#tw: medical

[recurring-polynya]

My kid asked me to explain blood types to her today, which made me remember the odd little fact that in the character profiles that appeared at the ends of the earliest Bleach volumes, there are blood types listed for the human characters, but not for the shinigami characters. Shinigami obviously have blood, we've all seen it, we've seen so much of it, honestly, but is it like blood blood? Is blood transfusion a thing they do?

I did not have any particular recollection of anyone ever receiving a blood transfusion in Bleach, but I looked up all the hospital scenes I could think of off the top of my head. Both Byakuya nor Hinamori have sort of a notable absence of things sticking out of them. I'm no expert and I don't even particular like doctor shows, but this is a situation where I would expect both of them to have IVs for hydration, if nothing else. Hinamori's got a respirator and some mysterious carts off to her far side, at least, and maybe Byakuya's just far enough on the upswing that he doesn't need it anymore.

Next shot was the famous Rukia and Renji sharing a hospital room scene.

Renji's respirator goes...under his blanket? Is this right? This doesn't seem right. Rukia doesn't seem particularly attached to anything, although there's kind of a bundle of wires? tubes? coming out of her right shoulder area. You can see them better in this shot:

That sure doesn't look like medical grade tubing, the lower one looks kinda like Hihiou Zabimaru, tbh. IVs usually work by gravity, no? Also those tubes are way too big to be going into someone's veins.

Finally, here's Kira, getting his dubious Squad 12 medical procedure.

More shady, giant, intestine-ass looking tubes that... go into him? wtf. They're attached to a computer. Maybe these are data cables?

The upshot of all of this is that I don't think shinigami have blood transfusions. I can't imagine that they don't know about them, so I imagine it's more of a case of their blood is just part of their soul, like, all of them is just soul all the way down, and it would be nearly impossible to accept a transfusion that was made of someone else's soul (soulmate-enjoying fanfic writers, take note). They do like sticking tubes in people, tho.

This sucks because when I was originally thinking about this, of course I was thinking about all the blood Renji has in his body and whether or not he's a universal donor, because, frankly, if he is, I think they would have a special framed painting of him at Squad 4 and let him have as much donuts and apple juice as he wants.

I think the main reason manga list characters' bloodtypes anyway is because Japanese people use it as a personality test, similar to horoscopes. For the record, here are the characters whose blood types we know:

Ichigo - AO Orihime - BO Chad - AO Tatsuki - AO Isshin - AB Uryuu - AB Don Kanonji (????) - BO

When I was trying to look up what they meant, I found this hilarious graphic, thank you verywellmind dot com

Looks to me like these blood types were definitely chosen to tie into personality at least to some degree (I'm not sure about Isshin, but he probably has fake Urahara Shouten-brand gigai blood-substitute anyway, so I am choosing not to read too deeply into that). Anyway, along those lines, judging from this chart, if we wanted to bootstrap Renji's blood type from his personality, I think he would, in fact, clearly fit into the idiot-on-a-skateboard quadrant. So he is a universal donor! (or at least he would be, if he were filled with blood instead of high-concentration ghost juice.)

#bleach worldbuilding #tw: medical #rukia feels like an AB to me?? #i welcome the insight of people who are more medically literate than me #but i actually have a blood phobia which is why i didn't do very much research into that side of this post

[bearandbirdfan]

Princess Bubblegum's very fast heartbeat and breathing after fighting Ricardio in"Lady and Peebles"

#adventure time edit #adventure time #atimers #at edit #princess bubblegum #bonnibel bubblegum #princess bonnibel bubblegum #lady and peebles #tw: medical #tw: heart problems

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

When shadows try to swallow me,

You’re the only light I’ll ever need,

And I—I’m holding onto you,

—“California” by Yellowcard

(process and close-up under the cut)

#din djarin #grogu djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanart #star wars #star wars fanart #din & grogu #clan of two #fanart #digital illustration #digital painting #autumnwoodsdreamer art #my art #lift a sail #tw: injury #tw: medical #tw: hospital

[jtl-fics]

Some Andrew angst backed up by brain science for you

On the left hemisphere of the brain there are two spots called the Broca’s area and Wernicke’s area, they are responsible for interpreting the meaning of speech by recognizing words and allowing your muscles and breathing to coordinate to produce speech respectively.

On the right hemisphere, the spots that correspond to Broca’s area and Wernicke’s area contribute to verbal communication by adding emotional context to speech such as anger or joy.

Therefore people who have had a cerebrovascular accident (such as a blow to the side of the head) to these spots (Right side of the head by the ear “I’ll box your ear boy”) speak in a monotonous voice, having lost the ability to impart emotional inflection to what they say.

What if Andrew is physically incapable of emotional speech due to some trauma received in a foster home, and everyone keeps giving him grief/calling him soulless for something that's NOT HIS FAULT

What if i just cry forever?

#i live and die on internally he’s gushing about Neil #thank you for this medical angst #andrew minyard #tw: medical #tw: brain injury #tw: child abuse #aftg

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

currently freaking the fuck out because i've got a Drs appointment this morning and there's a 99.9999% chance they'll want to do a blood test and baby i WILL have a panic attack

#tw: medical

[stimming-puppet]

medical badges

#stim #mine #my gifs #tw medical #medical #medical tw #tw: medical #cw medical #medical cw #red #white #black #clear #medcore #nursecore

[troblsomtwins829]

Sleep is hard these days

#jak and daxter #jnd fanart #jnd #troblsomart #tw: medical #tw: body horror #it's not bad #at least I don't think so #but the warnings are there for thems that need it

[cyggiestardust]

I gotta stop almost fuckin dying in November — this is two years in a goddamn row now. Almost the exact same way, too:

(scary medical shit under the cut. Near death close call, allergic reaction)

So last night during dinner, I found a hunk of cashew (not supposed to be there) in my smoked tomato truffle jam. I could tell I was in danger because I've officially been able to notice something (and I pray no one else deals with that!) that goes with danger level allergen exposure:

The single "BAH-BAM" of a heartbeat in my ears, way too loud, way too slow, followed by the immediate temporary disabling of my left side.

Until I looked down at my empty, idle forearm and saw the freaky shit going on there, the abnormal ripple in the muscle, and veins that got so itchy inside I could see them...moving around, shifting.

Then the chest punch hit me and we both remembered we're supposed to DO something.

It was absolutely a close call: we couldn't find the epipen. But it was a MUCH slower reaction than the juniper, which gave my husband a chance to think clearer than I could at the time — throat open, sinuses closing, head fading — and tossed me three Claritin (chewed them) followed immediately by three Vistaril, because you gotta get the immediate reaction AND anything possible later.

Once again my husband's fast thinking kept me on this planet. The screamy bus was fast enough, but the ER goes "well we see people in order of severity" and I sat idle in the waiting room for like 4 hours only to find out that even if they HAD seen me sooner even with the steroids they'd only do a 6 hour monitor. That's all.

We live an hour away and decided to do the monitor part at home. I'm on bedrest today, and I'm not about to argue with that today. I remember enough of last November. We got home round 1 AM.

The good news is I'm awake and alive.

The BAD news is ✨ literally everything hurts ✨ right now and I'm tired.

And until we read Every Label in the house again I'm not supposed to touch the pantry. Which right now is fine by me. I'm not planning on dying for the ultimate grilled PBJCB (peanut butter and jelly with cheese and bacon) sandwich today.

#cyggie ramble #tw: medical #tw: hospital #tw: anaphylaxis experience #I am disturbed by the fact that I think I've now used that last tag twice

[batwynn]

How do I explain to my doctor that me telling her that I was forced into lifting two tons of 40lb bags of pellets into the house doesn’t mean I’m not disabled and I am, actually, very unwell and doing that caused severe problems that I’m still dealing with two weeks later?

Like, yes. I did it. I forced myself to out of an urgent need to have heating fuel that wasn’t ruined by dampness because we were almost out and it’s still very much winter and no one else could do it. I was also sobbing, throwing up, and blacked out a bit. And now two weeks later I have bruises all over my body and pain bad enough that I feel like I’m loosing my mind.

I just genuinely don’t know how to say that now, a few days after my appointment where I mentioned the pain and the lifting of the bags and kind of nervously laughed it off as nothing? 🥲 Social anxiety please stop fucking sabotaging me.

#disability #doctors #how to talk to doctors #help I hurt so much #chronic illness #chronic pain #tw: vomit #tw: medical #personal

[bearandbirdfan]

After an intense battle, Itsuka Kendo begins to feel sharp chest pain, stemming from the effects her Quirk, Big Hands, has on her heart. She begins to breathe faster and faster as the organ in her chest pumps irregularly, trying its best to not give out on her.

Models by Bandai Namco, SEGA and SAB64

#mmd art #mikumikudance #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #itsuka kendo #kendo itsuka #itsuka kendou #kendou itsuka #tw: medical #tw: heart attack #tw: heart failure #tw: cardiac arrest

[stangalina]

Do you ever think about where the rumors about Witchers come from? I do.

"They rip babies from mother's bellies and eat them alive." Is obviously false, but where did it come from?

I think it was probably from a Witcher that performed a C-section.

Think about it. They have anatomical knowledge, and regularly get cut open and sew themselves back up. So it's not far fetched that they could perform surgery. And if a Witcher ran across a situation where a woman was giving birth and it wasn't going well? To the point that lives were on the line? They may well have interveined the only way they could.

They had good intentions of course, and maybe it worked and the baby lived, but the rumour mill spares none and the story of course got majorly out of hand. Eventually devolving into the "eating babies" bullshit.

But this opens the door for other surgery related stuff. Could they do other basic procedures?

Appendectomy? (The removal of an infected appendix)

Amputation?

Sutures?

The idea of Witchers proving medical care just makes me happy for some reason.

#the witcher #tw: medical #witcher series #geralt of rivia #witcher lambert #witcher eskel #witcher vesemir

[nshtn]

Rooftop Eddie after getting hepatitis from the drugging. Or, more succinctly, hallucinating about the visit because they're yet to filter anything out.

#edward nashton #dano riddler #the riddler #the batman 2022 #dano!riddler #/dev/art/ #tw: medical #tw: blood #tw: psychosis

[eclecticmiasma]

Kinktober '22 Day 6 (Dottore x Reader)

"It's been so long since you've been treated with any sort of kindness that you want nothing more than to fall into him, to show him how grateful you are for his work."

NSFW

[Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Dottore is his own warning, gore, afab reader, blood, descriptions of medical equipment/procedures, stockholm syndrome, reader is a bit fucked in the head]

Art credit: Kradebii on pixiv

Two masked men take the mostly covered body away on a stretcher. Its arms, already seized by rigor mortis, are outstretched to the sky in final plea for mercy. The edges of your gown are frayed as you pick at them, anxiously watching what had once been a friend disappear. At least he's at peace.

Long ago, or maybe last week, those held underground decided never to share their names. It makes it too personal when they inevitably succumb, whether it's to the disease or the methods themselves. It's too easy to make friends here. It's too easy to cling on to the little shards of humanity you find scattered within one another. A simple sharing of bread can make you feel like you've known this person all your life.

Some patients sob. The sickest don't even spare a glance in the corpse's direction. Some curse the doctors to hell and back, rumbling through gritted teeth. All you feel is overwhelming guilt.

Guilt that you continue to survive, guilt that every death feels less and less heart-wrenching. Guilt that somewhere deep, deep in the pit of your gut lies overwhelming anticipation.

Dottore is coming.

That's what the others call him. It's only fitting that the coldest, cruelest, most calculating of them all have a title different than the rest. It doesn't escape your attention that all the workers seem deferent to him, if not outright submissive. Yes Dottore. No, Dottore. It was only a mistake, Dottore. These callous bastards crumble the minute he enters the room.

Every time a patient dies, Dottore is soon to follow. From what you've gathered in your time here, he has purview over any and all anomalies. The regular doctors won't even touch you if something unexpected occurs. All autopsies are to be done by Dottore as well- you found that out when a young Doctor from Snezhnaya was...removed after deigning to investigate a patient's death on his own.

Not only will Dottore come to perform the autopsy, but every single patient is to receive a full body examination and additional testing if needed. Though testing occurs like clockwork at the facility, a relatively healthy patient such as yourself is examined but once a week. Even then, it's a surface level screening at best. The doctors come and check your pupils, lungs, blood pressure. They might check your limb function before taking a small vial of blood and going on their way. They don't even take the time to restrain you lest you decide enough is enough. It's as if they have no vision, no care for their work.

It's different with Dottore. One can tell he views his research as something sacred. Everything he does has meaning. He considers your open wounds, your thick scaled skin, the heavy throbbing of your pulse inside your throat with meticulous concern, logging pages of notes through your time together. Even when he hurts you, you feel as if it's for a greater purpose beyond your understanding. When you're with him you feel important, elated that you may just be the thing he's searching for. As his skilled hands survey you, you want so desperately to be good for him- whatever that might entail.

"Everyone back to your beds!" Your chest tightens, nerves building. A commotion breaks out as one of the newer patients resists, demanding to know what happened to the man who died. As always, he's given one verbal warning before being forced to the ground and sedated. He'll learn soon enough.

Once cries of agony begin to echo throughout the halls, you know that he's arrived. The other patients maintain that Dottore is psychotic, a madman chasing something that he'll never quite reach. They say he's using those afflicted with Eleazar as mere lab rats. He views your bodies as a means to an end and most of the medicine he practices is for his own sadistic pleasure, they say. If all of you died tomorrow, he'd simply hunt for a new batch of victims. For the sake of peace and your own conflicted heart, you always hold your tongue.

The cries get closer as time drags along. Dottore may spend hours with a single patient, harvesting all of the data he can uncover. It only makes your anxiety build. You wonder if their lives would be less painful if they would only allow the testing to go unimpeded. As much as it's pained you, you've never once shrieked the way the others have. The pain is only temporary if it can help rid the world of Eleazar completely.

Finally, you hear his heavy footsteps as he makes his way down the corridor. You lie flat on your back and swallow hard, barely able to breathe. His shadow fills your doorframe. Mindlessly, your fingers continue to rip at your gown.

Metal and glass clank together as Dottore enters your room, dragging a cart full of equipment behind him. As always, he pulls out a ragged piece of paper and studies it for a moment before taking your arm in hand. A number was branded into the skin on the inside of your wrist when you first arrived. He hums in confirmation.

"[Y/n]," He greets you curtly, reaching down to grasp a black strap attached to the side of your bed. A terrible nostalgia nearly overwhelms you. How long has it been since you've heard your name? Without another word, you lay your arms flat at your sides and allow Dottore to fasten the straps around your limbs one by one. A precaution, he noted the first time you met. Their tightness makes you feel strangely secure. Everything is in Dottore's hands now.

First comes the tourniquet. Dottore ties it neatly over your bicep. Two of his slender, gloved fingers tap gently for a vein to rise. Even through the material you can sense how cold his hands are. Soon the lengthy needle tip of a syringe is aligned and the head pricks your skin painfully. You remind yourself to breathe.

"Such lovely veins," He muses, watching your deep red blood flow into vial after vial, "Much easier than digging for an opening," You can't bring yourself to look at him, body flushing at the sudden compliment.

After five or six vials he removes the syringe from your flesh and swipes at it with a piece of fabric. You wince as it drags over the inside of your forearm, catching a fresh patch of Eleazar that has begun to form. Dottore frowns as he spots it and your heart sinks.

He turns to check his notes and you can't help but feel you've disappointed him. For weeks your affliction has been held in check, of course a relapse would happen just before a visit from Dottore himself. Sure enough, he mutters much of the same.

Without a word, he sets down his notes and rifles through different equipment before extracting a small scalpel. He holds it up to the light above and turns it, checking the sharpness of the blade. Deeming it worthy, he grasps your forearm presses the scalpel to your skin, dragging it forward without warning.

It takes every ounce of self control you have not to scream. Not to be like them. The nature of Eleazar is that its physical symptoms run deep. Unlike a scab or scrape, the crusted scales run well into the dermis and require surgical intervention to remove. You feel the hot rush of blood as it trickles forth, soaking your gown and the bedding beneath.

Dottore looks at you as you try not to writhe, as you try so desperately to stay still and let him work. You unconsciously emit a long, pitiful whine as he cuts deeper and deeper still, burning pain overwhelming. Little do you know that Dottore could end this as quick as he started it, but curiosity has overtaken him.

Where is your line?

"Look at me," He orders. You hadn't even realized that your eyes were screwed shut, face wet with tears. You do your best to obey, to tunnel vision on the dark mask that covers Dottore's face. If you could see his eyes, you think, all of this would be so much easier to take, "Good girl."

In a swift motion he slices the rest of the Eleazar away, leaving a deep, bloody gash in its wake. A sob escapes you despite your best efforts, but Dottore doesn't seem to pay it any mind. Instead, he quickly pours antiseptic on the wound, stepping back as you thrash while it does its work.

Once you're certain you aren't going to pass out, you will your body to relax. Dottore grasps your forearm once again and small pinpricks make themselves known to you. While they're nothing compared to the agony of what occurred, they're irritating enough to make you look over, "Shh...it's over," Dottore coos. It registers that he is suturing your open flesh shut. There's a twisted smile on his lips as he does it. Mixed emotions wash over you. Not once have you seen another patient with stitches, unless their injuries truly were catastrophic. Something like this the doctors would have left to the open air, preferring to witness the healing process and be sure that the Eleazar would not return for the present.

The way Dottore touches you so tenderly, is so careful with your ragged skin, it fills you with something akin to adoration. You wish that he hadn't placed you in restraints after all. It's been so long since you've been treated with any sort of kindness that you want nothing more than to fall into him, to show him how grateful you are for his work.

Dottore can see your emotions shifting in an instant. The minute he takes you in his hands he feels you stiffen, your pulse race. Though he often takes his patients' vitals when they are in the midst of abject terror merely being in his presence, he can tell that you aren't afraid, not truly. He can't decide if you're terminally stupid or truly mentally unwell. His fingers trace lightly over the sutures once he's finished, gauging your reaction as he does so. Your pupils widen, your chest heaves. There is a small theory he is compelled to test.

"[Y/n]," He says, leaning closer to you, "Is there anywhere else the Eleazar has spread?" Dottore doesn't miss the way your throat bobs up and down.

"I...no..." Dottore leans in closer, tips of his hair touching your face and neck. His breath ghosts across your skin. Glee strikes him as he watches you squirm.

"Let's find out, shall we?"

You start to protest as his gloved hands find their way up the opening of your gown. Your body rocks against the restraints, begging him to wait. You watch in shame as he peels back the fabric and peers between your legs.

Sure enough, on your inner right thigh is a small patch of Eleazar. It appeared this morning. But what Dottore is much more fascinated with is how damp your entrance is, folds soaked with a thick, sticky substance.

"My, my...and here I thought I had hurt you," Tears fill your eyes as you imagine what's coming next, the disgust he must feel. Dottore moves away and you think he's going to pack up and be done with you. Where do discarded patients go?

The torrent of shame and anxiety swirling in your mind when you notice Dottore taking off his jacket. Beneath the layers of clothing, he appears to have a surprising amount of muscle. For a brief moment you're distracted as he rolls up his sleeves, large veins peeking out from beneath his skin. In his left hand he takes the scalpel once again.

"Would you do something for me, [Y/n]?" You shudder as he faces you, moving to spread your thighs apart. Despite every nerve in your body screaming at you to say no, you find yourself nodding.

"Speak," He says, flipping the scalpel around and tracing the outline of your labia with the dull edge.

"Y-yes..." Your voice cracks, world around you feeling fuzzy.

"Yes, what?" Dottore asks quietly, flipping the scalpel back around and pressing it to the corner of the Eleazar that mars the supple skin of your thigh. Two digits of his free hand press against your hole.

"Yes, Dottore!" The man chuckles, deep and knowing. He slowly slides his gloved fingers inside of you. You beg him to wait, but he gives no sign of relenting.

"Let me hear you scream."

Just as you start to really feel the stretch in the warm depths of your cunt, blinding pain tears through your thigh. Your back arches in an attempt to buck away from Dottore, but it's no use. His fingers cant in and out of you as the head of the scalpel makes its way beneath the blackened scales on your skin. It's all too much.

For the first time, you cry out. It tears from your throat like a wounded animal as you float somewhere between immense pain and blinding pleasure. Dottore whispers to you as you mewl aloud, goading you to be louder, louder.

Somewhere in the depths of your mind you're inclined to obey. You scream for him, sob as he presses against the soft, slick walls of your cunt while slicing deeper and deeper into the meat of your thigh. Blood trickles down your leg, heady fluid leaks from your swollen hole.

With a final push Dottore flips a chunk of your flesh out with the scalpel and tosses it all to the side. Another shriek is ripped from you as he slots a finger into the open wound, swirling it around in the viscera. At the same time the digits that impale you hit a sweet spot that have you seeing pinpricks of light.

"D-Dottore!" A wild grin spreads across the man's face as climax overtakes you. You pull against the restraints so hard in your ecstasy that one on your leg nearly snaps. Relentlessly, he continues to thrust into you until you're a bloody, sobbing mess. Only then does he tear his fingers from you, wiping your bodily fluids on the side of your bed.

The next thing you register is the sound of a pencil on paper. Dottore writes furiously in his log, no doubt chronicling in detail what occurred today. When he's finished he snaps the book shut and looks down at you with a sinister smile.

"I very much look forward to the next time one of you dies."

*all original work is my intellectual property. do not edit or re-upload.

[KINKTOBER '22 MASTERLIST]

#kinktober 2022 #kinktober #genshin impact #dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #harbingers #im so sorry lmao #medical kink #tw: medical #tw: gore #tw: stockholm syndrome #stockholm syndrome #x reader #drabbles #tw: needles #tw: syringes #tw: sutures #syringes #tw: blood #blood #sutures #afab reader #this is my first time w medical kink plz feedback

[princesssarisa]

I like it when people with medical knowledge analyze fictional characters' illnesses to try to diagnose them in a realistic way.

I just found a short article about La Bohéme which argued that Mimí probably has pulmonary heart disease as a complication of her tuberculosis, and that this explains her constantly cold hands, since the latter isn't a symptom of TB alone. It pointed out that Henri Murger's original book never describes Mimí's hands as cold, but that Luigi Illica, one of the opera's two librettists, was good friends with actress Eleanora Duse, who had chronic TB and probably had that heart complication too (although unlike Mimí, she lived into her 60s) , so he probably wrote from his experience with her.

Here's another example involving a different complication of the same disease: I also read a piece on Les Misérables arguing that Fantine (in the novel, not the musical) probably dies of Rasmussen's aneurysm, a rare TB complication. When Javert bursts into her room to arrest Valjean and reveals that Cosette isn't there and that Valjean will never bring her because he's going back to prison, the brutal shock would naturally speed up Fantine's heart rate, and this presumably causes an aneurysm in her lung artery to rupture.

(Personally, I think this same rare aneurysm probably also kills Satine in Moulin Rouge! – how else to explain her sudden collapse and death when she was still well enough to perform and sing onstage?)

I know that some people think this medical talk is disgusting and would rather view these sickly characters in purely poetic terms: e.g. that Mimí's cold hands just represent her frailty, her poverty, and her fading life force, and that Fantine's death needs no more explanation than "She's too ill and weak to bear the shock." But I like being able to ground these stories in a little realism.

#fiction #fictional characters #tw: medical #tw: illness #tw: death #tuberculosis #essays #analysis #la boheme #les miserables #moulin rouge