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zazter-den · 2 months

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Wake-Up Call

Synopsis- Your situation Bakugo is on a mission in another country, so why bother worrying him by mentioning that you're sick? (You really should have known that would backfire).

Reader Characteristics- Gender Neutral, Sick (Implied COVID), Brat.

Warnings- Suggestive Ending

Tags- Illness Comfort, Dom Fluff, Long-Distance Fluff, Spanking Mention, D/S Dynamic, FWB!Bakugo, Caretaker!Bakugo.

Word Count- 1500

A breeze slipped through the slightly ajar window of your apartment, filling your bedroom with the smell of rain. The world outside was blanketed in a thick mist, the city was still asleep, muted to a quiet hum. It was a chilly morning, the kind that would have you reaching for a warm cup of coffee and a cozy sweater. But for you, it was perfect.

The sun wasn't even up yet, and you were curled up in bed, buried deep under a pile of blankets. Your makeshift nest kept you warm, while the cold air from the window nipped at your nose. Every breath you took was crisp morning air and the smell of rain-soaked soil. It was a smell you loved, one that always soothed you when you were sick. With a soft sigh, you snuggled deeper into the comforters, letting the calm of the early morning lull you back to sleep.

The world could wait.

With your face nestled into the cool sheets, you were on the verge of slipping back to sleep. At least you were, before a sudden melody filled the room. The calming marimba cover of the Final Fantasy intro was a sound only assigned to your closest party members. With a groan, you reluctantly popped your head out from under the warm cocoon of your comforters. Your fingers clumsily fumbling for the source of the noise. The cellphone screen hurt, even with the reduced brightness of night mode, and you squinted at it, trying to make out the caller ID. Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes finally focused on the TNT emoji that popped up with the video call.

Katsuki.

A facetime call? This early? Your sleepy confusion only got worse. Your… well, you weren't quite sure what to call him. Best friend? Lover? Bro with benefits? It was complicated. Bakugo was supposed to be away on a mission in another country. Their facetime calls were always scheduled ahead of time, taking into account the time difference and the unpredictable work shifts you both had. An unscheduled call like this was… unusual, let alone a video chat. With a sense of growing dread, your mind started racing with possibilities. Was the mission a success? Was he okay? What if something had happened?

Pushing down the worry that had begun to creep up, you swiped to connect the video call. Your heart pounded in your chest as you waited for the connection to go through. The phone flickered, and then Bakugo's face filled the screen. It was a bright afternoon wherever he was. His spiky blond hair glinted in the sunlight, and his red eyes seemed even brighter. His face was a sight for sore eyes, and without realizing it, a sleepy smile found its way onto your face. Whatever was going on, it was good to see him.

"You wanna tell me why I had to hear from Deku that you're sick?"

Oh. Oh, you take that back.

"Good mornin' to you too Kacchan" your voice squeaked, trying (and failing) to hide the guilt you felt. Cheeks flushing, you quickly buried your face into the pillow. Your eyes peeped out over the top, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. You could feel his glare burning into you through the screen, and knew you were in for an earful.

"Don't fuckin' 'Kacchan' me" Bakugo snapped, his scowl deepening. His voice had that distinctive edge to it, the one that told her he was more worried than mad. It might be bright and shining where he was, but his mood was anything but sunny.

You swallowed hard, throat dry as you tried to find the right words. "It's just a mild case, Katsuki" you admitted in a small shaky voice. You nestled your fevered face further into the cool pillow. "I'm just tired, can't really think straight… and I've been sleeping a lot." You gave him a weak smile, trying your best to reassure him.

Too bad your words didn't seem to have the desired effect. If anything, his frown only grew. "I'll be over it by the time you fly back home… so I figured I wouldn't worry you" you added, trying to sound upbeat despite the fatigue that weighed you down.

Bakugo pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut in frustration. "Great plan" he muttered sarcastically. "Do you have any idea how fuckin' worried I was when Deku told me you had to catch your breath on the stairs?"

You let out a nervous chuckle, hand rubbing the back of your neck. "You'll be happy to know I've started taking the elevator?" you offered, attempting to lighten the mood.

Bakugo's glare softened a little, but he wasn't about to let you off that easy. "Not the point, and you damn well know it. You should have told me, sweetheart. I don't care if it's “mild” or not. I should've been the first to know. If you're sick, I wanna be there for you, even if it's just through the phone."

The screen shook a bit as Bakugo let out an exasperated sigh. He cares, deeply, that much is clear- even if neither of you have taken the step to label what's going on between them. It's in the way his eyes softened after the initial anger, in the way he called you first thing after hearing the news, even with oceans between the two of you. "Just...take care of yourself, okay? And keep me updated, no matter how small the shit is. Got it?" Bakugo's voice was rough, but the concern unmistakable.

"Heh, you care about me" you couldn't help but poke fun, laying back and stretching your arms above your head. The chilly morning mist moved the translucent curtains, but you couldn't feel warmer. As you settled back on the bed, the phone angle shifted, giving him a clearer view of your "pajamas".

"I care about you not being a dumba-" Katsuki began, his usual attitude ready on his tongue, but it fizzled out as you derailed his train of thought. His eyes fixated on the bright red stylized skull stitched across the cotton top you wore. He already knew the answer, but asked anyway. "...Is that my shirt?" he demanded in a softer voice, his cheeks quickly gaining a subtle pink.

"Ah, ya, sorry. You left it here last time you were over" You admitted a little sheepish, fingers nervously started to play with the hem. The fabric was worn and soft from use, and it's comforting in a way that's hard to describe. "I've been having really bad body aches and it's the softest shirt here" you added. "I'll take it off if you want?" The offer is genuine, but it's clear from the reluctant tilt of your head and the way your grip tightened on the fabric, that you'd rather not part with the small piece of him you have.

"No" Katsuki blurted out more quickly than he intended, his ears now matched the soft pink of his cheeks. He turned away from the camera, as if his sudden interest in the landscape in the distance could hide the heat he felt creeping up his neck. "It's fine."

"Bakugo Katsuki- are you blushing?" you teased, amusement clear as day. He could practically hear the smirk in your words. Your sleepy grin was wide on his screen, and he could feel it without looking.

"Hush" he growled, trying to regain composure as he glared into the camera at you. The red in his cheeks deepened despite his best efforts. "It's not like I haven't seen you in my stuff before. Just... keep the damn shirt on if it makes you feel better" he conceded gruffly, unable to hide the fact that, deep down, he likes seeing you wrapped up in something of his. Bakugo's eyes narrowed as he caught the bratty grin still stretched across your face, your smugness speaking volumes through the screen. His initial embarrassment at being caught blushing quickly evaporated. If the little brat wanted to play, then fine by him.

"But don’t think you’re off the hook for keeping me in the dark, darlin'" he chuckled darkly, the sound sent a shiver down your spine. Your grin faltered, replaced by a nervous gulp. You knew that tone, the one that signaled you had danced on the line and now Katsuki was about to remind you just who’s in charge.

He leaned closer to the phone, his red eyes piercing into yours. "Once I’m back, you’re gonna wear that shirt- and that shirt only" Bakugo said with a feral grin, the demand in his voice leaving no room for argument. "Then I’m gonna spank that ass of yours until it’s as red as the skull on your chest." The edge in his voice stole your breath away, and you sat up a little straighter.

Bakugo was miles away but it felt like he was here, invading your bedroom, taking over every inch of air around you. You could feel his authority fall over you like a comforting weight. Your body already ached for his touch, for the slap of his hands, the sharp bite of his teeth, and the relentless pounding of his cock. A whimper you didn't realize you were holding back slipped out, and now Katsuki was the one leaning back with a satisfied smirk. “Better be good for me and rest up, brat. I'll see you when I get home.”

No pressure tags for the Kacchan fans!: @bakubunny @neon-gothicc @dcsiremc @sadgirltrademark @purecoco

#zaz drabbles #minors dni #long distance au #fwb au #illness comfort #katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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pinkpastels113 · 3 years

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Give Me a Shot

In light of me recently getting my covid shot and @wolvezzz joining us on Tumblr, here’s a little Bechloe one-shot for you all…

(I had to basically rewrite this due to some stupid mistakes I discovered halfway through in the middle of the night, so I am so sorry if some parts do not seem to add up or are too unrealistic. **I tried**)

(Also, let us just assume that the guy that Stacie is talking about is quarantined with his sister, aka no covid.)

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,571

Pairing: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell

Summary: In which Beca is supposed to get a Covid shot but instead got a dose of something far more nerve-wracking.

End B/C if you squint. One-shot. Fluff? Covid AU.

On ao3 or ff.net or here...

(I have no idea what to put as an excerpt so here we go...)

Beca hands over the clipboard to the lady at the desk and smiles tightly behind her mask in thanks as she receives a post-it note in return.

“Put this on the chair you’re going to sit in and come back to it once you’re done receiving the shot for the fifteen minute observatory period,” the lady says, bored but polite as she recites the practiced line Beca heard her give to several people before her.

“Cool. Thanks.” Beca plays with the sticky part of the post-it note in her hands as she walks over to plop down into the plastic chair next to Stacie.

“I hope we don’t have to wait as long as Amy did when she got her shot last week,” her friend says, rubbing her own post-it note onto the arm of her chair and crossing her legs as she leans back.

“Fuck yeah. Me too. Amy’s took at least two hours.” Beca copies the taller brunette’s actions and sighs as she tilts her head back, blinking leisurely up at the ceiling.

Stacie groans. “I will punch someone if we have to wait that long; I’m already hungry as it is.”

Beca snorts, despite being ninety percent sure that her hangry friend will do just that, “Why didn’t you get something to eat sooner?”

Green eyes flit to the side to look at her, “Boy from last night didn’t understand the definition of a one-night stand.”

Of course. Beca rolls her eyes and laughs, the sound muffled behind the piece of fabric covering her mouth, her chest quivering with mirth at the prospect of a guy refusing to accept that his “lucky shot” with her friend was over, “Seriously?”

“Yep.” The mask on Stacie’s face moves in a way that’s a telling of her pursing her lips, her gaze following her hand as fingers trace the unmarked portion of the arm of the chair her wrist is lying on, “He wouldn’t leave even when I told him that I had to go and get myself some breakfast with my mom before meeting with you to get my Covid-19 vaccine, even going as far as to offer to be my personal chauffeur.”

Beca lowers her head from the back of her chair and raises her eyebrows, “Wow. That’s like, a serious guy looking for a serious relationship, dude. Are you sure your friend would be okay with this?”

Stacie had informed her the night before that the brother of one of her most trusted friends would be staying the night with her doing some...choice activities.

“Yeah,” the brunette wrinkles her nose, “I had made sure that both her and her brother knew that I don’t do relationships.” She then brightens, as if suddenly remembering a thought, “Oh, he texted me too.” Stacie turns around and rifles in her purse for her phone, humming in her mouth as she pushes aside the keys and tampons within, and lets out a small noise of triumph as she whips out her device, “Aha.”

Beca chuckles at the scene but leans forward nonetheless, eager to spend the time waiting for her covid vaccine in doing something else besides counting the water spots on the ceiling tiles above her head, “What did he say?”

Stacie unlocks her phone, bouncing slightly in her seat in suppressed excitement as she goes to tap into her messages, “Look.”

Beca doesn’t think she has ever seen anything more desperate and pathetic in her life than the digital text glaring into her face, “Oh my god, he wants to know where you are at and wonders if he can take you out to dinner? Dude.”

Even through the mask Beca can tell that a sly and catlike grin had unfurled across her friend’s lips, followed by a mischievous wink, “Right? I don’t think I’ve ever had someone this desperate for another round right after the one the night before.” She then cocks her head, adding the next words almost as if it’s an afterthought, “And the one the early morning after.”

Beca shakes her head in disbelief, eyes scanning the multitude of text messages subsequent to the one she had just read aloud, “Maybe he just wants to see if last night and early this morning was a fluke.”

Stacie gasps in mock offense, yanking her cellular device away from Beca’s face, “How dare you, Mitchell. The Hunter is never a fluke.”

Beca just shrugs her shoulders in response, shifting her legs to accommodate the position for her to palm her chin.

She blinks innocently up at her.

Stacie narrows her eyes.

“Stacie Conrad?”

Both brunettes whirl around at the mention of the name, Beca taking in the blonde hair and blue scrubs standing at the entrance to the hallway of doctor offices hidden from view, and she sighs as Stacie grins and jumps up, practically skipping over to the woman holding a pen to another wooden clipboard in her hands.

They disappear from sight and Beca turns back around, pouting slightly as she waits for her turn, the foot that isn’t hanging uselessly in the air tapping impatiently on the floor beneath her chair. Just as she is about to delve into a full on sulk, a melodic voice chirps her name.

“Rebeca Mitchell?”

Fiery red hair and bright blue eyes meet her gaze, and Beca’s mouth goes dry as the woman waves cheerily at her, her entire body freezing in her seat as the organ in her chest decidedly unfreezes, and it is not until the cerulean pools has vanished into a blink that she has realized that she has stared too long and should probably get her ass up and over there.

Beca swallows and nods, and almost trips over her feet in the act of standing up without first uncrossing her legs. Blushing furiously and praying that nobody in the vicinity has noticed besides her awkward and idiotic self, she tugs at the hem of her blouse and quickly makes her way over.

“Hi,” the redhead greets, the smile lines on her cheeks creasing prettily as she crosses out her name with a ballpoint pen, “Rebeca Mitchell?”

“Beca,” she says, automatic in her response to the correction of the name that she has loathed since birth, “It’s Beca.”

She looks up at her, and Beca wants to slap herself in her haste to blurt out the two liner that she usually only reserves for people with whom she wants to be casual with, “Beca.”

Her fingers twitch at the way her name sounds rolling through the air in that sweet melodic tune, and she suddenly wants to find out how it sounds like rolling off her tongue, clear and without the obstacles of the stupid masks blocking its way.

Before she could do much more than tip her chin in acknowledgement, the redhead has twirled around in a flurry of red and blue, and Beca is dutifully following her down the hallway into the office attached at the very end.

At the gesture for her to sit on the stool in front of the wall, Beca sat, and promptly stares as the redhead sets the clipboard on the table before reaching for a pair of new latex gloves, watching the way she snaps them on and pulls a card out of her scrub pocket, drinking in the sight of her tilting her head as she flourishes her pen over the newly revealed card.

She is so fucking gorgeous.

Beca wishes that she is not in the middle of a fucking pandemic.

“So is that with one C or two C’s?” Her question snaps her out of her daze and Beca has to reluctantly pull her gaze away from the smooth expanse of her neck.

“Oh, um,” she gulps to lubricate her throat, sitting up taller to properly project her voice, hoping upon hope that the louder volume will drown out its slight tremble, “It’s actually Rebeca on paper. With one C.”

An inconspicuous murmur floats into her ears, and if Beca hadn’t known any better, she would’ve described it being accompanied with a teasing smile, “I see.”

Her heart pounds in her chest and it’s a big struggle to refrain from squirming in her stool.

The redhead finishes writing on the card and sets that and the pen aside, before slowly making her way towards her. Beca’s eyes stay determinedly on her face—or more accurately, on what she could make of it—her nerves growing more jittery and jumpy by the second, and she finds herself holding her breath as the redhead comes to a stop, feet away. She nibbles on the inside of her cheek as a gloved hand picks up a small package and tears at the seams, taking out an alcohol wipe and shaking it out, before placing the empty pieces of said package back onto the paper on the exam table from which it came from.

Sneakers step forward and then red hair and blue eyes are inches closer.

“Roll your sleeve up for me, please?” Her voice lilts at the end, Beca’s heart instantly mimicking the gesture, and she fumbles with the sleeve of her blouse on her left arm to comply.

The redhead leans forward to rub at the uncovered skin with the cold wipe, causing shivers to emanate from the affected area and spread through and around every nerve ending in her entire upper body, and Beca has to clench her hand into a tight fist to hold herself still.

“Relax,” she says, not moving away even as she sets aside the used wipe as well, removing the cap from the needle from which contained the Covid vaccine. “You need to relax, Becs; the muscle will sore if you don’t.”

Beca’s gaze snaps up, sure that the redhead had just uttered a nickname of her already shortened name, but apart from the fact that her blue eyes seemed to twinkle even brighter—a fact that Beca stubbornly gives credit to the fluorescent light from overhead, in addition to their sudden close proximity—her expression betrays nothing.

She heeds the request and unclenches her fist, and as the prickling feeling signalling the intrusion of the vaccine starts from her arm, a glare on the breast pocket of the redhead’s scrubs catches her eye.

Dr. Chloe Beale.

Huh.

Beca grins, elated at the realization that she had just found out the name of the gorgeous woman standing before her.

She sends up a mental thank you to whoever had the intelligence and generosity of coming up with the invention of name tags.

The prickling sensation resides, and Beca looks over to see that Chloe is done delivering the shot. She makes to lower the sleeve of her blouse, but a gloved hand brushing against her sensitive skin stops her.

“Hold on, I need to give you a Band-Aid.” Despite the blue latex covering her fingertips, Beca can still feel the warmth and tenderness of Chloe’s touch.

Beca nods, dumbly, as Chloe quickly peels off the ends of the Band-Aid and pastes it carefully over the reddening spot. Gloved hands linger, taking the time to rub out every last inch of the two ends of the patch, fingers wrapping lightly against the circumference of her upper arm, and Beca stares with bated breath, suddenly afraid to look at any place else.

She is glad that she is in the middle of a fucking pandemic.

“There.” It is a soft puff of a sound, and if Beca hadn’t already been so close to her face, hadn’t already been close enough to wish that she had the ability to rip off her mask and smell her undoubtedly sweet and floral perfume, she wouldn’t have heard it. “You’re all set.”

Chloe finally steps away, and Beca wishes that she hadn’t spun around so fast because she is pretty sure that she had just sent her a wink.

“So, here’s the card that I have filled out for you, and it’s really important that you bring it back when you return for your second dose,” the card that Chloe had written on earlier is handed over, covered in beautiful, curling black ink, “And you should receive a text in the next hour or so telling you when that second dose is going to be.”

“From you?” The words had left Beca’s mouth without her notice or permission, and it was not until an auburn eyebrow had risen into the air in amusement that Beca had realized what she had said.

“Fuck.”

She covers her face in her hands, only to be embarrassed even further when the evidence of her forgotten boundary scrapes against her palms. She settles for letting out a groan and closing her eyes, laying her elbows onto her thighs and hanging her head in a full manifestation of her humiliation.

Her body feels like it’s on fire and Beca wants the goddamn ground to open up and swallow her whole.

Chloe giggles. “Not from me, silly. From the Department of Health of the state.”

Beca is positive that had she whipped her head up any faster, her neck would’ve snapped. Chloe’s laugh is like a drug. “Yeah, sorry. That was not supposed to come out of my mouth.”

Now that is definitely a wink. “What was supposed to come out then?”

Her jaw slackens, and if Fat Amy was there in the room with her, she would’ve made fun of her for looking like a fish. The heat in her cheeks burn hotter and Beca hastily shakes her head, hopping off from the stool, grateful that she had managed not to trip like the time before. The hard cardstock digs into her lines of her palm of her right hand further with each pulse against the side of her neck, and Beca wills her feet to power walk to the exit of the suffocating room lest she makes even more of a complete and awkward idiot out of herself in front of Dr. Chloe Beale.

Fingers tug on her wrist, and then something small is slapped onto her card. “Here,” Chloe looks like she’s chewing on her lip, “You forgot your sticker.”

Confusion furrows her brows, but something in her hisses at her to not to say a word, especially when sparkling blue eyes dart down the hall agitatedly as if its owner knows that she is doing something she’s not supposed to and if she is caught, she is going to be in major trouble.

There seems to not be enough air in the world for her to suck in, and Beca clutches both the sticker and card tightly against the space between her breasts and speeds down the hallway, her converse squeaking against the floor as she spins to beeline the rest of her way into her yellow post-it noted designated chair.

Stacie looks up from her phone from which 14:39 flashes across her screen and moves her foot out of her way so Beca can sit down, “So? How’d it go?”

Beca finally unleashes the death like grip of her hands, the side effect of her recent dose of something far from a vaccination of a worldwide virus causing her temperature to spike and her body to hyperventilate when ten beautifully, flirtatiously, unabashedly, confidently written digits wink at her from the back of the tiny sticker. “Like how it’s supposed to. I got a shot.”

I think this is gonna be my one and only covid related fanfic; it was absolutely exhausting to write, and I am still 98% sure that I haven’t fixed all the mistakes… XD.

#bechloe #bechloe fanfic #bechloe fanfiction #bechloe au #bechloe oneshot #pitch perfect #pitch perfect fanfiction #beca x chloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe fluff #stacie conrad #covid au #mine #middle of the night #I don’t know what I’m doing #i need to sleep

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secret-diary-of-an-fa · 3 years

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The End of Year Awards Are Back... and This Time, It’s Personal!

And so we approach the end of 2020, the year that never really began. On paper, at least, it looked incredibly promising. There were lots of great movies slated to come out; culture seemed slightly less paucity-riddled and pointless than usual; good things were in the air. Then COVID happened, and basically fucked everything. Actually, that’s not quite true: my personal year has been fucking spectacular. I’m in a long-term relationship with a gorgeous woman for the first time in forever- no more abrupt trysts and stolen moments for yer humble narrator: I’ve got a sumptuously plus-size lady-friend who actually wants to spend substantial amounts of time me (and has knockers you could sled down, were you so inclined). I also started a Youtube channel where I upload performances of magic tricks I’ve designed and a few people seem to quite like it. Oh, and I’ve written four novels, with a fifth well on its way to completion. Unfortunately, that’s my life, not the life of our civilisation and culture as a whole. The fact that bugger all happened in that makes this end-of-year round-up a little hard to write. With that in mind, I’m going to hand out the gongs for 2020, but I’m also going to do my usual dodge of giving end-of-year awards to things that I discovered in 2020, even if they came out the year, decade or century before. It’s not like any right-minded person gives a hoot about my opinion anyway. Right then, everyone clear on the rules? Then let’s roll up our sleeves and plunge elbow deep into the fetid trough of our decaying society to ferret out the best and worst of the Things That Humans Have Done Recently.

The ‘I Like It Because It Confused Thick People’ Award for Best High-Concept Sci-Fi Movie... … Goes to the sterling Tenet, a spy film that used entropy inversion and symmetric, opposite-direction timelines within the same physical space the way most spy films use hacking and guns. Christopher Nolan films are always intricately constructed and meticulously-executed, but this one must have had Japanese Master Puzzle-Box Makers crying into their breakfast cereal. Is breakfast cereal a thing in Japan? I honestly I have no idea. For some reason, all I can imagine is a sort of dry kedgeree where all the ingredients that aren’t rice have been removed. But I digress. For all its intricacy, Tenet is actually really easy to follow once you’ve grasped the basic premise that there’s a machine that lets people move backwards through time, and that this makes them appear to move in reverse to the rest of the world while they perceive the rest of the world as moving in reverse. Nolan maintains a mastery of cinematic visual language that makes even the most abstruse concept easy to wrap your head around. Nonetheless, following Tenet’s release, dumb people took to the Internet on mass to complain that the film was confusing and stupid, never once realising that their inability to conceptualise time in non-linear ways was their own failing, not Nolan’s. I find that refreshing. It’s nice to see a sci-fi film that’s actually made for smart-cookie sci-fi fans and doesn’t give a hoot if it alienate thickos.

The Award for Most Inexplicably Compelling Web Comic… … Goes to Questionable Content. I originally started reading Questionable Content because I’d heard that the female lead and love interest was a plus size lassie and that shit’s my jam. However, the art style makes everyone look like a skinny indie-type, regardless of their actual, in-universe size, so it doesn’t do much to titillate my Fat Admiring Titillation Centres. And yet, I’m over five hundred ‘episodes’ in and still reading. The thing is, I couldn’t tell you why for the life of me. Maybe it’s the hope that the art style will evolve to the point where the people look like actual human beings with different body types (but then, why would I care unless I was invested for some other reason). Maybe it’s the fact that when I get one of the many, many obscure band or pop culture references, I feel a little buzz of kinship with the writer. Maybe it’s the fact that it takes place in a universe where robots and superheroes are things that regularly happen, yet most of the strips are just normal people chatting shit in a coffee shop and the slice-of-life narrative/sci-fi setting appeals to my sense of juxtaposition. I don’t know, but I find it really compelling to the extent that I’ve pissed away entire days reading it. I have a horrible feeling that it’s a short step from this to really angsty hentai. If I start singing the praises of that, somebody please shoot me in the crotch.

The ‘Forest Gump Debating Peter Andre’ Award For Most Sustained or Elongated Instance of Stupidity… … Goes to Donald Trump. I was tempted just to award this gong to his entire presidency, but that wasn’t just stupid: it was also venal, corrupt, horrifying and punctuated by terrible moments of low cunning. So, instead, this award goes to his ‘soup’ rant. For those of you who missed it, the former President of the United States spent a really, really long time (in the run-up to the election) wittering on about protestors throwing cans of soup at police. What was dumb and weird about it was that he appeared to be extolling the virtues of soup as a siege weapon, going into really specific detail about how it was better than a brick because it could be thrown with more force, finishing with the utterance that protestors would just argue that “this is just soup for my family” if they were caught with the cans… which is phrased wrong in such a subtle and inhuman way it’s hard to imagine that anyone actually ever said it, at least in those words. I have no idea if protestors in America were throwing soup cans at police (which would be entirely justified considering how many innocent people American police have murdered in cold blood quite recently) or if this was a fantasy dreamed up by the former president in the cloudcuckooland that is his diseased little brain. Either way, the connected rant was balls deep in dumb.

The Most Disturbing Unintentional Impression of Vincent Price Award… … Goes to the narrator from One Step Beyond, a Twilight Zone-esque anthology of weirdness that purports to be based on true events and has to be seen to be believed. The stories are oft-disturbing instances of spooky-inflected human drama and can occasionally be quite disconcerting… until they’re book-ended by a dude who sounds like Vincent Price reading a children’s book in a really earnest voice. It’s weird and no, it didn’t hit our screens in Space Year 2020, it dates back to Ye Olden Times of the 1950s or 60s, when men were men, women were women and technincolour was a distant dream that could get you strung up for witchcraft. Nonetheless, I only encountered it this year, so it’s getting its prize. I warned you I was going to pull this shit, but you foolish fools didn’t listen.

The ‘It’s Not Gay If I Don’t Clench’ Award for Cognitive Dissonance… … Goes to Amazon Prime, the content-making branch of evil, tax-dodging, anti-monopoly-law-breaking megalith Amazon. You see, while Big Daddy Amazon is off being incredibly sinister and worrying, like a shifty vampire hanging off the economy’s throat, the creative people at Amazon Prime are busy making or acquiring some of the flat-out best TV ever committed to a streaming-service, from the extra-weird slice of fun-pie that is The Tick, to the entertainingly horrifying cultural dissection of The Boys to the utterly unique Carnival Row, to the superbly adapted American Gods. It’s a bit like discovering that Geoffrey Dahlmer single-handedly created a body of artistic work to rival Vincent Van Gogh’s when he wasn’t pouring acid onto the brains of emotionally vulnerable young adults. It gives me a headache.

The Clint Eastwood Award for Most Effective Older Gentlemen… … Goes to Joe Biden, for unseating dipshit in chief Donald Trump with the casual badassery of a Wild West gunslinger shooting a baddy (probably played by Leonardo Di Caprio) in the balls. I mean, he’s not the best Prez America could ask for but a) as a Brit I don’t have to care and b) anyone who ousts Trump gets mad props from me.

The ‘It’s a Pity Everything Else is Shit Now’ Award for Best New Ongoing Series… … Goes to my own Youtube series, Victor The Magician, in which I claim to be a reality-hopping, interdimensional wizard on an endless quest to… perform magic, basically. I’ll admit that the quality is super-variable (Youtube algorithms and their constant demand for fresh content be a harsh mistress, etc., etc.). However, when I’m good, I’m really good. If you’re looking for a punch-line other than the fact that this whole bit is a self-promoting plug, it’s this: my Youtube series really was the best thing to come out this year. Not because I’m great or anything, just by default. A promising year really did turn into a cultural wasteland the moment COVIDius Rex reared its scaly head.

The Zombie Ian Curtis Award for Most Crushing Disappointment… … Goes to Rick and Morty Series 4. As I think I’ve said before, it was still good, but it just didn’t reach the dizzy heights of nihilistic lunacy achieved in series 1-3. I think the problem is that the audience is meant to learn something from Rick’s poor choices, even if he doesn’t, because the creators saw the amazing success of Bojack Horseman and decided they wanted a slice of that sweet, tangy deconstructionist pie. It worked up to a point in the climax of Series 3, but having made their point, the showrunners probably should have moved onto a different point. They forgot that the appeal of Rick Sanchez is his combination of ‘entertaining car-crash of a human being’ and ‘unstoppable superbeing’. Push him through an arc and you risk breaking the thing that makes him and the show so endlessly watchable. Rick, unlike Bojack, just wasn’t built for heavy introspection. Also, the team hired on new writers who were less than familiar with the characters, setting and subtext, and that’s always an invitation to disaster.

The Special Sir Mixalot Award for Posteriority… ...Goes to… my girlfriend and glamorous assistant, Mystic Miss Terri, who’s arse is gorgeous and majestic.

The ‘Are They STILL Making That?’ Award for a Show You Forgot Existed And is Now Back… … Goes to Supernatural, which never technically went away and whose final series is apparently being broadcast on one of the 4 channels (though who knows which one, any more), It’s kind of nice to realise it’s still out there and be reminded that there are still people who care deeply about what happens to it. It’s like when you remember ‘oh yeah, [insert cute animal here] actually exists and isn’t just an internet meme. That’s nice’. Also, it’s good to see Jared Padelacki working steadily. It can’t be easy to find acting gigs when most producers just want to shoot you and mount your antlers over a fireplace.

The Irritating Magician Award for Something That Just Won’t Fuck Off… ...Goes to this blog entry, which is three pages long in Word. Good grief. Bye y’all! See you next year, assuming that the last few days of 2020 don’t culminate in a civilisation-destroying attack by giant space-ants. If that seems worryingly specific, let’s just say that- as Leonard Cohen would say “I’ve seen the future and, brother, it is murder”… by giant space-ants.

#Secret Diary of a Fat Admirer #2020 #2021 #New Year

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glorious-blackout · 4 years

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Summary of Junior Doctor Life - Part Ten (now with a pandemic on the horizon):

One of my colleagues (who happens to be gay) has the same jobs as me next year, though he’s considerably less thrilled about the Obs and Gyn placement than I am. After enduring the rest of us coming up with reasons why he might actually enjoy it, he eventually summed up his frustrations with a final, “Look, I just really hate vaginas!” Fair enough 😅

The stereotype that doctors aren’t particularly good at looking after ourselves isn’t entirely unfounded (most of us would love to eat and drink and sleep regularly, but our shifts don’t always allow it). One of my friends proved that point by coming back to work early after being ill, only to collapse during the morning ward round. Thankfully she was working with one of our nicer consultants, who not only made sure she got to lie down in our doctors’ room but also insisted she get a lift home and stay there until she was better. In the meantime, I managed to make our eager medical students useful by sending them off to buy biscuits and sugary drinks for her (though their initially bewildered question of “Which drink?” did leave me mildly concerned that they’d come back with a diet coke).

The same thing happened to me once when I was a medical student. Not gonna lie, it’s rather unnerving to hear an experienced consultant say “Oh wow, that is pretty low” after checking your blood pressure.

I was on Surgical Receiving again this week, with my first patient being none other than one of my consultants. If I ever require admission to hospital then I will likely avoid my workplace like the plague, however this man is far more eccentric than I am and had zero qualms about his own colleagues removing his gallbladder earlier in the week. A few days later he called the ward because his wound was leaking and nonchalantly stated, “So I’m holding a bit of bowel in my hand, but it’s okay. I come in, you fix it, I go home.” Which is exactly what happened (thankfully his presentation wasn’t quite as dramatic as he’d made out).

During a week in which we were already understaffed, one of my colleagues called in sick at the last minute due to food poisoning. This left only two FY1s responsible for sixty patients, and one of us (thankfully not me) was holding a page designed to accept more patients. Not the best news to receive at 8am when you’re already on Day 6 of a 7-day week.

If the shift had been kind to us then this might have been manageable, but it ended up being a day in which I found out that the lovely man who once gave me a Kit-Kat because “you doctors are always run off your feet” was dying, while in the neighbouring ward a patient faked a cardiac arrest in a bid to get some morphine. Throw a suspected Coronavirus case into the mix and more discharge letters than you can physically complete without sacrificing your breaks and you end up with the kind of shift that leaves you bone-weary by the end of it.

Speaking of Coronavirus, its presence in the UK means that the rumour-mill is officially up and running. Our medical students have already had their exams and summer electives cancelled, while high-dependency nurses are facing the very real possibility of having to care for ICU patients in the coming weeks. Annual leave is likely to be deferred, elective surgeries are facing cancellations (with the exception of urgent cancer cases) while theatre nurses are being trained in Critical Care. Our email inboxes are constantly filled with updates, so regularly that emails we receive at 10am already contradict the information given two hours earlier. In the past three days I’ve been present at several meetings about the approaching pandemic, during which we’re reminded that the next few weeks are likely to be unimaginably busy. For the most part, we just get on with our jobs as usual, but there’s certainly an undercurrent of dread lingering beneath the calm.

Supplies of alcohol gel are running low because the bottles by patients’ bedsides keep mysteriously vanishing (often during visiting hours). This has prompted at least one exasperated nurse to say, “Why can’t they just use soap like normal people, for feck’s sake!”

My sister works in the neonatal unit and has already caught multiple parents smuggling hospital supplies of nappies and formula milk home ‘just in case’. They don’t tend to take it well when she bluntly tells them that not only are they stealing from the NHS, but also the very sick babies who actually need those supplies.

One of the unnerving things about working in a hospital where preparations are underway for a pandemic is that it feels like the virus is already everywhere. Every clear-cut Infective Exacerbation of COPD or Pneumonia is now labelled ‘Coronavirus until proven otherwise’ and our charge nurse had to be upfront with us about the fact that even she hadn’t been told exactly how many confirmed local cases there are. The hullabaloo makes it seem as though we’re already in the thick of it… and then you check BBC News and it turns out Scotland only has 60 cases in total. Still, I suppose we’ll be grateful for such preparations soon enough.

My mum rather naively asked if Occupational Health would do anything to protect people like me on account of our shit lungs (not quite her wording, but it’s what she was getting at). I don’t have the heart to tell her that the higher-ups would probably rather have a couple of asthmatic employees die than face the staffing crisis that would arise if every single healthcare worker with underlying health conditions stayed at home. My asthma’s mild enough that I’m not particularly worried, though I have finally ordered a repeat prescription of my inhalers. Just in case 😉

As a final point about COVID-19: for most people it will manifest as a bad cold/flu-like illness (if that), and everyone can do their bit by staying at home if they develop a cough/fever and employing proper hand hygiene (soap and warm water are enough - trust me, hospitals and vulnerable people need stuff like alcohol gel and antibacterial wipes far more than you do). Keeping surfaces at home clean and staying well-hydrated can also help (the virus loves dry environments, which apparently includes the mucus membranes in your throat if you’re dehydrated enough). The people who are going to be most affected are the elderly, immunocompromised, and those with underlying medical conditions, and it’s those people who will be most protected if you follow precautions as closely as possible. It’s going to be a hectic and potentially very difficult few months, but the best thing to do is keep our heads and try not to give into the scaremongering which has been prominent since Day One. And because I really can’t say it enough - Wash Your Hands!

#junior doctor shenanigans #medicine #can't say I'm thrilled about the prospect of dealing with a pandemic in my first year on the job but there you go #hopefully our NHS is able to cope despite the horrific underfunding we've been dealing with for years #long post #rambling

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felicia-cat-hardy · 3 years

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Post-Vaccination Colds Are Back After COVID-19

Charlotte Owen has a cold. Yes, it’s me; I have the cold. Are you judging me yet? It’s fine if you are. I am too. “How did this happen?” I whispered to myself as I sloshed down another steaming cup of tea, hoping it would soothe the stinging in my throat. I asked the question again as I shined my iPhone flashlight into my mouth, looking for something conclusive on its back wall. It felt like the right thing to do, to check for something, though there was no need, not really. It was a cold, the garden variety, a virus so boring it doesn’t even have its own name, let alone a number. But here’s the kicker: Colds feel different on the heels of a pandemic.

My first thought when I realized I was Not Quite Right was something like, Oh my god, how embarrassing. Had I dropped my mask too soon? I’m more than two weeks past my second Moderna dose, so I knew by CDC guidelines that I hadn’t. But those rules are for COVID and I didn’t have COVID. I had something ordinary and unremarkable, the type of virus that leaves you with a sniveling nose and a ringing in your ears. I’d let my guard down, and now the little league germs had let themselves back in. The was unsurprising — I used to get a cold or two every year — so why did I feel so unsettled?

Would I be reneging on my civic duty if I didn’t confess to my low-grade sniffles in advance?

For one thing, colds don’t feel quite so “common” anymore. The last one I had was on the cusp of autumn-winter 2019. Remember 2019? Me neither. The rules of our social contract have changed irrevocably since then. In the past, I looked scornfully at people who flaked on plans or didn’t show up to work because of a runny nose. Why couldn’t they just push through it? This is a belief seeded in many of us as kids, when 100% attendance certificates were awarded at the end of each school term to those who never took a day off, a marker of pride for any British parent. Most of the time these weren’t kids who never got sick; they were simply the ones who were forced to power through when they did. But what does “powering through” even mean now that nearly 3.4 million people have died from a highly contagious, airborne virus transmitted person-to-person?

The day I woke up feeling lousy I was supposed to see a friend for lunch, before visiting a colleague and her family for dinner in her apartment. Based on my old logic — namely, that illness was something to be overcome with extra effort, rather than rest — I would have gone. But we’ve spent the last 18 months being told we are not only responsible for our own health, but that of our neighbor, too. Granted, a cold isn’t likely to be fatal, but would I be reneging on my civic duty if I didn’t confess to my low-grade sniffles in advance?

This infection will eventually pass, but it will take longer for us to shake off the guilt and shame that lingers around contagious illnesses after this pandemic.

I decided to play it by the book. I opened my Notes app on my phone and drafted messages where I unveiled the ickiness of my sore throat before lobbing the ball into the other side of the court. “I’m up for whatever you’re comfy with,” I said, happy to wash my hands of any decision altogether. My colleague agreed to reschedule — her children were also sick with their first post-mask cold — but my other friend pushed things back on me and said he was fine with it, but it depended on how I felt. That’s when I realized that my social anxiety was distracting me from the fact I felt absolutely rubbish. The following day I woke up unable to hear out of one ear, and a trip to the doctor confirmed an inner and an outer ear infection. Though I now needed antibiotics, this did make me feel a smidge better. Definitely not COVID, I whispered to myself in the Uber home.

This infection will eventually pass, but it will take longer for us to shake off the guilt and shame that lingers around contagious illnesses after this pandemic. I didn’t engage in “risky behavior” before getting sick, but in drafting my confessional texts, I felt like I was declaring an STI to a new sexual partner. This ickiness about “catching something” isn’t anything new. My first boss in magazines, a much-loved sexagenarian with an impeccably aristocratic blow dry, had once declared the presence of little bugs in our office as the cause for the rest of the building to call us “sluts.” I thought she was joking, but it turns out the 15th century meaning of the word is “dirty and slovenly.” Millennials might have reclaimed that particular word, but we’re arguably more obsessed with cleanliness than ever.

I hope the stigma of illness isn’t a course we walk for much longer. Our social contract has changed forevermore, and we need to be patient while we work out the new etiquette of living alongside one another in close proximity. Plus, hyper-vigilance is fine, but even masks won’t do much to protect you if someone with a cold is coughing in the vicinity of your eggs Benedict at brunch. Bad luck still exists, and there’s no moral value in when it strikes. Life must go on, one sniffle at a time.

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blogkelleyb · 3 years

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Cancer treatment in the time of Covid

So I have finished my second Chemo treatment 3 days ago? Why not blog after the first? Well cause I was a potato thats why. That is my new term for the overwhelming exhaustion that comes with my friend Chemotherapy. It is interesting but nothing I have experienced before. I lie, 10 years ago I was super ill and left Kingston Hospital 88 lbs. I know weak and it is a scary feeling and yeah I called them. I found out it is completely normal, give in to it. Ok will do don't have a choice because I don’t have the energy to do more than make myself a cup of tea. My daughter is doing the rest and doing it well. I can relax and just be a potato if I feel like one. So I was for about 3 days.

Around the same time my mouth started to get sore. First kind of coated then raw feeling and really chapped lips. My daughter went to pharmacy and got some special spray that is all natural and helped with the dry sore mouth quite well. She also got special mouthwash made for the same issue. It helped and it passed in about 4 days.

But that wasn’t the first side-effect. I had very mild “hand-foot syndrome” Google it because it is fascinating, and can at its worst be horrendous. It is extreme skin sensitivity to cold. First discovered when I got home from first Chemo and reached into the fridge for a pepsi. Zap, every finger touching the can starts to tingle intensely. You know that feeling when a limb or hand goes to sleep and I mean dead asleep no feeling and then it starts to wake and you hit a max on the tingly feeling? Yeah it feels like that. Not painful, disturbing definitely uncomfortable. Then I took a drink of the pepsi...OMFG my mouth and throat are tingling like crazy. The answer? Warmth. A tea, no cold drinks and don’t touch anything with your hands that is colder than body temp. Warm that water up before you wash your hands. Etc. It lasted a day and gradually improved.

The third and least noticeable side-effect is actually not due to the Chemotherapy but the high dose steroids that they give you before and during to help combat them. Steroids give you a false sense of wellness and I get very chatty to say the least. So yes I noticed this and the fact I felt pretty damn good the first 3 days after. But I know having been on steroids many times for my Colitis the fall going off them is kind of harsh so this probably adds to the chemo exhaustion that hits on day 4 and your done your 3 day steroid regime.

So lets look at the positives of this treatment shall we? I didn’t barf, not even once. Nor did I even get nauseated. I was terrified of this side-effect. I mean worse than hair loss by far. Like I said I know what it feels like to be 88 lbs when my good weight is 135. I weighed 137 when diagnosed, my weight at my first chemo was 112. I have lost 25 lbs already and the treatment hadn’t even started yet. What was I going to look like going into surgery, will it affect the outcome, will I be healthy enough to get it at all or will it have to be delayed risking my life? Yeah it was a great big fat hairy deal. And I didn’t get sick. Can I have a “Hell yeah”

The second side effect is just as exciting folks, I found my lost appetite and oh boy is it back with a vengeance. I fell like I did 10 years ago like I have an insatiable tape worm. It started to come back around day 5 post 1st chemo. And each day became stronger and stronger. I was eating bowls of ice cream at midnight and making bacon and eggs at 5AM. I even appealed to my friends who brought “Mac and Cheese” and “Oven pot pies” And I ate them all and at my weigh in before starting chemo I saw the beautful number 118.6 lbs. Omg the joy I felt I can’t tell you. The relief....1000 lbs literally off my shoulder. I am so holding on to the hope that it stays around. I expect during my potato days, it won’t be as good. But I will remain hopeful that the tapeworm stays awake and keeps eating.

But then I got my second treatment 3 days ago. It was different. The nausea? Nope its fine none of that at all. Appetite seems normal not bad but not ravenous. The hand/mouth, wow. It began as I arrived home from my treatment. My hands and feet and lower legs were tingling like crazy and I was touching nothing and fully dressed and had a coat on. The cold air, It was like minus 2 or something out. Wow what if it was in the middle of winter how would this feel? I come inside and its pretty intense. My daughter gets me a cup of hot tea and heats up my hot pack to put my hands in like I did first round. It helps. I put on my legs it helps them too.

I have a chemo bottle attached to my PICC line that goes into the large vein in my upper body into the upper vessel of the heart. Regular arm veins used for IV’s can't take chemo drugs, That chemo bottle is to drain over a period of 24 hours. I carry it around for those 24 hrs in a little bottle bag around my neck and navigate the tubing. Then the next day I get into the car and drive to Para-Med and they remove the chemo bottle, dispose into the toxic waste container and redo my dressing on my PICC line. I go home. Except two hours later I note the bottle of Chemo is not draining. I call, and they tell me I have to go back to hospital so they can fix. I did, it sucked, I tingled the whole way but did get to ask that nurse about it too. Yes it’s normal but yes we watch it some have a problem. Am I going to have a problem? I hope not she says. Yeah me too.

We drive home. I decide in case this gets worse I should take my shower while I am stable on my feet. I do so and it was glorious hot water. No tingling, until I stepped out. OMFG again. Bare feet on the floor, naked and shivering. Ok now its painful. This bloody sucks. Get dressed in flannel onesie right away. Get big winter socks on and get that hot pack. Ok I am good. How bad will this get? Is this something that could interfere with my ability to get regular prompt continued treatment so I can have surgery and be cancer free. Is this threatened? I have two more treatments and will have a long break in-between these treatments my surgery and my recovery and restarting again. It should get out of my system. But the effects are cumulative, how bad will it get? Can they give more steroids to counter act this effect and keep it controllable. You can bet I will be asking all those questions to my Oncologist when I see him before my next treatment. My daughter is going with me and will make sure I miss nothing with my hearing and that I get all my questions answered. Thats a very good thing to do together. And good news, the tingling is improving this morning. Whew!

I don’t know what the exhaustion will be like this time. I was what I called “baked” yesterday. Like you took that extra THC gummy at bedtime (oh chill its legal and I only take them for sleep) except they are always worn off by morning with zero hangover effect. Baked with a really clear logical mind and a mouth that just will not stop talking. Like there was no filter, if something ran though my head it came out my mouth. My daughter from previous experience with me realized it was the steroids! And then we laughed and laughed and laughed until our bellies hurt. The poor girl finally was able to retreat to the privacy of her room and I would still come down the hall to tell her more pearls of wisdom from my mind. I carried on a running commentary with my best friend over messenger from the early morning hours before the sun came up all the way to bedtime and yes she too finally just stopped answering me. I think its hysterical. But I get that it may be a tad annoying to others. So I went into my favourite facebook group for women over 40 that play the video game “Animal Crossing” Oh don’t judge that either, hottest selling game of the year last year, absolute record sales and got many of us through this damned pandemic. Just minding our islands and building homes and fishing etc. So peaceful, so non political and so damn cute. So yeah headed to that group and made two new online friends and yep they probably won't message again but they were kind to me. This side effect will pass today as the steroids wear off and the exhaustion kicks in. I suspect it may be little worse and last a little longer than last time. If you don’t see a new blog post till next treatment, thats why. See ya when I am no longer a potato.

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hoynovoy · 3 years

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Post-Vaccination Colds Are Back After COVID-19

Would I be reneging on my civic duty if I didn’t confess to my low-grade sniffles in advance?

This infection will eventually pass, but it will take longer for us to shake off the guilt and shame that lingers around contagious illnesses after this pandemic.

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