lighting injury

Andrew put his racquet down in front of Neil like a shield
— 

The King’s Men by Nora Sakavic, chapter 17

This is definitely one of my favorite images, I’m not sure I can emphasize this enough.

Little points about this scene, anyway:

  • Riko uses a heavy racquet, we’re told this in The Raven King when Neil’s shopping for his one racquet: “Kevin used a heavy with the Ravens, but he’d switched to a light racquet after his injury. Riko still used one.“ (The Raven King, chapter 11)
  • When Aaron uses Neil’s own heavy racquet on Drake, we get this: “He brought Neil’s racquet up and around in an underhanded swing so hard and fast air whistled through the tight strings.” (TRK ch11) When Riko attacks Neil, this is the description: “Riko’s racquet got close enough that Neil heard wind whistling through the strings,“ (TKM ch17) There’s no way this isn’t a deliberate call back, just in case we weren’t sure Riko was about to kill Neil.

Also, this is one of the first things we learn about Andrew: “Two years ago some men attacked Nicky outside of a nightclub. Andrew was within his rights to defend Nicky, but he’d almost killed the four of them“ (The Foxhole Court, chapter 2)** And throughout the series we do see Andrew resort to violence easily enough, and generally it would be considered excessive. But in this scene, though? Maybe you could argue that he could have disarmed Riko instead of breaking his arm, but given that Riko was about to commit murder despite the crowd, I don’t think that would be enough to stop him. And whether it was or not - Andrew stopped him, and that’s it. No retaliation, no further violence, just this - “Andrew put his racquet down in front of Neil like a shield“. Making it clear he will protect Neil, and that’s all.

(and sure the situations are different in many ways, but most of those only matters if Andrew cares about the consequences, for him or for Neil or for the rest of the Foxes) ((and if you want to be optimistic and look at the situation with kindness (which, let’s be honest, i always want to do), it also comes down to a difference in Andrew in himself, who doesn’t need as much anymore to lose himself to violence when those he considers his are threatened))


Anyway though, none of this matters to my initial point, which is :

Andrew using his racquet to shield Neil

which is an image I’m never going to grow tired of.


**((now i think we should keep in mind that neil knows that second hand, and i’m pretty sure when it comes to a foster kid out of juvie defending his cousin against homophobic assault, facts are not presented with much sympathy. still we see enough of Andrew’s MO to know that it wasn’t far from the truth))

archiveofourown.org
Kiss - coralreefskim - Voltron: Legendary Defender [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Characters: Lance (Voltron), Keith (Voltron), everyone else is here but im not gonna tag them eyy
Additional Tags: this is like super self indulgent, Probably Crappy, i hope someone likes this, Fluff, Light Angst, Minor Injuries
Summary:

“Keith,” Lance slurred, so it sounded more like he was saying Keef instead.

“What,” Keith said flatly, not really asking, as he jogged over to Red, eyes glowing yellow into life.

“You have stars in your eyes.”

Keith choked. “What?”

“Why do you have stars in your eyes?” Lance murmured.

In his receiver, Keith could hear his teammates trying to smother their laughter, but it wasn’t really working. Heck, he could even feel Red’s amusement about the whole situation tickling the base of his skull.

He looked down at Lance, in his arms, who was currently looking slightly mesmerized and very confused. Keith pursed his lips. Should he? Or should he not?

Eh, quiznak it.

“You,” Keith started.

“Me?” Lance slurred, “Me. You?”

“You must be seeing yourselves in them.”

ft low key mutual pining and bad pick up lines

The Only Thing That Keeps Me Sane

The clock struck one AM.

Don got up to get his usual mid-shift cup of coffee, Margery was trying to explain to a belligerent drunk that no, he couldn’t have his toddler arrested for removing his diaper and smearing its contents across the TV, but she was happy to send a squad car over, and I was wrapping up a car accident call. It was the kind of call I preferred; an upset, but unharmed driver rear ended at a red light, no injuries, no need for an ambulance, just send some cops to write up a report.

The kind where everyone got to walk away at the end.

Keep reading

2

*more examples here*

hi i’m hassan and i’m opening commissions again bcos i need some extra money!

prices listed are just base prices, but will only be raised if the character design is very complex!

will draw
ocs, irl people, mild gore/light injuries, fanart

will not draw
nsfw, heavy gore, mecha

if you want more info, or to contact me, dm me here or shoot me an email at theasteraceae@gmail.com ! please boost this if you can, thanks!

At some point all seven members of the inner crew get stuck in an elevator.

There’s a moment where it screams trap, ambush, a clever attack from some phantom rival, but no. Its a stock-standard mechanical failure. The rulers of Los Santos, arguably the most dangerous crew this side of the country, trapped like rats in a little metal box.

It’s fucking undignified.

With no reception to contact their own people they use the inbuilt emergency button to call it in, expecting a technician to be rushed to their aid, only to be told they are in a queue. That there will be some delays. The conversation starts professionally polite but quickly devolves into everything from outrageous bribes to thinly veiled threats but Mark, who’s clearly in some call centre far away from Los Santos, is utterly unmoved.  

Unused to such blatant disregard Geoff abuses the call button, determined to make Mark as miserable as they are in an effort to annoy him into submission. By the time he considers allowing the crew’s main negotiator a turn on the phone the ‘self-important assholes’ impression has already been irrevocably ingrained.

Michael lifted Jeremy up to pick the lock on the emergency hatch only to complain about lax safety standards when the hinges jam and refuse to open more than halfway. Gavin snarks about their heavy hitters not being so strong after all, Michael snaps back about useless twigs keeping their mouths shut, and Jeremy is quickly forgotten in favour of a grade-school-level slap fight.

As time goes by the heat rises and tempers flare; Geoff railing against Mark, Jack snapping at Geoff for antagonising the people controlling their placement in the queue, Gavin and Michael prodding each other into more and more aggressive arguments and Ryan beginning to twitch alarmingly every time the background music loops.

Ray hasn’t moved from where he leaned 5 minutes into their stay, hood up, earphones plugged into his DS, absently swaying out of range whenever the rolling ball of furious MichaelGavin bounces towards him. Following his lead Jeremy quickly boosted himself up to sit on the handrail in a corner, as out of the way as he can be in a contained metal box, morbidly fascinated as he settles back to watch the fireworks.

At loop 17 Ryan takes a knife to the speakers, prying out the screws before calmly tearing the whole thing out of the wall. This prompts a moment of absolute silence, blessedly free from repetitive piano, before the lights flicker out, Gavin screeches, and it all kicks off again.

In the chaos no one notices Ray slipping through the jammed hatch and clambering on to the roof until its too late to catch him. His exit sets off an explosion of yelling, threats and promises and downright pleading, but realistically none of them are operating under the illusion that Ray plans to do anything more than clamber back up to the penthouse and have a nap. Gavin is the only other one who’s shoulders are slim enough to slip through but no one lets him go - they say they don’t trust him not to trip and kill himself but lets be real: if Michael and Geoff don’t get to leave this hellhole there’s no chance on earth Gavin gets to.

When they are finally set free, listening in strained silence as the lift lowers and the doors are wrenched open, the technician cracks a lewd joke about the awkward tension and no one has it in them to stop Ryan from punching him in the throat.

Geoff stalks away muttering about having unfinished business with Mark while Michael makes a beeline for the fire-stairs, intent on getting to the penthouse before Ray realises they are free and goes into hiding. Jeremy is lumped with the duty to go check in with the support crew, who have probably already tracked down the source of their absence and are bound to be smug little shits about it. The others go their separate ways in silence, normal jobs abandoned in favour of refusing to be in the same room as one another for the rest of the week.

2

Gif source:  John

Imagine while recovering from a bad injury during a hunt, John helps you out with anything you now struggle with due to your injury and only lets you do research on other hunts during your recovery.

——— Request for anon ———

“I got it,” he states, beating you to the punch of picking up your bag to head into the motel with. Under any other circumstance, you would protest, but in all honesty your side still hurt so much that you weren’t sure if you even could handle the weight of the clothes, weapons, and books that you had shoved in that bag of yours.

So, instead, you nod gratefully, following John into the motel and already knowing he was going to keep you there this whole hunt, resigning yourself to research in the light of the injuries you were still healing from, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

6

Ok ya’ll convinced me to open up commissions!
Everything I have to offer is pretty much in the above post, but I wanna add:
Won’t draw: 
Backgrounds
Animals
Mechs
Racist, degrading, or disrepectful tropes
Gore
(light injuries such as blood etc is okay, nothing extreme.)
HEAVY NSFW (I’m quite fine with drawing certain things but we can discuss this if you’re interested)

If you are interested or have any questions - you can message me (off Anon) here or my email at hana.commissions@gmail.com
Am happy to chat :) 
Please keep in mind, I’m a fulltime employee and am not always granted the time I need to work on pieces - but it is my top priority when I’m at home 👍

EDIT: You can view my work at @hana-designs or my Hana-art tag for this blog

Open slots (FULL)
Another 5 will re-open as soon as these are complete <3 

ACE Inhibitors

Examples:  lisinopril, enalapril, and captopril 

Action:  decreases peripheral vascular resistance to decrease blood pressure; indicated for heart failure and hypertension 

Side effects:  postural hypotension, dizziness, nonproductive cough, angioedema, kidney injury, and hyperkalemia

Nursing considerations:  (1) assess patient for history of renal impairment, as ACE inhibitors may exacerbate kidney injury; (2) teach patient to seek immediate medical attention if he/she experiences swelling of the lips (angioedema; as pictured), as severe angioedema may cause respiratory distress; (3) teach patient to notify HCP if a nagging cough develops

Also of note:  ACE inhibitors are contraindicated during second- and third-trimester pregnancies


My clinical experience:  

(1) Angioedema with ACE inhibitor use is quite common, especially with African Americans and may not manifest itself for months/years after starting an ACE inhibitor. 

(2) In light of acute kidney injury, doctors do often suspect fault with ACE Inhibitors and will hold/discontinue medications as appropriate. 

(3) A patient with a nonproductive cough, another common complication, although certainly not an immediate concern, will likely be switched to another class of medication. 

(4) Remember, when heart failure arises, the goal is to DECREASE the WORK LOAD of the heart in any way. ACE inhibitors accomplish this by decreasing RESISTANCE of blood against arterial walls, thus increasing CARDIAC OUTPUT. 

Ghost Fragment: Fallen 6 

THETA // NINE // SEVEN // RED // DELTA
High Priority Message – Commander’s Terminal
EYES ONLY // TWILIGHT PROTOCOL
—-
Recon groups A, J, and T returned to TOWER ACTUAL at 03:00 local time.

No casualties. Light injuries across multiple members of J and T teams.

Full debrief to follow.
—-
Breaking mission topsheet protocol, Commander. I want you to understand the scope of what we’re looking at here.

As the fireteams fanned out across the region, the Devils rushed to meet them. Our forces dealt with some post-SIVA pockets of Splicer activity, and every once in a while the Kings popped their heads up and scared the hell out of everyone. In other words: situation absolutely normal.

That’s a lie. The Fallen are abandoning the Cosmodrome.

Hawk fly-overs confirm. The House of Devils forces are simply not there anymore. They’ve been disorganized for the last few years, but there’s never been a shortage of ground troops whenever we staged a significant sortie.

Intel source GREENRAVEN was right. And, for the moment, it’s worth assuming their report on the House of Exiles, House of Winter, and House of Wolves are also accurate. We’re fact-checking against independent fireteam reports from the field.

The kid all the SRL fans talk about — Marcus? He was in one of the fireteams out at the Cosmodrome. He pulled me aside, and said it to me straight: the Fallen Houses are gone. The siege is broken. The stalemate we’ve had with the Eliksni for what, a hundred years? It’s over. We won.

Commander, I’m not even sure they’re flying the banners anymore. The teams found huge mounds of burnt cloth and armor, ceremonial piles, in several of the most hardcore Fallen holdouts.

What’s changed? Where have the Fallen gone? Why have they burned their banners?

I’m drawing up a plan to coordinate forces from the Queen’s Wrath, Felwinter Peak, the Warlock Orders, and more non-traditional outfits to follow up on these reports.

I believe your wisdom will guide us through the trials ahead.

fic: a lost boy (ready to be found)

This is my fic for the Todaydreambelievers 2016 fic exchange! My prompt was: husbands!Klaine finding each other again after one of them has been missing for a long time (years) because of some dramatic event - kidnapping, amnesia, voluntarily needing time away, midlife crisis, etc … Once they find each other again they have to then start over, getting to know each other, catching up with each other’s lives, etc.
Title is adapted from Troye Sivan’s song, Lost Boy.

warnings for kidnapping, some light physical injury, depression and angst.

word count: 41k | on AO3

for @fearlesslysgleefics. hope you enjoy it!

Kurt will not give up on finding Blaine.

Three years, and he refuses to give up. He still looks for Blaine on the street, listens for his laugh on the subway. Blaine’s clothes are still in the closet, and once every few months he gets them out and washes them, keeps them fresh and spritzes them with Blaine’s favourite cologne. He still goes to sleep on his side of the bed, even though more often than not he wakes sprawled across the entire mattress, or curled around Blaine’s pillow.

He still has his wedding ring, on a chain around his neck. Wearing it was too hard, people would ask after his husband and the explanation would leave Kurt cracked open and raw every time. He prefers it this way - it’s his reminder of Blaine, kept close to his heart, against his skin. He never takes it off.

Keep reading

My part of a blind OTP thing with @temperedfoe! Kardim Asvravi, aka Pike, is a ‘Cleaner’ who specializes in tidying up loose ends for clients, whether it be killing witnesses, eliminating evidence, escorting valuable assets, etc. Basically he’s a merc. He wears a mask to protect his eyes from light, due to an injury from his childhood. 

He has a pair of twin blades, sharper than steel, which connect together into a single-handed railgun blaster 8) Its cool and I want one.

Are You Okay?

A Supernatural Drabble: Are You Okay?

Pairing: Gadreel x Reader

Warnings: light injuries, fluff, nothing else, I think ;)

Words: 740

Your name: submit What is this?

The constant flirting was slowly killing you, you still had doubts that Gadreel really liked you. You had been dancing around each other for quite some time now and the tension between you was getting so thick you could almost cut it with a knife. But neither of you had dared to take the first step.

Until you two came to a point where it all broke apart.

You had been on a hunt the last three days and you were back at the bunker, exhausted and your body was covered in blood. All you wanted to do was shower and sleep for a day.

“Y/N?” The sound of Gadreel’s voice made your heart beat just a little quicker than normal and you were still worked up on adrenaline from your hunt, so it felt like your heart would leap out of your chest at any second.

“Gadreel.” You were always a little startled to see him here, at the bunker, working with Castiel and the Winchester brothers to take down Metatron.

“Are you okay? You are bleeding. What happened?” You chuckled at his overly concerned words.

Keep reading

“The Deuxième Mistake” One-Shot

(For my non-French speakers, that means “The Second Mistake”)

Original Imagine link: xxx

Warnings: light language, blood, possible injury/death

Word count: 1,088

Prompt: Imagine the French Mistake, but with you from this world going to the Supernatural world.

Reader gender: As gender neutral as I could make it

Pairing: None; friendship between readerxSam and readerxDean

Your name: submit What is this?

AN: Hello, guys. Sarah here. This is my first one-shot ever, and I wrote this at five in the morning, so any critique is very helpful. Also, don’t be shy if there are any spelling/grammar links or if the link/name box does not work.

-

           You knew you were dead the moment the light flickered on.

           You gasped, your blood running cold.  Goosebumps from fear prickled up on your skin, and every single hair on your arms and the back of your neck stood at full attention. The pain of the sudden harsh light almost didn’t faze you as your eyes glued onto the person standing in front of you. She was just standing there, practically glaring through you.

           “Y/N,” she spoke slowly, drawing out and emphasizing every syllable, “it’s one thirty in the morning, and you have your algebra final tomorrow. Algebra, which you have a D in, mind you, and-“

           “I know, Mom,” you said, cutting her off with a sigh.

           “And you’re siting in bed, still on your damned laptop-“

           “I know, Mom,” you repeated.

           “You’re on Netflix still, aren’t you?” she chastised. “Watching that stupid show-“

           “It’s not stupid, Mom!” you cried, defending one of the only things in life that you truly cherished. “Supernatural is a beautifully composed story about family, love, and trust.“

           “ Y/N !” your mother snapped, “I don’t care. What I care about is that you’re going to be exhausted tomorrow because you’ve been up all night watching those two wanna-be Ghostbusters-“

           “Mom-“ you tried, but it was no use.

           “No, Y/N! This is the last straw,” she said, pointing a finger at you. “You’re grounded.”

           Your jaw dropped. No, this couldn’t be happening.

           “I’m changing the Netflix password for the next month. Get a B on that test tomorrow and then we can talk a bit more about maybe getting that back sooner,” she continued, “But with the way things are going, I doubt that we’ll be having that conversation any time soon.” With one last cold glare, your mother turned off your light, shut the door, and walked down the hall.

           You couldn’t believe it. Your mother was usually a reasonable person who came to accept your devotion to those two plaid wearing hunters, but this was a new low for her. You could deal with her teasing, her jokes about the show, her pestering, but completely banning you from watching your boys? You didn’t know how you would survive.

           With a final sigh, you turned off your lamp and pulled up your covers, dreading the coming day.

           To say that the next day was not your day was an understatement. You couldn’t stop yawning, you completely blanked out on your test, and you couldn’t stop thinking about the previous evening’s events. To top it all off, your teacher harasses you after class about a project that was overdue from when you were out with the flu for a week, and you stepped in gum, smearing it all over the sole of your favorite sneakers.

           You walked home, holding your books close to your chest. It was windier than usual for this time of year, and you started to regret not bringing a heavier jacket with you. You shiver and look around, making a face. Clouds were rolling in, making it much darker out, almost if it was already dusky this early in the afternoon.

           Suddenly, you were making hard contact with the ground. You tumbled off the pavement and into the grass, hitting a few rocks. Cursing, you looked at your hands and knees, which were now bloodied up.  You groaned and looked around, seeing your books scattered around you, but your English paper, which you had spent about five hours on, was flying away on the wind and out to the street.

           Without a second thought, you dashed after it and out to the street, a steady drizzle coming down and making it a bit hazy. After a minute or so of running, your efforts had been successful. You held your paper with a huge smile as a feeling of accomplishment set in. Maybe this day wasn’t going to be so horrible after all. Maybe, just maybe, your luck was starting to turn around.

           That feeling, however, was short lived as a scream caught in your throat as a pair of highlights and the sound of a honking horn came at you so fast that you didn’t even have time to move before you felt a breathtaking impact, and then darkness.

           The scream finally left your throat as you jumped up, flailing desperately.

           A light flew on and the sounds of two heavy pairs off feet caught you off guard, cutting your scream short.

           Since when did Dad not work night shift?

           You looked up and gasped, wide eyed. That was definitely not dad nor mom, and you weren’t sure if that was a bad thing. Even with your eyes adjusting to the light, you could tell just by the amount of plaid entering the room who the two men were.

           Dean sighed and lowered his gun. “Nightmare again, kiddo?” he asked softly.

           “I- I-“ you try, but you couldn’t speak. Hell, you couldn’t even think.

           Sam put his gun down on the table and walked over. “Y/N, you’ve got to talk to us. Talking about it helps. Trust us, we would know,” he says with a small chuckle, sitting down on the edge of the bed you were in.

           Dean allows the faintest hint of a smirk at Sam before joining his brother and yourself on the bed. “Sammy’s right… C’mon, kiddo. Say something, anything.”

           “Am I dead?” you mutter, a confused look crossing your face.

           Sam and Dean shared a look before turning back to you.

           “You, uh, feeling alright, Y/N?” Dean asked.

           You take a breath, assessing your surroundings very briefly. Judging from the laps and lac of décor, you were definitely in the bunker. From the way Sam and Dean were talking, it was obvious that you were at least familiar with them, if not close friends.

           “Y-Yeah,” you say taking a breath and trying to calm down. “Just gimme a sec, please,” you mutter.

           Sam gulps and nods, bushing a strand of his long hair behind his ear.

           You closed your eyes and sat there for a few more seconds, pinching yourself and internally screaming at yourself to wake up. Slowly opening your eyes, you saw the Winchesters looking at you with a mixture of concern and confusion.

           “Y/N, what are you doing?” Dean asked, his voice not as gruff as usual.

           Suddenly, it all came back to you. The episode you were re-watching when your mother came into your room, The French Mistake, was just like this just reversed.

           “Oh my Chuck,” you whispered. “It’s real.”

AN: I hope you guys enjoyed it! Feel free to give me any feedback or let me know if you want a part to. Love you guys.

READ PART TWO HERE

Running hurts. It tears your body apart. You have to take care of yourself. Take rest days. Cross train. See your trainer. Get better. Your health is more important than a PR. No one ever tells you that. But after dealing with shin splints, a stress fracture, and possible compartment syndrome, I’ve come to realize that taking care of your body after a run is just as important as the run itself. This is coming from a college runner. Take care of yourselves kiddies.