist. vital. his hands, the size of dinner plates don't coax. they demand. he'd snap you like a twig, leaving nothing but splintered remains in his wake.

you don't seem to mind, however. it slightly alarms him. where's your self-preservation? do you enjoy pain? is this some masochistic thing?

he looks at you, all glassy eyed and dewy skinned (ethereal; you're practically glowing under the soft light of the full moon that paints the room silver) and he thinks of how it's going to take work to make it work. his cock is large (he's seen the guys' eyes pop out of their heads in the showers once they caught a glimpse of what's between his legs) but you're persistent in the end. one too many nights of having him without having him.

he understands. simon knows better than most what it's like to yearn. to want and not have. he'd cause you pain by not giving in, and cause pain by giving in. damned if he does, damned if he doesn't.

so he caves. promises to go slow. careful.

"i can take it," you bravely say but he's barely pressing himself to your entrance and you're already making noises that tug at his pathetic little heart. the way your teeth sink into your bottom lip-- you look so pretty, how'd a twisted creature like him get someone like you to come home to-- as his cock fills you has him feeling lightheaded. it takes every ounce of self control to not sink into your heat, to hook your legs around his thick waist and let gravity do the rest.

an unsteady hand weaves its way down to your stuffed cunt, fingers splitting into a vee, feeling how he splits your puffy lips, and the view makes him buck his hips involuntarily.

his hands tighten around your calves when you keen, a high pitched noise that swells the lust he feels burning white hot at the base of his spine, tips of his fingers, deep within his loins. he feels ready to burst.

and he's only halfway in.

your voice cuts through the ringing in his ears. "m-more, simon, c'mon," the n is low and drawn out.

his fingers bite into your flesh as he pushes slow, oh so slowly, until your vise-like cunt envelops him completely. the sibilant hiss you let out makes his hair stand on end. (shame pricks at his nerves like a thousand tiny needles when his cock twitches at the sound of your slightly pained moans)

simon doesn't move, feeling your swollen walls around his cock ripple, tighten and slacken, like it's got a pulse of its own. he could be here, in you, cock deep in paradise for the rest of time.

"fuck me," you warble out, hand rubbing your swollen clit to well up the pleasure that's being smothered by the searing pang of discomfort.

when simon cants his hips back, he watches his cock come out of you, glistening with slick. his jaw aches from how hard he's clenching it. control. got to keep it slow, gentle. slow, simon, slow, slow--

"harder."

he feels the sudden sharp sting of your nails and jerks forward in surprise, filling you completely in one fast movement.

your moan this time is needy, thick with want, arousal dripping from your voice as it does your pussy, coating him in creamy white, a frothy ring at the root.

simon can see the barest of bumps below your navel, or maybe he's seeing things, your hot cunt putting him in a state of delirium but the way you take all of his cock and continue to beg for more, beg him to fuck you like he means it even though he's twice if not thrice your size well...

you'll just have to forgive him on the finger-shaped bruises they're going to be on your body after.

(you'd looked so cheeky before he flipped you onto your knees, grabbing onto your delicate neck like a lifeline as he pulled your hips to meet his. you'd taken him easier here, cunt sodden with slick but the angle had him reaching a devastating depth no one else could ever dream of reaching and even though it'd sprung tears to the corners of your eyes at the pinch, "mama ain't raise no bitch.")

[officialspec]

i always roll my eyes a little bit when someone openly looks down on people who are religious/spiritual. ur telling me youve never made a wish before?? never sent a little prayer out into the universe???? get real

[inkskinned]

"don't make it political!" .... what proportion of death and suffering must occur before politics are involved. if this isn't political, what is even the point of any politics, ever. of democracy. the words are "by the people for the people." if i am going to be left alone by my elected representatives to "figure it out" - to undergo damage, hardship, fear. what the fuck did i elect them for. what was their job. the entire point is that they handle this shit. this is why we were supposed to be electing leaders.

poverty is political. misogyny is political. gun control is political. climate change is political. how much aid a community gets is political. what the fuck are you talking about. it's been political this whole fucking time.

[jadewritesficshere]

Steve and Eddie are sharing a joint, sitting in Steve's car. They're just talking about random shit, when Steve goes to apply chapstick. And that made him think about lipstick.

Steve likes lipstick. He voices this opinion. Likes the pop of color that draws the eyes. Likes how it emphasizes lips, makes them look even more kissable. Likes the marks they leave on the skin when kissing. It gets him all hot just thinking about the trail leading down and down-

And Eddie. Eddie just shrugs and returns to puffing on the joint they are sharing. Says he's never experienced it. Which, Steve thinks is criminal. Sure, Eddie is gay and it's the 1980s, but lipstick is just makeup and anyone should be able to wear makeup. I mean, Steve isn't shy to wearing lip gloss not that he advertises it.

So, Steve digs around his car, finds the lipstick that Robin left. He applies a thick layer to his lips, smacking them a few times. "I'll prove it, come here," Steve says leaning into Eddie's space.

And Eddie is wide eyed but agrees.

One kiss leads to two. Which leads to Steve pressing open mouthed kisses into Eddie's neck. Eddie moans and Steve whispers in his ear," I've wanted to do this for awhile,, you're so hot." Which leads to Eddie's shirt coming off. Leads to red lipstick trailing down Eddie's chest and down and down and

Yeah, Steve was right. Lipstick is hot.

[tombraiderrocker]

If they claim they can cure your condition that you have been told is incurable, run. If they claim they cured themselves, run. If they claim they have cured everything from cancer to lupus holistically, run. If they claim you have to buy only supplements from them, run. If they claim they that only thing that will cure is x but x costs tons of money, run. If they refuse to run tests or address your diagnosed conditions before insisting you do an expensive treatment not covered by insurence, run. If they offer a one size fits all treatment/cure, run.

I have been scammed by "holistic" and "naturalistic" people before as a chronically ill person. In fact it was an actual doctor who went to medical school who scammed me for years. So watch out. If it seems too good to be true it probably is.

[cakesandfail]

apparently the goons over on twitter are now doing "antidepressants turn your kids ace" which sounds a little too much like "vaccines cause autism" and "puberty blockers are permanent" for my liking

[azulhood]

Conversations between best friends has often led to some reckless/stupid/not thought out at all decisions. Like one conversation the amity park trio had where Danny said that he couldn't see Tucker as a doctor (the medical kind) to which Tucker responded with "Alright, bet." and enrolled in medical school. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Bruce Wayne and Tucker Foley somehow by coincidence *cough* clockwork* became friends. And stayed friends even after Bruce dropped out and Tucker went on to finish med school. It was a strange friendship that was mainly just Bruce calling Tucker from the weirdest locations and asking things "Out of curiosity, if an immortal nutjob wanted you to marry his daughter and become his heir what would you do? uh-huh, uh-huh, really? ok, thanks." and meeting up for coffee every now and then. It was during one of these coffee meet-ups that Bruce confessed that he wanted to adopt a recently orphaned child by the name of Richard. There was currently push back from people who didn't think 'Brucie Wayne' would be a good parent and from others who didn't want a random kid having a chance to inherit the Wayne fortune, the media was also having a field day. Everyone kept asking him to "reconsider" and doing everything they can to stall/stop the adoption process. Tucker, being the good friend he was, said "Don't worry, I got this" Stood up from the cafe table, walked to the nearest library and politely asked to use one of their computers, spent a good ten minutes on it, printed something out on the library's printer, walked back to the cafe where he left Bruce waiting. And finally, he handed over the paper with the words "Take this." and continued drinking his now cold coffee. Bruce was, understandably, confused. "What is-" "Trust me, it'll work." Tucker assured him. That is how Bruce Wayne adopted one Richard 'Dick' Grayson.

And after that, Bruce went to Tucker whenever he came across a kid that he wanted to adopt, which was often. It's one reason why Tucker will do everything in his power to make sure Danny and Bruce never meet for fear that the Gothamite might try to add the Halfa to the growing army of children. Aka

Tucker Foley is The Guy

[houseswife]

people who aren’t in the house md fandom assume that the batshit craziness of these plotlines starts and ends with the old man yaoi and the malpractice. you all think you understand? [grabs you by the face] listen to me closely. these patients specifically seek out house because he’s known as the capital-G God of diagnostics. on MULTIPLE occasions someone has come in with seizures, coughing up blood, in multi-system organ failure and the team is like “it says here in the chart that you’ve had sex before?… yeah so we have concluded that ur allergic to cum :/ sorry.” and then are genuinely shocked when their treatment of “no more taking big fat loads from peanis” doesn’t reverse sepsis. this is a medical drama. about medical mysteries

[thebibliosphere]

I was talking on the phone to my mother earlier about how it looks like I'm possibly heading into very early perimenopause, and she agreed that was likely seen as how she had her last kid at 38 (same age as me) and then immediately went straight into menopause. Her body just shut up shop like no thank you, we are not doing that again.

And I was kinda joking with her like, wow, must be nice to have not had a period for 36 years, and she kinda laughed, then said, "Yeah. Except for that time when it came back when I was about 50," and I was like oh, wild, I didn't know about that, what did the doctor say and she was like, "Doctor?"

And that's when I had to be like, what do you mean you never went to the doctor when your period randomly came back after 12 years????

"Is that bad?"

Is that... MUM.

Anyway. I spent my afternoon explaining to my 74-year-old mother that you're not supposed to get your period again after you hit menopause, and if you do, it can be a warning sign that something else is going on, like a fibroid or cancer, and she should probably go to the doctor. Which, good news, I guess, she's already going because she's had a pain in her stomach for a while.

How long?

Oh, y'know. On and off. For about twenty years.

[vaxxman]

Could I request Medic having The Mom Grip on Scout’s shoulder after the speedy moron almost let a mercenary secret slip while they weee getting groceries?

Three Europeans and two Americans walk into a grocery store in New Mexico.

I hope this is the right meme.

More silliness below.

This comic is the antithesis of the "wtf is a kilometre" joke.

The faces they make when they can't quite identify the type of brown bread in the bread aisle.

You don't know how [insert nationality here] you are until you go overseas and things are different.

Spy obviously has no problems with pretending to know how much a gallon of milk is, he just peeks into his conversion chart notes, pretending it's his shopping list.

I want to think Heavy is completely fine with having to readjust to a new unit system, he just eyeballs most practical things anyways by holding them up and mumbling about how they approximately weigh like a chicken or his kettle bell etc. He's always been living in practical ignorant bliss.

Medic has a peer reviewed meltdown the first time he realises there's no uniformity in "a cup of ____" because every object has different densities. He's diligent about memorising the conversion rates for ounces, pounds, the most common things etc., and recovers ok. He goes through the same stages of grief rage when he finds out about distances and lengths.

Just remember four inches are 10.16 cm and pray no one asks you to specify anything bigger than inches.

Everyone does a mental victory lap when they manage to guess how much Celsius the weather is because they keep forgetting it's Celsius*5/9+32=Fahrenheit, Engineer reminds them patiently.

The true victories are the correct temperature guesses we've made along the way.

One time, a friend asked me if I actually knew how much a tablespoon of flour was in gramms to convince me that metric users also make use of volume based units without thinking about them. But little did she know a heaped spoonful of 405 flour is about 15g and a level tablespoon is 10g.

They claim Oolong just tastes better when it's boiled to 80°C exactly with a Bunsen burner.

You only asked for one scene but somehow I came up with a bunch of other things. This post was drawn across 2 months so the artstyle is all over the place. Thanks for your ask!

[right-stopthat-its-silly]

Renaissance painting. To me.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Happy Halloween! 🧼🥩🎃

[tevintersnakes]

Lab tech brain compels me to ramble through my OC