#Medical Coding Standards

[muhdanas]

Australian Medical Coding: Comprehensive Training for Global Certification

[medical-billing-service-0]

Optimizing Financial Management with Chiropractic Billing Services

In the healthcare sector, chiropractic care plays a vital role in managing musculoskeletal conditions, improving mobility, and enhancing patients' overall quality of life. However, managing the financial aspects of a chiropractic practice can be challenging due to the unique nature of treatments, frequent patient visits, and varying insurance policies. This is where medical billing services come into play, ensuring that chiropractic practices can focus on providing care while their financial operations run smoothly. These services streamline the billing process, minimize errors, and enhance reimbursement rates, which ultimately leads to better revenue management for chiropractic practices.

What Are Chiropractic Billing Services?

Chiropractic billing services are specialized financial solutions designed to meet the unique needs of chiropractic practices. These services are a critical component of Revenue Cycle Management (RCM) services, which oversee the entire process of patient billing, from claim submission to final payment. Chiropractic billing services handle everything from insurance verification and coding of chiropractic adjustments to following up on claims and managing denials. Since chiropractic care often involves ongoing treatments and multiple patient visits, these billing services ensure that claims are submitted accurately and promptly, reducing delays and maximizing revenue.

The Importance of Medical Billing and Coding in Chiropractic Care

Accurate medical billing and coding is essential for chiropractic practices to ensure that they are compensated for the services they provide. Chiropractic care involves various treatments, such as spinal adjustments, physical therapy, and other therapeutic services, each of which requires precise coding to avoid errors. Incorrect or incomplete coding can lead to claim denials or underpayments, which can negatively affect a practice’s cash flow. By partnering with experienced billing professionals who specialize in medical billing and coding, chiropractic practices can ensure that their claims are submitted correctly and in compliance with industry standards, leading to improved financial outcomes.

Benefits of Healthcare IT in Chiropractic Billing

In the digital age, Healthcare IT has transformed the way billing services are managed, offering numerous benefits for chiropractic practices. Advanced billing software and electronic health record (EHR) systems streamline the billing process by automating tasks such as claim submission, coding, and patient record management. Healthcare IT reduces human error, speeds up payment cycles, and allows for better communication between chiropractic providers and insurance companies. Additionally, real-time tracking and reporting features enable chiropractic practices to monitor the status of claims and payments, ensuring that revenue is managed efficiently. Healthcare IT enhances both the accuracy and efficiency of chiropractic billing, leading to improved practice operations.

Chiropractic Billing Services at Mediclaim Management

Mediclaim Management offers specialized Chiropractic Billing Services designed to meet the needs of chiropractic practices. With a deep understanding of the unique challenges that chiropractors face, their team of billing experts ensures that all aspects of the billing process are handled with precision and care. Mediclaim Management’s Chiropractic Billing Services help providers reduce billing errors, increase claim approval rates, and expedite reimbursements. By partnering with Mediclaim Management, chiropractic practices can focus on delivering high-quality care to their patients while ensuring that their financial operations run smoothly in the background.

With Mediclaim Management’s Chiropractic Billing Services, chiropractic providers can optimize their revenue cycle, reduce financial stress, and ensure that their practice remains financially healthy. This allows chiropractors to focus on what truly matters—improving the health and well-being of their patients.

[blythesarchives]

Подарок. | W.S

summary: You give the soldier a present for Christmas.

warnings: Fluff & Angst | Fem!reader | Winter Soldier!Bucky | Post!CA:TWS | PTSD mentions | Mention of medical treatments | Recovery | Brief talk of nightmares

a/n: Sort of unofficial part two to Sugar Plums since I had a few people asking for a part two. Same universe I guess, with some time between. Uhh probably rushed idk. To be edited later. ;; wc: 3.3k

Recovery.

Fickle, fragile, exhausting.

He gradually accepted being called Bucky, though the name stirred something uncomfortable within him each time it reached his ears. Steve, ever persistent and hopeful, would use various versions of the name - Bucky, Buck, or sometimes James - in his unwavering attempts to resurrect the friend he once knew, unable to accept that the Bucky from his memories had faded away like footprints in snow.

Winter had completely erased the old Bucky.

While these names would trigger a subtle internal struggle, he maintained an almost perfect mask of indifference, with only the slightest furrowing of his brow betraying any sign of his inner turmoil.

You, however, carefully navigated between calling him Bucky and Soldat, aware that using his old code name might reinforce programming you wished to help him break free from. Yet there was a slight relaxation in his shoulders when you used the familiar designation, the way it seemed to ease the constant tension he carried made it impossible to completely abandon - his comfort, however small, had become your priority.

Even if that comfort stemmed from a dehumanizing name.

It required negotiation and persistent discussions to convince Tony to finally allow the soldier access to the medbay wing for his necessary medical treatments. Despite the soldier's extended stay in the tower passing without any concerning incidents, Tony maintained a strong hesitation about providing medical assistance. His deeply-rooted skepticism and apparent distrust were sources of frustration for you, though you consciously chose to avoid escalating the situation into a full-blown argument, knowing it would only make matters more complicated.

You had already gotten into intense scuffles with Tony over the soldier’s stay, how he needed to be looked over, physically and internally. The dislocated arm Steve caused never healed, and he had been carrying his arm awkwardly close to his body. Other physical injuries on top of the apparent dehydration and malnourishment, he was constantly under a veil of sickness.

The situation was particularly delicate because Soldat struggled with being in the presence of the other tower residents. He was acutely aware of how everyone seemed to cautiously moderate their behavior around him, treating each interaction as if they were navigating through a minefield of potential triggers. Like they were walking along eggshells every time they were near him.

It felt like he was walking on glass.

You were his only source of comfort, though traces of caution still lingered in his demeanor. He knew you posed no threat to his wellbeing. You had been patient and gentle the entire time, regardless of his panic or prone sense to lash out if he got stressed enough.

Long nights stretched endlessly in the sterile medbay rooms, where you faithfully maintained your vigil in the uncomfortable chair positioned beside the standard-issue medical bed. The soldier’s bed remained empty, as he consistently chose to rest on the cold floor instead. Sleep was an elusive companion for him, a nightly battle he rarely won. More often than not, his rest was violently interrupted by his own terrified screams or desperate shouts, his body jerking upright with defensive movements, arms swinging at invisible threats.

You would spend countless minutes trying everything in your power to bring him back to reality and calm his frantic state. Sometimes, despite your best efforts and gentle words, the situation would escalate beyond your ability to manage, forcing the medical staff on standby to intervene with sedatives to prevent him from unintentionally causing harm during these episodes.

Luckily his recovery progressed slowly but surely, transitioning from those intensive IV treatments in the clinical environment of the medbay to the more comfortable setting of your personal quarters. His sleeping arrangements evolved as gradually as his treatment; first from the hard floor, then to the modest couch tucked against the far wall, and finally to your bed.

These days, he found his rest beside you each night, his body instinctively seeking comfort by curling close to yours, desperately trying to make up for all those decades of disturbed sleep and haunted dreams.

Over time, his attachment to you had grown increasingly intense, and he began experiencing waves of jealousy whenever your attention was directed elsewhere. You helped around the tower a lot, so you tended to be distracted with tasks or aiding in another’s need. The soldier didn’t like it, so he began leaving his mark on you. It started subtly at first, he would rub your clothes on himself, in his mind it was good enough that you smelled like him. He saw it in a documentary once, of animals, but he had been in such a dehumanized state for so long, it made sense to him. His body’s scent on you, others would back off. That would work.

But, no, it wasn’t enough.

One day, crossing an unspoken boundary between you, he started placing love bites along your skin, positioning these tender marks from your neck down to your shoulders, eventually becoming bold enough to venture lower, marking your chest with these plum bruises.

The possessive displays sent warmth coursing through your body, and you willingly accepted his territorial behavior. After all, you had become his sole source of comfort and security in this world, making it perfectly natural for him to want to claim you in some way - whether through his distinctive scent (you knew about him rubbing your clothes on his body) or these carefully placed marks. His need to establish this connection, to make his claim visible, he was terrified you’d be taken from him.

Progress was being made in your relationship.

While he was still cautious with physical contact, he had begun to allow gentle touches and brief moments of closeness, though always within carefully maintained boundaries. He was like a cat, deciding when he wanted physical attention and when he wanted it to stop. The challenge of memory recovery remained a significant hurdle in his healing process. You had to help him remember specific things, he often mixed Russian and English, or plainly forgot the simplest of words.

He couldn’t for the life of him remember what a pillow was.

When Steve would speak to him, sharing stories and memories of their past, Bucky would often find himself lost in confusion, unable to connect with the vivid recollections that Steve so enthusiastically shared. The determination in Steve's eyes was evident as he tried desperately to help his lost friend remember the bond they once shared, but for Bucky, these memories remained frustratingly out of reach.

Steve's enthusiasm was well-intentioned, but sometimes, it manifested as an overwhelming flood of information and expectations. You could sense Bucky's growing distress during these interactions, the way his shoulders would tense, how his eyes would dart anxiously around the room. The stark reality was that Bucky's memories of Steve were minimal at best, yet Steve continued to share detailed accounts of their past experiences with increasing intensity.

Your became a careful mediator, providing emotional support to Bucky while gently helping Steve understand that his passionate approach was more hindering rather than helping the delicate process of memory recovery.

Bucky would get frustrated with himself during his journey of recovery. His collection of journals became a sanctuary for his fragmented memories, filled with carefully preserved photographs (provided by Steve), detailed notes written in an unsteady hand, and hastily scrawled thoughts or recollections that would suddenly surface from the depths of his consciousness throughout all hours of the day and night. These journals became both a source of comfort and torment, evidence of his struggle to piece himself back together like a puzzle without a photo.

Even with help from you or Steve, he maintained strict control over his recovery process. He deliberately chose not to document anything that Steve mentioned or tried to convince him of, instead focusing solely on recording memories that emerged organically from within his own mind.

Having experienced decades of mental manipulation, he didn’t want anyone influencing his thoughts or memories ever again. He couldn't bring himself to simply accept Steve's version of events without questioning them, needing to verify everything through his own recollections.

You knew it hurt Steve to see Bucky this way, how he refused to listen or believe him, but you couldn’t blame the man. Either of them, really. It was delicate, it took a lot of patience on everyone’s part.

Bucky’s dedication to recovering his past manifested in sleepless marathons that would stretch on for days at a time. The soldier within him approached the task with military precision, attempting to reconstruct his shattered memories in a specific manner. Yet despite his efforts, the majority of his recollections remained disjointed and fractured, with memories of his time with HYDRA dominating his consciousness more than anything else.

While Bucky was trying to recall his elusive past, you dedicated yourself to helping him build new neural pathways and retain more recent experiences, hoping to make his daily life more manageable and give him a sense of independence. The simplest tasks had become foreign territory for him - the muscle memory and basic understanding of everyday activities having slipped away like water through cupped hands. Modern appliances like microwaves, coffee makers, or the oven had become objects that he approached with confusion.

His relationship with food had become particularly concerning. Unable to prepare proper meals, you would find him furtively consuming makeshift sandwiches, but only when he believed he could finish them before being discovered. His posture during meals was hunched, protectively positioning himself over his plate or bowl, shoveling food into his mouth at an alarming pace, his entire body tense as though preparing to defend his meal from unseen threats.

Food aggression, apparently, wasn't restrictive to just animals.

Among the numerous concerns, his recurring nightmares stood out as the most troubling and pressing issue. The frequency and intensity of these night terrors had become increasingly worrisome, regardless of how well he had progressed otherwise.

Night after night, his anguished screams would pierce the darkness, and these episodes gradually evolved into extended periods where sleep became completely impossible for him to achieve. Bucky would remain awake for days and nights at a stretch, fighting against his own exhaustion, scribbling nonsense into his journals until his body would finally surrender and he would collapse into a brief, troubled slumber.

This cycle would repeat, each time more severe than the last.

Your began looking into different methods that might help ease his troubled sleep so that Bucky could experience the simple luxury of peaceful rest. Your research led you through a wide array of options; from various herbal teas and natural sleep remedies to more conventional medical interventions. However, given his strong aversion to pharmaceutical solutions, you deliberately steered clear of medication-based approaches, knowing they would likely be met with resistance.

Over time, you discovered that a soothing routine of warm herbal tea and gentle companionship proved to be an effective remedy for his nightmares. The nightly ritual of sharing your sleeping space had become second nature, and you observed how this consistent presence brought him the comfort and stability his life lacked for seven decades. His sleep patterns were delicately intertwined with his emotional state, thus during periods of anxiety or perceived threat, his rest would become noticeably disturbed and fitful.

However, your unwavering presence served as a constant source of reassurance, creating a safe haven where he could finally find peaceful rest. Plus, it helped him regain new memories to write down and you could see how proud he was every time he recounted something from his past.

Christmas morning.

Every corner and crevice of the tower sparkled with festive décor, tinsel draped from every available surface, and twinkling lights illuminated the halls in a dazzling display. It was an extravagant winter wonderland that bordered on excessive, but that was exactly Tony's style - he approached every holiday with unbridled enthusiasm, and Christmas was undoubtedly his crowning achievement.

With his seemingly limitless resources at his disposal, there was nothing holding him back from creating the most elaborate celebrations possible.

Aka…he was rich so he could.

In contrast to Tony's lavish approach, you took a more modest approach when it came to gift-giving. The act of receiving presents always made you somewhat uncomfortable, as you found far more joy in being the one doing the giving. You selected meaningful presents for each team member, carefully considering their individual interests and preferences. You couldn't match Tony's extravagant spending (something he never failed to remind everyone of that morning), but you firmly believed that the genuine thought and personal consideration behind a gift carried far more significance than its monetary value (Tony disagrees).

Bucky perched uncomfortably at the far end of the plush couch, his posture tense and rigid while the other team members enthusiastically tore through their wrapped presents with childlike excitement. Your general annoyance with Tony's characteristic swagger and showmanship failed you this morning, a warmth spread through your chest at the genuine joy radiating from Pepper's face when she discovered the exquisite diamond ring he had carefully selected for her and presented after she freed it from the tight wrapping paper.

You stayed by Bucky all morning, carefully observing his reactions to the bustling holiday atmosphere. It was clear he was struggling to process the overwhelming sensory experience and you didn’t blame him. The twinkling lights and shimmering tinsel to the constant chatter and laughter of the group, on top of holiday music and the smells of breakfast and baked goods from the kitchen, were surely a lot to process. His discomfort grew and you recognized the telltale signs of sensory overload in his slightly widened eyes and shallow breathing. The social expectations was clearly taking its toll.

He had wanted to try, he wanted to sit down with you that morning, but he had been struggling.

Your gift pile was modest, exactly as you had requested. You insisted that presents weren't necessary, you found yourself the recipient of a generously stuffed Christmas stocking and an assortment of small, meaningful items carefully chosen by your teammates in a way that made it impossible for you to object to their kindness.

When Steve presented Bucky with a collection of carefully preserved mementos from their past, but the soldier's response wasn’t what he wanted. His eyes fixed on the items that should have sparked recognition, should have ignited memories of happier times, but instead were met with blank confusion and growing distress. You sensed the uncomfortable scene and noticed the mounting anxiety in Bucky's expression, you decided to intervene with a present you got for him.

"Here, I got this for you." You handed him a carefully wrapped bag with delicate tissue paper peeking out from the top, rustling softly with each movement. "Nothing all that special but...I figured it might be nice to have something like this." You replied gently, your voice carrying a hint of nervousness as you watched him, waiting with anticipation for him to open the gift.

Bucky held the bag tentatively, his eyes fixed on the festive baby blue packaging adorned with an intricate pattern of darker blue ornaments. The glitter-coated decorations caught the light as they spiraled across the surface of the bag. He had to blink a few times to refocus his eyes, his hand slowly reached up and grasped the white tissue paper that had been carefully arranged at the top, concealing the gift. He pulled it free, soft crinkling sounded as he removed it.

He reached into the depths of the bag, his fingers brushing against something soft before grasping it. As he drew it out, his hand revealed a charming stuffed elephant, its plush grey body soft to the touch. The toy was perfectly proportioned, with endearing fat limbs that dangled naturally from its tear-shaped body. Its oversized ears flopped gently and its trunk curved in a friendly manner that seemed to welcome embrace. The stuffed animal sat comfortably in his hands, sized just right for holding close and cuddling.

"Elephants are known for their memories, you know." You gave him a gentle, encouraging nudge, your voice soft and hopeful. "Who knows? Maybe having this elephant around will help spark some of those lost memories of yours. They say elephants never forget, after all."

Bucky turned to face you, his expression one of confusion and curiosity. His eyes held that familiar, guarded look the soldier usually carried - a careful blend of wariness and interest that never quite revealed his inner thoughts. He examined the stuffed toy with an almost childlike fascination, as if encountering one for the first time.

His flesh hand explored every detail of the plush elephant with careful attention, fingers trailing along the soft fabric. He wrapped them around the trunk, testing its flexibility, then moved to rub the floppy ears between his thumb and forefinger, then squeezing the body gently as if checking its softness.

"There's something else too." You smiled warmly, gesturing toward the bag with enthusiasm. "Go ahead, take another look." He complied, reaching in until his hand emerged clutching a brand new journal. Following the theme, the journal was decorated in a soothing light blue shade, its cover stamped with a delicately printed elephant in the center. "I noticed your other journals were getting pretty full, so I thought you might need a fresh start. This one's got plenty of space, lots of room for all those thoughts and memories you want to keep safe."

His hands gently set the items down after examining each one carefully, his eyes lingering on every detail as if trying to memorize them. Then he turned to you, his expression unreadable. "You...got these...for me." Bucky spoke slowly, each word carefully chosen, as if he was having trouble processing the simple act of kindness. "To help me remember?"

"And, the elephant will be a nice cuddle buddy for those long nights you tend to have," you explained softly, watching his reaction. "It has special infusions of lavender and bergamot oils that I picked specifically to help you sleep better. The aromatherapy might even help soothe away those bad dreams you've been having. Well, at least according to the sales clerk." You reached out and lifted the soft plush elephant, bringing it to your nose and inhaling deeply. "See? It's really calming, isn't it?"

He took the toy back and smelled it deeply, letting out a contented sigh as the aroma filled his nose and sent waves of comfort through his body, making him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He carefully lowered the elephant into his lap, treating it as if it were made of delicate porcelain. His throat tightened with emotion as he swallowed hard and looked back at you, his eyes wide with disbelief and gratitude.

"All this for me?" he whispered, his voice barely audible as he struggled to process the reality that someone would think to get him anything at all (Steve didn’t count). The concept of receiving gifts was so foreign to him, so far removed from his perception of what he deserved, that he could barely wrap his mind around it.

You thought maybe it looked sill to some people, but it was more about why you got it, not what you got him.

You nodded, offering a warm smile, "Yes...I got this just for you."

The soldier's gaze slowly drifted back to his lap, his fingers lingering momentarily on the thoughtful gifts before carefully pushing the journal and elephant to rest beside him. He then leaned forward quickly, closing the distance between you and wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. The display caught you off guard, given his usual hesitance to initiate any form of contact beyond nightly cuddling or his possessive love-bites.

After you recovered from the sudden gesture, your arms encircled him in return. You drew him closer as he nestled himself against your body, seeking comfort in your warmth and smell. It was one of the only things he could consistently rely on.

A knowing smile played across your lips as you whispered against his ear, "I take it you like it?"

"...Да."

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

[lightasthesun]

Comprehensive Lexicon Guide for First-Time SW Fic Readers:

Flimsi/Flimsiplast = Paper

Flimsiwork/Datawork = Paperwork

Stylus = Pen

Datapad = Tablet

Comlink/Comm = Communication Device/Phone

Binders = Handcuffs

Chronometer = Clock

Spectacles = Eyeglasses

Chrono = Watch

Conservator = Refrigerator

Caf = Coffee

Nerfburger = Hamburger

Blue milk = Milk (literally blue)

Hubba chips = French Fries

Sweet roll = Doughnut

Flatcakes = Pancakes

Tabac = Tobacco

HoloNet = World Wide Web

Holovision/HoloTV = Television

Holodrama/Holovids = Movie/Videos

Holocamera/Holocam = Camera

Holomap = three-dimensional map

Holojournal = Newspaper

Holocube = Picture frame

Holotable = Projector

Holoscanner = X-ray machine

Holojournalist = Reporter

Flatholo/Holograph = Photograph

Sonic Damper = Active Noise Cancellation

Refresher/Fresher= Bathroom

Sonic Bath = Bath

Sanisteam/Sonic shower = Waterless Shower

Hydrospanner = Wrench

Hydro Flask = Water Bottle

Power Cell/Energy Cell = Batteries

Authorization Chip = Decryption key

Datatape = Disk

Datastick = Flash drive

(Personal) Com Code = Phone number

Datachip = SD Card

Synthflesh = Synthetic skin

Glowrod = Flashlight

Sparkstick = Match

Slugthrower = Gun

Slug = Bullet

Vibroblade = a blade that can vibrate at high frequencies, increasing its cutting power and penetrating ability (tactical knife)

Rangefinder = Rifle scope

Turbolaser = Cannon

Ion pike/Vibropike = Spear

Electro Staff = Stun baton

Blaster = Pistol/Rifle

Stun Blaster = similar to a Taser

Landspeeder/Airspeeder/Speeder = Car

Turbolift = Elevator

Slideramp = Escalator

Starfighter = Fighter jet

Rotorcraft = Helicopter

Hoverpack/Jetpack= Jet pack

Speeder Bike = Motorcycle

Skylane = Traffic lane

Railspeeder/Hovertrain = Train

Power Chair/Hoverchair= Wheelchair

Windscreen = Windshield

Podracing = Car racing

Dejarik = Chess

Sabacc = Poker and Blackjack combined

Galactic Rebels = Combat simulator

B'shingh = Dungeons and dragons

Jizz = Jazz music

Wailer = Singer (ie. Jizz Wailer)

Cantina = Bar or Pup

Para Sailing = Paragliding

Aurebesh = Alphabet

Credits = Money

Sleeping Pallet = Bedroll

Naming Day = Birthday

Youngling = Child

Galactic Basic Standard/ Basic = English

Medkit/Medpac = First aid kit

Hypo = Syringe

Medic/Healer = Doctor

Medcenter = Hospital

Bactapatch = Bandaid

Nanoweave = Fabric

Transparisteel = Glass

Plastifoam = Packing material

Durasteel = Steel

Plasteel = Plastic

Duracrete = Concrete

Slicer = Hacker (slicing = hacking)

Identikit = Passport

Minder = Therapist

Synthleather = Vinyl

Viewport = Window

Cooling Unit = Air-conditioning

Honeydarter = Bee

Slythmonger = Drugdealer

Spice = Drugs

Stimpill = Caffeine pill

Power Socket = Plug

Cutters = Scissors

Cycle = Day

Standard Cycle = 24h

Standard Week = 5 days

Standard Month = 35 standard days

Standard Year = approx. ten months

Tenday = literally ten days

Cigarras/Smokes = Cigarettes

Click = Kilometer or 'a moment'

Parsec = a unit of distance

Tweezers/Clanker/tin head/tinnie = Droid

Separatist = Seppie

Promise Ring = Wedding Ring

Body Glove = Jumpsuit

Slicksuit = Wet suit

Civvies = Civilian clothing

Carbonite = a metal alloy used to freeze a person in a state of hibernation

Hyperdrive = device that allows a starship to travel faster than lightspeed

Moisture vaporator = device that can extract water from the air, commonly used on tatooine

Glareshades = Sunglasses

Gasser = Gas Oven

Repulsorlift = technology that can create an anti-gravity field and is used for levitating heavy objects

Heating unit = Heater

Utility Droid = Roomba

Sunbonnet = a Clone trooper helmet

Bad Batcher = a defective Clone Trooper

Banthabrain = birdbrain/ a stupid person

Bantha fodder = waste of space/nonsense

Blast! = word of exclamation

Blasted! = s.o in anger or annoyance

Blaster-brained = dimwitted

Blaster fodder = cannon fodder

Blast off = Piss off

Brainless = Stupid

Bug/Bugger = used to refer to Geonosians

Forceforsaken = godforsaken

Full of Poodoo = full of shit

Poodoo = Shit

Kriff = Fuck

Jedi scum = derogatory term for jedi

Kark = derogatory expletive

Larty = LAAT/i gunship

Laserbrain = insult

Meat droid = derogatory term for Clone Troopers

Redrobes = Palpatines guard

Rookie/Shinie = newly recruited Trooper

Scum = insult to refer to bounty hunters/rebels

Sharpie = Sharp-witted

Sithspawn/Sithspit/Hellspawn! = expletive

Sleemo = Slimeball

Son of a bantha = insult

Wizard! = Cool

Spaced = dead

Hutt-spawn = Bastard

Karabast = exclamation of dismay

Stang = Crap

Buckethead/Bucketbrain = derogatory term for Stormtroopers

Bucket = Helmet

Nat-born = Natural Born

Roger Roger = affirmative/copy that

Droid poppers = EMP grenade

Sitrep = short for situation report

Backwater Planet = any planet that isn't part of the core system

Holocron = device that can project a three-dimensional image of a person/object and is used for communication or entertainment.

Kessel Run = a risky Operation. Commonly used as a metaphor in impossible situations.

Thermal Detonator= device that can create a powerful explosion like a grenade or bomb

Ray Shield/Energy Shield = creates a (protective) barrier

Rebreather = device that allows a person to breathe underwater or in toxic environments

Phrases:

Wild goose chase = wild bantha chase

That's bantha shit = that's bullshit

As slippery as a greased Dug = untrustworthy

Credit for your thoughts = penny for your thoughts

Cut the poodoo = cut the crap

to get your gills in a twist = get upset about something

Holy mother of meteors = holy mother of god

Oh my skies/ Oh my stars = exclamation of surprise

Stars' end! = exclamation of disbelief

What in the blue blazes = exclamation

When Geonosis freezes over/When it snows on tatooine = extremely unlikely

Who pissed in your power supply = who pissed you off

Blast it = damn it

By the maker = exclamation of surprise

Great karking Dragon = expression of disbelief

Lothcat got your tongue = equivalent of 'cat got your tongue?'

Sod it = expression of frustration

[hrrtshape]

insane, dream-like things that were normal in my better cr . . . in other words, what it was like being part of the 1%

i never carried cash : i didn’t need to. if i ever found myself in a situation where cash was required, idk, a farmer’s market or bribing someone, i’d just apple pay!?

i never waited for anything : reservations were booked months in advance. lines were always skipped. at clubs we just walked right in. theme parks? VIP passes only. i have never stood in a queue longer than 90 seconds in my life...or...in my better cr.

my closet was bigger than a new york apartment : and everything was colour-coded. yep. yep !!!

i never read price tags : not because i was being reckless, because i simply did not need to know. it was always fine.

if i wanted something, i got it : saw a dress in a magazine? had it by the next morning. craved a specific croissant from a bakery in paris? it was flown in. life had no delays.

luxury was so normal i had to actively remind myself it wasn’t : by the 13th day, i would have moments, small ones, where i’d be like, " wait, not everyone has their own perfume custom-blended by a french artisan? " and then i’d move on.

the ‘poor kid’ still had a trust fund. . . they just had less in it.

errands? what errands? dry cleaning, post office, buying toothpaste. these were not my problems.

skincare was medical : not just a ‘good moisturiser’ situation, i mean dermatologist-designed, prescription-only, lab-created serums. my facials involved lasers. my face was someone’s full-time job.

my mom had a florist on retainer : fresh-cut flowers appeared in my room like magic. i never asked for them. they just were.

celebrity run-ins were painfully normal : “oh yeah, we had dinner next to tilda swinton last night.” “who?” WHO?

we never parked our own cars : valet, always. i had a friend who didn’t even know how to use a parking metre.

there was no such thing as ‘saving up’. in those two weeks i never thought, “hmm, should i buy this now or wait till christmas when i get 50 euros from my grandma?” PFTTTTT.

everyone had a ‘family office’ : financial advisers, lawyers, accountants. my money was managed. someone in my school had three.

coffee orders were wildly specific : not ‘latte with oat milk’ specific. i mean custom-roasted beans, flown in from a single farm in costa rica, brewed at a precise temperature, delivered in a monogrammed cup.

doctors made house calls : i have not seen the inside of a waiting room. ever. feeling sick? someone arrived.

vacation homes weren’t a flex, they were a given : there’s the paris apartment (1st arrondissement, obviously), the villa in lake como, the chalet in gstaad. the only real estate question was, “are we summering in capri or st. barths?

your signature scent is impossible to buy : it’s either a discontinued hermès perfume from the ’70s that you miraculously still source, or a custom blend from a perfumer who only takes five clients a year.

flying commercial is a horror story, not an option : tsa? baggage claim? delays? these are foreign concepts. you had a netjets membership at the very least, but most likely, you have a family jet with an interior designed by someone who also did a yacht.

your tastebuds have standards : your daily coffee comes from a faema e61, your eggs are from a private farm, and your idea of a snack is burrata flown in from puglia that morning. did i mention my private school had michelin chefs?? yea.

you own art. like, real art : not prints. not posters. actual, museum-worthy pieces that are either inherited or sourced through galleries that don’t even have websites.

most people don’t know what anything costs : a gallon of milk? no idea. a metro ticket? couldn’t tell you. you swipe, tap, sign, and never check.

you don’t shop in stores like normal people : you go to private showrooms, have pieces sent to your home, or shop off-runway. waiting in line… horrendous.

i’ve had a ‘house account’ somewhere : a boutique, a jeweller, a tailor. places where you don’t pay on the spot, just ‘put it on the account’ and settle later.

i was taught how to eat properly : which fork for what course, how to use a butter knife, the correct way to hold a wine glass. it’s not something i learned. it’s something i absorbed from watching adults at endless dinners, benefits, and polo events.

i don’t remember learning how to ski or ride horses : because i was doing it before i was fully conscious. i have childhood photos in full equestrian gear, little skis strapped to my feet in gstaad or zermatt. it’s just something i always did.

an art education by osmosis : grew up hearing adults talk about rothko, basquiat, and duchamp in casual conversation. dragged to the louvre and the tate before i could even read. instinctively know the difference between an original and a print.

i have a family lawyer on retainer : and not because i ever committed a crime. they exist to handle things. NDAs, reputation management, keeping your name out of the papers. they know where the bodies are buried, metaphorically (or not).

most families’ wealth is so old and so layered in offshore accounts that even they don’t fully understand it : trust funds? sure, but also shell companies in the caymans, art holdings in geneva, real estate portfolios under LLCs. money isn’t in banks. it’s spread across continents.

most parents’ have had affairs with each other for decades, and it’s not even a scandal anymore : it’s just part of the ecosystem. marriages aren’t about love, they’re alliances. the wives turn a blind eye, the husbands keep it discreet, and the real betrayal is talking about it.

i’ve been name-dropped in a deposition : it was a divorce case. i was never involved, but my name was adjacent to power, so it got dragged in. the case was settled out of court, of course.

most families has multiple passports : not for fun, not for aesthetics. because sometimes you need an exit strategy. a villa in capri, a château in france, a penthouse in dubai. doors are always open, should you ever need to disappear.

i’ve seen actual generational feuds play out in real time : my parents have enemies. their parents had enemies. the grudges go back decades, and nobody even remembers what started it.

i grew up around people who have gotten away with actual crimes : white-collar, mostly. insider trading, fraud, tax evasion. but sometimes things darker. people go to rehab, people “retire early,” people take extended trips to monaco until things cool down.

i’ve seen billionaires (and their kids) break down over the pettiest things : a bad seat at a gala, a misplaced monogram on their jet, a slight from someone whose family has less money than theirs. the richer they are, the more fragile they get.

my family has a pr strategy : this is largely because my mom is a ceo of a billion dollar company. and everything is managed. what photos are released, what stories are planted, which journalists are “friendly.” nothing is random.

i know that philanthropy is often just money laundering with better optics : charities set up for tax reasons, “foundations” that quietly funnel wealth back into the family, billionaire donations that conveniently coincide with favourable legislation.

i’ve seen people lose their fortunes overnight : one wrong deal, one lawsuit, one scandal that sticks, and suddenly, the private jets are getting repossessed. the real old money…they watch from a distance. they never risk everything.

i know that some billionaires don’t actually have liquid cash : they’re over-leveraged, playing financial gymnastics with their own net worth. yachts, art, mansions. but the second they need actual money? suddenly, things get complicated. this is why everyone in my school donated possessions instead of actual money.

met people who don’t own their clothes : couture is loaned, jewellery is borrowed, yachts are rented to themselves through shell companies. it’s all about optics. they don’t need to own when they can access.

heard rich kids joke about things that would make normal people physically ill : laughing about tax evasion, casually mentioning private rehabs like summer camp, making bets on stocks that could ruin lives.

met billionaires who are bored of being rich : the thrill is gone. the yachts, the jets, the parties. it’s routine. they start chasing danger. high-stakes gambling, extreme sports, secret societies. anything to feel something.

[internetdaddy98]

Point of Care

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist]

Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: Robby and Y/N share a quiet dinner at a cozy, dimly lit restaurant, where they allow their relationship to move past the secrecy and uncertainty that has defined it. 

Word Count: 1.9 K Content Warning: Medical procedures, will most likely be medically inaccurate at times.

The HR office was tucked away in the admin wing, far from the chaos of the ER, far from the trauma bay and the noise of overhead codes. You had only been here once before, during your orientation. It smelled like coffee, printer toner, and bureaucratic permanence.

Robby walked beside you, his hand grazing yours occasionally but never quite closing the distance. They weren’t here for declarations or fireworks. Just a form. A conversation. A choice made real on paper. The HR coordinator, a polite woman named Marissa, greeted them with a curious smile when they entered. “Dr. Robinavitch, Dr. Sheridan, what can I help you with?”

Robby cleared his throat, but it was you who spoke first. Your voice was clear and composed.

“We’d like to disclose a personal relationship, in accordance with policy.” Marissa blinked. Then smiled with polite surprise. “Of course. Give me just a moment.” Marissa made a few notes. “And Dr. Robinavitch is not your direct supervisor for evaluations, correct?”

“He oversees me clinically during shifts, but my academic advisor and evaluation lead is Dr. Langdon,” you clarified.

“Good,” Marissa said, with an approving tone. “Then this will go in your file as a disclosed relationship with no formal conflict of interest. It’ll be flagged in case of any potential future issues—scheduling, assessments, anything like that. Transparency protects both of you.”

She handed them the forms, two copies each, standard hospital-issue. Disclosure, acknowledgment, consent. You signed quickly. Robby paused for just a moment before adding his signature.

When you were done, Marissa took the forms back with a practiced efficiency. “You’re all set. I appreciate you coming in. It speaks well of both of you.”

“Thanks,” Robby said, rising with a polite nod. You followed, the knot between your shoulders easing a little.

When you stepped out into the hallway a few minutes later, you bumped your shoulder gently against his arm. “So… that’s it?”

Robby nodded. “That’s it. You’re officially my HR-sanctioned problem now.”

You laughed under your breath. “And you’re mine.”

They didn’t kiss, didn’t hold hands, not here. But they walked back toward the elevators side by side, a little lighter, a little steadier. No more secrets. No more limbo.

Just them.

By the book. ---------------------------------

You celebrated by having a romantic dinner. It was a quiet corner table in a warm, dimly lit restaurant tucked between buildings older than either of you. The kind of place with flickering candles in amber glass holders and exposed brick walls soaked in years of laughter and whispered conversation. Outside, the city bustled in its usual rhythm, but in here, the world had narrowed to just the two of you, seated across from each other like the edge of a confession neither had fully spoken aloud.

You looked different now. Softer somehow, your long hair curled loose over your shoulders, cheeks touched with warmth that wasn’t just from the wine you’d shared. You were in a sweater that slipped a little off one shoulder, and jeans, and no trace of the badge that usually clung to you like armor. Robby couldn’t stop looking at you. Not in a possessive way, but in the way a man looked at something he’d convinced himself he could never deserve.

And yet, here they were.

The silence between them was comfortable now, not cautious. A shared peace that had taken months of slow-burning tension, half-spoken words, and stolen moments to arrive at.

“I think Dana’s onto us,” You murmured with a wry smile, your fingers gently circling the rim of your wine glass.

Robby let out a quiet laugh, his eyes crinkling. “Dana’s been onto us since last winter.”

You laughed, and the sound made his chest ache. He’d once thought he’d never hear you laugh like that, freely, without hesitation. It felt like a kind of miracle. Your voice belonged to him now in a way he would never take for granted.

He reached across the table and let his fingers graze yours. You met him halfway, linking your hands slowly, tenderly, like this was the first time all over again.

“I don’t want to hide anymore,” you said softly.

His thumb brushed the inside of your wrist. Your pulse was fast. So was his. “Me neither.”

“I mean it,” you said, eyes locked on his. “Not just sneaking around. Not just seeing each other when we’re off shift. I don’t want this to be something temporary or secret or… cautious. I don’t want to keep pretending like I’m not completely, terrifyingly in love with you.”

The words stunned him in the gentlest way. Not because he hadn’t known, he had. But because you’d said it without fear, without retreating. Just you, laid bare, offering everything.

He swallowed hard. “Jesus, Y/N…”

You didn’t look away. “I need to know if you feel the same. If this is just… something you’re trying not to regret. Or if you’re in this, really in it.”

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then he exhaled, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it.

“I’ve spent my whole life living by rules I thought would protect people. Thought if I kept my distance, if I didn’t let anyone get too close, I could control the outcomes. No one got hurt. No one depended on me more than they should. I survived that way. But I wasn’t living. Not really.”

He looked up, and his eyes were glassy. “You undid me. In the best goddamn way. And now I don’t want to imagine a version of this life where you’re not in it.”

You blinked hard, your fingers tightening around his.

He added, quieter, “This isn’t just some late midlife crisis, some reckless mistake. You’re it, my sweet Sheri. You’re it for me.”

The candle between them flickered like it knew. You smiled slowly, radiant and soft and just a little broken open, and he thought you’d never looked more beautiful.

You sat there for a long time, fingers tangled on the tabletop, trading small stories about your first impressions, the awkward early days of your residency, the way Dana had teased Robby mercilessly after catching him staring at you one too many times during rounds. He told you he remembered your first shift like it was yesterday, the way you’d walked into the trauma bay with your tiny frame and enormous eyes, so quiet he’d nearly overlooked you. And then you’d stepped up to run a code with the kind of calm confidence that made him stop in his tracks.

You told him about all the nights you’d gone home aching because you’d wanted so badly to impress him, not just as your attending, but as a man you admired, respected, maybe even adored long before you admitted it.

By the time dessert arrived, something chocolate you didn’t really touch, you were leaning toward each other across the table, full of memory and warmth, the gravity between you undeniable.

You looked at him, your brown eyes soft, clear, and deeply certain. There was something about the way you were watching him, steadier than he’d ever seen, though your cheeks were flushed, and your lips slightly parted like you had something just on the edge of confession.

“Come home with me,” you said, gentle and sure.

The words pulled something from deep inside him, a jolt of surprise, not because he didn’t want to, but because it felt like stepping over another boundary he hadn’t let himself imagine crossing until now.

Her home.

Her life.

He hesitated only for a breath, and in that breath, your fingers gripped his tighter, anchoring him.

“It’s okay,” you added quietly. “You don’t have to. I just— I want you to see me. Not just in your apartment. Not just at work. I want you to know who I am when the day is over and everything’s quiet.”

And how could he say no to that?

He nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I want that too.”

Outside, the night was cold, but when he pulled your coat around your shoulders and kissed your temple like a promise, you didn’t feel a thing but his hand in yours and the heat of the future unfolding in front of them.

Your apartment was in Shadyside, tucked on a quiet tree-lined street in a high-ceilinged brownstone with soft golden light spilling through arched windows. The interior was warm and elegant, mid-century furniture, thick rugs, bookshelves crammed with everything from poetry to medical journals, candles you actually burned, and little details that made Robby pause in the doorway as he took it all in.

It smelled like you. Soft floral notes and warmth. A place he already knew would haunt him if he ever left.

You watched him with a small smile as he walked the perimeter, taking it in. His fingertips skimmed a framed photograph of your family, you and your parents at a summer estate by the water, smiling in linen and sunlight.

“You’re rich,” he said after a beat, half-joking but not really. His brow arched. “Like, actually rich.”

You rolled your eyes, amused and unbothered. “My parents are.”

“And you live like this?”

“Yeah. Why?” you teased, tilting your head. “Worried I’m a little too high society for your taste, Dr. Robinavitch?”

He smirked but said nothing, stepping closer, his eyes roaming over the apartment with new context.

You were quiet for a moment, then shrugged as you slipped off your shoes and curled up on the couch. “I never wanted anyone to know. Not at the hospital. I didn’t want it to change how they saw me. I didn’t want you to see me differently.”

“I don’t,” he said, voice low as he joined her on the couch. “It’s just another part of you. And I want to know every part.”

Your breath caught for just a second.

Then, after a moment, you said softly, “My family does Thanksgiving big. My mom starts planning in September. My dad orders wines like he’s hosting the President. We get in fights about how to roast the turkey, and there’s always at least one person crying by dessert.”

Robby watched you.

“And I’d like you to come.”

His eyes widened slightly, and for a second, the old instinct kicked in, distance, retreat, stay safe.

But you reached for his hand again, and your grip was steady, your gaze open.

“I’m not asking you to meet them tomorrow,” you said. “But I’m not hiding anymore, and I don’t want you to hide either. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it.”

He nodded, then leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple, slow and full of love. “We’re doing it.”

Later that night, he stood in the doorway of your bedroom as you changed into a soft T-shirt and shorts, your hair loose down your back, face clean of makeup. The quiet intimacy of it startled him more than sex ever could—watching you fold back the comforter, light a candle on the nightstand, and slide into bed with the ease of someone letting him in fully.

He joined you under the covers, unsure of the right way to exist in someone else’s space, but you turned toward him, warm and sleepy, and laid your head on his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re going to hate how early I wake up,” He mumbled.

“I already do.”

He laughed softly as he held you.

They stayed like that for a long time, limbs tangled under the weight of down and history and the kind of love that doesn’t always announce itself loudly, but settles deep, unwavering.And sometime in the early morning, just before the sun rose, Robby looked down at the woman sleeping against his side, her lashes dark against her cheek, her breath soft and even, and thought: This is it. This is home.

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

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[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ jujutsu kaisen x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack with plot

"You hate your job. The pay is bad, your manager is worse, and customers are somehow both entitled and clueless. Just as you finish contemplating whether unpaid breaks are a human rights violation, weird new people keep showing up to the café. They all seem to know each other. Sometimes they talk in cryptic phrases. What the hell is this domain and why do they want to expand it? One time, a man with stitches on his forehead walked in, made prolonged eye contact with you, and then left without ordering anything. You’re pretty sure he was a serial killer. Another time, the one with white hair and sunglasses indoors mentioned a "higher mission", and you’re 90% sure this is how cult documentaries start. One of your regulars only speaks in weird food-related phrases. You assume he has some kind of medical condition, but no one explains anything to you. But you are not about to ask questions, because ignorance is bliss and also job security. And unfortunately, they are all weird and they seem very interested in coming back."

꒰ masterlist ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 3 ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 5 ꒱

ᨳ♡₊➳ or read on archive of our own!

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: nanami lovers come get y'alls food

screaming and crying rn thank you all SO much for the wonderful feedback oh my god 😭🫶 i really do appreciate them so much and they really motivate me!! 🥹❤️ i got my tumblr properly set up now and if you wanna ask me any questions about this story or send any of your thoughts, headcanons, etc. i'd love to hear them!!

You could tell it was going to be a bad day the moment Greg the Manager said, "You got this!" before immediately disappearing into the back to not help you.

Greg had a habit of vanishing like a mirage whenever actual labor was required. If someone spilled an entire oat milk latte on the floor? Greg was gone. If a customer started a full-blown argument about why they should get free refills on an espresso shot? Greg had already ascended to another plane of existence. You were convinced that if the café ever caught fire, Greg’s survival instincts would have him teleporting to another country before the flames even reached the register.

Which meant that during the morning rush, when three separate customers decided to be human disasters at the exact same time, you were on your own.

Disaster #1: A guy aggressively insisted that his cappuccino did not have enough foam, despite the fact that it was all foam. You showed him. He stared at it like it had personally betrayed him. Then he said, “No, but like… more.” You fantasized about launching him into the sun.

Disaster #2: Some finance bro tried to pay with crypto. Just held up his phone with a QR code and said, “Do you guys take Ethereum?” You had to explain, with the patience of a kindergarten teacher, no, you do not take Ethereum, that this was just a café.

Disaster #3: An elderly woman came in and asked for “Just a plain coffee, dear.” You gave her a plain coffee. She stared at it in disgust and asked, “Where’s the hazelnut, the cream, the froth, the caramel?” You reminded her she asked for plain coffee. She gasped in betrayal, like you had taken her firstborn child.

It was too early for this. You were suffering.

Then when the morning rush finally slowed, and you had approximately thirty seconds to consider faking your own death, the bell jingled.

You turned, sighed, and mentally braced yourself.

Standing in the doorway, looking like he already regretted every decision that had led him here, was Kento Nanami.

Now, normally, you wouldn’t fear a customer. But Nanami wasn’t just any customer.

Nanami was a man with standards.

He stepped inside with the slow, deliberate movements of a man stepping into enemy territory. His eyes scanned the café—taking in the flickering light in the corner, the questionably sticky floor, the espresso machine currently making noises like R2-D2 in distress.

You watched as his jaw visibly clenched. Then, with the air of a man mentally calculating the exact moment his soul left his body, he turned to you and said, flatly:

“…Coffee.”

His tone carried the weight of a thousand disappointments.

You gave him a tight-lipped smile, already reaching for a cup. “What kind?”

“The kind that keeps me from quitting my job.”

"Ah. Great choice."

You started his order, because Nanami seemed like the kind of man who would sue you if you took too long.

As you worked, you could feel him watching you in the way someone watches a building slowly collapse, calculating how much money it’ll take to fix it. You glanced up and, yep. There he was, observing your entire workplace with the deep, profound disappointment of a man who once believed in something.

“…Is this place even up to health code?” he asked, voice heavy with the kind of exhaustion that only corporate life could instill.

You shrugged. “Depends. Does emotional trauma count as a contaminant?”

Nanami inhaled sharply. Like he had so many follow-up questions, but he already knew the answers would only bring him pain

He rubbed his temples. “How long have you worked here?”

“Too long.”

You rang up the order, but before you could say the total, Nanami narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, gaze snapping to the handwritten tip jar sitting next to the register.

You had labeled it “THERAPY FUND (I Need It).”

Nanami stared at it.

Then, very slowly, he turned back to you.

“Barista,” he said, voice as grave as if he were delivering a eulogy. “Are you underpaid?”

Oh no.

You had expected at least a few minutes of polite small talk before things derailed into an existential crisis. But no. Nanami had walked in, assessed your suffering, and decided that labor rights violations were the only thing worth discussing today.

See, here’s the thing: Nanami was not the kind of customer you wanted asking this question.

Most people just laughed when they saw the tip jar. Some customers tossed in a few coins. Gojo once put in Monopoly money just to be annoying.

But Nanami?

Nanami had stopped functioning. He was just standing there, staring at you like this was a personal attack on his fundamental values.

"I mean…" You glanced toward Greg the Manager, who was still pretending to be useful. "I'm paid exactly what Greg thinks I'm worth."

Nanami followed your gaze. His expression darkened. His head then slowly turned toward Greg the Manager.

Greg the Manager, sensing a disturbance in the force, looked up, and gave him a lazy thumbs-up. “What’s up, man?”

"You are a terrible employer," Nanami stated calmly.

Greg the Manager blinked. "Huh?"

Without breaking eye contact, Nanami asked, "Are you even qualified to be a manager?"

Greg the Manager grinned and shrugged. “Dude, I got promoted because the last manager quit in the middle of a shift. Left a note that just said ‘don’t let the void consume you.’”

"Increase their pay. Immediately," Nanami ordered, taking a slow, deliberate sip of his coffee like this was an organized coup.

Greg the Manager looked at you. Then at Nanami. Then at Candy Crush on his phone, like he was experiencing a full-blown existential crisis.

Finally, after what was possibly the longest pause in managerial history, he sighed and said, "We don’t have the budget for that."

Nanami closed his eyes. Like he was counting to ten so he didn’t commit a crime.

"I see," he said, calm but deadly.

You, deeply entertained but also slightly terrified, just leaned on the counter. "Yeah, I kinda figured that was gonna be the answer."

“Do you need me to unionize this café for you?” he asked, completely serious.

You choked.

“Wh—what?”

Nanami took off his blazer.

Oh god. Oh no. Oh absolutely not.

“I could do it,” he continued, rolling up his sleeves like he was about to commit a felony in the name of labor justice. “It wouldn’t be difficult.”

“No, no, no,” you said quickly, waving your hands in surrender. “I need this job. And more importantly, I need Greg to not fire me for trying to overthrow the capitalist machine during an unpaid break.”

Nanami narrowed his eyes.

“So you don’t even get paid for your breaks?”

You realized too late that you had given him more ammunition.

He put down his coffee and walked around the counter.

Fifteen minutes later…

Despite your best efforts to defuse the situation, Nanami refused to leave. Instead, he took it upon himself to observe the café.

"Uh," you said, watching as Nanami surveyed the espresso machine like a general strategizing a war. "What are you doing?"

"Fixing things," he replied.

And then. He started working.

Like, full-on working.

Nanami had entirely taken over.

He was managing the café now.

Not because anyone had asked him to, but because he simply could not stand the inefficiency.

He organized the supply shelves.

He rewrote the entire employee schedule in under five minutes.

Greg was banned from touching anything mechanical.

He timed how long it took for Greg to actually respond to an employee’s request. (Four and a half minutes. Greg was playing a very intense round of Candy Crush.)

He watched you make drinks without proper training, without proper equipment, and without proper will to live then helped you.

And the best part?

Customers actually listened to him.

At one point, a woman tried to use an expired coupon.

Nanami just looked at her.

And she left without arguing.

You had never seen anything like it.

By the time your shift neared its end, the café had never been more efficient. The line moved quickly, orders were accurate, and for the first time in forever, you weren’t experiencing an existential crisis every five minutes.

Nanami took a slow sip of his coffee. Nodded, approving.

“This could be a functional workplace,” he remarked.

Greg the Manager, completely baffled, finally found his voice. 

"Uh," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "Do you… do you wanna work here?"

Nanami, in the most disgusted tone you had ever heard, responded with a flat:  

"I would rather be hit by a bus."

He grabbed his coffee and headed towards the exit.

Fair.

And before he walked out, Nanami paused at the door, turned back, and said, completely seriously, with the voice of a man who had seen the horrors of corporate greed firsthand and was deeply, profoundly upset that you were willingly suffering through them—

“You deserve better than this place.”

And then he left.

Greg the Manager whistled. “Damn. Do you know if he's single?"

A few days later, your shift had started like any other mind-numbingly average shift.

You were in the middle of contemplating whether or not you could legally refuse service to people who ordered drinks with more adjectives than actual ingredients when you felt it. A sudden disturbance in the atmosphere.

It wasn’t anything obvious, but something about the café suddenly felt... wrong.

The espresso machine sputtered ominously, the fluorescent lights flickered just once, and the muffin guy in the corner finally looked away from his muffin, like even he could sense the disturbance in the air.

The door swung open with all the grace of a police raid.

It was Yuji. Sweet, cheerful, golden retriever in human form Yuji, who usually bounced into the café like he was the protagonist of a slice-of-life anime. But today?

Today, Yuji slinked in like he was some kind of villain in a psychological thriller. His whole posture had shifted—his shoulders squared, his head held high, a smug smirk tugging at his lips like he’d just orchestrated the downfall of a small nation.

Today, something was deeply wrong with Yuji Itadori. 

Yuji Itadori, the human embodiment of sunshine, had walked in looking like he had just finished his villain arc.

The first thing you noticed was the grin. It wasn’t friendly. It wasn’t normal. It was sharp and smug, like he knew things you didn’t. It practically screamed, I would gaslight, gatekeep, and girlboss if given the chance.

You blinked at him.

Then you blinked harder.

Because Yuji, your number-one most harmless customer, now had face tattoos.

And red contacts.

And some kind of makeup that made it look like he had four eyes.

What in the Spirit Halloween was this?

“…Uh. You good?” you asked, hesitant.

Yuji (?) grinned at you, and you immediately regretted all your life choices.

“Barista,” he said, his voice deeper, richer, like the audio settings had been cranked to "Villain Monologue."

“...Yes?”

Yuji (??) tilted his head, watching you with an expression that was just this side of amused. “What pitiful existence is this? Shackled to the whims of labor, toiling away for mere scraps. Your suffering is profound, lowly peasant."

…Huh.

Okay. That was new.

You blinked, internally processing the fact that someone had just called you a lowly peasant in real life. You had encountered a lot of weird customers, but never one who spoke like a Final Boss trying to recruit you to the dark side.

“…You want a drink?” you asked, deadpan.

Yuji (???) tilted his head, smirking. Then, with the audacity of someone who had never experienced the horrors of customer service, he said: “Ah, you are not as foolish as you look. Give me a black coffee."

Wow. Okay. Somebody thinks they’re edgy.

For a second, you considered saying just that, but decided against it, because rent existed and so did unemployment. Instead, you just nodded like the underpaid, overworked soldier you were.

“Sure. One black coffee.”

You had seen a lot of weird things working here, but this? This was a new level of concerning.

The face tattoos, paired with the weird four eyes effect (which you assumed had to be some next-level Halloween makeup), it made him look like he was either an anime villain or a kid who got way too into Hot Topic in 2009. And the way he was looking at you? Like he was already planning your demise? Like he was debating whether he wanted to drink his coffee or use it to summon a demonic entity?

You knew exactly what this was.

Yuji had an alter ego.

And apparently not a fun alter ego, like a guy who only comes out on weekends to party. No, this was a full-blown anime villain alter ego. One that absolutely vaped in the school bathroom and got into fights over stupid things like “who looked at me wrong.”

You didn’t get paid enough for this.

"Make it strong," he sneered.

You stared at him. "Wouldn’t dream of making it weak."

Yeah. You were deeply, deeply concerned.

But, like all things in this job, you simply ignored it and did your job. Because you did not get paid enough to ask questions. With your usual efficiency, you made the black coffee, because unfortunately, that was your job, and placed it in front of him. “Enjoy.”

Yuji eyed the coffee cup like it had personally offended him, then looked at you. “You dare serve me coffee in such a humble vessel?”

You looked at the cup. Then back at him. “You want a goblet or something?”

He smirked. “Ah, you do have some wit.”

You didn’t like how pleased he sounded. He picked it up, and took a slow sip. Then, ever so slightly, his eyes narrowed. His upper lip curled.

“…What the hell is this?” he muttered.

“Black coffee,” you said flatly. “Like you asked for.”

Yuji made a noise of profound offense. “It is bitter.”

Your deadpan stare could have melted steel. “Yes. That’s what black coffee is.”

Yuji clicked his tongue in distaste. “This is an insult.” He shoved the cup back at you like you had personally wronged him. “Remedy this.”

You sighed. “Okay. How about I just add sugar?”

Yuji considered this. Then, begrudgingly, he nodded. “Very well. But do not disgrace my drink.”

You poured in exactly one sugar packet, stirred it, and handed it back. He took another sip—

And then narrowed his eyes, looking at you like you had just personally surprised him. His eyes flickered, as if waging a silent internal war. You swore you saw his jaw tense.

Then, after a very long pause, he muttered, “…Acceptable.”

“Uh. Thanks?”

Before you could even process the fact that you had somehow earned the approval of whatever persona Yuji was currently cosplaying, he turned—and proceeded to roast every single customer in the café. He leaned back against the counter, looking around the café with the slow, deliberate assessment of a man who had already decided he was better than everyone here.

Then, with the confidence of a man who believed himself to be a god, he sneered, “This place is full of idiots.”

Okay. Wow.

You stood there, watching as he proceeded to roast every single customer in the café like it was his divine right.

“That weakling in the corner?” He jerked his thumb toward some poor college student trying to write an essay. “His posture is absolutely pathetic.”

The innocent college student looked up, deeply confused and a bit hurt.

Then he turned to some girl at a table near the window. She looked up, mid-sip of her drink, just in time for him to smirk and say, “You look like you order matcha lattes.”

She gasped in pure horror as if he had personally insulted her entire bloodline.

He sneered at an elderly woman. “Trembling hands, weak posture… You are but a breath away from oblivion, hag.”

Oh my God.

She just smiled at him. “Oh, you kids and your funny little jokes!”

He blinked. Then scoffed and turned away, muttering something about "insufferable fools" under his breath.

At this point, you were begging someone to explain what the hell was happening.

You should stop this. You should stop this.

…But you were also kind of invested.

“Oh look,” he sneered, eyes landing on Greg the Manager, who had been doing nothing as usual. “A man who’s mastered the ancient art of pretending to work.”

Okay, well. That one was fair.

And then he set his sights on the espresso machine.

The espresso machine, naturally, took that moment to emit a guttural, otherworldly groan—one that sounded less like it was brewing coffee and more like it was summoning a demon from the seventh circle of hell.

He stared at it. It hissed.

You swore he narrowed his eyes like he was assessing a battlefield opponent. Then, after a long pause, he let out a dark chuckle.

“…This machine is cursed beyond mortal comprehension.”

You stared at him. "You done?"

He exhaled, clearly unimpressed by the café and everything in it. "For now."

Then, without another word, he turned and walked out the door, exuding the kind of ominous aura that suggested he was about to go stand on a rooftop somewhere and monologue about the nature of existence.

Wonderful. You loved your job.

The café was silent and then, minutes later—

The door slammed open.

Yuji rushed in, breathless, frantic, eyes wide with panic. He looked deeply horrified. He looked like a man who had just woken up from a fugue state and realized he had committed multiple felonies.

“Oh my god,” he gasped, hands on his knees, like he had just sprinted a marathon, and looking at you with absolute devastation. “I— I am so sorry— please, please don’t ban me—”

“...What the hell was that?” you asked, even though, frankly, you didn’t actually want the answer.

Yuji laughed nervously. “Uh. Would you believe me if I said ‘don’t worry about it’?”

“No.”

“Cool! Because, uh, I really can’t explain.”

You stared at him. He stared back.

Then, very slowly, you reached for a rag and began aggressively wiping down the counter.

“Alright,” you muttered. “Not my problem.”

“Wait, seriously? You’re just gonna ignore this?”

“Yuji, I have seen so many things at this job that I actively choose to ignore,” you said flatly. “This is just another one.”

Yuji looked like he wanted to argue. Then he sighed, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, okay. That’s fair.”

Unfortunately for you, this wasn’t the last time it happened.

Because 'Sukuna'—as you’d overheard Yuji frantically whispering to himself—returned.

Twice.

In one week.

You were growing concerned.

The first time, he strutted in like a menace, demanded another black coffee, insulted two customers, and then dipped like he had better things to do.

The second time, he walked in, took one look at Greg the Manager, and muttered, "This establishment is doomed."

Honestly? Hard to argue.

₊⊹. tag list: @alpha-mommy69

[the-raindeer-king]

content warning: canon typical violence, injury, brief mention of reader's childhood, reader's callsign is Duckie. Enjoy my lovelies!

--- Simon Riley x Reader---

Things had gone sideways, as they tended to in Ghost's life. So fucking sideways, as the task force currently hunkered down in a shed, rain pounding outside. He fiddled with his gloves, as Price chewed out Gaz. Soap and you were huddled together in the opposite corner, quietly plotting something together. You let out a quiet laugh, slapping Soap's shoulder.

With a small smile, you left Soap, shuffling across the shack to wedge yourself into Ghost's side.

"What are you doing, Duckie?" He huffed, as you tapped your fingers against his hand.

"It's cold, and MacTavish said you're a furnace," you teased, glancing over at Soap, who was not discreetly taking pictures. The two of you made faces at each other for a moment, before you leaned back against Ghost.

"You know Morse code?" He asked, and the tapping stopped.

"Yeah, sorry. When Dad had outbursts, my brother and I would communicate through Morse code," you explained. 

"Never mentioned siblings."

You shrugged, picking at a loose string on your gloves. "No one asked. Figured we just didn't talk about our pasts, an unspoken rule."

"Bullshit. Soap talks about his mum all the time."

And you laughed, nodding. Ghost would kill to hear it for the rest of forever. If he could bottle it, to ride that high whenever he needed, he would. But life didn't grant him those luxuries. This high was short lived, as she began tapping again.

"Not much to tell," you sighed. "Asshole Dad. Mum wasn't around. I practically raised him." 

"Bet he's proud of ya."

You glanced up at him, frowning. Did he misinterpret your message? Or was he just being kind? Either way, your chance to ask vanished, as Price gathered their attention.

"I think I've got a decent enough plan," he sighed.

***

Well, if things had gone sideways earlier, then shit had officially hit the fan, as they hunkered down from enemy fire, Soap rigging something.

"Soap!" You shouted over the comms.

"Ten seconds," he snapped back.

"Now Soap!" Price snapped.

The next ten seconds happened slowly. You and Gaz covered Soap, as he launched the bomb. Your sharp inhale was the last thing over comms, before the building collapsed under the explosion, enemy fire ceasing. Ghost and Price stepped out from their cover, heading towards the rubble, until Soap shouted, "We need a medic!"

Both looked towards him, both letting out an expletive. You were leaning against Soap, hands pressed against your side, blood seeping out anyway. Turning pale, you joked, "Hope it wasn't important." And then you slumped over, nearly falling, if Soap hadn't caught you.

***

You woke up in the hospital, hushed voices outside. Your vision blurred for a moment, before the ceiling came into focus, the faint buzzing of lights following.Groaning softly, you sat up in the bed, ignoring the pain in your side. The world spun for a long moment, and you closed your eyes, hand against your head.

Blinking slowly, you took in your surroundings. Nothing noticeable special about the room, just a standard hospital room. If anything, the voices outside were much more important, but you couldn't make out what they were saying. With a soft sigh, you laid back down. Maybe you’d have your full bearings by the time someone stepped inside.

The door opened, closed with a soft click, and someone sighed. You sat up again, to find Ghost, staring down at you. You stare at each other for a moment, before Ghost breaks the silence.

"You're awake."

"Seems so."

And then he was gone, rushing out to get a nurse, the rest of the team lingering outside as you spoke to a doctor.

"You got lucky," he explained, flipping through your charts. "The bullet got lodged amongst your ribs, and missed anything important. Unfortunately, it did break three of your ribs. We've already removed the bullet,  but there is a chance for scar tissue. As for your ribs…" 

You drowned him out, thankful to be alive. Luckily, he was done quickly, especially under the gaze of Ghost. He informed you that you’d be staying for a few more days, to ensure nothing went wrong, before scrambling out of the room. The 141 quickly took his place inside it.

"Don't be giving Price any more heart attacks," Gaz teased, earning a slap upside the head. 

You laughed, wincing slightly from the pain that shoots through your side. "I don't plan on it." But you were smiling at them, glad everyone made it back safely. "Was… was someone yelling on our way back?" you asked, frowning. You really didn't remember much, but there were bits and pieces during your brief moments of consciousness on the way back.

Soap and Gaz glanced at Ghost, who remained silent. Price stepped forward, laying a hand on the bed. "There was a lot going on. Don't worry about it," he replied. He glanced at his watch, letting out a low whistle. "We have to go."

The other made quick goodbyes, glad you were okay. Ghost lingered in the door for a moment. He sighed, before whispering, voice hoarse with emotion, "Need anything?"

 "Maybe some company," you teased, smiling despite the situation. "Oh! And some chocolate! Preferably dark."

"Copy." And then he was gone.

By the time he returned, Soap in tow, one of the medics, a nice lady named Alice, was chatting with you.  "I don't know how you put up with them all the time! Garrick can be absolutely insufferable sometimes!" She laughed, waving her hand in the air.

"They're not bad all the time," you replied, smiling softly. You fiddled with the blanket, before softly adding, "They're good men."

Alice huffed, shaking her head. "Insufferable."

Ghost knocked on the door, altering them to the company. Alice's cheeks turned pink, and Soap pushed past Ghost , into the room, announcing, "We bought treats!" He was like a golden retriever, the way he bounded to the bed, eager to win over your affection.

Alice took this as an opportunity to leave, only pausing to whisper to Ghost , "Keep an eye on them, please?"

He just nodded, and she was gone, waving over her shoulder that Garrick wanted to have dinner together. Ghost turned back into the room, stepping inside so the door would close. The other two had already opened several bags of candy, goofing around as they played with it. Ghost huffed, adoration in his eyes as he watched them.

The time passed fairly quickly between the three of them, conversation flowing easily. Until Soap announced he had to leave, had some work to get done before the day was over. And then it was just Ghost and you. 

"So," he looked down at her with a sly smile, never one to miss an opportunity to tease you, "Johnny says you got a crush on someone."

"Oh, it's nothing," you laughed, waving a hand in the air. "Besides, he'll never like me back."

"Oh? Well, then he's a bloody blighter," Ghost stated, crossing his arms.

"Hey, don't talk about yourself like that." It was out before you could stop yourself. Before you could realize what those words confessed.

They stared at each other for a moment, tension palpable. Heat rose to your cheeks, and you opened your mouth to apologize, to take the words back and beg for forgiveness. But the words never made it. Not when Ghost perched himself on the edge of the bed, tugging his mask down to press his mouth to yours. His hands cradled your face, thumb rubbing against your cheek as he pulled away. 

"Oh."

He laughed, a soft rumble through the room. And this time, you were the one wishing you could bottle the sound up.

[callsign-muffin]

Heal Together: Chapter 1

(Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw fic)

I've been lurking on here for a while, reading Top Gun fics and I recently got inspired to write one of my own. Hopefully someone reads it and likes it!

Note about the format: Between every header is a change in the point of view :)

Summery: When Rooster was med-evaced back to San Diego from the mission field, the last thing he expected was to wake up with a tube down his throat and the most beautiful woman he's ever seen at his bedside.

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.1k

“Hey Carly, I’m taking over for room 4 today. Are you ready to give report?” You ask the cute blonde night shift nurse, she looked about 12 years old. What in the hell was she doing in the ICU of a military hospital? Hell, you should be asking yourself the same question. You hated it here at this boys club where nurses were ignored as a female dominated profession, despite being the people who spend the most amount of time at the patient’s bedside in a 12 hour stretch. But you were only one week into this eight week travel assignment and the money was great, so you just had to grin and bear it and make as few enemies as possible.

“The census is low, is this gonna be your only patient?” She asked.

“Yeah.” You pulled out your report sheet and pen, “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

You could tell Carly was fresh off of orientation by how nervous she looked before beginning to speak.

“Hey,” You placed a comforting hand on her knee, “take your time, tell me what you know, and if I have any questions I’ll ask them when you’re done. You just finished a long shift, it’s okay to be a little out of it. We’ll get all the info we need together. No pressure, okay?”

“Okay,” Carly nodded and took a deep breath, “This is Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, 35 year old male, full code, no known allergies…”

You quietly took down the pertinent information about Lt. Bradshaw as Carly spoke. He was a pilot, recovered after a crash, and was stitched back together pretty well on the aircraft carrier, he went septic and was transported back to the states to your hospital. Pretty standard stuff. He was currently on a ventilator for breathing support but all seemed to be going in a positive direction despite the shitty circumstances.

Carly finished her report with a sigh of relief, you had a feeling the staff nurses weren’t as respectful when receiving report from a new graduate. “Any questions?”

“Any family  at the bedside?” You asked.

“No, no family. Apparently a guy named Pete Mitchell calls daily for updates, they’re not related but he’s included on the patient’s medical information release forms, so we can talk to him. Chart says he’s single, no siblings, and both parents have passed away.” Carly yawned, she was beginning to fade after a long night. You didn’t want to hold her up anymore than necessary, she needed to get home and go to bed.

“Okay,” You clicked your pen, “Sounds good. Let’s go check lines and meds so you can get out of here.”

She paused for a second as you got up from your chair at the nurses station, “Y/N… thank you for being so nice… I’m only a week off of orientation and things are still so new…”

You smiled at the compliment, “We’ve all been there. Every nurse on this unit was new at one point and I think sometimes they forget that. Hell, I’m a traveler and this is only my second week and there’s so much that’s new to me too. You’re doing great.”

You spent the first part of your morning before rounds with the care team just cleaning up the patient, organizing the room, all that good stuff. Though it wasn’t necessarily considered “professional”, you played some music softly from your phone as you worked. You found that music or just talking to patients on vents helped with agitation. You couldn’t imagine anything more tortuous than listening to repetitive beeping and alarms all day long and nothing else. Though most managers didn’t like it, that didn’t stop you. What were they gonna do? Fire you? Hospitals hire travelers at such a high price point when they’re understaffed and desperate. They needed you more than you needed them.

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

“When the sun goes down, we’ll be groovin’

When the sun goes down, we’ll feel alright

When the sun sinks down over the water

Everything is hotter when the sun goes down…”

Who the fuck listens to Kenny Chesney anymore? Rooster thought to himself.

He knew he was sick, the docs on the ship told him that before they knocked him out to shove the tube down his throat. They told him he’d be med-evaced back to San Diego because the hospital where he was overseas didn’t have the capabilities to take care of someone as sick as him. He didn’t know how long he had been there, all the days run together when you’re too weak to open your eyes. He was used to having things done to him, he was past the point of getting agitated about it, because he knew they’d just sedate him more.

“Alright, Bradshaw.” A confident voice said, “All of your lines are untangled, your room is clean, and your initial assessment is done… How about we have a little spa day? You’re smellin’ a little… ripe.”

RUDE! 

“HA! You can hear me! You raised your eyebrows!” She giggled, damn it was a cute giggle. Rooster honestly hadn’t realized he was moving his face. But he believed her because that’s what his face usually does when he’s surprised. “You’ve been caught. No more playing dumb.”

Water started running, splashing, and the suction was turned on… that sound usually meant his mouth was gonna get cleaned and he was gonna feel something funny down his throat. He hated it.

“Carly told me you were getting agitated during mouth care last night. Since you can hear me, I’m going to tell you everything I’m doing, so don’t get sassy with me.” She said, “Deal?”

Anything for the first person not to treat me like a damn vegetable. This was the first time someone actually talked to him and told him what the fuck was happening since he got here. It was a welcome change.

The kind yet sassy voice interrupted his thoughts, “Okay, mouth care. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

She didn’t lie to him, she was quick and the stupid suction caused him minimal discomfort. Maybe it was because he could brace himself, or maybe it was because she was just really good at her job.

“I’m about to give you a full body bath, so how about we get to know each other a little bit.” She said as she adjusted his sheets and pillows to reposition him, placing a towel under his head, and rinsing his hair with warm water.

Rooster’s whole body relaxed.

“My name is Y/N Y/L/N and I’m obviously your nurse today and will probably be for the next few days…” Nurse Y/N went on about where she’s from, her hobbies, how she’s not making many friends in this new hospital she’s been contracted out to.

Welcome to the military, it’s a boy’s club. He wished he could say that to her. He imagined medicine was similar to aviation, full of egos.

Before Rooster knew it, his whole body had been washed from head to toe. He hadn’t felt this clean in what felt like years.

“So Lieutenant… not to be crude but… I gotta clean your bits. But at least we’ve really gotten to know each other.” Nurse Y/N said, “Your girlfriend will thank me later.”

Ha! Rooster laughed to himself, What girlfriend?! My dick hasn’t been played with in months!

Like with the mouth care, her cleaning was quick and respectful. And damn, being clean felt so good. She went on to change his gown, sheets, and blankets. Rooster truly felt like a new man.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw, you’ve never looked better.” She said with a satisfied sigh.

That’s a damn lie, but I’ll take the compliments wherever I can get them at this point.

“Hey Y/N,” Another female voice said, “They’re starting with you for rounds. Are you ready to present your patient or should I stall?”

“Nah, I’m ready. Tell them to come in whenever.” Nurse Y/N said, then her voice got low and she whispered to Bradley, “I’m gonna try to get them to lighten your sedation and move towards trials of turning the ventilator off. It’s not gonna be comfortable but the sooner we start working towards getting that tube out of your throat, the sooner you can get the hell out of here.”

Rooster wanted to make sure she knew he heard her and that he was on board, it took every ounce of strength in his body, but he nodded.

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

“No way.” The resident physician said simply after you gave your recommendation with your presentation of Lt. Bradshaw

You were dumbfounded. What the hell did he mean no?!, “This patient was more than ready to move towards extubation.” 

“And what makes you the expert?” the resident asked.

Oh lord, this fresh out of med school asshole was turning rounds into a dick measuring contest.

“The fact that I’ve been at his bedside for the past three and a half hours, I assessed him, bathed him, turned him, and he is showing signs of progress. The next step is spontaneous breathing trials and extubation. The longer he stays on the vent, the more likely he is to get pneumonia, as we all should know, Doctor.” You explained coolly but made sure to add his (probably newly earned) title. 

“I agree with…” The attending looked at you and scanned your badge, “... Y/N… What do you think from a Respiratory Therapy standpoint, Brent?” He looked over at Brent, the RT.

Brent smirked and narrowed his eyes at the resident, “I also think moving towards extubation is a good thing. If he has two successful trials, he could be off the vent by the end of the day.”

The attending physician nodded, “Then it’s a plan. And I think this is a really good lesson for the residents and medical students with us on rounds, the nurses know more about the patient than we do. We should always consider their recommendations because they have the most valuable view on the patient, simply because they spend time with them.”

You tried to dim the glow that was on your face.

 “Thanks, Dr…” You scanned the attending’s badge the same way he did yours.

“Carter, Brendan Carter.” He extended his hand and you shook it, “Glad to have you here.”

That was the most welcome anyone had made you feel in the last week here. Who would’ve thought a wrinkly old attending doctor with dancing eyes would be the person to stand up for you and make you feel secure in your clinical decision making.

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

Rooster wasn’t sure how much time had gone by since Nurse Y/N told him she was turning down his sedatives but it felt like he could open his eyes almost instantly. It was so… bright. Once his eyes adjusted, he scanned his surroundings, the lights weren’t even on but the sun shining through the large window felt blinding. He looked to his left and saw the machine that the tube in his throat was attached to, the machine that had kept him alive for God knows how long. He looked to his right and saw multiple IV poles that attached him to lines and lines of medicine and fluid. Further to his right, he saw a woman standing at a computer, typing away furiously, her face was serious yet beautiful, was that Nurse Y/N?

“Good morning, Lt. Bradshaw.” She said quietly, “You’re still attached to your breathing tube, so you can’t talk. Now that you’re awake we’re one step closer to getting you off that thing. Sound good?”

Rooster nodded slowly, wishing he could thank her for everything. For talking to him, bathing him, treating him like a human-being.

“Do you feel strong enough to write?” She asked, “Can I get you a whiteboard?”

He nodded again.

“I’ll be right back.” She swiftly left the room. 

Rooster couldn’t help but love watching her walk away. Along with a beautiful face, he could tell she had a great body hiding underneath those scrubs. It had been so long since he’d seen a pretty girl.

She returned quickly with a whiteboard and a marker, handing it to him, “What’s on your mind Lieutenant?”

Call me Bradley. He scribbled, 

“Nice to meet you Bradley.” She smiled down at him, “How are ya feelin’?”

Better now that I’m clean and awake. He wrote.

“There’s something healing about a bath and being taken out of your drug induced sleep, huh?” She giggled.

Rooster nodded and started writing again, Thank you for everything.

“No biggie. I’m glad to see you doing so well. Is it okay if I do a full assessment on you, just since you’re awake now?” She asked.

He nodded, this girl could do anything she wanted to him. She was basically his angel.

[hx4x4enthusiast]

Optimus realising he is a dad (PART 2)

HAHA your god has heard your prayers my followers. I finally wrote part two. *I am running on energy and spite excuse the god complex*

Part 1

“Oh, man I missed the bots so much. I can’t wait to go dune dashing with Bulky and Jacky again.”

“I agree, I love my family but I missed Bee, playing games with my cousins isn’t the same as with him.”

“Yeah I can’t wait to go on a long ride with Arcee.”

Despite exhaustion tugging on the kids, the prospect of seeing the bots again filled all of them with excitement. They collectively agreed to wait at Jack’s house for their guardians to pick them up or a Ground bridge to open. The roar of a powerful engine captured the attention of the children. Which promptly turned into confusion as well as curiosity, when they spotted a very familiar blue and red truck instead of their respective guardians vehicle modes.

Grabbing their bags and locking the door behind them the group walked over to the truck parked on the curb. Jack reached the Prime first and opened the door for Miko to crawl into first, afterwards he helped Raf before climbing into the drivers cab.

“Uh hello, Optimus uhm where are the others?”

“Did something happen to them?”

“Greetings young ones. I can assure you Raphael everyone is well, the lull in Decepticon activity, allowed for an increase of free time, which was as far as I witnessed well used. To answer your question Jack the other are at base, receiving a standard medical examination Ratchet insist upon.”

“Yeah no disrespect OP but why are you picking us up.”

“A valid question Miko, while all of you were on vacation a discovery was made. We… I didn’t plan would…could happen.”

Silence encased the small space of the cab as the truck started moving and pulling out of Jasper, never have the children witnessed Optimus so unsure. Even without really knowing the depth of the position of Prime. Optimus was always a pillar of strength knowledge and confidence, witnessing him being so unsure was concerning.

“As you know due to the war the birthing place of all Cybertronians the Well of All Sparks has stopped working. One of the consequences was a stop in the creation of new sparks, the human equivalent to a child. When a New Spark is created it outer protective layer is still soft and easily damaged, so they have to rely on a protector to help them. These protectors are called Foster additionally they makes sure that all of the Sparklings basic needs are met. When the outer shell has hardened the new spark is referred to as a Youngling and enters a mentoring program for their assigned task. Once they gained the basics and graduated the Youngling program, they are recognized as full Cybertronians.”

“Why are you telling us this, Optimus?”

“Yeah I mean didn’t really wanna have a lesson in school free time.” “MIKO.”

Jack snapped at her, but still he was just as curious as Raf about the answer the Prime would give. While Optimus wasn’t necessary a quiet wallflower, he also wasn’t the most vocal bot.

“Your question is reasonable Raf, to explain what happened in your absence and not shock you I deemed it reasonable to explain Cybertronians relationships as they differ in aspects to human concepts. So allow me to continue, through the entire prospect, you would refer to as “growing up”, no emotional relationships are formed. You are one in many as you start life, opening your spark to someone is in every sense a deeply personal and vulnerable experience on Cybertron. Hence such bonds are sacred and them shattering will negatively impact all parties of the bond. One of the strongest bonds known is the Carrier or Sire bond. To ensure the survival of our species every Cybertronians has a set of coding typically referred to as the Sire/Carrier Protocol. Though it’s activation differs for every bot, the programming makes us protective of our own it typically happens when we form attachments when they are young before they are recognized as Cybertronians. It is a bond the same as the ones you form with your parents at birth. To answer your question Raf, in the absence of all of you my body displayed most unusual behaviors. A scan from Ratchet revealed that nothing was wrong with my frame physically. After another analysis it was revealed that my Sire Protocol was running and my frame acted upon the missing of my Sparklings.”

“OMG DOES THAT MEAN THAT YOU HAVE KIDS, WHY HAVE WE NEVER MET, OMG THEY GOTTA BE SO CUTE-“

“MIKO-Jesus keep it down would you I appreciate not losing my hearing yet.”

“Wait guys, Optimus said that he didn’t know he was running this protocol so he didn’t knew he had children. And if his body acted because his Children were missing. And we were all gone. Then…then we are…”

Optimus came to a stop, opening his door allowing the children to exit his cab. Though none of them moved, realization now also displaying on Jacks and Mikos face. Optimus carefully transformed back into his bipedal form positioning the children in his servos. Carefully he sat down his back against the wall of the small cave he once found patrolling. Slowly the kids, one by one looked up at him. Countless battles a millennia of war and still never was the prime this nervous and unsure as in this moment.

“So does that mean I get to call you Dad?” “Seriously Miko?” “What, I get an alien space Jesus as a dad that is cool as hell.” “Omg why am I friends with you.” “Because you love me, Jackie Boy.” “Shut up Miko.”

All of his fear and stress left his frame as he saw the children bickering with each other like always. A fond huff escaped the prime as his intake stretched into a small smiled, his faceplate shifting into something soft, something loving. For the first time in a long time he was at Pease, his Sparklings, with him, safe and happy. Slowly as to not jostle them he raised his servo to his Chest right by his spark. The movement interrupted the little argument between Jack and Miko, both focusing back on Optimus. This time Raf stepped forward holding onto the Primes thumb for support before speaking.

“Optimus we kinda already saw you as a father figure.” “Yeah you always help us when we need us and y’ know have really good advice.” “Thank you I am truly grateful to have already fulfilled such a role for you.”

With fondness in his optics observed he his two youngest, but as his gaze met with the oldest of the three, Jack looked away. Noticing the avoidance of his gaze Optimus send a commlink to Ratchet with his location, a second later a Ground Bridge opened up, turning to the other two.

“Raf and Miko this Ground Bridge will bring you to base Bumblebee and Bulkhead are already waiting for your return. We will join you later”

Before Miko could start to argue Raf took her hand and shaking his head. Optimus carefully lowered his servo back onto the ground, allowing Raf and Miko to hop down. Turning around to meet Jacks gaze he gave them a nod, sharing a look between them a silent conversation happened. It always fascinated Optimus how human managed to communicate without speech, ERP fields or commlinks. The silent conversation ended with Miko and Raf turning around and disappearing into the ground bridge, which promptly disappeared afterwards. Leaving the cave empty and silent except for the Prime and young human. Optimus lifted his servo back up to his chest allowing the Jack to not have to make direct eye contact with him. The silence continued neither of them making conversation.

“I…I never had a dad. I mean I do he is somewhere probably, obviously otherwise I wouldn’t exist. Mom said he was still there in the beginning but then one day he just left. I don’t really remember for me it’s always been just Mom and me. But then I met Arcee and you and the others and there where so many people there. And I am not alone anymore but everything changed so fast and what if this isn’t real and everything will be gone.” “Change is never easy, but change is also a chance. It forces open doors and shows us possibilities we couldn’t see before. Sometimes that means that we are met with harsh pain and suffering. But it can also push us, it makes us grow and without it we cannot go forward. Sometimes it is fast and happened in the blink of an eye and sometimes it is slow and happens in the span of millennia. Go this way in your own time Jackson, the door is open but it is your step to take.” “Thanks Optimus.” “You are welcome, Jack. Would you like to stay here a moment longer or do you wish to return back to base.” “I…I think I want to stay here a bit longer with you if that’s alright? “I do not mind.”

 Relaxing against the Primes chassis, the two beings of different species stayed like this until the sun bid farewell and the younger one fell asleep. Protected by the millennia old titan with the war worn spark which found peace and love in three small humans.

Masterlist

[pandavalkyrie]

If it isn't already obvious, I work in utilization management. For those that don't know, it's a department that exists in most hospitals with the single minded purpose of getting health insurance companies to pay their due.

It's usually staffed by a lot of overworked nurses and one or two physicians, usually doing UM alongside actual clinical practice.

The nurses use whats in the patient's chart to justify the diagnostic code. They then upload those clinicals to the insurance company's portal, or fax them over.

Then, if we're lucky, a human being compares the clinicals with the MCG or other clinical standard guidelines and decides whether or not the chart justifies the diagnosis and treatment.

If we're not lucky, it's UHC which uses an automated system with a 90% error rate that denies 1/3 of the claims they receive.

In that case our nurses, who have to do this and so much more for about 90 patients a day *each*, have to go back in and highlight the criteria and hope it escalates to a human being.

The denial will usually be upheld.

So the case is forwarded to a contracted consultant company that staffs physician advisors. Their job is to narrow down exactly what needs to be done to beat the insurance company at their own game. The hospital pays for this service. Sometimes it works.

Often it doesn't, and the denial is still upheld.

So it goes to peer to peer. This means one of our doctors will have a phone call with a doctor on staff at the insurance company. There is no guarantee their doc will know anything about the specialty involved. I've seen OBGYNs make final calls on psych cases. This is the last chance.

Sometimes the physician on staff at the insurance company has a heart, and remembers what they got into medical school for. But often they have only a few minutes to make a judgement before the next peer to peer, and they have a quota of denials to maintain to keep their jobs.

So usually it's denied, and that's it. There's nothing else to do. The insurance company smugly gloats about protecting consumers from overuse of healthcare resources, the hospital bills the patient directly hoping to recoup something from it (even giving the patient services to help reduce their bill) and the patient is fucked at best, forgoes life saving care at worst.

All of that for such a shit ending. All of that money, time, administrative resources, look at it. Look at how many people are employed in the attempt to get insurance companies to pay and how many are employed to prevent it. There is so much bloat in the industry around this one thing, this one process, and it all goes back into the already inflated bill.

I go through insurance communications, I open the medical record with a photo of a child undergoing chemo. She's so small and so brave, smiling for the camera. Weeks of fighting back and forth to guarantee her care until one day I open it to forward yet another denial, and see the big gray 'deceased' tag under her now black and white photo. And I take a minute, I cry, I forward the fax, and I continue on. And this exact scenario repeats at least twice month.

We don't have to live this way. We don't have to.

[urautismdiagnosis-wistie]

Peso

Edit: THIS DESIGN IS OLD AND I JIST WANNA SHARE THAT I THINK I DRAW HIM BETTER NOW 🗣 enjoy the post tho lol

Peso my lil Habibi <3 <3 <3

hes just a top tier character

my Hispanic coded son, mylil guy who's learning how to believe in himself

i just I lovepeso guys he's so pure and supportive and caring and lighthearted and silly and he's really doing his best??

he could probably cure my mentally illness with a bandage I'm sure

imgonna be so real I think he has game tho, like I'm 300% he could pull any maiden

he can become friends with like any sea creature too probably

hes my hero and my son and I think he low-key judges everyone internally

cuz like idk if y'all have met people who refuse to swear out loud verbally and hate confrontation, but the internal dialogue omg

i just know one of these days if he gets pushed too far hes gonna threaten someone with his slappity flippers

like y'all know the look birds do where they just sideye you??

that glance???

i think he does that whenever people do things that are stupid

like he loves them all dearly but shellington why would you touch The THing That Will Hurt you, no shellington you cant eat that for science-

Also I think he and dashi would listen to music together i think they might spend evenings relaxing together. I mean their rooms are right next to eachother so like I'm sure they've had some lovely little evening conversations and stuff 🥰 i can just imagine dashi tryna teach peso yoga and like 😩🙏his penguin body wasn't built for it but he still slays

Hes like the little sibling but in the actually I am the most mature way???

I think its cuz he looks up to alot of the other members (altho he's definitely gotten alot more confident as the show has progressed) but he also like..

He gives me the vibes of the oldest sibling of not just the siblings but of all the cousins??? This might just be me projecting but like why did u even become a medic for such a wide range of medical creatures and sign up to join the newly formed highly experimental water nasa???

I think he probably had alot of high expectations on himself because everyone just always believed he could do anything. And that sounds super supportive in theory but when ur like tryna be the oldest and first one to support ur family and everyone is always looking at u because like.. most other people in ur family are younger or ehatever.. that pressure and extra attention can cause alot of perfectionism and high self standards

That mixed with being The Caretaker in your family especially as a child is a pretty good recipe for getting anxious about any big goal in your life and how others perceive you. I think he tried to like humble himself by saying oh no I'm not really capable of all those amazing things so pls don't have those huge expectations hahaha but then it just turned into not believing in himself as much???

Also we slay genuinely caring and kind people having alot of pent up frustration they never show because they love everyone too much. It still hurts inside tho.

Anyways uhhhhhhhhhhh this totally ain't me projectin or anythin.

also hes like a mixed kid, but he's mostly gentoo penguin id say based on my own design

speaking of penguins I think that their homes would be actually made of stone lol. Their homes would have like different smaller homes for privacy around like communal areas.. they still gotta deal with predstors like albatross or ehstever tho. But their albatross for example might work in groups or even be larger.

Friendly reminder my lore for the octonauts is a bit different than the Canon. Sure People People being like hunted is wayyyy less common than irl but They're basically still playing their evolutionary roles kinda like how we see with sea otters in the show.

I'm gonna make the post for their social norms and etc on this within the next few days actually lol but back to peso

Do u guys ever think peso wouldve jumpscared the crew by being like "oh no the shelf is too tall!" And then busting out the "hey did you know that penguin legs are just folded and much horrifically longer than ud think they are?" On them 😩🙏

"Wh- why would ye show me this??"

" because no one will ever believe you"

Hes very sweet but I think he deserves to be a little bit of a sneaky sht

If uve made it this far thanks for reading the brainrot I hope it was comprehensible pls lmk ur headcanons about him cuz I need more ngl

[witchofthesouls]

The Donor Clause AU just simmers in the back of my head, so just some extra tidbits:

No one is surprised that Tarn developed a new addiction, but his is an intimacy one rather than a sex addiction.

Part of it is the broken Seekerkin-coding doubling down on the behaviors that soothe the sociality quirks and fulfillment of emotional needs for a healthy and stable life. Part of it is just baseline Tarn... for the same emotional needs.

Including but not limited to: looking forward to shared shower time after a hunt, cuddles, helping with fuel overproduction, field byplay, shopping together... just doing things where he spends a lot of time together

A lot of side-eye about the field byplay since Camiens and Decepticons have different ideas of social tolerances and space. Nurse is very used to constantly brushing and modulating fields and doesn't 'shove' aggressively nor shore up against others. You're downright openly 'Hello neighbor!' compared to standard Decepticon practice. By Camien standards, you're a little standoffish. But Camiens would consider those of Cybertron suffering from a type of illness from loneliness and a critical lack of community care (Camien cultural framework with medicine).

You think you're being neutral and polite, nor do you think of anything about Tarn's EM field that settles on you outside the ship. It's a common social byplay among Camiens as Tarn does the Camien equivalent of 'checking on you'/'associated with our group' connotation. You're thinking he's just being overly fussy and anxious (which absolutely checks out), and you really don't mind since Tourniquet did have similar bouts. Tarn wants to ensure that they're off limits and he's taking his donor duties and Conjunx rites very seriously. Meanwhile, the rest of the Decepticons are seeing Tarn deliberately stamp himself across the family in giant glyphs that scream MINE and DO NOT TOUCH...

If Nurse is doing an open class for basic first aid, then Tarn is literally there. Dutifully taking notes, while the potential medbay mechs that Hook bullied ordered to attend are shaking at their booths and trying not to drop dead from raw fear and terrified anxiety should you call on mech for an answer or a volunteer.

Nurse is the aggressive biter and marker. So much so that Tarn doesn't feel compelled to pick open the bruised cables and bitten protoform of his neck due to how constant you work it over. It's like a permanent collar.

Tarn's 'I'm doing a fantastic job' German Shepherd energy versus Nurse's 'my own body has betrayed me' black cat vibe

Tarn definitely reads aloud Megatron's works, including the earlier ones of poetry, as bedtime stories. Your lullabies are a mix of hymns and nursery rhymes about poisons and Camien mythology and folklore.

Kaon is the one who organizes all of the anniversaries. He ships them like FedEx. The kids love Uncle Kaon and the Pet, so it's not a hassle as he kicks them out and taps into the security systems of the 'romantic' dinner at a restaurant.

The reason why Camien Nurse uses English expletives is due to language traveling off of Earth via alien visitors. Although Caminus didn't have any contact with Cybertron and its allies, their organic neighbors do have ties to maby nomadic traders and research travelers that did treat the Milky Way as a passing point. It just tickles Camiens the right way as the word 'fuck' has so many uses.

Vos joins casual excursions with you and Nickel. Not only do you have experience with textiles and know how to barter across a multitude of alien languages, but he gets to enjoy an outing where he can openly the historical usage of drills and blades and not have other mechs scrambling away. He wanders if this it's a femme-thing, a medic-thing, a colonist-perspective, or just coincidence as Nickel menaces him with a rusty drill over his interest in equally rusted hooks. He's delighted over it.

The split-spark twin with the teething issue develops a mouthful of needle-sharp denta. So much it crowds out their mouth, and they persistently chew on things. 'Tiny Pet' used to chew on the Justice Division's digits, but ever since they hit the toddling stage, their teeth developed the strength and length to actually slip through the gaps of the armor by the joints and puncture protoform. Because they're usually docile, they like cuddling on a lap to chew on a mech's armored forearm for as long as possible.

The bitties are really popular on the private server. Tesarus' online friends still DM for updates over the only sparklings around and mechs coo over tiny frames and 'Chewy's' nightmare-inducing yawn.

[ineffablecabbage]

other thoughts about The Pitt from last night: (8 p.m.)

We are still missing rats and Myrna

I find it really interesting that everyone is very pro-Whitaker finding Robby, because my entire reaction is that he was absolutely the wrong person for that, and everything about the scene showed it. Now, that's not Whitaker's fault: he's only a fourth year medical student. But "You have to, because if you don't, we're fucked" is terrible advice to someone in the middle of a mental breakdown. Robby should not have gone back out on the floor. It was bad for him, and it was bad for any patients he might have treated. Whitaker should have turned around and found Abbot or Dana. Or ... said anything else

Season 2 John Truman Carter III would have let Mark Greene have his breakdown in peace.

Abbot working better with Mohan than Robby does is hilarious to me.

"Fuck the standard of care." And that's why on a daily basis, the NURSES are the ones keeping you alive from doctors' egos.

Robby giving Mel her props was very John Truman Carter III coded, and it's about time.

People are going to say that Mel breaking down there was proof that she isn't fit for these situations and I'm going to fit them, because she has done AWESOME ALL FUCKING DAY.

Langdon and Jake - aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Look, there's a reason Dana came and got Langdon for that. That tells me more about the relationship between Robby and Langdon than they have all season and it hurts my heart. Also Robby, who an hour or two ago said he didn't trust Langdon, watching silently while he comforted his (step)son? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

ANYWAY! Robby is complex in that I absolutely feel all of his pain and he is a great doctor, etc., but he is deadly biased in this David shit and 100% wrong all over with how he is handling it.

Dr. Shen was great! Dr. Ellis is great (and put Santos in her place immediately, so you think fandom would realize there's a problem there, but fandom is dumb often.) i do find it unrealistic that neither Shen or Mel would recogize or think of measels in this age of anti vaxxer freaks.

[macgyvermedical]

https://youtu.be/rUFRVEpvcA0?si=i38s_Z_rjpaifxRA.

Have you seen this video? It's from "The Fall" 03. 01 If you can't see this.

I want to ask that what do you think about this scene. Are medical teams realy like this in hospitals? Are they using right drugs in this scene? How they can know what is wrong with them. Also, can you explain about these drugs that they are using.

I could have sworn I'd done this before, but I couldn't find it, so here goes:

It's really accurate. The protocols are a little different in the US than in Northern Ireland, but everything really checks out. Hospitals do have teams dedicated to traumas (they might be specifically dedicated to trauma that day or just assigned to trauma that day along with their other rooms depending on how much trauma an emergency department typically gets).

They're doing a bunch of different things to determine what is wrong with him. For one, they know that he was shot twice because the paramedics (and likely someone at the scene) said so. Note that they check that is accurate by turning him over and seeing if there are any other holes in him.

There's a lot of blood involved so they can assume blood loss, even if there's no way to really quantify it.

They know his heart is working correctly because they are both hearing sounds 1 and 2 (the "lub" and "dub" sounds normally heard in a healthy heart) and he is on a heart monitor (which is recording the electrical activity in his heart). They also know his blood pressure is too low to measure (and then later they can only get the top number).

They do an ultrasound of his lungs to make sure there are no pneumothoracies. They notice he isn't breathing well likely by listening to and counting his breaths. They know the intubation went in the right place (the lungs instead of the esophagus) because they listen to both lungs and are getting CO2 out of the tube.

We don't see a whole lot else directly done in the trauma bay, but they do notice in surgery that he's bleeding from his spleen just by looking and feeling.

As for the drugs: They picked the drugs before he got there because they're all standard drugs to use a trauma or code situation. So they just have them all ready to go.

Saline: a mix of water and salt that helps increase blood volume due to dehydration or blood loss

Tranexemic Acid: A drug that helps blood clot

Ketamine: a dissociative anesthetic (used because unlike other anesthetics it typically doesn't cause problems with breathing)

Sux (suxamethonium): a paralytic drug used in intubations and general anesthesia

Phenylephrine and ephedrine: drugs that makes blood vessels smaller which increases blood pressure

Atropine: drug that increases heart rate during a code

Epi (epinephrine): a drug used both to make blood vessels smaller to increase blood pressure and to change a bad heart rhythm into a better one during a code

Glycopyrrolate: a drug used to dry up secretions before intubation

FFP (fresh frozen plasma): a blood product full of clotting factors which helps blood clot

Platelets: another blood product that contains another thing that helps blood clot