#And you should be very afraid at how medically ignorant some doctors are

[alicedash2]

( not reviewed )

Refugee

Izou x Child!reader

°•°•°•°•°•°•°°•

Everything seemed so normal that day, it was just a cold and rainy day, but everything seemed to go well, well, just for the crew.

The thing was that the island was in a process of war because there were people that the navy was after, and in that somehow later on I will go into detail, it resulted in a war, a war of a country against navy

And guess who was running to avoid going to the battlefield against the navy? Yes, a child group

Just like the navy, the government on that island was horrible, they used the elderly and children to fight, that was the situation on that island

In that, when Whitebeard's ship arrived at a new island, a large island, however, simple, it was so common that it had nothing special until then, except, a small child

The crew went looking for supplies, Whitebeard stayed on the ship while the others explored the island, Marco would go looking for medical books, he was just a young boy who learned about medicine to maintain his role as a doctor, Thatch would go looking for food, and Izou, would go for clothes, he had the day off

That was until a small child caught the attention of him and other people around, the girl's situation was precarious, she should have been between 14 years old, thin and shivering with cold, but the cold did not bring down the fast and light child, who stole food quickly, was a child who wasted no time

- brat! Come back here! YOU COWARD!- the seller screamed, while the little girl ran away with a good amount of food in her lap

- I'm sorry! -the girl apologized, she didn't want to steal and much less be judged for her decisions, she was just a child that the government threw her into battle, but a child doesn't have the strength to hold a gun

"Coward?" Izou thought, he looked at the girl again, his curiosity slowly piqued.

°°•°••••°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

- I finally ran away from the battlefield, I can't let them find me!- the child said to himself, the clothing was a little different from the locals, it looked more like a uniform, the white shirt with brown pants, the child she was bruised and malnourished as it was winter and the country depended on other countries at the time

For some reason, Izou's curiosity piqued, he tried to ignore it, but what caught his attention the most was an emblem on the child's shirt, what did that emblem mean? Was it military? And why did the girl steal when she was in uniform? Why would someone in military uniform steal?

Why did a child wear a military uniform?

Izou didn't think twice and went after the child, who crossed a forest, as the child ran, he noticed the footsteps of a man behind, which made him speed up his steps.

- Hang on! - Izou shouted, making the girl get scared more and run more to her hiding place, which is a hut made of wood, it was crooked but it was well made for a 12 year old child

The girl arrives at her hiding place, which was another cabin in the forest, seeing if the man who was no longer in her field of vision had lost her sight.

-Here...I got a lot, enjoy- the girl was delivering the food to other children who also fled from the battle

- How did you get so much, YN?- a blond-haired child, called Zart, said with a big smile

- at certain times, I manage to be very quick to catch a lot -

- YN, you're the best! - Koki said while picking up the food and tasting it, a girl with long black hair

- I'm responsible for you, we were the only ones who managed to escape from there, but they're still after us - YN, who spoke with a sad look, remembering the times they managed to escape from the military

- I'm afraid of them - Zart said shakily, thinking of the times they tortured them to form the perfect soldiers, they could be worse than the navy

- everything will be fine, we'll get out of here soon - YN said while hugging them

- Hey you. - the male voice came quickly in their ears, making them take a fright

- Wh-who are you?! - YN quickly prepared to attack, picking up his only weapon, which was a knife, and pointing it at the man

- a-ah! I know him! - Koki said

- he's a pirate - Koki completed

- pirate? - YN said, lowering her knife

- I'm not going to do anything to you -

Izou said, he tried to approach but the children retreated more

-...they must be scared-

Izou smiles sweetly, he holds out his hand, hoping to gain the confidence of the older child, who looks at him while pointing the knife at him, knowing that she doesn't stand a chance against him.

- come on, I won't do anything-

Izou gestures, the older child holds Izou's soft and warm hand, which pulls her out, Izou gently throws a cloak over the child, making her startle at the sudden gesture

- did you like it? -

- ....it's...it's warm... - The cloak was light pink, with white edges made of cotton, made like the snow that had begun to fall before them slowly

- ah..- the children looked on with curiosity, seeing the affectionate interaction that YN received from the oldest, wanting to receive the same attention, they ran to the man and looked at them in a loving way, like a dog asking for some food

- You can have mine - Izou took back his winter clothes and distributed them to the children, who dressed happily, the children looked at each other and Rien of the situation, seeing that they were not treated in an abominable, tragic, unhappy and unfortunate way

- and now? - Izou came closer

- Can you tell me where you're from? -

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The children look at each other again, giving the oldest confidence to say that they are refugees from a war

- we... - YN started to speak

- Yes? - Izou listened attentively

- we are war refugees! - YN said, her cheeks blushing with the comfortable feel of the cloak

- war?-

- Yes! -

- what do you mean? -

- ahmm... We were summoned to war, but we ran away from there -

- which war? -

- the war against the navy, the government has soldiers, but it is using civilians to fight too, and we fled!-

- it's a government where they use children for experiments to turn them into perfect soldiers, and we are one of those experiments -

- and since then we've been waiting for a pirate ship to get away! -

- I can't understand, how can a government do this? -

- good... -

- navy does almost the same thing, so the government thought it could do the same -

- by any chance, do you still have refugee children?-

- yes, some are around here, we decided to separate if they found us, we would have a way to escape -

- And how long have you been in this war?-

- in some years, we were called when I was 6 years old -

-And how is the current situation?-

- it seems that the navy invaded the southern coast and they are taking things, they are going to destroy the island- the girl said with a scared look

- ... Please! We get out of here! We don't want to die!

- ... Stay here, I'll notify my captain and take you with me, if only to adapt to a new island - Izou said getting up

- serious?! Would you do this for us?

- I'll do it, but I want you to do something, you, what's your name? -

- YN LN -

-it's a good name, come with me, and you, gather as many refugee children as possible and hide here, I'll be back soon-

Both kids nodded, doing as Izou said

°°°•°°°•°°°°•°•••••°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Izou ran with YN on his lap, hurrying faster and faster

- everything will be fine? -

- come on, you can trust me -

- You didn't know anything, did you? They try to cover it up -

-...dictatorship?-

- not much related, but this is also included -

- We need to get out of here! -

Izou arrived at the ship panting, still with YN in his arms, Izou called the attention of the crew and the Captain

- Izou, what happened? Who is the child? - Whitebeard asked

- Ah... The country is at war! We need to get out of here! -

Izou screamed

- Why do we need to leave here?

- the country is in crisis! Using children to battle! That child...is a refugee!-

Izou took off the robe under the girl revealing the heavy uniform the girl was wearing.

- do you know the situation, brat?- Whitebeard asked the girl, intimidating her

- The navy already took a good part, the government was against the navy and now we have to deal with them, in addition to the government's experiments - the girl said quickly, taking the mantle back and putting it around herself

- please help us! My friends are waiting- -

The girl's voice was cut by a flash of light and then a gale, knocking Izou and almost the ship

- What happened?!- Izou asked

- an explosion... An explosion! Oh no! My friends are still there!- the child left Izou's lap and ran to her hiding place that she had built herself

- it can not be! - the girl was fighting people running towards her to run away, while she saw people being fallen and others lying on the ground injured

"Please..." the girl pleaded.

- please... They are the only ones I can call friends! -

Images came to YN's head when remembering that she brought them and as time went by, they improved the hiding place

When she finally arrives after crossing the woods, it's all over, the explosion hit the head made of wood, with trees and rocks over the cabin, YN couldn't see anything in the small exposed hand.

- do not look! - Izou covered her eyes girl, but it was too late when he felt the tears falling and heard the sharp sound of the child who already understood the concept of death

- go fast! -Izou held her tight as she ran to the ship

- they're still there, boy!- YN said to the tears, seeing the hut disappear little by little

Izou didn't say anything, he just took her to the ship, where she was last seen on the island already destroyed by the navy.

[cbk1000]

And part three. (Final part; sorry this is so long: it has been a fucking long four months.)

No problem, Doctor Dipshit, I guess I'll just do your job and continue treating myself.

After my period ends, my heart rate drops again. It's still not as low as it should be, but it's much better. I continue to gradually improve. It's not a linear process; some days are better than others, but I never feel as bad as I did at the beginning of all this. My main issue is really my heart rate at this point; I'm no longer dizzy, I don't have the extreme weakness I had, my nausea is gone, I'm sleeping much better, and I'm a lot less tired than I was even before all this started. But the high heart rate keeps me still mostly bedbound, and I'm gnashing my teeth, because at this point I feel well enough to be mad about it, instead of just lying in bed trying to stave off death.

I finally start turning a corner, almost three months into taking supplements. My heart rate is consistently lower; even my last period wasn't as rough. (I felt a little worse than I had been, but my heart rate didn't spike, and I mostly just felt more run down than I normally would during my period.)

Over the last couple of weeks, I've been able to sit and stand and walk around for much longer, and I was finally, after months, able to start writing again. My heart rate is still a bit higher than it should be, and I have chest pain and tightness that radiates into my throat (it almost feels like an asthma attack) if I exert myself too much, but I can sit up for a good couple, few hours at a time, then lie down for a few minutes till those symptoms improve, and then get back up again. It is more exhausting to do things because of this, but I still, honestly, feel less tired than when I was a fully functioning, 'normal' person, and I've noticed that the horrible, frequent anxiety attacks I was having multiple times a week, out of nowhere, with no trigger, haven't happened since I started supplementing. I have been stressed, of course, but not baselessly anxious. Apparently iron deficiency can cause or worsen anxiety, so the anxiety I was having for the last couple of years that I attributed to all the changes at work, and how generally stressful the world has been, was also likely related to this.

Today, three and a half months after starting iron supplements, I'm writing this sitting up at my computer. I have some chest pain, but right now it's more of an annoyance than anything, and I can push through for a while before I'll need to lie down for a bit. The last week I have been able to write 27,000 words, animatedly play a video game I'm into at the moment (I shout a lot when I play), take Seamus outside multiple times a day while Mr. Jenn is at work (albeit for very short walks around the backyard, but still), edit, and concentrate on my reading. I can now sit out and eat dinner at our countertop and visit with Mr. Jenn. I spend more time up now than I do in bed. Tomorrow I have a doctor's appointment with a non-lunatic, and will hopefully be able to get medical clearance to finally return to work (Mr. Jenn and I have rigged up my desk so that I can recline and still see my monitors and work if I need more than my allotted breaks to rest) and an order for an iron infusion to get me the rest of the way more quickly. It has been the longest four months of my life. I have felt trapped in my own body. There were points during that constant back and forth of regressing a bit, improving a bit, regressing a bit, that I was afraid I would be stuck like that forever. I've had enough of consistently being on my feet day after day over the last few weeks that, while I'm not yet at 100% and know it will still probably be a while before I am, I know I will be, eventually. I actually feel confident in that now.

What I mean to say with these three very long-winded posts is, please do not ignore what your body is telling you. I wrote off the extreme fatigue, and anxiety, and burning and tingling I was feeling in my legs and feet as poor sleep, the world going to shit, muscle strain, etc. etc. That was my body trying to tell me something was really wrong. I did not know these were symptoms of iron deficiency; and not everyone gets them, and not everyone gets such severe symptoms that their entire body shuts down and confines them to bed for months: but there was something wrong with me, probably for years, and I ignored that, and wrote it off, because the symptoms were non-specific, and I'd lived with them for so long that I normalized them. If you are having any of these symptoms, especially fatigue, especially if you're menstruating, and especially especially if most of your iron sources aren't from meat, please get an iron panel done. Not your CBC; that will only tell you if your hemoglobin is ok, and I can tell you, as exhibit A, that just because your hemoglobin is normal, does not mean you don't have iron deficiency. B12 deficiency will cause some of these same symptoms as well, so if you're vegetarian, definitely get that checked as well.

The only reason I was able to put two and two together was because I had had similar cardiac issues after a blood donation, when it was easy to go, "Wait, I think you bled too much; let's put some iron back in you." I don't want to think about how long I might have been stuck like this getting booted from specialist to specialist with no one thinking to check my iron levels because my hemoglobin was normal. If you do not have enough of this one single mineral in your body, it can literally be debilitating. I work a desk job from home; I have been out of work for four months now because I haven't even been able to sit up at a desk. I actually ran out of legally-protected medical leave a month ago and am just lucky that my employer wants to keep me enough that they were willing to put me on personal leave until I was ready to come back.

Anyway, that is my extremely long update. I sincerely appreciate everyone who has checked in on me and asked how I'm doing.

[projectbluearcadia]

Dear Hospital, I Do Believe I Am Ill.

[ Trigger Warning: Discussion of suicide, self-harm. Don't be afraid of professional help. People care about you. ]

Annelie: I can't believe our honeymoon is already over...

Lucifer: It's a bit unfortunate, isn't it?

Lucifer and Annelie sigh a little together as they finish their breakfast in the Demon Lord's castle.

Lucifer: Well, we can go on another vacation later; it's not as if last week was the only week I'll ever have free time for.

Annelie: I know, but I'm just not looking forward to this call...

Lucifer: You'll be fine. It's not as if you've never been seen by a Devildom doctor before.

That's not why I'm dreading it, unfortunately.

Annelie: Are you sure I can't just call my family doctor?

Lucifer: Do you think they're going to know if you have a magical disorder?

Annelie: ...well, no...

Lucifer: Then call the number I gave you, okay? Simeon also said it would probably be a good idea.

That doesn't necessarily make me feel better, considering how angry he was with me when I told him about my homicidal thoughts...

Lucifer kisses Annelie's forehead.

Lucifer: I need to get to my meeting, but you can always reach me, okay? And don't hesitate to call me, you moron.

He cuffs her ear, and she swats back at his hand before they smile at each other, and Lucifer departs. Annelie glances down at her D.D.D. before she calls the number he referred her too.

Hospital worker: Hello; you've reached Asclepius Medical. If this an emergency call, please hang up and immediately call 444 to have paramedics at your door within seconds. How may I help you today?

Annelie: Um, I guess this is just kind of a... consultation call? Is... Is this the right place to ask about mental health?

Hospital worker: That is correct. What concern do you have?

Annelie: Uh, well... I was just wondering if I should... be seen by someone. Sorry, er, I've been having some... suicidal thoughts lately, and sometimes I don't even know why...

Hospital worker: Have you ever intentionally hurt yourself, such as through cutting or burning?

Annelie: Er, no...

Hospital worker: How frequent would you say these thoughts occur to you?

Annelie: It's... It's not that frequent... I would say I only had one really bad episode... Sorry if this is a bother.

Hospital worker: Not at all. Calls such as this are not unusual. Do you think you can keep yourself safe?

Annelie hesitates for a long, uncomfortable few seconds.

No, I can't keep myself safe. I think... I think if we'd had something sharp while Lucifer was ignoring me-

Annelie gets choked up.

No, I wouldn't really... I wouldn't, right?

Annelie: I-I... I don't know. I-I don't think I...

Hospital worker: Well, just to be on the safe side, we always tell clients who are unsure to come in. What's your name, ma'am?

Annelie: Annelie. Annelie Superbia.

The hospital worker pauses for a moment.

Hospital worker: ...I see. I suppose I don't need to ask about your insurance. Are you familiar with our address, Lady Superbia?

Oh... I guess everyone knows my last name now, don't they?

Annelie: ...yeah. Do you need me to come to a specific wing or...?

Hospital worker: Anywhere will be fine; just give your name, and someone will attend to you.

[ timeskip ]

Annelie: Er... admitted?

Is that really necessary?

Nurse: It is completely your choice, my lady.

I am never going to get used to that.

Nurse: While you do not currently present a clear and present danger to yourself or others, we usually recommend that patients with your symptoms stay in the hospital for a few days.

Annelie: You don't think that's... excessive?

Nurse: It very well may be, it's true; however, based on the answers you gave to Dr. Lildee, admission to the hospital's behavioral unit is our recommendation. But this is all precautionary; you are perfectly at liberty to refuse treatment.

Annelie hesitates.

Maybe... maybe this'll help me. They're pros.

Annelie: No, I'll... I'll do it.

So that (he won't) I don't hurt him (hate me) again.

[razzmothazz]

I refuse to go to professionals because I've had a bad experience with a counselor already...but also I'm afraid of what happens if I *was* diagnosed with something... especially something stigmatized.

Also misdiagnoses too

UR SO REAL!!! few years ago i had a psychiatrist that seemed like she didnt believe a word i said and just seemed bored during the appointment also when i tried to talk abt smthn specific she literally told me off because thats something i should "tell a therapist not a psychiatrist". mind u ive never spoken to a therapist or a psychiatrist in my life before that visit i had no clue what the difference even was at the time. and its like okay girl i am 14 years old and i dont know whats happening you could at least pretend u care i am breaking down crying in front of u now because u made my stress worse. now it sucks for everyone even more.

also i just have very bad anxiety in general especially for like doctors and stuff idek why but hospitals especially terrify me... like rn im getting some stuff done to check out my knees and i am still going to the doctor with my mom. she goes with me to the dentist too i CANNOT go alone its too scary i will literally crumble and cry [also my mom knows way more about family and/or my medical history anyway so she will know how to answer if the ask anything like that which i stress about a lot too]

so yeah i get it. this is why i dont get my stuff checked out untill it gets bad enough that i physically and/or mentally cant Just Ignore It

[ao3-rex1223]

Chapter 10: Plain View Doctrine

Twelfth Floor Intern Masterlist

Pairing: Miles Edgeworth x fem!reader

Summary: You finally get a few minutes to catch up with your dad and tell him who you're new mentor is. You attempt to tell him about your relationship with Miles, but it goes about as well as you expected. Later, your investigation continues and the more you uncover, the less things are adding up. At the morgue, you're given the preliminary results of the autopsy, however, your first interaction with one of the medical examiners doesn't go like you imagine. You're not the only one with eyes for the chief prosecutor.

Tags: Power Imbalance, Mentor/Intern, Miles wants you so bad but he's ethical AF now, No use of y/n, depictions of violence, Discussion of Rape, description of murder victims, adult murder victims, child murder victims, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Creampies, Loss of Virginity, Miles is the king of prosecutors but also the king of consent, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Blow Jobs, Nightmare about sexual assault, cross posted on AO3

"Hi, Sweetheart! Your mom and I miss you! Are you doing alright?" Your father asks. It really is good to hear his voice; the soothing voice of the man who raised you, held you when you cried, and rocked you when you were sick. So much has happened since you last talked, it feels like it's been a lifetime since you heard him speak.

"I'm fine, Dad. I've just been busy. I'm really sorry, but can I call you back later? I'm still at work," you admit, saddened you have to terminate the call.

"Wow, you're still at work?" He asks, surprised.

"Homicide never sleeps, Dad; you know that," you reply.

"No, it doesn't. Alright, Sweetie. Just get home safe, okay? I'll talk to you later. I love you!" He says, sounding sad.

"Love you, too, Dad," you reply and hang up.

"You could have taken a few minutes to talk with him if you wanted," Miles said.

"I figured I owe him a nice, long chat. I'll call him back when I'm home," you reply, withholding the fact that you're still afraid to confess to your dad that you're even interning with Miles let alone also sleeping with him.

You arrive at the morgue to meet with the medical examiner. Ms. Ozcar's body lays on the exam table, the telltale, Y-shaped incision running across her chest. You approach the table and see a white coat move in your peripheral vision. You turn your eyes up to a beautiful blonde woman looking very intently at Miles. Your Miles! Not hers! What the hell? MEs are all supposed to be old geezers! She stands directly in front of him.

"Miles! Great to see you!" She greets emphatically. She smiles sweetly with pearly white teeth. Her silky blonde hair is tied back with a few flyaways and long bangs free to frame her face. Her eyes look fierce, but with totally fake eyelashes. Her lips obviously have gloss on them, but you can't tell if the underlying color is really her natural lips or makeup; it's such a lovely shade of pink. Could she really be that perfect? She hasn't even acknowledged me yet! "How are you?" She asks, still ignoring you. "You don't get down here to see me enough," she comments flirtatiously. You can smell floral perfume that was obviously just sprayed. Apparently, she's completely unaware that Miles has absolutely no affinity for perfume. 'To me, it simply smells,' he'd say.

"Terribly sorry, Dr. Anderson. I don't get much time for social calls," Miles replies, his expression neutral. Unless I'm naked on his desk. Then he's very social, you say to yourself, wishing you could repeat it out lout.

"You should make some," she retorts with a smirk. Aren't you just classy? Your eyes are about to light her on fire. "And call me Sarah! You know that!" She playfully scolds.

Miles ignores her comment and places a hand on the small of your back. He introduces you to the doctor, sharing your name and the university where you're studying. "She's at the top of her class and well on her way to one day surpassing even my skills as a prosecutor," he brags. You reach out your hand to shake hers. The exchange happens over a few seconds but you wordlessly challenge her with your grip. She responds in kind. You stare daggers into each other's eyes. You both squeeze tighter and tighter until Sarah pulls away, her expression just barely showing a wince. Ha! A lifetime of thumb wrestling with Dad, is finally paying off! You withhold the smirk.

"Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Anderson," you greet with a soft, sweet tone.

Sarah forces herself to return your greeting, then turns immediately to Miles again. "Miles, I'm surprised at you. You hate interns; a trait you and I share," she says and flashes you a glance as she speaks the word 'interns' with venom and disdain. Listen here, Dr. Zhivago, you better back up before I... You shake your head at your rage imbued thoughts. Is this how Miles felt around Professor Fredericks?

"She's shown such an impressive aptitude for the practice of law that I just couldn't resist. Her talents would be wasted on the simple cases she would see with the other prosecutors. I figured her progress would be most significant under my mentorship," Miles explains, looking fondly at you.

"Well," Sarah begins with a longing sigh and glares at you briefly before returning her flirtatious gaze to Miles. "Just when I think you can't get any sweeter," she continues and places her hand on his arm. Your breathing holds steady on the outside, but in your mind, you shriek as if obscenely offended. "Here you are, taking on the burden of teaching a student."

Don't touch him, you cretinous hag! Your head screams. You're about ready to rip that arm of hers off her body, but Miles quickly removes the promiscuous doctor's hand from his arm and changes the subject. He looks annoyed. You relax a bit.

"Dr. Anderson, my intern and I are quite pressed for time. I'm afraid I must cut the pleasantries short and insist we obtain the preliminary results of the victim's autopsy." Miles instructs.

"Of course. All work and no play, huh Miles? It's your best and worst trait," Sarah comments. Miles ignores her. Oh, sorry, honey; he only plays with me. She lets out a sigh of defeat and grabs a clean pair of latex gloves to pull over her hands and begin her report. "The victim died at around eleven-thirty last night. The cause of death was asphyxiation by a ligature made from her clothes," Sarah explains looking solely at Miles. She points to several, small, crescent shaped marks on the victim's neck. "Take a look at the curvilinear abrasions on her neck, they're from…" Sarah is cut off by your enthusiastic interjection.

"Fingernails. She tried to pull the cloth off her neck as she was strangled," you conclude. "Her killer was likely much stronger than she was."

"Yes, that's correct," Sarah reluctantly admits. "Notice the petechial hemorrhaging in the eyes, also indicative of strangulation," she continues and gently opens the victim's eyelid to reveal dark red spots on the tissue. "There wasn't much other internal damage aside from superficial bruising, but there is pretty significant tissue damage to the external and internal genitalia. Sexual assault is very likely and it was before she died."

Miles leans his head toward yours and softly adds, "keep in mind, the defense will likely argue the encounter was 'consensual rough sex'. The important counter argument to develop is the witness testimony about the victim's typical sexual behavior. They certainly aren't pleasant questions to ask or answer, but it is necessary."

"Got it," you acknowledge.

"That actually shouldn't be too difficult. Her blood alcohol content was high. Point-zero-nine," she reveals.

"That means we can argue she was too intoxicated to consent to sex," you add. Miles nods.

"I was able to pull what I believe to be semen from the vaginal vault. DNA analysis will take a bit, though," Sarah continues. "There was a good amount of dirt and tissue under her fingernails, but again we won't know who it belongs to for a while. There's a fair chance it's her own skin from her neck." Sarah turns around to grab a printed report off of her desk and hands it to Miles. "That's all I have so far, but there are still tests to be done. I'll be in touch with the results." She pulls the gloves off and drops them in the trash.

"Thank you for your report, Dr. Anderson," Miles says, forcing politeness.

"Miles, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Sarah?" The relentless doctor asks through pouting lips.

"I prefer to maintain a sense of propriety, Dr. Anderson," Miles answers.

"You call the intern by her first name," she argues and quickly darts her eyes to you. That's so he knows what to moan when we're in bed together.

"There's a special bond between a mentor and a student. A first name basis is necessary to cultivate a therapeutic rapport. Perhaps you will understand one day should you choose to accept interns yourself. We appreciate your time, doctor." Miles places his hand on your back and leads you out of the morgue.

"What new things come to mind now that you've been given the autopsy report?" Miles asks as he drives back to the office. The sun is setting and it's obviously going to be another late night.

My ability to restrain myself from screaming at that handsy tart is pretty top notch "If I had any doubts our perpetrator was a male, they're gone now. The victim struggled, but was unable to save herself. With the adrenaline that must have been coursing through her body, the aggressor had to be very strong. Once we determine if the cells collected from the victim's body are sperm cells, well, I think I'm comfortable making that conclusion. I think if the DNA under her fingernails can be matched to the sperm cell DNA, we'll have a pretty good idea who our suspect is."

"Very good. There is one more thing to consider…" Miles hints.

"Her intoxication. Right. That probably did weaken her, but I still think it would have taken a great deal to overcome. All that aside, the consensual sex argument the defense might use is moot given her blood alcohol level."

"Precisely. Well done. Before long, every defense attorney will dread meeting you in court," Miles comments proudly. He pulls into a parking space in the lot for the office which is nearly empty at this point in the evening.

"I think that doctor already dreaded meeting me," you reply, frustration returning to your voice at the thought of her. You walk beside Miles with your arms folded firmly in front of you, bound for his office.

"Dr. Anderson is one of the…less professional medical examiners. I apologize if she offended you," Miles answers. He clearly picked up on at least some of the angry tension between you and the flirtatious doctor.

"She's the one who should apologize!" You exclaim. You both exit the vehicle to head inside. "I've never seen a physician so unprofessional in my life!"

Miles chuckles. "I am very interested to hear which behavior you deemed so offensive," he muses, unlocking his office door.

"Her hands belong on corpses not my mentor!" You fume, stepping inside. Your nails dig into your palms from the tight fists your hands are making.

Miles closes the door. "I do believe you are now able to fully empathize with me," he comments, still chuckling.

You turn to face him and let out a tense sigh. "Professor Fredericks?"

Miles nods with a smirk.

"My God! Is this what it feels like for you?" You ask. This poisonous jealousy feels awful and guilt boils up within you for putting Miles through it.

"Mhmm," he confirms.

"I am…so sorry," you express genuinely.

"It's a powerful emotion isn't it?" Miles says.

Your eyes fall to the floor. "Yes, but I know what I'm feeling isn't arrogance, as you called it. I am jealous. It's terrible. She's so beautiful and charming…and a doctor," you squirm, leaning against Miles' desk again. Your face twists back into a scowl. "She's so pushy! Does she not hear herself?! Where did she get her medical degree? The University of Impudent Audacity!?"

Miles moves to stand in front of you. "While I'm pleased to see your feelings for me run as deep as mine do for you, you shouldn't concern yourself with her or her distasteful behavior. There are far more important things for you to worry about right now."

"Is she always like that with you?" You ask, finally looking up at him.

"She is. I never respond to her comments other than redirecting her to her job. The only emotion she gets from me is indifference, although I did find her particularly annoying today. I have a good idea why," he explains.

"Do tell," you reply, you glance up at him through hooded eyes, the rest of your angry face still turned down.

He brushes your hair behind your ear and cups your face, tilting it up toward his. "I'd wager that as soon as she saw you, noticed your beauty is vastly superior to her own, and that all the attention she seeks from me is clearly given to you, her own jealousy became nearly unbearable. I will admit, the urge to confess our relationship to her was intense," Miles reveals.

"I wouldn't have told her…I'd have shown her with a graphic demonstration!" You declare through gritted teeth.

Miles leans down to kiss you lightly. "We truly do understand each other," he comments happily. You reach up and wrap your hand around his forearm, stroking his wrist with your thumb.

"If Professor Fredericks touches me again, I will call him out on it and set a very firm boundary," you vow.

"I'll do the same for Dr. Anderson," Miles replies.

"Good," you reply and pull him in for a deeper kiss. The urge springs up on you quickly and you have to fight to stop yourself from tearing Miles' clothes off. As your mind struggles for control of your hands, your tongue takes advantage of the lack of mental supervision and slips into his mouth, moaning at the delicious taste of him.

He grabs your hips and pulls you tight against his. He sucks on your tongue and moans back into your mouth.

You enjoy your sensual kiss until Miles manages to pull himself away. "We should stop, lest your bed end up empty for another night," he admits, begrudgingly.

"Yeah," you agree, sadly. It would be nice to enjoy some time together alone after the day you've had, but it's already late and you could almost collapse from exhaustion.

"And," he begins and pecks your lips once more. "You owe your father a phone call. Are you going to tell him about us?" He runs his fingers gently through your hair.

"Us or us?" You ask.

"Both," he answers.

"Us, yes. Us...I'm still working on that one." You look away, trying to hide the guilt in your eyes.

"Why not just tell him?" He asks, eyebrows raised.

"I want to; I just…I really want him to be happy for me and not be immediately disapproving. I've been trying to figure out the best way to bring it up. I love my dad. I don't want him to be upset with me, but I…won't give you up, either," you explain.

"From what you've told me, it probably doesn't matter how you tell him. He will be upset, but he is your father. He loves you. He'll come around eventually," Miles reassures you and kisses your forehead. "It's your decision, but I think the longer you wait the worse it will be."

"Yeah, I guess," you reluctantly agree.

"Let me take you home," Miles says, kisses you once more, and steps away to pack up his briefcase. You follow suit and both head for Miles' car.

You sit on your bed, pajamas on, face washed, staring at 'Dad' in your contacts list.

"It's a cell phone, hon," Nora teases, just about to head into the bathroom to shower.

"Trying to get myself to call my dad," you admit weakly.

"Are you going to tell him everything?" Nora asks, tilting her head forward, eyebrows sliding up.

"I don't know if I can. I think I'll try…" you reply.

Nora pushes the bathroom door open. "Well," she begins flatly, "good luck, whatever you decide to do. Personally, I think you should just tell him. Rip the band-aid off now." She walks in and closes the door.

I have to tell him, you coach yourself. You take a deep breath and release it, then press the 'call' button.

"Hi, Sweetie!" Your dad greets you happily. "Are you finally home? How was your day?"

"Yeah, it was great. It's really really busy, but it's great! I love it here!" You answer.

"I'm glad. You've been busy for weeks now. No time to call your mom and dad?" He asks.

"I'm sorry. It's non-stop. This summer has been…" you pause. Incredible, terrifying, amazing, overwhelming, unforgettable, hot. "Crazy. I've gotten to see a few trials now. It's fascinating," you explain. "I helped with a few guilty verdicts, too!"

"That-a-girl! I'm so proud of you, honey! So, that Mr. Payne has really been putting you to work, huh?" He replies.

"Well…" you pause, readying the first part of your updates for your dad. "I'm actually not assigned to Mr. Payne anymore." You cross and uncross your legs and fidget with your pajamas, trying to alleviate your nervousness.

"What happened?" He asks, concern weighing on his voice.

"Oh, nothing bad. It's actually good news. The chief prosecutor was really impressed with my performance, so he invited me to intern with him instead. I get to see more complex cases," you reveal.

"Well, that doesn't surprise me! Of course, my little girl is impressive! Now, I'm trying to remember the chief for that district," he pauses, searching his memory. "Oh! That's not Miles Edgeworth, is it?" He asks excitedly.

"That's him," you confirm.

"Wow! Wait til Cotter hears about this!" He gushes. Dan Cotter is your father's good friend and chief prosecutor of your hometown. You've known him since you were about five years old. "Well, that's just the best news! My baby girl is interning with the great Miles Edgeworth!"

"Yeah, it's been…it's been great. I'm learning so much!" You add. Maybe now is the time to tell him the rest!

"I hear he can be a bastard, though. Is he being nice to you?" Your dad asks. Or…maybe not.

"Yes, he is, Dad. He's a great teacher. He lets me do a lot with his cases and he makes sure to pull me aside if I'm making a mistake and explain what I need to do," you say, defending Miles.

"That's good. I guess it's not tough to believe he's nothing but professional to you," he replies.

depends on how you define 'professional'. "Yeah, Dad, he's been a perfect gentleman," you confirm. It was still true. Even though you've become intimate, Miles has never been anything but good to you.

"That's good! He better be!" He adds.

Come on! Say it! Say it! "Well, he is kind of…handsome…and he's really smart!"

"Hm, bad idea, honey," he begins. You can all but hear him shaking his head. "He may be a talented attorney, but he would be all wrong for you. Men like that, they put everything into work. They make for great prosecutors, but trust me you'd be miserable! Not to mention, your law school and his office would have a big problem with you two being together. That's not a headache you want to deal with. And it's not like you'll be in LA forever. I can't see someone like him picking up and moving back to Colorado with you. Not even close to good enough for my little angel. Best keep your relationship with him strictly professional," he rants.

You let out a silent sigh. "Got it, Dad," you reply, sadly.

"Chin up, Sweetie. You'll meet a nice man when you get back home," he says, attempting but completely failing to reassure you. "Give your mom and I some grandkids!"

You fall back onto your bed. Such a 'dad' answer. It's not that you don't want to be a mother, you'd just like to be able to pick the father.

"Sure, Dad. How's Mom doing?" You decide to quit while you're already behind and change the subject.

"She's loving retirement! She started a garden in the backyard. I tell you, she is trying to grow everything! She's got peppers, cucumbers, tomatoes, zucchini…she's even got pumpkins! She's having fun with it, though. It's got me thinking about hanging up my badge, myself," Dad reveals.

"Really!? You're going to retire?" You ask, shocked. Your dad was certainly old enough to retire, but growing up you always saw your dad as a hero. He saved lives and solved crimes. It was hard to picture him not doing that anymore. He had become a legend.

"I've been thinking about it for a while. I love my job, but I get pretty tired at the end of my work days and you know they get pretty long. Hell, you're dealing with the same thing now yourself. Body's only good for so long. I'd kind of like to be able to enjoy my twilight years for a bit, maybe travel around with your mom," he elaborates.

"It'll be weird to see you retire, but…I guess I can't blame you," you reply.

"I'm still deciding, but it will happen one way or another," he says with a chuckle. Dad always had a dark sense of humor and you usually could laugh at it, too, but you have seen enough death today that you didn't find joking about your Dad getting killed in the line of duty palatable.

"Don't say that, Dad!" You exclaim, nearly tearing up. "You promised Mom and me you'd always come home!"

"I'm sorry, Honey. My point is, I think I'd like to retire sooner rather than later," he replies.

"Well, you already have your pension. I guess now is as good a time as any," you add.

"Maybe I'll have a chat with my captain next week," he ponders. You hear the faint sound of a pager going off in the background. "Uh oh, speak of the devil. Duty calls, Honey."

"Okay, Dad. I'll talk to you later," you say, already missing him.

"And, Sweetie, please call us more often. I know you're busy, but whenever you can, we really want to hear from you," he pleads.

"I will, Dad. Love you," you say. "Be safe."

"Love you, too, Sweetheart," he says. You hang up the call and sit back up in bed.

"How'd it go?" Nora asks. You didn't realize she had come back into the room. She sits on her bed applying lotion.

"Eh," you respond. "I sorta tried to tell him, but he shot it down immediately."

"So, he knows you're dating Miles?" Nora asks.

You sigh and lean over to plug your phone into the charger. "No," you groan.

"I know it's not easy to tell your dad the truth but what's going to happen down the road when you and Miles decide to move in together? Or when you decide to get engaged? I think he will be angrier if he's kept in the dark longer," Nora argues.

"I know," you groan and absentmindedly rub your neck. "I'll tell him after this case."

Nora sighs with disapproval. "Okay."

"Don't give me the disappointed mother 'okay'!" You pout.

"Okay…" Nora says, comedically leaning into her disappointed tone. You throw a pillow at her.

The next day brings a few more pieces of evidence and a list of friends of the victim. One in particular catches both your and Miles' attention.

"His name is Bradley Hogger," Gumshoe explains. Miles has turned his office phone to speaker so you both can hear the detective's report. "According to her other friends, Bradley has been a close friend of the victim's for years."

"Did they ever have a relationship?" You ask.

"Not according to any of the victim's other friends," he answers.

"Miles, I just had a thought," you begin. He turns his attention to you. "What if we're not looking for an ex-boyfriend? What if we're looking for a friend who never got to be the boyfriend?"

"You read my mind," Miles replies. He turns his attention back to the phone. "Detective, we'd like to speak with Mr. Hogger. Please ask him if he will agree to an interview."

"Yes, sir," Gumshoe acknowledges.

"Oh, and Detective," Miles begins.

"Sir?" Gumshoe replies.

"My intern and I will be conducting the interview," Miles states.

"Understood, sir," Gumshoe acknowledges and hangs up.

Miles gives you a smile, "I think you should lead the interview, should he agree. I have yet to observe your witness interviews and I think this will be a beneficial learning opportunity for you."

You nod in response; a jolt of nervousness surges through you, but you override it with your desire for answers and to impress Miles.

Mr. Hogger thankfully agrees to meet with you. You and Miles sit across from him in the interview room at the police station. He appears genuinely distressed, obviously grieving the loss of his long term friend.

You introduce yourself and Miles. "Thank you for agreeing to speak with us, Mr. Hogger," you begin, keeping your tone even and calm. Miles' words about following the facts and not getting ahead of the evidence ring in your mind and you consciously maintain an impartial attitude. You tell yourself you are not speaking to a suspect but merely a witness and he will only become a suspect when you have evidence to support that designation.

"Anything to find Suzy's killer," he replies, tears pooling in his eyes.

"Can you tell me about your relationship with Ms. Ozcar?" You ask.

"Suzy and I go way back. We met in high school, actually." His mood brightens a bit from reminiscing. "She was the cheerleader; I was the debate team guy, but she took pity on me, I guess, stood up for me when the jocks ganged up on me. We became best friends. We still are to this day!" His frown returns and he slumps in his chair. "...well we were." A tear falls from his eye.

"When was the last time you saw her?" You ask.

"Last week, I think it was. We went to a movie together," he answers.

"What can you tell me about her relationship with her boyfriend?" You continue.

"Julian? Well, he's okay, I guess. I'm not sure he's good enough for her," Bradley answers, leaning back in his chair with a huff.

"What makes you say that?" You follow up.

"He just didn't seem right for her, you know? Sometimes you can just tell. I just don't think he really loved her like she deserved. He said he wanted to marry her but who knows if he'd ever have actually done it. He seems flaky to me," Bradley explains.

His disapproval of the victim's boyfriend strikes you. You try to stay your judgment but keep the observation in your mind.

"Did you and Ms. Ozcar ever date?" You ask.

"No, never," he replies quickly, and shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "She was my best friend, I never thought of her that way."

"So, you never had any romantic feelings for her?" You ask.

"No!" He fires back and leans forward in his chair. "Why? Do you people think I did this?!"

Your heart quickens with Bradley's escalation. You try to hold your neutral expression. "Mr. Hogger, we are not accusing you of anything," you reply, voice trembling.

"Good! Because I didn't do it! I didn't even see her that day!" He proclaims.

"Did you speak to her at all?" You ask.

"I don't think so, no," he replies. "Look, what are you people doing talking to me when you should be out looking for Suzy's killer!?"

"Mr. Hogger, I promise you, we are doing everything we can to find the killer, but we need this kind of information to know where to look," you reply, attempting to calm him. "Can you tell me what you did that day?"

"I went to work and I went home. That's all," he answers sharply.

"Would you be willing to give us your fingerprints and a sample of your DNA?" You ask, bracing yourself for a blow-up.

"No! I wasn't around her at all that day! You don't need it! You got some nerve, kid, dragging me in here and making me feel like a murderer! Is that what they teach in the law schools now?"

An idea hits you. "Mr. Hogger, you're right, I've been rather rude. Let me make it up to you. Can I get you a cup of coffee? Maybe a glass of water?" You ask as sweetly as you can.

"That's more like it! I'll take a cup of coffee!" Bradley says and relaxes into his chair.

"I'll be right back," you promise with a smile.

You carefully pour coffee into a freshly cleaned mug, avoiding touching it with your bare hand, using a paper towel to lift it, then gingerly carrying it back to the interview room, sitting on top of a napkin in your palm. You lean down and present the cup to him as a waitress might.

"Thank you," Bradley says calmly and takes the cup. "You know, maybe you're not so bad. Hey, you kind of remind me of Suzy, you know?"

You force a smile and continue your questions, "where do you work, Mr. Hogger?"

"I'm an auto mechanic. I work at a local repair shop; Syd's," he answers and takes a sip of the coffee.

"How long have you worked there?" You follow up, not actually caring about the answers he gives you. You're simply filling dead air while your witness enjoys his coffee.

"Three years," he answers.

"Do you work long hours?" You ask.

"Ten hour shifts, five days a week," he answers.

"Sounds like an exhausting job," you comment.

"Eh. It keeps me in shape," Bradley replies. He holds up his arms and flexes his muscles. He certainly would fit the profile of the killer, you note. Follow the facts, you remind yourself. He lowers his arms and takes another drink of his coffee.

"You mentioned you and Ms. Ozcar went to a movie last week. What else did the two of you like to do together?" You ask.

"We'd go out to the bars from time to time. Julian doesn't drink so he never goes with," he answers.

"Did Ms. Ozcar ever mention Mr. Gates hurting her or did she ever express that she felt unsafe with him?"

He ponders for a moment while drinking more coffee. "No, she never said anything like that. She seemed to really like him. I don't know why," he scoffs. He downs another gulp of coffee.

"What about anyone else in her life?" You ask.

"Nah, I don't think so," he answers. "Everyone loved Suzy." He takes another swig of coffee.

"I appreciate your time very much, Mr. Hogger. Unless my superior has any additional questions, I believe we can conclude this interview," you announce and glance at Miles. He allows a placid smile to form on his lips.

"I have no additional questions. Thank you for your time, Mr. Hogger," Miles says, calmly.

You call for a uniformed officer to escort Bradley out of the building. Once out of ear shot, you call for Gumshoe to bring an evidence bag and collect the used coffee cup. "This should get us a few fingerprints AND some DNA," you announce proudly. "Please take that to the lab, Detective."

"Right away!" He replies happily and turns to leave the interview room.

"You never cease to impress me," Miles compliments.

"Learned that trick from my dad. If they leave their DNA out in the open, I can take it. Plain view," you state.

"Very clever. What do you think about this witness?" Miles quizzes.

"I'm withholding my judgment," you promise, then let out a worried sigh. "But I'd be lying if I said I didn't still have…concerns," you admit. "I'm not sure I believe him when he says he had no feelings for the victim."

"I have the same thoughts. He seemed very defensive when you asked him. There isn't enough to designate him a suspect yet, though. I'm very anxious to see the results of the DNA analysis, as well. That should help guide our search. What would you like to do next?"

You carefully consider all of the facts floating around in your head. Julian Gates seemed genuinely devastated when he heard Suzanne was dead. He was fully cooperative with the police, which, in Hollywood, always leads to a twist, but according to your dad, it was usually a good sign. Bradley Hogger was mostly cooperative but did show some suspicious behaviors and refused to give his DNA and fingerprints. Maybe the boyfriend has some insight. "I think I'd like to talk to Julian Gates again," you finally conclude. "I want to find out what he knows about Bradley Hogger."

You earn a proud smile from your mentor. "My thoughts exactly."

[aflyingcontradiction]

The Magnus Archives Relisten: Episode 177 - Wonderland

Jon: When did I become everybody’s satnav?

Hasn't he also complained about being used as the supernatural Google before? Jon, I think you're just everyone's entire smartphone at this point. You even do entertaining little podcast segments about local sights!

Martin: What? No, no, that can’t be right. I thought people weren’t even allowed to die any more.

I mean, that's not strictly true, though, is it? Didn't Oliver Banks explicitly say that the End can't exist as a fear without death remaining real? And really, there's no particular reason why "some people can still die" would only be true in that particular domain...

Martin: He needs to make a statement. Basira: Is that like a euphemism or…? Okay, this is getting very silly, but also I still sniggered.

Hi. How are we doing? - Jon's statement

Oh, the doctor's 'we' is a beautiful touch. So wonderfully condescending, immediately made me feel trapped (and why the FUCK do doctors irl keep doing that anyway? I've never had a doctor who used the 'medical we' who turned out to be any good!)

Well, I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree with you there. That’s not your name at all. Now don’t get agitated, I’m sure we’ll get there.

Oh, and that. That hurts! "No, you're crazy, so you no longer get to decide anything about yourself, not even your very identity. And if that upsets you, that's just another sign of your illness". The ripping away of any autonomy. Yeah, no, that's suitably nightmarish. (You could also read this from a transphobia angle, couldn't you?)

I’m here to help you, to treat you, to make it so you’re less of a… burden to everyone.

AAAAAH!

Jon: Satisfied? Basira: Fuck.

Just, Basira's delivery here. This is the most matter-of-fact way you could possibly say "Fuck".

Jon: It’s sort of, like… gaslighting, but in reverse. This place, it’s built on the fear that your mental health problems aren’t actually real. (...) Bad therapists. Let’s just say it’s the fear of bad therapists, filtered through The Spiral.

Okay, Johny, just, why this? Who in the audience needed the explanatory notes??? Trust your audience to do basic media interpretation. You have so far!

Jon: What, you think he ended up in Wonderland House at random? We’re just going to ignore it, and write him off as a ‘nasty piece of work’? Basira: We don’t have time for this.

It's the fucking apocalypse, you're literally on your way to KILL Daisy because she didn't want to live as a monster, and you still won't even stop to consider that her victims might not have DESERVED the monstrous shit she's done to them? Denial sure runs deep...

Jon: Then we should make time. You want to hear how he ended up blinding that man? Because it wasn’t a robbery. He was running away from Daisy, lashing out in a panic. The court believed it. But you believed her…

Oh, now that's a gut-punch of a revelation if I've ever seen one!

Helen: Not to sound like a squeaky hinge...

... a door metaphor? Really? Pffffft!

My impression of this episode

This episode has some genuinely terrifying moments. The concept of "Let's take the worst parts of the medical / mental health care system and say the quiet parts out loud, then combine that with the worst things your brain tells you" is perhaps a bit on the nose, but also genuinely, deeply, nauseatingly unsettling. This episode just kind of ruins itself by then proceeding to explain the point (which was already pretty obvious) in detail. Just ... there are a lot of episodes that I don't personally connect with, but TMA very rarely makes decisions that I would call "bad writing". Unfortunately this is one of them. YOU HAD A GOOD (and horrifying) THING GOING THERE! Mind, that's still not enough to ruin the whole episode for me, particularly not when that "And now for those in the audience who weren't paying attention" bit is immediately followed by a genuinely hard-hitting conversation about Basira and Daisy.

[thedragonscratch]

On a small serious venty note I wish ppl stopped downplaying depression. It’s not just some ✨big sad✨, it’s crippling, it’s excruciatingly painful. It’s feeling tired 24/7, never eating or eating to excess, never wanting to move your body and hope you rot where you lay, it’s paranoia that feeds on every little negative interaction no matter how insignificant it is to reality, it takes control of every aspect of your life. You become miserable, afraid, anxious, isolating yourself from others, angry, paranoid, you feel like everything you do is wrong, it creates life lasting trauma that’s hard to overcome.

And as much as we don’t want to admit it no one really wants to be around someone like that. It’s better to deal with a big sad rather than the actual symptoms. Further feeding into isolation and paranoia. I’ve spent my whole life getting dismissed about my depression and had my symptoms ignored/misunderstood. Nothing helped, not therapy and definitely not medication, had doctors refuse to believe me. It’s a serious illness and I wish others would treat it as such and not downplay it.

If you know someone whose going through it please just reach out to them. Sometimes ppl don’t want lectures or solutions, they just want a hand to hold or an ear to hear while going through the motions. Recovery is a very long road and takes time, it can’t be solved overnight. And honestly some ppl just aren’t curable, and that should still mean to be there for them rather than seeing it as a lost cause. Empathy is a powerful thing.

[cleopatrachampagne]

just going on my experience working in hospitals, i honestly think transitional surgeries and risky plastic surgeries involving so much malpractice is actually a symptom of the real problem and legislating against them is similar to any other legislation or action that targets symptoms rather than the disease which is that medical malpractice flourishes in the areas of medicine that involve stigma or cater towards stigmatized groups of people like women, people of color, the mentally ill, addicts, etc. drug pushing in psychiatry, the lethality of ovarian cancer due to how late it’s usually detected, mistreatment it addicts, bbls (often targeted at young mothers and just women in general), transitional surgeries, and other operations or awful behaviors from medical professionals are often so dangerous because of stigmas and cultural ills afflicting marginalized groups. especially in a for profit system like the us but even in nations with better healthcare than here it’s pretty easy to tell that you can capitalize on desperation and get away with murder if you stay in the shadows and are less likely to be prosecuted against by someone who faces oppression than someone with power and connections. i really think there’s a need for much better legislature for elective operations but so much of the real problem and danger comes from stigma and/or greed. i’ve faced a few cases of arguable malpractice that still affect my life and i’ve worked mainly in rural hospitals and it’s so evident that people from marginalized groups get a very different standard of care regardless of any other factors at play.

if there weren’t the issue of stigma i’d think the procedures themselves were at fault but i really think too much of the danger in plastic surgery or surgeries for trans people and women is ultimately due to the larger issue of bias and cultural ignorance than the surgeries alone. some of the results are horrifying to hear about but ultimately i just think the waters of medical mistreatment of the marginalized are way too murky to be able to say it’s the transition surgeries themselves that should be banned. like, when it’s a taboo to admit to a facelift it’s a lot easier to avoid repercussions for mistakes or pushing dangerous treatments as a doctor. not to mention that if no one discusses how a treatment should be due to stigma then a patient is less likely to be aware of a problem and the fact that when a patient is desperate they may make a snap decision with less research or thought. I got an experimental shot to induce menopause and am still coping with debilitating losses due to only having it four times because despite there being other ways to go about it my doctor pushed me and oversold it and i was so desperate and had so little education on my health as a woman even as a professional myself that i got the 3,000 dollar shot that same day without taking time to think or get a second opinion. it was foolish of me but ultimately i was in a position that was pretty easy to exploit the same as a psychiatrist pushing a drug on someone afraid to say no or plastic surgeon overselling a dangerous procedure to someone who has dealt with low self-esteem.

really i think transparency, regulations, equality in healthcare and stricter laws against bias and forcing properly informed consent would do a lot more to help people than banning surgeries altogether without addressing why they’re so dangerous to patients or so often have lasting negative results. or at least i’d need to see enough of that to make a tangible change before i was comfortable with blanket legislature against it.

hi can we please separate the term "healthcare" from the term "transitional care"/"medical transition". like neither of those things should be legislated against but there IS an obvious difference between the idea of denying trans people healthcare and denying them medical transition. those things are in fact worlds apart

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Darkness Declares Glory | Chapter 5 | S.R

Not my gif

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N - this fic deals with some very dark themes such as drug use, self-harm and suicidal ideation. Please proceed with caution and Minors DNI. There is a reader insert but it is very Spencer-centric.

Chapter Summary - Spencer discovers leaving the institution isn’t an option. Doctor Delaney introduces him to his new surroundings much to Spencer’s annoyance.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst, smut, eventual happy ending.

Warnings - talk of attempted suicide, force hospitalisation, swearing, talk of drug addiction, PTSD, major depressive disorder, anxiety, psychiatric intake questions, talk of therapy and medications, withdrawals, scars, track marks, mentions of abandonment, Cat, Maeve and Tobias, featuring Diana Reid, Gideon.

Word Count - 4.7k

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 5 - Checkmate

“Why? Why? Why Maeve why?” He mumbled, eyes flickering and head rolling on the pillow. 

“Spencer, are you ok?” A vaguely familiar voice brought him back to reality and he forced his eyes open.

Doctor Delaney was standing at his bedside with a half-smile on his face while Spencer roused himself from sleep. 

“Hmm.” He mumbled. “Water? Please?”

His mouth was dry, sure but he thought it was a quick and easy way to get at least one of his arms free. 

Delaney nodded and unfastened his left arm while Spencer shuffled himself into a seating position in the bed. 

Once his arm was free he rubbed his tired eyes before the doctor handed him a bottle of water. 

Spencer took a large sip, relishing the way it felt in his parched mouth. 

“How are you feeling today?” It was an innocuous enough question but Spencer knew better.

“Seeing as I just woke up, I’m not sure how to answer that.” 

“Fair enough.” Delaney nodded. “We’ve obviously had a few setbacks since you arrived…”

“Being my trying to kill myself and all.” Spencer replied dryly before sipping more water. 

“Indeed.” Delaney pulled a face. “But I’m keen to start progressing with your treatment.” 

“And what if I oppose? What if I don’t want treatment? What if I want you to let me go so I can get high and shoot myself in the face?” 

Delaney pulled another face. Clearly he wasn’t used to his patients being so brazen. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” He folded his arms. 

“You can’t keep me here. Legally.” Spencer looked smug for a moment but it soon faded when Delaney appeared unphased. 

“Actually, we can.” He unfolded his arms. “It’s called Preventive Confinement. It’s a situation when-“

“I know what Preventive Confinement is.” Spencer scoffed. “It’s used in an emergency situation for people who present a grave and immediate danger to themselves or others because of their mental state. However they can only be held against their will for seventy two hours without permission from a judge. And I can ascertain I’ve been here for at least that long.” 

“Hmm.” Delaney mused. “You’re correct Spencer. However we do have permission from a judge to keep you.” 

Spencer’s face fell immediately. He squeezed the water bottle a little in his hand to stop him lashing out against the doctor. 

“That’s not possible. You couldn’t have gotten a judges waiver that fast.” 

“Normally no. But Ms Prentiss is a very well connected woman and she had a rush put on the order. I’m afraid you won’t be going anywhere, Spencer. Believe it or not, this is the best place for you.” 

“I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for help. All I want is to be left alone.” A few tears crept from his eyes. 

“Left alone to die?” 

“Preferably yes.” He started picking at the bandages on his right arm without meaning to. 

Delaney watched him curiously. 

“You had seventeen stitches, you lost a lot of blood.” He informed Spencer. 

Spencer didn’t look at him, just continued toying with the dressing. 

“You should have let me die.” 

Delaney chose to ignore this comment, sometimes it was all you could do. He moved away from the bed and Spencer followed him with his eyes to a wheelchair in the corner of the room. 

He took it by the handles and wheeled it back towards him. 

“What’s that for?” Spencer frowned. 

“You.” Delaney chuckled. “I know you don’t want to be here but I’m afraid you have no choice. I think you might be more comfortable if we get you moved into your new housing. I’m going to get you settled, do some intake tests and explain how everything is going to work.” 

“I can walk.” Spencer huffed. 

“No Spencer, you can’t. You have a serious injury in your leg, it was amazing you could even stand. I believe the adrenaline and stress of finding yourself here allowed you to temporarily ignore the pain but you're going to need physical therapy before you can walk unaided.” Delaney removed his other restraint and motioned for Spencer to sit up. 

Spencer glanced down at his exposed arms, the bandages weren’t enough coverage. Then he glanced at the door before looking back at the doctor. 

“There will be people out there?” He swallowed. 

“Yes.”

“I need a sweater.” 

Delaney nodded and gathered up Spencer’s duffel bag. He fished out a red oversized sweater and handed it to Spencer who quickly pulled it on, drawing his bandaged hands into the sleeves. 

He swung his legs out of the bed and just that simple movement caused his muscles to ache but he knew that was part of his withdrawal symptoms. 

He sipped more from the water before placing the bottle on the nightstand. He felt nauseous but he tried to push past it. 

Delaney helped him into the wheelchair, Spencer didn’t have the energy to fight it. Maybe he’d protest more later but right now he was feeling the weight of the drugs leaving his system. 

While Delaney pushed the chair towards the door, one of Spencer’s hands started scratching at the back of the other. 

“This is the hospital wing.” Delaney told him as he opened the door before wheeling Spencer outside into a long corridor. 

He’d become used to the silence of his room and the corridor was a hustle and bustle of doctors and nurses. 

It was slightly overstimulating to his eyes and ears, causing him to scratch more furiously. 

It had been a long time since he’d been around people unarmed and sober. To him they were all looking at him, judging him, when in reality no one even batted an eyelid at him.

“Hopefully you won’t find yourself back here. Only if you’re sick or…”

“I hurt myself. Got it.” Spencer dug his fingernails into the back of his hand and grinded his teeth. 

He was suddenly extremely hot, like he was in one of his scorching showers. Sweat immediately started gathering at his temples but no matter how hot he got he wasn’t taking off his sweater. 

Delaney wheeled the chair towards a bank of elevators and pressed one of the buttons. Spencer focused on the metal doors rather than the people buzzing around him.

“How does visitation work here? Is it like prison? Do I have a pre approved list?” He asked, mostly for something to keep his mind occupied. 

“Yes. With your state on arrival, Ms Prentiss gave me a list of people but we can review that and-“

“I don’t need to review it.” He cut him off quickly. “You can take everyone off of it. I don’t want to see any of them.” 

“Spencer, that's not a very good idea. You’re going to need a support system if you have any chance of-“

“I don’t want to see any of them.” Ever again. 

The elevator doors opened and Delaney led him inside and pressed the button for the ground floor. 

“We’ll discuss it again later.” Delaney shut the conversation down, making Spencer roll his eyes. 

He wasn’t going to change his mind on this. He categorically did not want any more of his friends to see him like this. It was bad enough Emily and Luke had seen him in this state, he was certain no one else would. 

He knew for sure Emily would not be stepping back inside here. He was so fucking angry at her right now. He’d trusted her as his emergency contact when he didn’t have anyone else. He’d trusted her as his friend and now she’d gotten him trapped inside this place like he was back in prison. 

He would never forgive her for this. 

They were silent as Delaney pushed his chair out of the elevator and outside. 

The sun was so bright, Spencer couldn’t remember the last time he’d been outside in daylight. 

He dug his nails harder into the back of his hand at the alien feeling. Spencer liked isolation. Spencer liked being alone. He also liked the dark. 

His anxiety was through the roof and he started jiggling his leg up and down as Delaney pushed him through the facilities grounds. 

If Spencer hadn’t been so focused on keeping his breathing calm he might have noticed how beautiful it was. 

The large courtyard had a winding path through rows of trees and flower gardens. Benches and bird feeders were peppered around the area and a small water fountain sat at the centre. 

Birds chirped from their perches in the trees and the soft breeze caused the leaves to rustle. Delaney wheeled him along the path while Spencer kept his eyes on his hand and the skin he was picking away from it. 

Deep breaths, just take deep breaths, he repeated to himself like a mantra. 

He felt the sun's rays beating down on him and caused him to sweat more. He was already overheated and now it was becoming stifling. 

They eventually rounded the building into the shade and it offered Spencer a slight reprieve. His leg continued to bounce up and down even once Delaney led them inside. 

Towards the end of a long corridor he came to a stop and fished a key out of his pocket. 

Room 112, it stated in big brass letters on the door. 

“This will be your home for the duration of your stay. Your friends Emily and Luke brought some comfort items for you.” 

Spencer frowned to himself as Delaney opened the door before wheeling him inside.

The room was entirely nondescript, with cream walls and a navy blue carpet. 

There was a small single bed in one corner with a nightstand next to it and a desk and chair on the other wall. There was also a chest of drawers in another corner which he assumed held more of his clothes. 

On the desk Spencer spotted a pile of books he recognised from his own collection, one’s he hadn’t destroyed anyway. Next to them was his old chess set. He was briefly impressed that Emily had managed to find all the pieces among the destruction of his apartment. 

Tacked to the wall over the desk was a collage of photographs. There was one of him with his mom under the Eiffel Tower. One from JJ’s wedding several years ago, the whole team, including Hotch and Morgan, gathered in Rossi’s backyard. 

There was a more recent team photo that featured Luke, Tara and Matt. There were some selfies of Garcia taken in her bat cave, one of Spencer and Emily at karaoke night a while back. There were also photographs of Henry, Michael, Jack and Hank. 

But there were none of you. 

Why were there none of you? 

Before he had time to think too hard on this, Delaney was helping him out of the chair and sitting him on the bed. It was at least comfier than his prison cot but it was a far cry from his memory fibre mattress at home. 

Delaney took a seat in the desk chair and fished out a clipboard and pen from under the wheelchair. 

“How do you like it?” He smiled at Spencer briefly but it quickly turned into a frown when he saw Spencer’s agitated fingers picking at his skin. “Spencer, this needs to stop.” 

He stood up again, laying the clipboard on the desk before moving toward the bed. 

He cautiously reached out for Spencer’s hands and assessed the damage he’d done. 

“We’re going to have to trim your nails. This skin picking has to stop.” 

“I can’t do drugs, I can’t hurt myself. This place is a real downer.” Spencer sighed, pulling his hands back up the sleeves of his sweater. 

Delaney ignored the comment and sat back down in the chair, pulling the clipboard into his lap. 

“I need to ask some questions for your intake paperwork and then we’ll have you assessed by one of our therapists this afternoon. They will be able to provide a diagnosis and a treatment plan.”

“I’m a drug addict with PTSD, major depressive disorder and panic disorder.” Spencer picked at the seam of his sweater in an attempt not to pick his skin.

“You’ve been diagnosed before?” Delaney scribbled down some notes. 

“Yes. I was going to therapy and prescribed Prozac but neither helped.” 

“But drugs and self-harm did?” 

Spencer knew it was a rhetorical question but he answered nonetheless. 

“It kept me alive this long.” He shrugged. 

“I would argue what you’ve been doing lately is far from living, Spencer. Tell me about your history with drugs.” 

Spencer rolled his eyes and glanced out the window. At least he tried to but the glass was frosted. He could already ascertain just by looking at it that it was safety glass, the kind someone couldn’t punch through. 

“I got addicted to dilaudid about ten years ago. I was using for about a year before I got clean. I relapsed after I spent three months in prison.” He spoke matter of factly. 

“When did you start using cocaine?” 

“I’m not sure.” Spencer stared at the frosted glass. “I’m missing a lot of time. I thought I’d only just started using it but the more I think about it…the last thing I really remember is buying it for the first time. But I think that night in question could have been eighteen months ago.” 

“You were examined at the hospital before you were brought here. You had damage to your nasal cavities that suggested long term use.” 

“I went out one night to buy drugs and suddenly I’ve lost a year and a half.” He clenched his jaw when he felt tears prick the corners of his eyes.

“I have a series of questions we usually ask which are based around the past thirty days of your life. But I suppose that might be hard to answer given your memory loss.” 

“Hmm.” Spencer nodded stiffly. 

“Let’s just replace the thirty days with, from what you recall, ok?” 

“Sure.” Spencer didn’t take his eyes off the window. 

“Ok. So from what you recall, how often were you using illegal drugs?” Delaney poised his pen above the paper. 

“Every day.” Spencer answered quickly. “Well, the days I was conscious. Sometimes I’d pass out for days on end.” 

“From what you recall, where were you living before your hospitalisation?” 

“I have an apartment in DC. I’ve lived there since I was twenty two.” He pulled at a seam on the inside of his sleeve.

He could hear Delaney’s pen scratching across the paper. 

“From what you recall, how stressful have things been because of your drug use?” 

He watched Spencer’s brows furrow. 

“Things weren’t stressful because of my drug use. My drug use was the only non stressful thing in my life.” He freed the red piece of thread and toyed with it in his fingers. 

“What about the money your habit was costing you? That wasn’t stressful?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I have tens of thousands of dollars saved from years working at the BAU. I only spend money on books and food. Money wasn’t an issue.”

Delaney paused to jot down more notes. 

“From what you recall…” Delaney trailed off and the silence caused Spencer to finally look at him. 

“Yes?” 

“I think I already know the answer to this one.” 

Spencer grinded his teeth again, harder than before. 

“Let me guess, from what I recall, how often have I considered suicide?” 

“Yes.” 

Spencer rolled his eyes and looked back at the window. His jittery hands moved to the bandage on his knuckles and started picking at that. 

“How would you rate your health overall?” 

“You’ve seen me, what do you think?” Spencer scoffed.

“It’s not about what I think.” 

Spencer pulled out a piece of thread from the bandage and let it flutter to the floor. 

“Poor.” 

“How satisfied are you with your life?” 

Spencer couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh. 

“I was satisfied in the sense that I had the means to get high when I wanted. I was satisfied in the sense that I could kill myself if I wanted. I am much less satisfied with my life now I am here being forced to sober up and get help.” He replied honestly. 

Delaney put the clipboard back down and threaded his fingers together, watching the way Spencer picked at his dressing. 

“You need to want to get help, Spencer. This isn’t going to work if you fight it.” He spoke softly. 

Spencer’s neck snapped towards him, his eyes dark with anger. 

“Well I don’t want to get help. And I am going to fight it. So you might as well just let me leave, let me die in a ditch somewhere and then everyone will be better off. I’m a lost cause. You’re wasting your time.” He stopped picking the bandage and wrapped his arms around his frail form. 

“Is that what you think? You think you’re a burden?” 

“I don’t think I’m a burden. I know I am.” He huffed. 

“Spencer…”

“Why can’t you just let me die.” Out of nowhere he was sobbing uncontrollably. 

Emotional outbursts were common during the detoxing period. Delaney had experience with the emotionally unstable and of course Spencer was no exception. 

“I think that’s enough questions.” Delaney decided out loud. “Let me tell you a little about what you can expect while you’re here.” 

Spencer continued to cry but he nodded all the same. 

“It’s vital for our patients to keep to a structured routine. We find that consistency, and not having to make many decisions throughout your day, will help support you as you recover.” 

Again Spencer just nodded so Delaney continued. 

“You’ll be under twenty-four hour care. Your initial stay will be six months and from there we’ll determine if you need to extend your stay.”

Spencer wailed, burying his head in his hands.

Six months? Six fucking months! 

“Patients wake up time is seven am. Nurses will distribute medication upon wake up. Breakfast is served at eight. Communal bathrooms are just down the end of the hall and we ask patients to try their best to shower at least once a day. 

Group therapy sessions are at nine am. Once you’ve been assessed today we can group you in with people with similar issues to make the sessions more beneficial for you. These sessions last ninety minutes so between ten thirty and lunch which is served at noon, we offer you reflection time. You’ll be given a journal to write freely in. This is your own private journal and you don’t have to share anything contained there with anyone unless you choose to. 

After lunch will be your individual therapy session. You’ll be assigned a therapist who fits your needs, in your case you will probably need one of our dual-diagnosis specialists who deals with both drug addiction and mental health issues. 

After this is usually free time where we offer art and crafts, sporting activities and nutritional classes. But for you this is when you’ll be partaking in physical therapy to get you back up on your feet. 

Dinner is at six pm. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays another group session will follow dinner. On Tuesdays and Thursdays we invite friends and family to visit. Then we offer more free time until lights out at ten pm. How does that sound?” 

Spencer rubbed his eyes free of tears and took a few breaths before looking up at Delaney. 

“Honestly? It sounds fucking terrible.” He hadn’t lied so far and didn’t plan to now. “This is supposed to make me less suicidal?” 

“It will be good for you, I promise.” Delaney offered him a sympathetic smile. 

“I highly doubt that.” 

“Are you ok?” Delaney was suddenly on his feet and frowning at Spencer. 

“Yes, why?” 

“I think you need to lay down.” 

Spencer hadn’t realised his whole body was shaking with tremors. He was as white as a sheet and sweating lavishly. 

“W-why?” He let Delaney guide him back to the mattress. 

“I think you should try to rest. We’ll get you some medication to help with the withdrawals but for now you should rest.” 

Spencer didn’t have the energy to fight it. He simply nodded, wrapping his arms around his body while his limbs trembled fiercely. 

His stomach turned over and over as though he was on a rollercoaster. His head started pounding out of nowhere and he cried out in anguish. 

Delaney left him alone, backing out of the room and closing the door behind him. 

While Spencer sobbed, curling his body in on himself, he thought of a common saying he’d once heard about addiction. 

Withdrawing from certain substances can kill you, and withdrawing from others can make you feel like you want to die. 

Right now he wasn’t sure which category he fell into. Either way he was sure that this would be the death of him. 

***

“Spencer? Spencer? Open your eyes.”

Spencer did as the mysterious voice told him and opened his eyes. 

“It’s your move, Spencer.” Diana smiled at him, nodding her head to the table between them where a chess board sat half played. 

His fingers trembled a little as he moved one of his pawns. 

His mother mused for a moment before moving her rook.

“Quite a mess you’ve gotten yourself into, son.” She nodded again, this time towards his arms. 

Spencer looked down at his unbandaged arms and his stomach coiled into knots. 

His left arm was littered with purple and red track marks, gouges in his skin he’d picked away and multiple fresh burns. 

His right arm showcased his latest work, a completely open wound from the crook of his arm to his wrist, fresh blood pooling from it. 

He swallowed and looked back at the chessboard before moving another piece. 

“It’s been a rough few years.” He admitted. 

“And now you’ve been institutionalised. Like mother, like son, aye?” She gave him a wry smile. 

“I’m not schizophrenic.” He countered quickly. 

“I didn’t say you were.” She nudged another piece across the board. “You’re not well though, Spencer. You haven’t been for a long time.” 

“How do you even know that? I haven’t seen you since I got out of prison.” Spencer moved another piece before, “checkmate in three.” 

“You weren’t well long before you went to prison, Spencer. You’ve always had this darkness in you, I’m only surprised it took this long to come out.” Diana took her turn and added, “checkmate.” 

Spencer frowned looking from his mother to the board. 

The pieces were in completely different spots than they had been moments before and he had indeed found himself checkmated. 

“How did you do that?” He glanced back up at his mother. 

“Nothing is ever as it seems, Spencer.” She smiled wistfully as Spencer glanced back down. 

This time the game pieces were all back in their starting positions and when he looked back to Diana, it wasn’t her eyes staring back at him. 

“Your move, Reid.” Gideon gestured to the board. 

“What do you want?.” Spencer sighed as he pushed a pawn forward. 

“You tell me. This is your dream.” Gideon moved his own pawn. 

“It seems I don’t have control over my own thoughts these days.” 

“You do seem to be losing it. But drugs will do that to you.” 

“Oh we’re going to talk about it this time? Because I remember last time you and Hotch looking the other way, burying your heads in the sand.” Spencer shifted another piece on the board. 

“We did not handle it well.” Gideon admitted with a small shrug. “We were scared of what it would mean for you. You were so young, just a kid.” 

“Even more reason for you to step in and help me.” Spencer replied bitterly. 

“It’s holding on to things like that which has gotten you into this situation.” Gideon moved another piece and then sat back in his chair. “Checkmate.”

“What? That’s impossible.” he looked down at the board and once again all the configuration had changed and Gideon had beaten him.

“Let go of the past Spencer, it’s not doing you any good to hold on to all that disappointment.” 

“That’s easy for you to say now you’re dead. You carried around a book with pictures of all the people you couldn’t save.” Spencer folded his arms. 

“No one said you had to follow my example. I held onto past failures and look where I ended up.” Gideon’s eyes danced with some kind of mild amusement. 

“He’s always done that, always lived in the past.” Diana suddenly reappeared at Gideon’s side. “After William left, he never forgave him.” 

“Because he walked out on you when you needed him the most.” Spencer frowned at his two mentors, his mother and surrogate father. 

“Yes, when I needed him most. Yet I still forgave him. It's not healthy to hold onto things the way you do, Crash. You’ve let all your trauma build and build until it broke you. You need to try letting some things go.” 

“Like what?” Spencer rolled his eyes. 

“You could try not holding a grudge against your father. It’s been nearly thirty years.” 

“Or let go of your abandonment issues from my leaving the BAU.” Gideon suggested. 

“Stop blaming yourself for Maeve’s death.” Diana mused out loud. 

“Stop blaming Tobias Hankel for your drug addiction.” Gideon added. 

“Or Cat Adam’s for what happened in Mexico.” 

“Ok, ok. I get it.” Spencer pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. 

He didn’t know where he was going, there was nowhere for him to go. 

Two distant voices caught his attention now and he turned over his shoulder to see two figures standing a little way away. 

He couldn’t work out what they were saying but he could tell by the timbre of their voices they were arguing. 

“That’s something he could let go of.” Gideon’s voice brought him back. 

“Oh, that’s certainly not something worth holding on to.” Diana agreed. 

Spencer ignored them and started in the direction of the two people. As he got closer to them he started being able to make out features. It soon became clear he was encroaching on a couple arguing. 

“You’re cracking at the seams and you can’t even see it.” an exasperated female voice spoke. “I can’t help you if you won’t help yourself.”

“I don’t need help, I’m fine.” a familiar male voice filled his ears.

“This isn’t fine, Spencer!” you threw your hands in the air. “This is far from fine.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” A younger version of Spencer raised his voice.

“Everything just adds up and up and you don’t talk about them. You bury everything down deep and think that’s going to solve it, but it doesn’t.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” younger Spencer folded his arms. 

Older Spencer watched on from the sidelines at the scene playing out before him. It was so familiar to him, like he’d seen it before. Or lived it before.

“For one thing, Maeve.” you spat. “You watched her die and you took what? Two weeks off work and then went back like nothing happened? You never stopped to process Alex leaving, or Morgan or even Hotch. You bottle everything up and I can see the cracks starting to form Spencer. And I can’t stand by and watch while you self-destruct.” 

“So you’re just leaving? Just like that?” 

“It’s not a surprise, Spencer! I’ve told you time and time again I can’t keep doing this. But you haven’t been listening. So yes Spencer, I’m leaving. I’m done.” with that you stormed away from young Spencer, right towards him but you didn’t seem as though you even saw him. 

Your features were slightly fuzzy around the edges as he looked at you getting closer. He couldn’t quite make out all the little details of you, even when he squinted.

You brushed past him and if you saw him, it didn’t show. 

He spun on his heels to watch you walk away but when he turned around you were gone. So was Gideon and his mom. 

He scratched the back of his head in confusion until he felt a presence next to him. Glancing to the side he saw the younger version of himself standing at his side. 

“Nothing is ever as it seems.” his younger self repeated the words Diana had said to him with a sad shrug. 

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[thebibliosphere]

Q about chronic pain: Do you know any ways to narrow down if you have chronic pain /and/ are neurodivergent? I know I'm adhd and autistic and have multiple mental illnesses, and I often find myself with neck or back pain (sometimes so bad I lose the ability to speak, even at work). I heard that being able to tune out/ignore/forget about being in pain is smth a lot of people with chronic pain learn how to do. But idk if I do that from chronic pain, because I also tend to miss a lot of signals like hunger and pain generally and have since I was little. I'm often fatigued but again, lots going on in my life already. Any suggestions on research or seeking medical advice to see if I may have some kind of chronic pain and what to do if that's a likely reality I haven't caught onto yet?

So, chronic pain is defined by how long it lasts, not the severity.

It will depend on what criteria your doctor is using, but typically, anything that lasts over 3 months is chronic.

This doesn't have to mean the pain is constant, nor do you have to be writhing in agony the whole time. I'm in pain right now typing this, and it's more of an annoyance than anything else because I'm so used to it. As you noted, sometimes chronic pain is just there. It can also be episodic. But if it comes and goes and you've been dealing with it for over 3 months, that's still chronic pain.

I'd start by making a list of your symptoms, trying to remember when they started, and how they affect you. This pain scale chart might be helpful for you in understanding how your pain is affecting your daily life:

https://www.va.gov/PAINMANAGEMENT/docs/DVPRS_2slides_and_references.pdf

That you are citing pain that takes away your ability to speak or work is an indicator that there is something wrong that warrants investigation and, at the very minimum, would be considered moderate.

Remember, you are not supposed to rate it based on your good days; you are supposed to rate your chronic pain based on your worst days in order to give your doctor an accurate account.

You might also want to define what kind of pain it is. Is it sharp or throbbing? Is it dull or pulsing? Which areas of your body does it affect? Is it localized to one area, or does it spread? Does it affect anything else, such as your balance/grip strength/hand steadiness/vision/ability to focus, etc? What have you tried to manage it? How effective are otc pain killers? Have you tried lifestyle changes?

All of this is useful information to have thought about and written down before talking to your doctor about it so that you don't freeze up when they ask you "so tell me about it." Some doctors will help by asking specific questions, but some are so afraid of "leading" patients they'll sit in silence while you flounder, so having all of this worked out beforehand can really help!

Once you have this, it will make it easier to talk to your doctor about investigating it. If they are dismissive or imply it has anything to do with your neurodivergence and therefore "normal" you can and should ask them to run tests anyway, or seek another doctor who won't dismiss you.

Your neurodivergency may mean you're not always in tune with your body's needs (I know I also miss hunger signals and also sometimes the need to pee. I do not know if it's because of my ADHD or my hEDS, but the answer is probably both) and are perhaps blocking them out, but again, the pain and fatigue you are citing are real and worth investigating. You deserve a better quality of life, regardless of the cause.

And if someone is out there thinking, "but Joy, that'd mean my bad back/trick knee is chronic, and those are just normal, right???? Everyone deals with that! That's not serious enough to be chronic pain..." I reiterate: chronic pain can range in severity. The true defining factor of chronic pain is the longevity. You don't need to be suffering more for it to count.

I hope that helps somewhat!

[acti-veg]

I was raised omni and considered "underweight" until puberty and chronically anemic after puberty. I know someone with an omni child that has been "underweight" and struggled to put on weight their whole life but is otherwise healthy and growing and their doctors aren't overly concerned. I know someone else with an omni child that is autistic and has a very limited diet and massive speech delays that no one is worried about. My vegan since birth child is "underweight" and slightly speech delayed but otherwise very healthy and growing and developing on track and their doctor keeps asking to see them every 3 months to check their weight. Last year they asked about what they eat and said it sounded good, but this year they said their diet may be "missing things" and when pressed for what other kids were getting that my child wasn't they said "well you're still doing a mainly vegan diet, right? Fruits and vegetables are great for some vitamins, but they aren't getting eggs, milk, and cheeses that other kids are getting." Then they implied my child may be speech delayed because they aren't getting everything they need for good brain development. Is this about protein? Fats? Do they think peas, lentils, tofu, soy products, nut products, oils, and grains are "fruits and vegetables" that don't contain protein and fats?? My child is not ill or inactive or struggling and their blood work is great. Why is there such an emphasis on weight? Why am I being treated like I'm stupid or neglectful just because we're vegan? Why am I left afraid to say no to what feels like unnecessary weight tracking because so many people have called veganism child abuse and it feels like refusing would get me a call to cps??

This sort of thing is very common for vegan parents from what I’m reading, and part of the issue is that general practitioners generally don’t know much more than the general population about nutrition, and certainly not about plant-based nutrition. You’re right to ask them to be specific on what exactly they may be missing, because if their bloodwork is great then that answers that - nothing. ‘Cheese’ is not a vitamin, afterall.

It may be good to ask them to refer you to a nurtionist, if they have a genuine concern about nutritional intake that should be more than reasonable for them to do. Weight wouldn’t indicate most deficiencies anyway, so it is all a bit confusing. It sounds like the only actual issue here is a social one, not a medical one; and what you’re dealing with may just be straight up ignorance and prejudice.

I can only advise looking at resources like raisevegan, they have a Facebook and Twitter too, perhaps other parents can offer you advice on how they’ve handled this?

[in-the-right]

Hey guys, if you don’t know how to remove a baby from the womb without cutting it up or intentionally poisoning it, you probably shouldn’t be an obstetrician.

Leilah Zahedi-Spung, a high-risk obstetrician in Chattanooga, Tenn., recently saw a pregnant patient with rising blood pressure who the doctor believed could be facing a serious health emergency. The patient was in her second trimester of pregnancy and her unborn baby had been diagnosed with genetic abnormalities that meant the child wasn’t expected to survive. Dr. Zahedi-Spung feared the mother was at risk of a severe form of preeclampsia that can cause seizures and ultimately death. The doctor said she thought the patient needed an abortion, but Tennessee has a total ban on the procedure. The state law, in effect since late August, allows doctors to argue the procedure was necessary to save the life of the patient, but Dr. Zahedi-Spung said she wasn’t confident the woman’s condition was dire enough to meet that standard and feared that being charged with a crime could upend her life for years, even if she eventually was vindicated. She decided to send the woman on a roughly six-hour ambulance ride to end her pregnancy in North Carolina, where she arrived with dangerously high blood pressure and signs of kidney failure, the doctor said. “She kept asking if she was going to die,” Dr. Zahedi-Spung said. “I kept saying, ‘I’m trying, I’m trying, we’re going to make it happen. We just need to get you to the right place where you can be taken care of.’” When she saw the patient a couple of weeks later, alive, the doctor said she felt a wave of relief.

For all forced birthers, may you have pregnancy complications, and may you be trapped in Tennessee.

The only defenses I've seen about no-exception bans are either that people should just die instead of having a life-saving abortion or that prosecuters won't actually prosecute. If you subscribe to the first, you're a Hitler wannabe. If the latter....what the fuck are you on!?!

No one would buy that for any law. "We don't want to prosecute doctors! We just made it illegal for them to save pregnant people's lives, but we won't actually uphold that law."

Bullshit. So may each and every one of you be trapped in Tennessee, pregnant with complications.

You can clutch your pearls and whisper about how horrible it is I wish this on you, but you forced it on everyone in Tennessee. Women, transmen, intersex, agender, etc. Even children! So why do you believe you have the right not to have it happen to you?

[you-didnt]

Ok. I've complained a bit here and there about having long covid but I've never really gotten into detail. Since I just reblogged a post about how most of society has decided to ignore covid I'm going to elaborate on why you don't want to catch it (again).

I, personally, struggle most with a very high heart rate, pain in my legs and cold-like symptoms when I overextert myself (which is called PEM, post extertional malaise, and the symptoms for that can vary too). Most days I just feel "wrong" (I have read people say it feels like being poisoned or microwaved) and fatigued, I have to sleep 10 hours to feel mildly rested. Sometimes there are new things: Last week I had chest pain and a headache that came out of nowhere and left just that suddenly. Due to that, my anxiety and depression have become worse. I'm afraid to move too much because every step could be the one that puts me back in bed again. Right now I've settled between 3k and 5k steps a day, depending on what kind of day it is. I have, comparatively, mild symptoms. I can leave the bed, if it's not a very shit day I can leave the house, my cognitive functions aren't affected, I can go for walks. At my worst I've been moderate. Here's the thing: "Moderate" has been so awful it made me suicidal. And there's hundreds of thousands of people out there who have it worse. It often turns into mecfs, which is a very similar but a lot worse can of worms I'm not going to open right now.

I've read countless stories about long covid. Some people have caught covid at the very beginning of the pandemic and have been struggling with it ever since. Some have healed after a few months, only to relapse after a while (what happened to me last month). That while can be anything between a week and a year. You think you're safe and suddenly it all comes back. It's unpredictable. It's scary. It also changes. Some symptoms leave, some new ones appear. It can affect literally any part of the body, you name it and there's at least one person out there who has developed issues with it after having covid. I'm in the longhaulers subreddit that is slowly approaching 40k members and while discussing symptoms and remedies, a big part of that subreddit is people talking each other out of suicide.

Doctors! Do! Not! Help! (Most of them at least) I know from the disabled community that this, sadly, has always been a thing, but it hurts a different kind of way to experience it yourself. I have a very nice GP who's written me referrals to specialists (who can offer me an appointment sometime in March next year but that's a different story) and who generally believes me, but unfortunately I know more than her about long covid and she can't help me. I begged a different doctor to prescribe me meds that have helped others and she refused and said she could get me a bed in a in-patient clinic for 3 weeks. That clinic (like the doctor in association) believes it's psychosomatic and it should be treated that way, like countless other doctors in every country around the globe. There are several indicators that prove long covid is not psychosomatic. I, just like everyone else struggling with this, know that doing yoga and meditating for 3 weeks isn't going to help and could even make it worse in some cases (remember PEM? That can lead to your baseline becoming permanently worse), that there's something wrong with the body, not just with the mind. But there isn't enough scientific evidence because studies on it (and with it I mean both long covid and mecfs) are criminally underfunded. There are some that look promising, but the scientists working on it say they can't do shit if they don't have the resources.

There is hope. With more and more people being affected (10%-30% of everyone who catches covid) it shifts more into the public eye. The first trial of a very promising looking medication just started in Germany and it might be available by the end of 2023/beginning of 2024. There's some existing meds and dietary supplements that seem to help some. But it's all just trial and error and since doctors don't know anything, all we can rely on is anecdotal evidence. I'm extremely scientific when it comes to these things so I had to... adjust to relying on some peoples experience instead of studies, but just to give you a picture of my desparation: I'm currently taking about 10+ different supplements a day, started doing breathwork exercises (which genuinely seems to help), completely changed up my diet and have gotten a hold of those meds my doctor didn't want to prescribe me another way (still legal, don't worry). I've tried.... fucking Reiki even though I have very strong feelings towards anything anthroposophic. Very few of them are positive. I am feeling a lot better than I did after my relapse a month ago, I have no idea what exactly helped or if it was just resting, but something helped.

Also I'm adding this because I feel like I can't talk about covid without talking about the vaccine: I've been vaccinated. Twice plus the booster. I've always been 100% pro vaxx. But now I have to question getting vaccined for the first time in my life, because there's a considerable amount of longhaulers who got worse after the vaccine. I know we don't like to talk about this because it invites anti-vaxxers to the conversation, but I think this is a conversation we need to have at some point.

So. Yeah. The next time you think "I don't need a mask" think of me and all the others who had a mild infection and didn't get better afterwards. There is a pretty high chance this could be you if you get covid.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

destiel, 2.4k, mild hurt/comfort, happy ending. for @wormstacheangel who wanted a fic with anemic!Cas <3

"Cas?"

Dean hears a flump from the direction of the bedroom right as he finishes shaving his left cheek. It takes him about five seconds from there to dashing out of the bathroom, sink hastily turned off and half of his neck still covered in white, wearing an expression of worry that doesn't quite go with the foam beard.

Cas seems to hold the same opinion because his face splits in a wide grin the moment Dean enters the room.

A grin almost distracting enough for Dean to not notice that Cas is back on the bed, and suddenly wearing a blanket.

Almost.

"Goddammit, Cas." He sighs, huffing as panic slips away to make room for exasperation. He walks up to the bed, sets about righting the blanket around Cas.

Cas lets him.

"I should've known -"

"- Dean, I forgot -"

"- you were going to ditch your meds the first night after I stop bugging you 'bout them." Dean mutters, ignoring Cas completely as he makes weak attempts at protesting when Dean tucks one corner of his blanket all the way round at the other side, effectively turning him into what he mentally likes to call a Cas-burrito.

He doesn't like to call it anything at the moment though, cause right now, it's just proof of how Cas doesn’t listen.

Friggin' ex-angel of the lord, billions of years old, with libraries worth of stories and history in his head — but taking his meds when they're supposed to be taken, he forgets.

"It wasn't on purpose." Cas insists in a small voice, and Dean shoots an annoyed look at him before stepping back, finally finished with the blanket routine.

If you could call it that.

Well, Dean does call it that.

Because it happened often enough times after Cas's return from the Empty, human as the day Dean was born, to prompt both a title, and a reason to investigate why in the first place.

And not a lot of road to cover from typing in Cas's symptoms in a search engine — headaches, spells of dizziness, fatigue and feeling cold in general (things Cas had dictated to Sam who was typing, while Dean seethed from the next chair at not having been priorly informed of most of those things that warrant being informed about) — to ending up at the conclusion of a few billion (but actually just the first four) results, just minutes after.

Cas had anemia.

(The doctor Dean took him to the very next day, and Sam's completed research on the Novaks' medical history by the time they got back, confirmed it.)

Now, as far as the Winchesters were concerned, that was practically a relief — especially since their next place to look would've been old, tired books of curses, and the meekest of those would've been several times more worrying than the awfullest case of anemia one could possibly get - and Cas's, thankfully, wasn't even that bad.

However, curses are reversible. Or at least, equally as destroyable as their curse-rs are — who, usually, tend to be pretty destroyable when it comes to Sam and Dean.

Mineral deficiencies, on the other hand, are neither.

So supplements it is, as the doctor said and then prescribed — or so it should have been anyways, except for how the love of Dean's life was a giant baby when it came to taking pills.

"Sure it wasn't." Dean rolls his eyes, continuing in his exaggerated 'Cas' voice. "You just forgot."

Cas squint-frowns at Dean with all the ferociousness of a tired, cold and anemic four-weeks-old human, and Dean perches next to him on the edge of their bed with a sigh, the exasperation wearing off too.

(If he hadn't already wrapped them up, this would've been about the time Dean would've taken Cas's hands in his own.)

"Cas," He says, softer now.

Truth be told, Dean can't imagine what it must be like to go from being a - a being, that can heal itself and everything else, to a human who gets shivery and lightheaded cause of things inside of him he can't even control.

It's got to be terrifying, and obviously awful, and Dean's proud of Cas for the way he's been handling all of it — but dammit he's supposed to do the things that make it easier.

Just like he's supposed to let Dean take care of him.

"Dean," Cas replies, looking sideways at him with most of the stubbornness melted from his expression as well. "I'm a little cold but it's okay. I'm fine." He says, like he can still tell exactly what Dean needs to hear.

What he needs Cas to be.

There's a pause and Dean looks down at his hands. He can't help his next question, it's been on his mind for some time.

"What about the first time you were human?"

Cas noticeably withdraws into himself on hearing him, and Dean feels immediately a pang of guilt. It may have gotten easier to read him since he became human, but an accidental display of emotion was still a novelty. (Being difficult to read was apparently more of a Cas trait than an angel feature.)

"What about it?"

"Shouldn't you, uh," Dean pauses. "Shouldn't you also have been anemic then?"

Cas turns away from him, slow enough that Dean knows he's not taken offense, deliberate enough that he's thinking.

He finally answers, facing the wall ten feet away instead of Dean.

"I guess I was."

"But," Dean frowns. "I thought you had no idea you had anemia until last week."

"Dean, I didn't even know there was anything wrong with me until last week." Cas returns, his tone steady. "And back when I was human for the first time, I didn't either, because I'd never known what healthy felt like before, so I had no idea if I was or wasn't it. Of course I knew in an objective sense, say, the ideal temperature of the human body, but the ordinary amount of chilly one should feel on the streets in winter, or how hard or easy falling asleep is supposed to be, I couldn't have told you."

"Oh."

"And I still wouldn't have been able to," Cas turns back to him. "Had you not been the one to point it out."

Dean scoffs.

All he'd done was ask why Cas had been shivering in the middle of the day. That was it. Honestly, how could he not have seen it sooner?

"So you just," Dean lets out, afraid of the answer. "You just thought the cold spells and the, uh," he falters. "The being tired all the time — you thought that was part of being human?"

Cas smiles wryly. "It is for a lot of people."

"But —"

"And it was, Dean, anemia or not, for a lot of the people I lived with back then."

Dean's stomach bottoms out. He knows Cas is right. Six years ago, he'd been living on the streets, living in a bus. Dean remembers him — homeless, cold, sleeping on the floor of a Gas 'N Sip in his only set of clothes, Cas. And he knows he's responsible for it — knows he deserves to be hated for it, and it messes with him everyday that Cas doesn't — but did Cas really not even know what Dean had done to him? What Dean had — and Jesus, he detests himself — made him go through?

"You really thought all of us were going through that," Dean blinks. "And none of us was saying a thing?"

Cas doesn't look away this time and Dean goes on.

"I mean, I know you put humanity on a pedestal it doesn't deserve, and you think we're all capable of things you're capable of, but Cas, I can't believe you associated being human with being cold and tired, and —" Dean scrubs his face with a hand. "Goddammit, Cas! How could I have let you go out there on your own when you — h-how did I not see it, and — and you should never have had to deal with it all alone, I should've —"

"Dean."

It's not until Cas interrupts him that he realizes he's been rambling. Ranting, really, because it's not fair that Cas only got to see the worst of humanity, and it's not fair that Cas was so used to feeling awful that he just figured everyone felt that way all the time. That Cas was all alone at a time Dean should've been there for him, should've been at his side, been there to make sure he was warm, and make sure he ate spinach and seafood and whatever the hell else is rich in iron — hell, Dean should've looked it up sooner — and Dean should've been able to tell that Cas was sick, even if Cas couldn't, because that's his job.

He hasn't felt this way in a while — this particularly familiar fear of failing Cas, and losing Cas, entwined horribly, returning to him; seeping back in through his skin, and settling on his bones like the vast sediments of guilt and loss he's been carrying for most of his life.

Cas is supposed to be okay, and Dean's supposed to make sure he is.

But so far as upto here, turns out Dean's just been failing in more ways than he'd even known.

"Dean," Cas repeats, pulling him out of his reverie with determination in his voice, and a hand on Dean's left arm, his blanket now hanging off of one shoulder.

Dean immediately reaches to make it right but Cas holds him right where he is. Physically and not-drowning-in-his-own-head wise, and he's the only one who can do that.

"You're not listening to me."

Shit, Cas had been speaking this entire time, hadn't he? "Sorry, I was -" Dean looks Cas in the face to apologize, and lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, cause thank god, Cas isn't that pale. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Cas smiles, and it's not lopsided anymore, it's just Cas.

(Dean wonders if he should try to mirror it.)

"I was just saying that now I know that that's not the only part of being human."

"What do you mean?"

"The pain and the suffering, Dean. That's not all." Cas says. "There's also love, and kindness, and worry of the non-lifethreatening kind that dissipates with a smile, and warmth."

Dean stares at him.

"And sure," Cas shrugs. "I knew those things before too — I've read books, I've watched you and Sam — but now I've felt them as humans do, for the very first time, so it's a different kind of knowing."

Cas takes Dean's hand in his, and Dean's the one who squeezes.

"I believe the human expression is 'knowing it in my bones'."

Dean lets out a strained laugh in spite of himself. "Dunno, man. I don't think that's exactly what that means."

"But I do know it in my bones." Cas says simply, and Dean's heart does that thing where it feels too big for his chest. How Cas could go through so much, and still be so full of kindness and good, is one of the mysteries of life Dean's never going to solve — but it doesn't stop him from falling a little bit harder every time it happens.

"You should've gotten to know it the last time too, Cas." Dean tells him, sighing again. "I'm just — I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"Well, you are now." Cas tilts his head. "And I prefer the things I'm learning this time over the last time anyway, and I believe it's you who's always taught me that the present is what matters the most. I'm just glad you're here this time."

"And I'm not going anywhere." Dean squeezes their hands tighter, and Cas's smile grows. God, he deserves the world and he keeps settling for Dean, doesn't he — and Dean hates it, and loves it, and couldn't live without it. He puts his other hand on Cas's face, gloving his cheek. Cas leans closer.

"I love you."

Dean's throat constricts. "You're too good to me."

"I think that's the point."

Dean can't help but smile, and he really can't help the tears.

"I'm okay." Cas says, once more. "Are you?"

There's only one answer, and nothing to fight this time.

Dean closes the gap.

"I love you too."

It's not their first kiss, nor is it the first time they've ever said it — but it feels more significant than anything's felt before. It's more them, too — not sickly-sweet or angry and fighting, just them, coming around to the end of a hard talk, falling into each other's arms with an ease they reserve for each other only, and sinking into each other, slow and perfectly synced, like they're made for it.

When they pull back, a moment later, Dean leans his forehead against Cas's and licks his lips. Breathes.

"There's so much more to being human," he hears himself saying. "Than you'd ever find out just living here in the bunker with us."

"Dean," it's Cas's turn to sigh. "I've already found everything I need."

Dean's cheeks heat up. "I thought it was never too late to learn."

"It isn't." Cas leans back, hands falling back to his sides from where they were wrapped around Dean's neck. "But sometimes, practising old things is more important."

Dean immediately dissolves into laughter. "Yeah, no, great going. Call me old before you go to town practising on me."

Cas ignores him save a twinkle in his eyes. "And some things, I'd like us to learn together."

Dean grins.

"And some things," Cas concludes, with a wide smile. "Aren't taught anywhere else in the world."

"Yeah?"

Cas shrugs.

"Why so?"

"Well, rumor has it the teacher's afraid of flying."

Dean freezes for a moment, silent, and then snorts — because yeah, that's funny, Ha Ha, but okay, if Cas is fit enough to make jokes, then he's fit enough to take his meds now, and Dean tells him that gleefully, resulting in Cas's grin immediately turning upside down as he tries to scoot away from Dean, except Dean's kinda expecting it so he's prepared to launch himself on the bed if he has to — and he does have to, cause Dean might love him for his heart, and his courage, and his kindness, but remember how Cas is just a baby in a trenchcoat?

Yeah.

(And that is just a regular morning in the Winchester household.)

[dancingamongstdust]

MHA Scenarios - First Meeting (Part 4)

Requests are still open as of this post.

Shigaraki

You hadn’t meant to cause that level of destruction. It was an accident.

But they hadn’t seen it that way.

Their words followed you even when they could not. You could hear the accusations ringing in your head whenever you used your quirk – for better, or for worse. It became easier to ignore as you slowly learned to stop caring.

Until your quirk went out of control again.

You woke up in a dark room with a pounding headache and exhausted limbs. The doctor who was looking after you (a man you were relatively certain had no actual medical knowledge) had gotten very close and asked how much you remembered. When you informed him that it wasn’t much, he had smiled.

“Well, you certainly drew attention to yourself,” he had laughed. “Perhaps you should consider yourself lucky that the heroes didn’t get to you first.”

“I guess so…”

Something warned you that this situation was more dangerous than it seemed. Your eyes drifted over the covered windows of the room and you stared at the door. “Why did you help me?”

“Well that’s hardly for me –“

He didn’t get a chance to answer before you dashed for the exit. The doctor’s quirk didn’t allow him to grab you and his alarmed shout was all you heard before you were darting down the hallway. You weren’t going to stick around and get experimented on.

You turned the corner, heart pounding in your chest. They must have given you something because you felt drowsy. The entire world was spinning.

But you had to nearly trip yourself up to avoid running directly into somebody as you sprinted down a different hallway.

This was hardly your first time dealing with villains and many of them had odd quirks, to say the least. It shouldn’t have shocked you to see somebody with a human hand on their face but maybe the medication was lowering your tolerance because it was terrifying.

“Who are you?” you snapped out, immediately on the defense. You took a step away, ready to run or fight, whichever seemed easiest.

The man didn’t seem too bothered by your snap at least; the one eye that you could see watched you steadily from behind his hand mask. “I’m sure you’re not meant to be running around here,” he said. “But you’re no hero so you must be here for your quirk. Do you still have it?”

Your heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t unknown in the underground that there was a man who stole quirks he liked. Nobody knew what he did with them but it wasn’t unheard of for villains to wake up with nothing. And you would never get them back.

You could feel your quirk was still there. It pulsed under your skin like a warning.

“My quirk?” you repeated. “I have my quirk.”

You did a random gesture, summoning all of your past acting experience to appear horrified when nothing happened. Again and again you tried before looking around in shock and horror.

The guy bought it and he shrugged. “Then there’s no reason to stop you.” He brushed past you and continued walking. “Not like you could find the exit anyway.”

The moment he turned the corner, you dropped the act and bolted again. This place was a maze but you found the exit and avoided any encounters with a practiced ease. Before leaving, you looked back up at the building and grimaced, hoping to never see it again.

Toga

It was late at night when you had the strangest encounter of your life. Not that that was a bad thing necessarily but it was something that occurred, nevertheless.

You had been feeling quite exhausted from a long day of fun with your friends. They had headed off to get a cab when you had realised that you needed the bathroom and disappeared to go find one.

There was a public toilet not too far from the street though it certainly wasn’t as clean as you would have hoped. Not to be deterred, you slipped in and found a sight that, even to your exhausted mind was uncomfortable.

A girl stood in front of one of the mirrors, blood staining much of her face. It covered the counter beneath her fingers and seemed to be coming from her lip.

“Are you okay?!” you asked, panicked.

She looked up at you, startled. Her dark hair covered much of her expression but she seemed a little out of it. Maybe she got hit on the head or something.

“I –“ she paused, her voice croaky and sore. She brought her hand up to rub her throat. “I think so.”

“Just wait, let me help you,” you said. You rushed into one of the stalls and gathered up some toilet paper. “Do you need me to call somebody or?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No. Thank you.”

You offered some of the damp tissue to her and she started wiping it away from her mouth. While she dealt with that, you cleaned the blood that she had left on the counter, making sure to get it out of all the cracks in and around the sink. “What happened to you?” you asked. “Did somebody attack you?”

“I slipped,” she said. “The tiles are really slippery and I think that I hit my mouth on the sink. It’s all kind of blurry.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, digging through your bag and grabbing some headache tablets. You offered the bottle to her. “Take two of those just in case. Even if it doesn’t hurt now, you don’t want to wake up with a headache tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Do I still have any blood on me?”

“Just on your jaw,” you pointed out. “Come on, my friends and I are getting a cab. We can call one for you also if you need.”

She took one last glance in the mirror before leaving. You had forgotten your own need for the bathroom and it was for good reason also. If you had hung around for a little longer, you may have seen blood trickling out from one of the stalls. Perhaps then you wouldn’t have been so worried about this stranger hitting her head.

“What’s your name?” you asked as you looked around for your friends.

“Toga,” the girl said, though she didn’t seem too happy with having told you. The words must have slipped out without her meaning to.

You gave her your own name and went up onto your toes to look around the crowd for your friends. Eventually you spotted them and waved but when you spoke to Toga, she didn’t respond.

She had disappeared into the crowd.

You went back into the bathroom and checked but she was long gone. Just like how the blood has escaped your notice earlier, you didn’t see the blonde watching you from the other side of the street, her head tilted a little.

Dabi

It was a rare day when you found yourself alone without at least one person to watch your back. You didn’t always need the protection but sometimes, it was nice to have.

But you had given your word and it wouldn’t do to back out of this now.

The building where everything had been organised was old and crumbling – its ancient nature hidden on the outskirts of the city and slowly becoming overtaken by countless plants. It wasn’t somewhere anybody with good intentions would find themselves.

You liked to think that your work was good. It benefitted many and took only from those who could afford to lose it. Unfortunately though, rules had to be broken for the best results, and sometimes what was classified as ‘wrong’ turned out to be needed in order to achieve a goal. It wasn’t quite in line with what you believed but it had to be done.

Did working with villains make you uncomfortable? Of course. But it was hardly going to be something that stopped you from moving forward.

The two members from the League of Villains that had been sent to meet you were both men. You didn’t bother with greetings, just holding up the briefcase that you held.

“I’m looking for a specific artwork,” you said. “I’ve been told that you might be able to help?”

“An artwork?” the one asked. He wore a white and black mask that concealed most of his face and an extremely gaudy costume.

“Not just an artwork,” you explained. “It has something of mine hidden in the canvas. Normally, I would just get the police involved but if they found it, it would be quite problematic for me. The group that stole it won’t listen to many but the League of Villains, I’m afraid. They have a few good quirks and they’re extremely cocky for it.”

“We’re not lapdogs,” the other man said. “Especially not for whatever agenda you’re pushing.”

“I don’t pay lapdogs,” you acknowledged. “Consider me a sponsor.”

Flames cackled into existence in his hand, surprising his colleague enough to jump a little. “Chances are, they’ve already found your thing. Even if they haven’t, the league can hardly go around picking fights with random gangs.”

“Shigaraki did ask –“

The masked man was cut off by a glare. Blue flames sent flickering light through the air as they waited patiently for your answer.

“If it’s already been discovered or if it happens to get damaged during the process, then I don’t plan on getting anything out of our deal. It’ll simply be a loss on my side.”

The flames slowly flickered out and you allowed yourself to breathe again. Confidence was a requirement for these deals but you didn’t quite have the nerves of steel that you portrayed. It was always a fight to keep your reactions in check.

“I guess if we happen to bump into the group, we can check around for your shit.”

You knew his bluff as well as your own. The League of Villains had always worked well with those who had money. They required funding and wouldn’t say no to being able to flex their reputation around the underground. It was almost needed with the way rumours were circulating.

It was less than a week after that encounter when you found your artwork sitting outside your home. Charred on the edges, it was damaged enough to make the art itself worthless. But your items inside were perfectly unharmed.

Not bad for your first time working alongside the League of Villains. It was worth the cost… you should do it more in the future.

Twice

When you had been called in for this job, you had no idea that it was going to turn into a fight of the magnitude you experienced.

Flames tore along the streets. They melted lamps and trapped hundreds inside buildings – the screams for help becoming almost deafening as you broke down yet another wall to get civilians out. It was the third building you had had to smash into and there were more yet.

Nobody could get out and, if they remained trapped, they wouldn’t survive much longer.

When your partner and you had realised you were dealing with the League of Villains, you had immediately called in the big guns. What you hadn’t realised was that doing so would result in a brawl of sorts in the streets. The League of Villains didn’t care about collateral and honestly, sometimes you wondered if the heroes did.

You were starting to overheat. The amount of fire swirling around was getting to you, drawing the breath from your lungs and slowing your movements. Its angry blue nature hinted at its abysmal nature.

The next building’s walls took even longer to get through but you managed it and a few people scrambled out. You ushed as best as you could although it was starting to get hard to speak.

But then you noticed a dark figure lying in one of the rooms

Outside, the fire roared and smacked against the walls but you couldn’t just leave somebody there. You stepped over the rubble and made your way to the figure.

It was hard to make out details with the flames. The heat seemed to be getting worse as you approached – soon identified as being caused by the gaping hole in the wall. It radiated around the room in waves. You covered your mouth and nose the best you could, creeping forward to reach where the person was.

When you arrived, it took you no time to recognise that you weren’t saving an unfortunate civilian but rather a member of the League itself.

You hesitated for a second before hooking your arms under his and beginning to drag him away from the danger. This was the type of thing that lost reputation for heroes. Civilians didn’t like seeing villains being rescued but you honestly didn’t care.

If he was left there, he was probably going to end up dying.

Though he had seemed unconscious, when you got him out of the building, he muttered something and moved. It was enough to make you jump back but he didn’t attack or anything. He just touched his face and then let his arm go limp again.

You moved back cautiously. His suit had been ripped on the one side, missing its arm and half of the torso. You checked his pulse, relieved to feel that it was still going, even if it was unsteady.

“Can you hear me?” you asked.

He didn’t respond and you reached up to remove his mask. His hand immediately snapped up to grab your wrist and you prepared to activate your quirk but all he did was push your arm away from his face.

Alright then. No touching the mask.

You bandaged the open wound on his side as best as you could. It looked like he had gotten launched through the building. Once he was as stable as he could be, you moved him to a safer area and jumped back into the fray. A ton of rescues later and the heroes had won, at the destruction of much property.

And, rather unsurprisingly, the villain you had saved was long gone.

Overhaul

There was a new drug running around the market. You had heard of a number of small-time villains taking it – most of them dying shortly after consumption. It wasn’t unheard of. If something had even the promise of a good time then it would attract thousands.

But what was a problem was that you had lost several of your newest underlings as a direct result of this drug.

Given how picky you were about hiring, this was going to be a problem.

You tracked the source to none other than the Shie Hassaikai. They were an old branch of the yakuza, sitting on the edge of a downward spiral into irrelevance. Rumors followed that their boss had fallen quite ill and now, it was only a matter of time until they fell completely on their faces.

So you didn’t feel too nervous when you approached the house that fronted their main base. Even with the members watching you from the bushes, you kept a straight line.

You weren’t unknown. It would do them a great disservice to attack you.

And they knew it.

You walked in the front door with absolutely no resistance and remained unsurprised when two masked men came out to greet you. They didn’t ask about your business or enquire as to who you were. Instead, they led you into a sitting room and gestured for you take a seat.

Instead of that, you walked around the room and picked up everything that looked interesting. Nothing was hidden around but you hadn’t expected there to be.

“Please don’t touch things without gloves on,” a smooth voice interrupted your curiosity. “Cleaning this entire house is rarely needed and I’d rather you didn’t change that.”

You turned around to find somebody considerably younger than you had expected for the head of the Shie Hassaikai. He wore their signature mask and a feathered coat, almost his entire body hidden in some way.

“Not a fan of germs?” you enquired.

“Not at all.”

You shrugged and made your way to the couch, sinking down into it. “Guess that means no drinks or anything? Oh well, that’s too bad.” You gestured for him to sit.  “So, you’re not who I was expecting.”

“You’ve never worked with our organisation before,” he said, sitting on the edge of the chair opposite you.

“No. You’re not in the same line of work as me and I don’t care too much about the Yakuza.”

“Then why are you here?”

You straightened, aware that you were about to get into the most dangerous part of the meeting. “Your drugs have been getting into my areas. Now, I don’t care all too much about how you distribute stock but it’s not just coming into possession of low-life criminals. My men are getting practically gifted it.”

His eyes narrowed. “We need to test it somehow. Besides, that sounds like a problem for you, no? Have better control of your men.”

“Keep your test tube shit out of my territories.”

A small staring contest took place – a test to see who would break first. You had been in almost a hundred of these over the course of your career. They didn’t bother you much at all in anymore.

Eventually he waved his hand through the air. “I guess we could stop supply to traders in your areas but this isn’t a charity.”

“I could kill your men.”

“But you would lose your own in the process. Wouldn’t it be easier to do this the peaceful way and maybe even establish a relationship between our two groups?”

“You have my attention. Don’t waste it.”

Kurogiri

There are those days when everything begins so well only to rapidly spiral into a situation out of your worst dreams. This was something like that.

You had gotten horribly caught in the crossfire of a battle between heroes and villains. It all occurred faster than you could have ever imagined – flashes of light and explosions of sound. People were screaming, the sound coming through a haze as you tried to get a grasp on what had happened.

Blood was trickling down your arm but you felt no pain. You slowly lifted your head. Something had hit you, you remembered that now as your brain caught up to the dull ache coming from your ribcage.

You tried to move, finding that you couldn’t. The ache became worse and a heavy, scraping sound interrupted your attempts to crawl away.

It was a piece of concrete, heavy and painful, pinning you effectively to the ground. A smaller chunk was holding it up and stopping you from being crushed. But if you moved too much…

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, nearly choking on the dust that filled the air. Maybe if you shifted slowly.

A crunching noise made you hiccup.

Alright, so that wasn’t going to work either. You strained your eyes to see through the carnage but you couldn’t make out any heroes. They would come eventually; you just had to wait patiently and try not to move too much.

The concrete seemed to get heavier still and you fought the desire to cry.

There was a crunching sound. You couldn’t just wait around.

Slow as you dared, you began to inch forward. The rough surface snagged at your clothing and made every centimeter feel like it was going to end with you crushed. Worse still, the more you moved, the more apparent the injury on your back became.

The blood that had been trickling down your arm was now creeping along your torso. It pooled in your clothes and made everything sticky.

You tried not to think about it but it made you light-headed regardless.

About half-way out, you spotted somebody nearby. It was just their silhouette but still, relief flooded your veins and you cried out desperately for help.

The figure made its way over to you, soon revealing that the man was almost entirely made of smoke. He wore a suit and tie but his body swirled as though only somewhat solid. Bright yellow eyes stared at you – any emotion behind them was completely unreadable.

His eyes traced your shape. “You’re not who I’m looking for.”

“Please help me. This thing’s going to crush me.”

He paused, the swirling darkness that made up his face shuddered as though it was unsure how to respond. “I should leave you here,” he mentioned. “You’re of no consequence to me or to my cause. If anything, I should add pressure to the piece of rubble and make sure the fatality numbers are higher.”

You caught of whimper before it could escape. “Please.”

His smoke shook again, almost as though he was struggling to keep hold of it. Then he raised a foot and placed it on the concrete.

You screwed your eyes shut and tried to imagine the best parts of life.

A loud horn blaring made you open them again and a surprised yelp escaped as you saw tires race past in front of you. People were shouting, their voices loud and nearby. Bright lights surrounded you and the air was clear once more.

The last thing you remembered seeing was a panicked nurse rushing over to you.

[doberbutts]

in regard to accommodations from employers, what do you do when a potential employer says they’ll have to check with licensing/HR/etc about u as an employee having a service dog with u during work hours? i’ve run into this same problem several times now n been unfairly denied jobs because of “licensing” 🙄 i know the logical solution is Don’t Take That Job but a bitch needs money

Really depends what they mean by it. I'd ask for clarification first, because 'licensing' can mean a couple of different things and employers aren't always up to date on how they need to phrase negotiations (which they should be but w/e). I would, regardless, consider this a yellow flag moment and depending what they mean can be enough for me to look elsewhere.

In many places in the US, all dogs including service dogs must be licensed. This is usually tied to rabies vaccination, microchip, and proof of ownership. It is legal to require this if all dogs within a state are required to be licensed. Some states will waive the license fee or steeply discount it if you have proof that it's a service dog, and they will usually give you a special tag for this that stands out from regular dog license tags. This is not required (service dog tags vs regular dog tags) but is a good idea if you live in one of these areas and will usually save you some money. If your job is looking for this tag, it's not legal for them to require specifically the service dog tag.

They may also be looking for some form of doctor's note or proof of need. This is legal to require. Most will ask for a doctor's note but in some cases other proof is accepted. The note does not need to say your diagnosis and in fact I strongly encourage you to not let your doctor put your exact diagnosis on the note. Medical privacy is very important.

Other proof that can take the place of a doctor's note is proof of training in the form of an organization's certificate (note: an org that HELPED YOU TRAIN YOUR DOG or TRAINED YOUR DOG FOR YOU, *N O T* a 'service dog registry') or in video or handwritten training logs. Service dog registries are always a scam and their certificates are not worth the paper they're printed on. Do not let your new boss pressure you into 'registering' your service dog through one of these predatory scam companies.

If none of these satisfy what they consider a 'license', then they are either not educated on what is legal to require from a service dog team or they are willfully ignorant. A friend of mine has been going rounds with a small pet store company that refuses to let him use his service dog at work due to 'potential liability'- effectively they are afraid his dog may attack someone or someone's dog without ever having even met his dog. This is NOT LEGAL however many companies are banking on you either not knowing or not having the money to get a lawyer and fight it, and unfortunately my friend is in the second category.

So, ask for clarification, and if it's something I've mentioned is a legal expectation, then do your best to provide it. Otherwise, you may want to consider alternate employment.