#I think I’m going to try to find a new primary care doctor in my college city because my physical health has taken a dip….

[mako-ink]

I want to draw so terribly, but my body always feels like it’s breaking down….. guhhh….. cruel world……..

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

The idea of finding a lump in your breast is scary. If this ever happens to you, you may panic and think about cancer - so let’s talk about what to do if this happens. 

It may feel like a hard irregular mass. Or you may feel like there’s a pea or a marble under your skin. Or maybe one area of your breast feels thickened (or just different) from the rest of it. Maybe it isn’t directly a lump but you feel like one breast, or a part of it, changed in size or color, looks dented or looks red/inflamed… in any of these cases, the first step you wanna take is a no-brainer:

You call your doctor, tell them what’s up and ask for an appointment. (This should ideally be a gynecologist, because they’re the experts on breast cancer. But if it’s difficult to get an appointment there or you feel more comfortable going to your primary care doctor, you may also call them first. They will send you on to a gynecologist if they consider it necessary.) 

The most important second step is: calm down. 

At first glance “calm down” may seem like bad advice here. Fear can be a helpful emotion because it motivates you to do the right thing in potential dangerous situations, and worrying about cancer when you find a lump in your breast is a good example for that - you need to worry about it, so you’ll take it seriously and get it checked out! An early diagnosis and quick treatment can save lives. 

But after you already took the right step and called your doctor, when all that’s left to do is waiting for your appointment, panicking is no longer helpful. The best thing you can do now is trying to stay calm and optimistic. Some facts that may help: 

If you are below 40, and especially if you are below 30, remember that breast cancer is considered possible but rare in your age group. (Important: this is not a free pass to just ignore breast changes! Get them checked out anyway! But it can be comforting to know that it’s not statistically likely that you’ll get a cancer diagnosis when getting them checked out.)

Regardless of age, even if you are above 40, know that there are plenty of other, more harmless explanations for breast changes, including lumps. Again, this doesn’t mean “don’t take it serious”, but it’s good to keep in mind while waiting for your doctor appointment: it could be something as simple as natural changes in your hormones (for example related to your period or to menopause), it could be a fibroadenoma (a benign lump that is completely harmless but can be surgically removed if it bothers you), it could be a simple cyst, it could be the result of a small injury you don’t even remember happening, it could even be a skin infection … 

About 20% of all lumps turn out to be cancer. That means that the chances are good that your doctors appointment will bring the relieving news that you don’t have it! Don’t think of it as “I definitely have cancer and need to go to the doctor because of that”, but as “I go to the doctor for peace of mind, to confirm that I do not have cancer”. 

Now you may think “But what if I’m in those 20%?”. Well, in that case, it would still be a good thing that you noticed that lump/change and got it checked out - in early stages, breast cancer is often curable with the right treatment! The sooner you get the diagnosis, the quicker you can start lifesaving treatment. If the cancer is caught and treated in an early stage, your survival chance is pretty high. At stage 1 or 2, almost all patients survive (over 90%)! Even at stage 3, more than 70% survive. So even if your lump turns out to be cancerous, it wouldn’t be an automatic death sentence. 

So, to recap: if it ever happens, take it seriously and call your doctor - but stay calm and optimistic while waiting for your appointment. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[ladyeyrewrites]

Bun in the Oven

Rated M

Chapter 1/4

2160 words

chapter One of the trans!Tommy mpreg episode 8X07 rewrite I posted a snippet of on Wednesday.

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

There was a knock on the door.

Buck frowned. It was a bit early for it to be Maddie and Chimney but maybe they’d lucked out with the traffic situation. He wiped his hands on his apron, stepped away from the stand mixer, and answered the door.

It wasn’t Maddie and Chimney.

Instead, Tommy’s broad frame filled his doorway.

Buck’s breath caught in his throat. “Tommy, hi,” he said. “I was just thinking about you.” It was true. Buck hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Tommy since he’d overcorrected after the whole Abby reveal and asked Tommy to move in only for Tommy to break up with him because of some bullshit about Buck breaking Tommy’s heart in the future. So, Buck had done the only logical thing: purchased a stand mixer and filled his fridge with baked goods.

Honestly, Buck wasn’t sure if he was more angry or sad about the whole situation, but he did know that his stomach still swooped at the sight of Tommy standing in his door and it took every bit of self-control not to lean in to give Tommy a kiss hello. Not to wrap his arms around Tommy and pull him inside and never let him go.

“Sorry, I should’ve called before just showing up,” said Tommy. “But I think I left one of my chargers here and I can’t find my other one. So, dead phone.” Tommy sounded on the verge of tears which seemed strange when he could’ve just gone out and bought a new charger rather than checking to see if he’d left one at Buck’s. But maybe it wasn’t about the charger, maybe Tommy just wanted an excuse to see Buck.

Or was Buck letting himself get his hopes up for no reason?

“I uh, haven’t seen it. But are you okay? You look like you’re about to cry.” He wanted to reach out and touch Tommy, to offer some sort of comfort, but that wasn’t his place anymore. Tommy had taken that away.

Tommy shook his head. “Mood swings,” he says.

“Yeah, well break ups will do that I guess,” said Buck.

“That and I think I’m still adjusting to my new birth control,” said Tommy. About a month before the break-up Tommy’s primary care physician had suddenly retired and Buck had helped Tommy scramble to find another in-network provider who understood the healthcare needs of trans men. It had been such a headache and then once they’d found a doctor he’d wanted to adjust Tommy’s dosages and change Tommy’s birth control method from an oral contraceptive to an implant in the hopes that it would lessen the daily dose of dysphoria Tommy got when taking the pill.

“Listen, Buck—” Tommy started.

Buck flinched. God, it sounded so wrong hearing his nickname coming out of Tommy’s lips. It made him want to scream. But he was trying to be mature about this. Trying to be civil. Trying not to cling since that was clearly what Tommy wanted, and Buck could respect that even if he hated it. “I found some of your shirts in the laundry,” Buck said before Tommy could say anything else that was probably going to break Buck’s heart again. “I was going to text you.” Which was maybe a lie, because sure Buck had thought about texting Tommy, but never about the shirts.

He'd composed texts with everything he’d wished he’d said to Tommy instead of letting him walk out the door that night.

Texts that devolved into spiteful rants.

<em>Miss you</em> texts.

<em>u up?</em> texts.

All deleted and transmuted into baked goods: cakes, cookies, scones, loafs, Baked Alaska.

It seemed Tommy wanted to look anywhere but directly at Buck, which was just another thing Buck had lost. Buck blinked against threatening tears as Tommy glanced around Buck’s loft, eyes taking in the subtle changes that had taken place since they’d broken up, until his gaze settled on the mess that was Buck’s kitchen island. “You’ve been baking.”

Sure, Buck had baked with Chris before to help out with a school bake sale since Eddie was so culinarily clueless, but he hadn’t really done it in his own time until he’d found out about Tommy’s sweet tooth. He’d been practicing to make something for Tommy’s birthday but then Tommy had to go and dump him. Bitterness spiked through him. “Yeah. Anytime I get the urge to call you, I just I channel the impulse into something positive, like Baked Alaska.”

Tommy’s face twisted with regret, eyes growing glassy. Buck wasn’t sure if that had been his intention or not, but maybe it would be good for Tommy to really see how much Buck had been thinking about him. So, Buck walked over to the fridge and pulled out three loaves, making sure the fridge door was opened wide enough for Tommy to see the extent of Buck’s foray into baking and how often he’d been thinking about reaching out. “Here, you should take some.” He plopped three loaves into Tommy’s unprotesting arms. “Here’s a lemon loaf, and a walnut loaf, and a pumpkin loaf.”

“That’s a lotta loaf,” Tommy managed to say. “Buck, I—”

“Hang on, let me go grab those shirts,” said Buck because hearing Tommy call him by his nickname rather than his name made him want to scream and he didn’t want to do that, not when Tommy looked like anything could cue the waterworks at any moment. So, Buck might have fled his kitchen, jogging upstairs to grab the reusable tote bag of Tommy’s tee shirts and flannels he’d accumulated over their six months together. That bag had been haunting him every night as he lay in bed – alone – trying to fall asleep, wondering if Tommy was also alone or if he’d already managed to find a rebound.

Buck hefted the bag and his heart panged. Once he gave this stuff back, Tommy would well and truly be gone from his life. There’d be no excuse for Buck to reach out. No trace that Tommy had ever been in his life save for the indelible mark he’d left on Buck’s heart. So, Buck did something maybe a little impulsive and indulgent; he snagged one of Tommy’s flannels out of the bag and shoved it under his pillow.

He was absolutely not going to bury his face in it and cry himself to sleep later.

As he was engaging in some of the most pathetic breakup behaviour ever, his kitchen timer went off downstairs.

“Buck, do you need me to do something?” Tommy shouted up the stairs, voice carrying over the shrill timer beep.

“Yeah, could you just grab the baked brie out of the oven?” he asked. He snagged his favourite Tommy t-shirt out of the bag and stashed it with the stolen flannel too. If Tommy was allowed to unceremoniously dump Buck, then Buck was allowed to steal his clothes and not return them.

Buck gave a satisfied nod and started down the stairs to join Tommy. He was halfway down when he heard Tommy gag. Buck looked up from his feet in time to see Tommy turn literally green before unceremoniously dumping Buck’s baked brie on the counter, bee-lining for the sink and vomiting down the drain.

Buck raced down the stairs, rushing to Tommy’s side and rubbing smoothing circles on his back before he even realised what he was doing. “Are you okay?”

“Are you sure that cheese is okay?” Tommy asked catching his breath. “It reeks.”

Buck frowned as he got down a glass and filled it with tap water for Tommy to rinse out his mouth. “Uh yeah,” he said. “And brie’s not a stinky cheese.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Tommy sagged, leaning against Buck’s counter. “But my sense of smell’s been really weird the last few weeks.”

A sinking feeling filled Buck’s stomach. This all sounded very familiar.

They’d always been so good about using protection and between birth control and testosterone Tommy hadn’t had a period in well over a decade. But there’d been that little lapse before Tommy had found his new doctor and oh, God they’d definitely had unprotected sex that one time when they were both a little tipsy after getting back from babysitting Eddie. “You’re pregnant,” Buck blurted before his brain could send his tongue anything more tactful to say.

Tommy turned white as a sheet, eyes going wide. “I can’t be,” he said. “We were always so careful—” he trailed off and from the way his eyebrows shot up into his hairline Buck bet that Tommy had just connected the same dots he had. “Shit. You might be right.” His hand went to the back of his neck in a self-comforting gesture and Buck recognised all the signs of Tommy starting to spiral that he’d steamrolled over the night Tommy had ended things.

The last thing he wanted was for Tommy to leave right now. And that was probably the last thing Tommy needed right now. “Okay,” said Buck. He put his hands on Tommy’s upper arms and gently guided him to one of the bar stools. “Sit. Breathe. I need to make a phone call and then we’re going to talk. Okay?”

Tommy nodded, gulping down an unsteady breath.

Buck fished his phone out of his apron pocket and dialled Maddie. “Hey Mads, you and Chimney haven’t left yet, have you?”

“No, the sitter’s running late,” said Maddie. “Why?”

“I’m gonna need to take a rain check,” he said. “Tommy’s here.”

“Oh!” said Maddie. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I don’t know yet,” said Buck.

“Well, let me know when you do,” said Maddie. “And take care of yourself.”

“Thanks, Mads,” Buck hung up and turned back to Tommy.

As soon as Buck’s eyes landed on his ex-boyfriend Tommy bolted up off the stool. “I should go,” he said. “You had plans and I should go.”

Buck took advantage of the fact that his legs were longer than Tommy’s and intercepted him before he reached the door.

“Buck move,” said Tommy. “I need to leave.”

“Nope,” said Buck. “I’m not going to let you walk away from me again. Not until I’ve said what I need to say, and we make a plan to move forward.”

“There is no moving forward,” said Tommy. “There is no “we” anymore. We broke up.”

“No, <em>you</em> broke up with me and left,” said Buck. “You didn’t let me say anything. You just decided on your own that there was no way I’d want you around in the future and then you left. Also, if you’re pregnant, I want to be there for you no matter what you decide to do, even if it’s just as a friend.” Because even though Buck so desperately wanted more, now wasn’t the time to say as much.

“It’s probably just a stomach bug,” said Tommy.

“If you really believed that you wouldn’t be running away,” said Buck.

Tommy flinched and Buck hated himself a little, but he needed to say everything that had been circling through his head in the time since Tommy had broken things off. “I don’t know what happened that made you think you could never be my last,” said Buck, speaking carefully so he wouldn’t say something he’d regret. “I know nothing I say right now is gonna convince you of the truth because now there’s maybe a baby involved and that complicates things, but I really wanted you to be my last Tommy. I still do. And this isn’t me asking you to change your mind about breaking up, but maybe it’s me asking you to trust that I actually know what I want. And what I want is to be there for you no matter what’s going on, in whatever way you’ll let me. Please let me.”

Tommy sighed and he looked at Buck so tenderly, despite the dark circles under his eyes that Buck had to dig his fingernails into his palms to keep himself from reaching out and cupping Tommy’s face in his hands to try to rub some of that fear and exhaustion away. “Okay,” said Tommy. He backed away from the door, returning to the bar stool at Buck’s kitchen island.

“I guess we should probably see if you really are pregnant,” said Buck, relief flooding through him.

“Probably,” said Tommy.

“I can run to the drug store and grab a few tests,” said Buck. “But you have to promise not to go anywhere.” He fixed Tommy with a meaningful look until Tommy met his gaze and nodded. Buck took his apron off and grabbed his wallet and keys.

“You promise?” Buck asked.

“Yeah, Evan, I promise,” Tommy snapped.

Buck grinned.

“What?” Tommy asked.

“You called me Evan,” said Buck and Tommy probably hadn’t meant anything by it. It was clearly a slip up, but it soothed something within Buck to hear Tommy call him that.

Tagging those who asked and those who seemed interested:

@silversky9 @unhingedangstaddict @ironspiderdad12 @beanarie @sporadicmakerwerewolf @azaharinflames @aisatsana441 @bugboybuck

[tumbling-through-deepspace]

The Hunter, a baby and the unexpected forming of family in unlikely places: Chapter Two

Summary:

Hunter Lyssa Williams finds a baby abandoned outside her apartment complex. The 24-year-old is way over her head and does not know the first thing about looking after a tiny human. However, as the saying goes, 'it takes a village to raise a child' and in her case a group of unlikely men come along for the ride.

Genres: Slice of life, comfort, eventual relationships, eventual romance, enemies to friends, frenemies, fluff...

Word count: 2105 words

Eventual Relationships: Xavier/MC/Rafayel

Zayne/Sylus/Lyssa

Chapter Two: Visitors and Concerns

Zayne did not know what to say as he sat across from Lyssa. The young woman in question was glaring at him while trying not to fall asleep. He could see how tired she was. Her hair was unkept, sticking in all directions, there were stains on her clothes, dark circles under her eyes.

“Are you alright?”

“Doctor Zayne, I know this is not a social call and I have no energy to talk to adults right now. So, can you tell me why you are here?”

“It is very inconsiderate to cut off all communication considering that there are people worried about you.”

“The people that I know who would be most worried were here a week ago. I am not aware that there were others. I’m not a very social person and only those who I allow to get close to me know what I’m like.”

She watched as he slightly tilted him head “That is where you are mistaken. Jasmin and Tara, Doctor Waverly, and your captain they all were worried.”

Lyssa felt a headache develop. She just wanted to sleep and this talk about people that she hardly associates herself with unless it’s work, or the hospital made her skin crawl. She wasn’t exaggerating when she confessed to not being a social person.

“Go away.”

“It is not advisable for you to be isolated especially when you look like you’re about to faint.”

“I’ll manage. Hunter training is more intense than this and I’ve gone days without sleep before.”

“Research would debunk that claim. It is more taxing taking care of a newborn than working any job.”

Lyssa couldn’t help herself, she did hiss at him, annoyed that he was in her home when she just wanted to be left alone. Why did he care? They weren’t friends.

“You’re infuriating. Get out of my nest Zayne. The faster you leave the better; I can return to taking a nap while my daughter is having hers.”

The two looked at each other for a few moments. Zayne was the first to break eye contact and he rose from his seat preparing to head out

“Ms. Williams as a medical professional I strongly advise that you have some support to help with the strain of your duties. You won’t be helping your daughter if you are not 100%. Is the other parent not involved?”

“Non-existent.”

Taking that as the cue to leave, Zayne let himself out quietly closing the door behind him.

Doctor Waverly blinking twice in disbelief “Forgive me but I think I misheard you.”

Zayne let out a sigh “You heard me quite clearly.”

Both doctors sat in silence each lost in their own thoughts. Doctor Waverly was perplexed; in the years that he was Lyssa’s primary care physician, there was nothing within her anatomy that indicated that she could carry children to term; it was a 25% chance.

He remembered how devastated the young woman was when being told this; she had her annual physical examination at that time and wanted to know if she could have children. Now it seems that that 25% came through. However, the question going through his mind is ‘why didn’t she trust him— her doctor—to guide her and offer this medical input?’

Then there was the situation with her Evol that needs to be taken into consideration; Her Evol was a wind manipulation type as the primary strand but there was a second strand present. So far, the Evol type was unknown. The primary Evol tied into her phobia of being touched.

How did that work for her? Letting anyone new to touch her caused Lyssa’s Evol to react erratically. With her having to constantly be holding and tending to a newborn, how was she coping? How was the state of her Evol? The fact that Doctor Zayne witnessed that there was no presence of her Evol or of it acting out when holding the baby, indicated something positive. Sometimes Lyssa baffled him.

Doctor Zayne on the other hand couldn’t get the image of Lyssa out of his head. He had never seen her so vulnerable; even though there were traces of sleepiness and fatigue, she looked so soft and delicate. A complete opposite of her normal stoic expression and guarded body language. It awoke a feeling in his chest and with her holding a baby—his thoughts shifted to a domesticated scene.

Then there was the baby. The situation baffled him a bit. Like, when was she pregnant? How did no one notice? Who was the father of the child? Lyssa said they were non-existent. Zayne had a ton of questions and not enough answers.

From what little he could see of her daughter, the baby has a head of white hair with hints of purple, a lighter shade of her mother’s. The little girl was also small, so she could be a pre-term baby or maybe the child was just naturally small.

He couldn’t understand why he had an urge to return to her side. They both met through Doctor Waverly because Jasmin and Lyssa have similar health issues with their Evols and since he has been handling Jasmin’s case for a few years, had more experience than his colleague who came to him for advice.

Over a few years they would cross paths and even though Lyssa would be polite and engage in small talk, she kept her distance and never pried into his personal life; yes, there were times when she would be exposed to his co-workers’ shenanigans and found out small things about him but he didn’t mind.

It was a relief at his end because he has had many instances throughout his medical career dealing with patients who would flirt, try to dig for information and who crossed boundaries. The encounters would leave him uncomfortable.

There were times—when he allowed his mind to stray—his thoughts would aim towards her. Any new thing he picked up about Lyssa was a result of Jasmin (who can be a chatterbox at times), and it was worse with Tara being present.

He learned that she bakes, and she crochets. That she loves books and has quite a temper, but it comes out in the form of expletive venting or violent silence with a piercing stare (Tara’s exact words on the last part).

Zayne had to stop himself from smiling because he could picture Lyssa doing something like that. Afterall, he has been on the receiving end of a few stares.

The idea of her taking this on alone caused him to frown. What of her work? Captain Jenna said that Lyssa was on a mission around the time he reached out. Clearly the baby couldn’t be the mission she spoke about; no that wasn’t it.

He did reach back out after no one could get on to her, not even the captain. It was then Zayne shared with her that Lyssa missed her appointment and about the fake address. That resulted in her explaining that the address wasn’t exactly fake, it was used as a means of cover. Lyssa’s apartment was a few doors down from the Bakery and if he truly wanted to find her, she would most likely be there. That is how he got the building and her apartment number.

So, he took a gamble, and it paid off because she was there, but would she stay there now that she was found out?

“Alexandra? What are you doing here?”

“Well hello to you too Tweets. Where is my niece?”

Lyssa rolled her eyes “Hello Alexandra. I am fine, thank you for asking.”

The woman laughed “Alright, enough with the sass. Let me in.” She then swept Lyssa into a hug “Missed you Tweets, you need to come visit, it’s not the same without you around.”

Trying not to get misty-eyed, she let Alexandra into the apartment and guided her towards the living room where little Ella was lying in the baby swing.

“Holy shit, it seems Roman’s injection worked. She already has some of your features and hair coloring. Was white her natural hair color when you found her?”

“Roman is a dam scientific genius, I almost didn’t believe it when Dox said they had a way to make sure she was mine. Imagine my surprise when Roman explained they could alter her DNA to match mine, so if anyone did any test it would show she was my daughter. Yeah, white hair and hazel eyes.”

Alexandra sanitized her hands before taking the baby into her arms “Well he only created that serum because of you and Enid.”

“We told him not to, so stubborn that one but I guess in hindsight I’m happy he did. Now, enough about that big marshmallow, what brings you to Linkon? I know the N109 zone can’t be that boring.”

The two women giggled as Ella began babbling and tugged Alexandra’s hair “Aww, we aren’t giving you enough attention chick.”

Lyssa groaned “Please do not start giving her bird nicknames too.”

“I don’t have to have a reason to come and see you Lyssa. If you won’t make the effort, I will. Things aren’t boring per say but I just needed to get out of there for a few days cause of some heat.”

They entered the kitchen with Lyssa bringing out a carrot cake and cutting out two slices “Are you lot causing trouble again?”

“Not us. There is this group of arm dealers that got on the bad side of one of the big ones on top the food chain and the whole N109 zone is tense waiting for shit to hit the fan. Just didn’t want to be around when that happens. Can I crash here?”

Lyssa laughed “That was clearly a reason for coming to see me. You don’t do anything without reason. Sure, you can stay. Any idea who was pissed off?”

“Move to the N109 zone if you want the tea, tweets.”

“Not when I have that little one to look after.”

“Wusspuss.”

“Come on Alexandra… Please. I’ve been cooped up and you always got all the juicy info. Entertain me.”

“No way. I am not giving you any names, not with you still employed with the Hunter’s Association.”

Lyssa grinned slyly “Oh! It’s someone on the association’s radar. Dam, I don’t feel sorry for the folks that pissed of whoever it is.”

Alex raised a brow “Don’t go poking your nose into business that doesn’t concern you tweets, no matter how tempting it may be.”

“I won’t.”

“Give me a vow that you won’t”

Kissing her teeth, Lyssa shook her head “I will do no such thing, not even for you. The last vow I took nearly got me killed. Look, I won’t be doing any snooping; got a baby to take care of and I’m on indefinite leave from the Association, so I’m going to take that time to relax and embrace motherhood.”

Alexandra huffed and grumbled under her breath in another language “Whatever. Let’s go out, show me the neighborhood. I refuse to have you stay indoors when the weather is beautiful, and the chick can take in the wonders of the great outdoors.”

“Have I ever told you I love yah?”

“You don’t say it enough. I deserve it after having to put up with all of you.”

A hooded figure trailed behind the unsuspecting pair, blending seamlessly with the crowd. Both women possessed the same height with almost similar body types. One having sun-kissed skin, waist length chestnut colored hair, grey-blue eyes and a battle scar running along her left cheek. They were tasked with finding out why she vacated from the zone when a missive was sent out that no one was to leave.

The other woman had purple hair, chocolate colored skin, light violet eyes, and a beauty mark under her left one. They observed that this one was supporting something in her hands, cocooned in a wrap, and it took them only a split second to realize it was a baby.

Well, that was something they never encountered on a mission. Something worth reporting. They continued following the women until they entered an arcade. Only staying a few seconds, the stranger was preparing to turn away when they felt eyes on them. Looking up, he saw the woman with violet eyes staring right at him, a faint purple glow coming off her body.

It should have been near impossible for her to notice them. Not wasting another second, they turned around and vanished from view. It was time to hand in their findings.

[roxy206]

I may have gone through all of my coworker crush posts to tag them & I’m surprised I haven’t posted more about him lol

Here are some random things I’m surprised I hadn’t mentioned in case anyone is interested

The first time we sat in the same desk pod & I had to move he offered to help move my things

I had to tell him three times when he first grew a beard how much it suits him, because a few people were telling him to shave it & I had to find the most chill way to be like don’t you fucking dare shave it 😂

Early on when we started our weekly lunch / walk routine I realized how much talking to him helped me clear my mind in the middle of a stressful day & I told him that & thanked him, & he told me that it’s good for him too

I’ve heard him talk to his dad on the phone a few times & he mentions me by name without having to explain who I am

Once when he was on the phone with his dad he was saying something about our weekly routine, but he paused after saying “weekly” like he wasn’t sure what to call it

During one of the rare Friday game meetings I went to, coworker crush & I wound up on the same team & sitting next to each other. We spent pretty much the entire hour with our legs pressed against the others & teasing each other about movies / movie trivia. At one point I put my arm on his bicep

The last time he wasn’t feeling well coincided with a rough patch I was going through with work & I think he used checking in on me as an excuse for physical touch that he needed because he was feeling off. There were a lot of shoulder & back rubs

I made him find a new doctor (& helped) & book an appointment & he thanked me after he booked the appointment saying if it worked out he would be eternally grateful, & he thanked me after the appointment saying if it wasn’t for me he still wouldn’t have a primary care doctor

One day I mentioned to him how I was trying to network & he made a recommendation of checking for their interests to bring them up in conversation & then he was like you’ll charm the pants off them

Once we were talking about how we’ve both been to the Grand Canyon & that we both went in August, & potentially it was the same year (over a decade ago) & he was like imagine if we were both there at the same time

We were talking about when we were growing up & I mentioned the town one of my aunts & one of my uncles lived in — that town goes to the same regional high school he went to & he was like imagine if you had grown up there, we would have gone to high school together

He watched Hocus Pocus this weekend after I mentioned last week that I watch it at least once a year

[steddieworks]

finally safe for me to fall - chapter 3

hi! sorry this update is a little later in the day than usual, I've had a rough weekend! Enjoy the chapter!

read on ao3

Summary: Eddie settles into his new home with the Harringtons.

Warnings for this chapter: Swearing

Words: 6k

It doesn’t take Eddie long to unpack his duffel bag. He hangs his shirts up with care, and folds his jeans and sticks them neatly into the top drawer of the dresser. He puts his socks and underwear in the next one over, and by then the duffel bag only holds a few cassettes, a sketchbook, and a lame gag gift a friend back home had given him. How embarrassing.

Eddie sits on the bed for a little while, trying to wrap his head around everything he’ll need to learn to be good at this job. All the ways he could fuck up taunt him somewhere in the dark corners of his mind, and he kindly tells those little voices to take a goddamn hike. He can do this. He doesn’t really have a choice.

He emerges from his room eventually, leaving his leather jacket and his boots behind. He feels a little awkward walking down the hall in such casual attire, in someone else’s house, but he forces himself into his fake-it-to-make-it persona. Technically, it’s his house too, now. He’s got every right to be here.

The little pep talk does nothing for him when he reaches the kitchen and finds Steve standing at the bar, his head bowed as he writes something. He’s got on a pair of glasses now, and Eddie’s throat closes a little bit at the sight. God, he’s gorgeous.

The twins spot him before Steve does, Ivy perking up from her spot on the floor across the room. “Eddie, can I show you my coloring page?” she asks excitedly, jumping up and waving a paper around above her head.

At the commotion, Steve glances up, smiling at Eddie. His eyes dart down, and Eddie isn’t sure if he’s imagining the subtle once-over he gives him. “Hey. Everything unpacked?” Steve asks.

Eddie nods, but turns around to answer the patient little girl first. “Sure, Ivy, let me see,” he meets her halfway, crouching down again and letting her explain why she chose this particular pink for the mermaid’s tail, but this particular pink for her hair.

When he glances up, Steve has a soft look on his face. He’s not quite smiling, but it’s close. “Alright, Ive,” he says gently. “Daddy needs to tell Eddie a few more things, so save your coloring sheet to show him later, okay?”

Ivy looks disappointed, but nods, going back to the coffee table. Eddie watches her poke at Jasmine’s paper, suggesting a color or something, and he can’t help how full his heart feels at the sight.

“They’re so excited to have someone else to show their things to,” Steve says, interrupting Eddie’s train of thought. Steve shrugs at him. “Rule one of children, they want to share everything with you.”

Eddie laughs. “Yeah, I see that.” He walks around the counter to peer down at whatever Steve was working on. “You said you had some more things to tell me?” he asks.

Steve nods, picking his pen back up. “Right. I’m jotting down some things so you’ll have like, a cheat sheet. School at seven-fifteen, pick them up at three, dance lessons on Thursdays, that sort of thing.”

Eddie nods. He leans forward, propping himself up on the counter with his arms as he watches Steve write. They’re close enough that he can smell that same, distinct Alpha smell, the bourbon-touched vanilla, and Eddie almost has to breathe through his mouth to look less like a sniffing freak.

“I’m leaving important phone numbers too- myself, Robin, their primary doctor, all that stuff.” Steve seems to think for a moment, chewing on the end of the pen absently. Eddie has to look away. “Oh, allergies. Neither of them can have strawberries, okay? They’ll break out in the worst way, and Jasmine even stopped breathing the last time she accidentally had one.”

That’s good to know, Eddie thinks. He never would’ve thought to ask about their allergies.

Steve glances at the list, seems to be pleased with it after a minute, and goes to pin it to the fridge using a magnet. “I’ll leave it here so it’s easier to refer to, okay?”

Eddie nods. He glances at the clock, sees that it’s almost time for dinner. “What time do you guys usually eat dinner?”

“Usually about six, since I like to try and get them in bed early.” Steve hesitates then. “There will probably be days where I’m not home by then, though, so you’ll have to go ahead and make their dinner. I’ll just eat later those nights, or grab something on my way home.”

Eddie isn’t sure why, but that makes him sad. The stupid omega part of his brain says that it’s not right for an alpha to not come home to a home-cooked meal to be shared with their family. He has to snap himself out of that train of thought quickly though, reminding himself firmly that he is not Steve’s omega, never will be.

“Alright,” Eddie says quietly.

“Girls? What are we feeling for dinner tonight?” Steve calls, glancing over at his daughters as he crosses his arms. He smiles when they both come bounding over, holding an arm out as Jasmine sidles up beside him, leaning against his leg.

“Can we have soup? And grilled cheese?” Ivy asks, climbing onto one of the barstools on the other side of the island. She’s not sitting on her bottom, and Eddie bites back the urge to correct her.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to. “Put your butt in that seat, missy, we don’t sit like wild animals in this house,” Steve says, pointing a finger at her.

She obeys, but grins, like she was just testing him. “Can we? Grilled cheese? Please?” She repeats, her voice getting higher and higher with each word.

Steve sighs, runs his fingers through Jasmine’s hair. “Does that sound okay with you, Jazz?”

Jasmine nods. “I guess so.”

“You have to eat the crusts if I make grilled cheese,” Steve adds, glancing between the two of them. “We’re not going to waste the bread just for you to nibble out of the middle and leave the best part.”

Ivy whines. Eddie has to bite his lip to hide his smile. “But Daddy,” she whines. “The crust is nasty!”

Eddie interjects then, shaking his head like he’d just heard something crazy. “I’m sorry, what? The crust is delicious! It’s got all the magic!”

Jasmine peeks up at him, looking intrigued. “Magic bread?” She asks.

Eddie grins. “Uh, yeah? Didn’t you know that eating the crust will make you grow big and strong?”

Ivy makes a disgusted noise. “I don’t wanna be big and strong,” she complains. “I wanna have mermaid hair.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You’re not dyeing your hair, so let’s drop that one, okay?”

Ivy pouts. “Fine,” she said. She looks at Eddie then, squinting. “Is that your real hair?” She asks, sounding skeptical.

Eddie can’t help the snort that comes out of him. “Uh, yeah, as far as I’m aware.”

“Is it very long?” Jasmine asks, stepping away from Steve to look up at Eddie.

Shrugging, Eddie reaches up and tugs the hair tie out, his curls falling around his shoulders like they normally do. “It’s a little long,” he admits with a smirk when both of the girls look at him with dumbfounded expressions. Even Steve looks a little speechless.

“Wow,” Jasmine says. “It’s so curly,” she says, reaching her hand out like she wants to touch it.

Eddie crouches down and lets her do just that. “You wanna know why?” he asks, in a conspiratorial whisper. When the girl nods, he leans in and says, “it’s because I ate my crusts!”

Jasmine nods, like he’s already won her over, but Ivy still protests from the bar. “Daddy, is that true?” she demands.

Steve’s smiling when Eddie glances up at him. “Well, yeah. Eddie wouldn’t lie to you over something so serious, guys.” He glances down at him, and winks, the bastard. Eddie tries not to blush.

“Yup,” Eddie agrees. He stands, and feels his heart squeeze a little bit when Jasmine looks disappointed. He’s quick to come up with a compromise. “Do you guys know how to braid?” he asks the twins.

Ivy nods, but looks unsure. “Well… sorta. Daddy tried to teach us.” She gestures at her messy hair, and Eddie can’t help but laugh. “That’s how we end up with disasters like this.”

“Hey,” Steve protests weakly. His face is definitely a little pinker. “I tried my best.”

Eddie gives him a reassuring smile. “I’ll teach you guys how to braid later, and you can practice on my hair, okay?”

The twins nod excitedly, both of them chorusing their agreement. Eddie’s proud of himself for the easy bonding idea, reaching up to tie his hair back again before turning to Steve. Steve’s already looking right back at him. “So, soup?” he asks lightly, pretending having Steve’s eyes on him doesn’t make him nervous.

Steve seems to shake himself, but nods. “Yeah. Um… I’ll do soup if you’ll do the grilled cheese?” he asks.

Eddie smiles. He loves the idea of cooking together, a lot. “Sure,” he agrees. He goes over to the sink to wash his hands, pushing up the sleeves of his long-sleeve tee. He hears a gasp from across the bar, and glances up, a little startled. “What?” he asks, staring at Ivy, who is in turn, staring at Eddie’s arms.

“You have drawings!” the child squeals excitedly, practically climbing onto the counter to get a better look.

“Ivy Bryn, sit down,” Steve’s voice says from behind him. When Eddie glances back, he finds that Steve also looks slightly curious, but glances back to his daughter and gives her a look. “I mean it, get off the counter, missy.”

Ivy sighs, and sort of listens, crawling from one bar stool to another until she’s sitting in the one directly across from where Eddie is standing. “Where did you get them?” Ivy asks, studying the tattoos on Eddie’s arm.

“Oh, um…” He says, glancing down at them himself. “Just tattoo places.”

Jasmine tugs on his sleeve from beside him, so he moves his arm so she can see. “Wow,” she says softly, poking at the bats next to his elbow. “Pretty,” she observes sweetly.

Eddie smiles at her, rubs his hand over her hair. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. He turns his arm over so she can see the other one.

“What’s that one?” Ivy asks, leaning over the counter to look.

“Oh, it’s…” He glances at Steve, wondering if he should even bother explaining it. Steve shrugs, but nods like it’s okay. “It’s a puppet master’s hand, and his puppet is a demon.”

“Cool,” Jasmine whispers, her voice full of awe.

Eddie grins. “I know, right?” He dries his hands off on the towel beside the sink before turning to look for the bread.

“Here,” Steve says, handing it over. “Pan’s in the bottom drawer of the stove,” he says, gesturing to it as he goes to the fridge and starts pulling out butter and cheese. “Why’d you get those tattoos?” He asks, glancing at him over the fridge door.

It’s a simple enough question, but Eddie’s a little embarrassed of the answer. “Well, um… bats are my favorite animal,” he starts slowly. “And, um… I really like Metallica.”

Steve stares at him like he doesn’t understand the correlation. Dear god. “Oh,” he says, vaguely.

Eddie has to smile, shaking his head subtly as he takes the items out of Steve’s hands. “‘Master of Puppets’? Ever heard of it?” Eddie asks, thinking that it’ll for sure ring a bell.

Steve shakes his head, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry, no. Not really my wheelhouse.”

Eddie feigns a dramatic sigh. “It’s okay, not everyone can be cultured,” he teases.

It has the intended effect, and Steve’s head drops back in a loud laugh. “Right, of course,” he says, very obviously pretending to agree. He goes over to a cabinet and pulls two cans of tomato soup out, and Eddie tries not to show his surprise. He would’ve thought for sure that rich people made all their stuff from scratch, so he’s a little surprised to see the familiar Campbell’s can.

“Good choice,” Eddie says, nodding at it.

Steve smiles. “Thanks. It’s their favorite kind. I’m not a huge fan, but it’s edible enough.”

Eddie nods, watching butter sizzle in the pan he’s working with. “You know milk makes it taste better,” he offers.

“No shit?” Steve says, sounding surprised. “I don’t think I’ve ever put milk in it before.”

“Oh yeah, you’ve gotta put milk,” Eddie tells him emphatically. “Or even heavy cream, that makes it even better. Otherwise you’re just drinking ketchup, right?”

Steve wrinkles his nose, but laughs. “Yeah, you’re right. We’ll try that this time, then.”

It’s mostly quiet after that, the two of them moving around the kitchen, preparing dinner while the twins chat aimlessly at the counter behind them. Every now and then, Steve steps too close, brushes his arm against Eddies, does something that makes Eddie hold his breath. He knows none of it is intentional, of course, but that doesn’t make it feel any less electric. Eddie’s just glad he remembered to spritz himself with scent blockers that morning, or else this would probably be very embarrassing indeed.

When everything is finished, Steve goes through and pours soup into four bowls while Eddie cuts each grilled cheese sandwich diagonally, which personally, he thinks is the tastiest shape. They put the food in front of the girls, and Eddie smiles when they immediately say “thank you.” They’re such good kids.

“We’ve got coke, water, or wine,” Steve informs Eddie from where he stands at the fridge. He glances at him, his glasses shoved up into his hair, and Eddie can’t help but think how soft he looks.

“Oh, um. Water is fine,” Eddie finally says after just staring at him for a moment too long.

Steve nods and goes about making drinks for the girls. Eddie watches him poor little travel-sized Kool-aid pouches into their glasses, and he smiles. Steve must catch him, because he says, “I would’ve offered you this but I didn’t want to insult you with my child-based selection,” he jokes.

Eddie laughs, shakes his head. “Right. Yeah, I think I’ll just stick to water.” He walks around the kitchen island with his own bowl, taking the seat next to Jasmine. “Is it pretty good?” He asks, glancing at each of them in turn.

Jasmine gives him a thumbs-up, slurping her soup loudly. Ivy is dunking the edge of her grilled cheese into the soup, looking at the crust like she’s not sure it can be trusted. It makes Eddie giggle. “It’s not gonna bite you, love,” he tells her.

Ivy gives him a sheepish look. “I know,” she says. She bites into it, and apparently it’s not as bad as she expects, because she continues eating, half of her grilled cheese gone just like that.

Eddie smiles, catching Steve’s eye for a moment. “Not so bad, was it?” Steve asks, setting drinks down in front of the twins and going back for his and Eddie’s. He takes the seat at the opposite end of the bar, on the seat next to Ivy.

“I guess not,” Ivy shrugs, but sounds like she doesn’t want to admit that they were right. Eddie can relate to that.

They eat in relative silence, the twins asking Eddie questions every now and then.

“Where are you from?”

“How old are you?”

“Do you like princesses?”

“Do you have kids?”

“Why not?”

By the time those types of questions roll around, Eddie is a bit frazzled.

“That’s enough,” Steve interrupts when Ivy innocently asks Eddie why he doesn’t have children of his own. “It’s not appropriate to ask someone those kinds of questions, girls.”

“But, Daddy - “ Ivy tries to interrupt.

Steve cuts her off with a sharp look. “No. Finish your dinner quietly. I don’t want to hear you two asking Eddie that question again, got it?”

“Mr. Harrington…” Eddie starts, a little hurt on the twins’ behalf. They couldn’t help being curious.

Steve glances at him. “Steve,” he corrects.

Eddie feels his face flush. He will not be calling him that. “They’re not hurting anything,” he says quietly. “I don’t mind them asking.”

“Well, I do,” Steve says, giving Eddie a deadpan look. “It’s none of our business,” he says, glancing at each of the twins pointedly.

Eddie thinks maybe he’s missing something, but he’s not sure what it is.

“Sorry,” Jasmine says quietly from beside Eddie.

“Yeah, sorry,” Ivy repeats, poking at the last bit of grilled cheese on her plate.

Steve sighs. “Are you guys finished eating?” he asks. When they nod, he gestures to the hall. “Alright. Go put your pajamas on. We’ll watch a movie before bed, yeah?”

That perks them right back up, much to Eddie’s relief. He didn’t think he could stand to see them so disappointed for long. As soon as the room is empty once more, he stands, collecting dishes and sparing glances at Steve. Steve’s got his head in his hand, and looks the picture of exhaustion.

“Everything okay?” Eddie asks, timidly.

Steve glances up at him, and looks briefly embarrassed. “Oh, yeah. Just… tired, I guess.” Eddie can feel his eyes on him as he piles their dishes into the sink, but he pretends that he doesn’t. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Steve clears his throat. “So, your days off. We need to discuss that.”

“Oh… okay,” Eddie says.

“Since I work during the week, it’d be easier if I just let you have Saturday and Sunday, if that’s alright with you,” Steve says.

Eddie nods, glancing up at him as he starts running water into the sink. Steve hasn’t tried to stop him yet, so Eddie gives himself a mental high five, since clearly he’s doing something right. “That’s fine with me,” he says. “And honestly, just one day would be enough. Not like I’ve got anything else to do, anyway.”

Steve gives him an odd look. “No, I want you to have a life outside of this, Eddie. I know you’re new to the city, but I can recommend places for you to check out, and you could meet new people, make friends.” Steve shrugs, like it’s that easy.

Eddie bites his lip, but doesn’t correct him. “Okay,” he replies softly, scrubbing the bowls under the hot dishwater.

“And one more thing,” Steve says. His voice sounds a bit different, and Eddie is confused when he looks up and finds a sort of embarrassed expression on his face. “Um, your heat.”

Ah. That explains the embarrassment.

“Oh,” Eddie says. He feels awkward talking about it so casually with the man who is going to be paying his salary, but he supposes it’s inevitable. “I’m on suppressants. I haven’t had a heat in over a year.” He hopes that’s not too much oversharing, but surely given the scope of the question, it’s alright.

Steve nods. “Alright. And you think you’ll be on suppressants for the foreseeable future?” he asks.

“Um,” Eddie starts, unsure how to answer. “Probably?” He’s not sure why Steve is asking that. Typically, omegas are on heat suppressants until their alpha decides it’s time to have pups, although in that scenario, the suppressants are probably more of a precaution so there are no pre-mating accidents. Steve already knows Eddie’s certainty that he won’t be having children, and he has no alpha, so to him, it’s a silly question.

Steve only nods again, looking satisfied enough with the answer. “Well, if that changes, please let me know so I know what days I’ll have to make other arrangements for, okay?”

That sounds like a sensible request. Heats typically take up to a few days to pass, and it would certainly put Steve in a bind if he didn’t have childcare for that long.

“Sure,” Eddie says neutrally when he does finally answer.

Luckily they’re spared any more embarrassing heat talk by the sound of the twins returning, both of them dressed in Hello Kitty pajamas. They look adorable, of course.

“Did you brush your teeth?” Steve asks, turning to look at them. They nod, and his eyes narrow. Eddie smirks down at the dishes he’s almost finished washing. “Did you brush your hair?” He asks, glancing pointedly at Ivy, whose hair very obviously hasn’t been touched.

“Um…” She says, hesitating.

“If you give me a couple minutes, I’ll brush it,” Eddie says from the sink, smiling over at the girls. He glances at Steve then, a little sheepish. “If that’s okay?”

Steve smiles and nods at him. “Yeah, that’s fine with me. Go get your brushes, girls.”

They scurry out of the room once more, and Steve turns to look at Eddie. “I know they can do it on their own,” Eddie offers, feeling a little silly. He rinses the last cup, places it in the drainboard, and grabs the hand towel next to the sink. “I just like doing that sort of thing.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says, his voice soft. “I think it’s sweet. I usually insist that they take good care of their hair, and I can buy all the good products, but actually styling their hair? Forget it. It’s long and curly, and I’ve got no idea what to do with that.”

Eddie grins. “Well, as it turns out, I know a guy, so you’re in luck.”

Steve smiles at him, that same vague, soft thing that makes Eddie’s heart race a little. “Good,” he says. “They’ll be thrilled to have someone who knows what the hell they’re doing.”

The girls come bouncing back in then, and Eddie notices that each of them now have hair ties on their wrists, too. “Can you braid it?” Ivy asks excitedly, holding out her hairbrush first.

Eddie laughs at their enthusiasm, but nods. “Sure. Come on, let’s go sit down. Jasmine, you can watch me braid Ivy’s and she can watch me braid yours, and then you guys can practice on my hair, okay?”

The twins very vocally agree with that, and Eddie gives Steve a little grin as the twins lead him into the living room. Steve follows behind, turning the tv on and searching for a movie while Eddie gets situated on one end of the plush sofa, patting the spot in front of him for Ivy to come sit. They’re on the long sofa against the window, and this way, they’re actually fully facing the tv, not just the coffee table and kitchen, which Eddie thinks works out quite nicely.

“Alright, c’mere, Jazz. You’ve gotta stand over here to see what I’m doing,” Eddie instructs.

Jasmine dutifully comes to his side, and he scooches over as far as he can so she can sit right next to his hip. He talks quietly to them as he takes Ivy’s hair out of the bun, explaining to them that curly hair should be combed while it’s wet, but never brushed while it’s dry unless it’s being braided or something. “You don’t want it to be frizzy, okay?”

They both nod, and Eddie smiles at how raptly they seem to be paying attention. He pretends he doesn’t feel Steve watching them from the armchair next to the sofa, but his presence is there, loud in the silence that radiates from where he sits. He’s turned on some film that Eddie can’t remember the name of, and he’s pretty positive none of them are paying attention to it.

He brushes Ivy’s hair softly, starting at the ends and detangling upwards slowly. At one point he brushes through a hidden tangle, and she yelps. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” Eddie says, immediately leaning in and kissing the spot on her head where he’d yanked her hair, petting over it like that’ll ease the sting. “I didn’t even see that tangle. I’m so sorry.”

“‘S okay,” Ivy says, shrugging like it didn’t bother her at all.

“They’re not tender-headed, are they?” Eddie asks, turning to glance at Steve.

Steve waves his hand in a noncommittal “sort-of” gesture. “Eh, not too bad. Jazz is a little more touchy about it, though.”

Eddie nods. He finishes brushing Ivy’s hair, handing her the brush to hold as he starts the braid. “Okay, this is just a regular braid, okay? I’ll show you how to French braid when we get good at the regular one, alright?”

Jasmine nods, watching Eddie section the hair before he starts twisting it. “So you start with three… and you’re just going over the middle, over the middle, over the middle…” Eddie says as he slowly demonstrates. “You just keep doing that all the way down, okay?”

“Okay,” Jasmine says. She leans against Eddie’s side as she watches, and his heart grows warm at the gentle affection. He can already tell he’s getting attached to these kids. God, and it’s only day one.

He finishes Ivy’s hair within a few minutes, letting Jasmine help with the last couple of plaits before tying it off. “Good job, honey. Now, swap places so Ivy can see how to do it.”

Jasmine agrees quickly, and Ivy slides off the sofa, pulling her braid around to look at it with a big smile. “Daddy, look at my braid!” she says excitedly, turning her back to Steve so he can admire it.

“It’s really nice, lovebug. Make sure you tell Eddie thank you, yeah?” Steve says. Eddie glances at him, and his heart skips a beat at the sight of him leaning back in his chair, his ankle crossed over his knee as he watches them. They share a smile, and Eddie pats the space in front of him for Jasmine to occupy.

“Thanks,” Ivy says as she comes to sit beside Eddie, taking Jasmine’s spot. She leans her head against Eddie’s arm, and he can’t help the smile on his face.

“You’re so welcome, sweetness. Now let me show you how you do it.” He brushes Jasmine’s hair very carefully, and luckily this time, there are no accidental tugs. He separates the hair out, just like he did with Ivy’s, and explains the process to her, slowly plaiting it as he talks.

A movement out of the corner of his eye startles him and he glances back to see Steve leaning closer, watching Eddie’s hands to see what he’s doing. When Eddie smiles at him, Steve shrugs sheepishly. “I kind of want to learn, too,” he admits.

Eddie grins. “C’mere, it’s pretty easy.”

To his surprise, Steve does move closer, coming to sit on the arm of the sofa Eddie’s back is up against. He can feel the heat of his thigh pressing against his back, and he pretends that he feels very normal about that.

“So, uh,” he says, stuttering a bit. “You just start with the three sections, and take one on either side and go over the one in the middle.”

“Does it matter which side you start on?” Steve asks.

Eddie shakes his head. “No, I usually start on the right out of habit, but it doesn’t really make a difference.”

He thinks he feels a hand touch his hair briefly, but the pressure is so fleeting that he could have very well imagined it. He imagines Steve taking the hair tie out, running his hands through Eddie’s curls, and it almost makes him squirm. God, he’d love that.

He finishes up Jasmine’s braid the same way he did Ivy’s, letting Ivy take over the last couple of plaits before tying it off.

“Alright, are we ready to practice on our real-life mannequin?” Eddie asks with a grin, shaking Jasmine’s shoulders playfully as he glances over at Ivy. They both nod, and Eddie smiles, patting Jasmine’s back so she’ll scoot down the sofa so he can resettle. “Alright, one on each side, I’ll part my hair and you guys can just freaking - go to town,” he says playfully, reaching up and pulling his hair tie out. He does a rough middle part with his fingers, and then, almost as an afterthought, he parts a small section out of the front, almost like he’s pulling his hair to cut more bangs, and holds it in his hand.

“Remember, three sections, over the middle,” Eddie reminds them as he settles. “Go for it.”

As soon as he gives the go-ahead, he feels them grab for his hair, dividing it the best they can. He peeks up at Steve, who’s still watching him from his perch on the arm of the sofa. He’s got the softest smile on his face, and all Eddie can think is cute, cute, cute.

He waves his little handful of hair at Steve. “C’mere, I saved some for you too.”

Steve looks a little surprised at that. “Oh,” he says, his voice sort of high and light. Eddie halfway expects him to decline, but instead, he moves to sit on the low coffee table, scooting forward so that they’re almost touching knees. He grins at Eddie, or at least Eddie thinks that’s what he’s doing, from what little he can see of him through the forest of hair. “You look a bit like Cousin It,” Steve teases.

Eddie snorts. “You do too, from this side,” he jokes.

Steve is definitely smiling as he reaches out, taking the hair gently out of Eddie’s hand, his fingers brushing his knuckles lightly, accidentally.

“Three sections,” Eddie says softly. His voice sounds sort of funny, and he realizes that he can sort of hear his blood rushing to his head, his heart beating incredibly too fast for the situation they’re in. This is so embarrassing, he thinks vaguely, trying to focus on the twins on either side of him rather than their father, who’s practically staring into his soul not a foot away from his face.

“Over the middle,” Steve says quietly, almost to himself. “Am I doing this right?” He asks, sounding skeptical.

Eddie nearly has to cross his eyes to see. “It looks fine to me,” he says with a little shrug. He glances at his left, then his right. “How are we doing, kiddos?”

“Mine looks funny,” Ivy announces, her voice full of glee, like the idea of making Eddie look ridiculous pleases her greatly.

Eddie rolls his eyes, and Steve has a matching look of fond exasperation. “Then you’re probably not doing something right,” Steve chastises her gently.

“I think mine is right,” Jasmine offers on Eddie’s right side. He tries to glance at the braid she’s creating, but he can’t see much of anything with his hair pulled into all these different directions.

“I’m sure it’s fine, hon. I’m sure they all are.” He smirks underneath his curtain of hair covering his face. “Well, except your dad’s. I don’t know how he’s doing,” he says in a stage whisper.

The girls giggle, but the jibe earns him a little tug from the man in question. And of course, because Eddie is some kind of degenerate heathen, it nearly makes him moan. Good god. “Hey, I’m trying, here,” Steve protests. “And they have more hair than I do, at least I’ve only got a little bit I can mess up.”

Eddie laughs, and hopes it doesn’t sound hoarse. “That just means it should be easier for you!” he taunts.

Steve just shakes his head, tsking, but when he finishes, it actually doesn’t look half bad. He lifts the little plait up so he can see Eddie’s face, grinning at him widely. “Oh, there you are,” he jokes.

“Here I am,” Eddie chirps back. He couldn’t stop smiling if he fucking tried. God this little family is the cutest. He’s so fucking screwed.

The twins finish theirs, showing them off proudly. Jasmine’s looks the best, but Ivy’s attempt definitely has… character. They have a good laugh over it all, and eventually, Steve announces it’s time for bed. The twins complain that they haven’t gotten to watch a movie, but Steve scoffs.

“Sure you did. You got to watch, and star in, Barbie Makeover: Eddie Edition. That’s more than enough entertainment for a night,” he says.

Eddie giggles at that.

“Alright, come on. Time for bed, sleepyheads. School tomorrow, so we’re not staying up late. Let’s go,” Steve says, standing up after giving his attempted braid one last friendly tug. Eddie’s glad his face is partially hidden.

“Can Eddie tuck us in too?” Jasmine asks as she follows Steve down the hall. Eddie follows a bit slower, trying to undo the braids and put his hair back in a more manageable state. Ivy is somewhere in front of him, humming and playing with her own braid.

“Sure,” Steve says. He glances back at Eddie, grinning at the madness of him still untangling that final braid. “It’s a good look, Eddie,” he says with a shit-eating grin.

Eddie tries to return it with something vaguely sarcastic. “Sure,” he mocks. He finally manages to shove all his hair out of his face and back onto his shoulders, but he knows it’s probably frizzy as hell now. Oh well.

Steve flicks the light in the twins’ room on, going over to flick on a night light and grab a book from the short bookcase next to the window. “Alright, let’s read Amelia Bedelia tonight, sound good?”

Ivy and Jasmine agree easily enough, and Eddie sort of hangs back, watching as they each climb into a bed, both of them pulling a stuffed animal close to them. It’s sweet.

“Eddie, come read too,” Ivy says, patting her bed on the other side of where Steve has just sat.

Steve glances at him with a smile, nodding his head to indicate he should do just that. So he does, going to sit down on the opposite side, but then he glances over at Jasmine, her bed close, but still looking alone. Luckily, he doesn’t have to feel bad for long, because then Steve is saying, “C’mere, sweetheart, come sit with us while we read our book.”

Jasmine smiles, sliding out from under her covers and joining them on Ivy’s bed immediately, snuggling in for a bedtime story.

Eddie listens as Steve begins reading, and his eyes flicker between the three of them, cataloging every single shift in their voices and expressions, watching as the twins grow sleepier and sleepier, Steve’s voice becoming lower and lower. It’s almost making Eddie sleepy, and he has to stop himself from leaning against Steve’s back.

Eventually, the twins are asleep, the book is put away, a sleeping Jasmine is returned to her own bed, and the door is pulled almost-shut behind them as they leave the room.

“So, first day?” Steve says quietly as they hesitate in the corridor. “Do you think you’ll be okay to be with them on your own tomorrow, when they get out of school?”

Eddie nods, an easy smile on his face. “Yeah, I think we’re going to be just fine.”

Steve smiles, and Eddie notices some tension visibly leaving his shoulders. “Great. They really like you, Eddie. You really hit it off with them.”

Eddie preens at the praise. “Good. I think they’re great, I can’t imagine having any better kids to nanny for, honestly.” He hesitates before reaching out and touching Steve’s wrist, saying softly, “I think you’re doing a great job with them.”

Steve’s smile twitches, and an emotion deeper than just joy flashes across his face for a split second. He presses his wrist into the touch for a second before pulling away. “Thank you. That… that means a lot.”

“Of course,” Eddie nods. He realizes this is where their conversation needs to end. “Um, goodnight, I guess. I’ll see you in the morning?”

Steve nods. “Yep, bright and early. Get some rest, Eddie.”

“Yeah. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Eddie sleeps easy that night, easier than he has in years, probably.

[sp00kysk3lly]

Not one person fought for me in my life.

Not my teachers (primary and secondary), not my doctors (former and current), therapists.

Neither of them have fought for me to receive the best care, treatment, help that I SEVERELY needed.

There was one therapist, one person, who contacted my doctor, and said “I think this child has autism and an assessment should be made.” What my doctor did? Ignored it. Didn’t even respond. So one person KNEW I had autism and wanted me to have a referral, but GAVE UP trying once my doctor ignored her!!!

I always find myself, fighting for people in my life. Especially my friends. But they never do the same for me. If I messaged them and told them I was done and that I’m going to end it. They wouldn’t even respond. They wouldn’t say “no! Don’t do that, don’t even dare do that. I’m here. If you need to call me, or video call me, then please do it but don’t do anything so severe.” They’d just ignore it or read it and never respond.

They wouldn’t tell me they miss me. They wouldn’t tell me that they love me and that they will fight for me to stay on this planet. But no. I get nothing like that. Not a single thing.

I’ve seen it when I post things on instagram, (they’re not attention seeking. But I guess they sort of are because I just want my friends to reach out to me and ask me what is wrong). But when I post them no one is in a hurry to message me. No one is commenting telling me to message them.

Like recently I gave my so-called “best friend” a piece of his own medicine and read his message and never responded for a week. He then messaged me Sunday night and just spoke about when he could come here and see me.

No “how are you”?” No “are you ok?” No “I saw you read my message and didn’t respond, is everything ok?” Nothing. Just dates to when he could come here.

I don’t even want him here. But I have no choice. I can’t confront people. I can’t do that. It’s not in my personality to do that. I wish I could though. I wish I could tell him and everyone else in my life who pretends to care.

I wish I could tell them that you’re a shitty friend. I don’t want you round my house because all you want to do is play on my new PlayStation to see if it’s worth it. And when you do get a PlayStation, you will ONCE AGAIN not want to play a game with me.

This friend use to play GTA 4 and GTA 5 with me. Then he just stopped for no reason. I asked him to play and he just was like “I can’t be bothered tonight.” And this friend use to sleep round my house every time he stayed here, now he doesn’t? But he can go around his other friends and sleep there. Why not my house? Why don’t you want to anymore? It makes NO SENSE!

But yeah, no one has fought for me. The signs/traits of autism were right there! Right in front of their fucking faces! And now, 21 YEARS LATER I have to watch my own nephew get the help and fucking support that I should have got. And it makes me angry. It makes me want to murder those people who failed me and set me up to fail and never fought for me.

I was called fucking ODD by my DOCTOR! My own fucking GP called me ODD from when I was a toddler to when she retired in 2016! What fucking doctor does that? I am AUTISTIC! Not odd or weird or a freak.

And I’ve looked up the definition and the synonyms of ODD, there’s nothing good. There’s not one fucking word that is associated and used as a replacement word that is positive or good!

I think I might end it. I really do. I don’t want to be here anymore. Everyone and everything is getting worse. Worse and worse. It’s never going to get better for me. So why am I waiting around for that “better time”? It’s not worth it. It won’t get better. It will only get worse.

I’m done….

[engagedtobefree]

When the sadness comes, I don’t know what to do with it. Do I tell someone? Do I write it down? Do I call out sick just to sleep for the day? Do I go outside and try to forget? Whenever this happens, my mind always goes back to what Van Gogh said: “The sadness will last forever.” That’s what it always feels like. Out of all the terrible ways to feel, sadness is the only one that feels like it will never end.

I know this will pass, as all things eventually do. I think that possibly this bout of depression I’m going through is due to the new meds I’m on. My anxiety has also been pretty terrible too. I was on Strattera for about two months and it was actually helping me so much. I was amazed by how well I was able to function. But alas, my small glimpse into how non-ADHD people go about their day was not to last. I had terrible side effects, the worst of it being Akathisia and my libido was gone. The akathisia was so uncomfortable, but it might have come to pass eventually. The no libido thing, from what I read online about it from others, would only go away if I stopped the meds. It’s not like I’m having sex with anyone right now, but whenever I eventually do again, it would be nice to desire it. I read some horror stories, like people being on Strattera for years and then when they finally got off of it, their libido never came back. That was all I needed to read in order to decide that I wanted to try a different medication. I’m on Wellbutrin now and so far the side effects aren’t too bad, but I’m also nowhere near functioning like how I was on the Strattera. I’m hoping my psychiatrist does another dosage increase, but we’ll see. I’ve been contemplating going somewhere else for awhile now. She didn’t even want to try me on anything else after the Strattera because she thought I’d react the same way to every other ADHD med. I thought that was really strange. I’ve never had a psychiatrist think that, and the only other time I had that happen was when I saw a doctor for my mental health and she refused to change my dosage or try me on anything else. Well, I keep saying my psychiatrist but really she’s a nurse practitioner, but still, if she isn’t equipped to handle stuff like this then she should have someone else handle my meds. I can and will go somewhere else. I have no qualms about going to another psychiatrist if the care I receive is lacking, especially when it comes to my mental health. I’m not willing to give up so easily on something either. Like why would I stop after one medication when there’s so many others I could try? I’ve had a glimpse of what it’s like to function normally and I want that for myself long-term. It feels like all of my life there’s been this violent, howling gust of wind, following me wherever I go, even indoors. When the Strattera was working, it was like that wind finally stopped and everything became so quiet. It felt nice.

My friend Amanda saw an ADHD specialist and they prescribed her Adderall the same day. The downside with being on a stimulant though is that they don’t last and you usually have to take them twice a day, whereas non-stimulants have a much longer affect. It took me a week to go back to “normal” after being off the Strattera. I’ve heard nothing but good things about Vyvanse, but it’s very expensive. The patent or whatever finally goes public this month, so generic versions of it are expected later this year/early next year. But we’ll see. I do hope Welly-b starts working for me, but even after being on it two months now, I still can’t really tell. If this ends up not working out I might go where Amanda went, as long as they take my insurance. The downside though is if I want them to handle all of my meds then I have to make them my primary care too. I really like my GP a lot and it took me so long to find someone I’m satisfied with, so I really don’t want to change my GP over to someone else. I have a list of other psychiatrists I’ve looked into though so I could always go try them out first. 

Another thing I’m struggling with is the situation with Scott. I haven’t been able to tell him yet what I want to say. When he reached back out to me some odd weeks ago, I felt really confused. By our third conversation though, I felt fully positive that not trying again with him was what I 100% wanted. Since then I’ve struggled with how I want to go about it and what I want to say. There’s been a few nights where I was sleeping by the time he called me, and the one night I felt super confident about doing it, he ended up not calling me. He did come over last Friday, and I just felt so awkward about it. I was also doing all the talking most of the night. His only contribution was asking for me to do sexual stuff, which I told him I didn’t want to do. He said that wasn’t the only reason he came to see me but I don’t believe him. I could tell he wanted to kiss me when I hugged him goodbye, but I wasn’t going to let that happen. I felt super disappointed in myself that I just couldn’t find the right words. This week I wrote out a little script, just to give me some place to start at least. Idk that I’ll even say anything I wrote, but it makes me feel better having something to fall back on if I need to. 

I at least feel pretty sure that I won’t hurt Scott. At the most, he might just be disappointed. That was a big thing for me, just feeling bad that I had to do this and that it might cause him pain. My therapist Audrey told me though to remember that I’m not actually doing anything wrong, I’m just choosing what’s best for me. It hadn’t even occurred to me until she said that that I was equating possibly hurting someone’s feelings with also doing something bad. I am still unlearning always putting other people’s feelings first. It’s something that was ingrained in me since I was a child, so it’s taking some time. I’ve made some strides but I’m not quite at the finish line yet. 

I’ve been thinking over so much with Scott, and I still have some healing there to do. It’s been a long journey with this healing, something I started probably around this time last year. Every time I break down and get through a bit of it though, I come out the other side feeling much lighter yet stronger. When I was triggered by everything with Chris (which I wrote about in a post which I have since put on private), maybe a week or two later, I had a breakdown and cried pretty hard. I had started thinking about everything I had dealt with regarding Scott, the whole situation I had been in when I worked with him, and it just flooded me with emotion. I hadn’t even realized how much it had affected me until now. I mean, I had just turned 26 when everything started, and Scott was just turning 44. I was young and taken advantage of. We were flirting and he never told me he was married. I didn’t find out until months later. I remember trying to keep my distance, but then after a bit he started flirting with me again and I’d naively believe he became available, but really he just didn’t want me to stop giving him attention. I just kept putting my faith in him like that for over 2 years. I would stop flirting but then he would start it back up again, and I’d think “oh, maybe he’s separated now or going through a divorce.” Then, after so long of it going nowhere and him not telling me anything, I’d ask him what was going on, and the responses I got would be “I’m married. That’s all there is to it” or “It is what it is”. And then the cycle would repeat. I look back now and I feel so angry and distraught for my younger self. I always gave people second and third and infinity amounts of chances, even when they proved to me time and time again they were undeserving of them. I just want to hold my younger self and tell her that sometimes allowing yourself to believe that not everyone is good is the kindest truth you can give to yourself. I see her, curled up and crying, in the light of the normal world, and I feel like I’m on the flipside, this place almost like the Upsidedown in Stranger Things, where I have seen the ugly truth of things and I know what’s there underneath the surface of it all. There’s a quote that reminds me of all of this: “You'll end up really disappointed if you think people will do for you as you do for them. Not everyone has the same heart as you.” Scott has only ever cared about himself. He never thought about me or his wife. I remember one day when I finally had enough of his shit I said angrily, “I’m a person with feelings!” I still remember how he looked at me, as if he was only just registering that my existence went beyond providing him any sort of gratification. Just another red flag I glossed over. 

I’m sort of in this space now where I’m recognizing that I did have lessons to learn there for my own personal growth, but at the same time acknowledging that it impacted me a lot and caused me some trauma. I hesitated for a bit from using the T-word, but Audrey reminded me that even small traumas exist and that they add up. (On a side note, Audrey is generally pretty neutral with stuff, but in one of my recent appointments with her she was kind of encouraging me to cut Scott loose. I was surprised but it also shed even more light on how toxic this whole situation is and has been.) I see Scott now and I’ve come to recognize that all this time, I have just been holding onto hope that he’s a better person underneath all of this. He isn’t. Even now, while he says “sorry”, it’s only so he can make his way back in. Scott isn’t nice for the sake of being nice; there has to be something in it for him. And when there’s no one around to see him doing something nice, he’s gotta tell you about it so that you can praise him for doing something good. I could tell when Scott was here Friday that he wanted me to just give in and do whatever he wanted. That’s what I’ve always done. He’s always given zero to bare minimum effort and I’ve always shown him that that’s okay by accepting it. The me I am now is a hell of a lot different from the past me. I feel more resolute, more confident, and I know that next Friday, the 11th, I will be telling Scott I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want this to keep dragging out. I want a nice clean cut so that I can finally move forward. I think this has been weighing on me quite a bit. I remember how light I felt back in February when Scott reached out, then didn’t respond back to me, then I got pissed and told him off. I thought I would be upset and cry, but I didn’t feel heartbroken or anything, I just felt this huge weight lift. I want that again. I don’t want all of this on my shoulders anymore. 

The book course I’m currently doing has helped me a lot. One chapter really stood out to me, where the author says you can’t expect to move forward if you have one foot in and the other foot out. My one foot is still stuck here in this situation with Scott. I can’t be with anyone else if I continue to not let go of this person and this situation. The Scott I have created in my head doesn’t exist. Somehow over the years, maybe as a coping mechanism idk, I have envisioned Scott in my mind as this really great person who I can have a beautiful life with, but he’s a fake, a phony, an imposter. All this time I have been afraid of losing this person who isn’t real. And when I look back at the moments I’ve had of breaking down this past year, it was never really about losing Scott. I’ve mourned the Scott in my head, I’ve mourned the potential of and with him, I’ve mourned letting go of something I’ve held onto for so long, I’ve mourned a future that will never exist even if I stay in this with him. I’ve mourned for myself, how I’ve been treated, how I’ve constantly sacrificed myself for someone who never even gave me a fraction of what I gave them. It’s time for me to let all of that go for good. In the chapter I mentioned above, the author also says “You have to be okay with not knowing. You have to be okay with having nothing”, and up until now, I’ve been repeating that but struggling with fully implementing it. But I’m ready. Today I woke up and I knew that I was ready and I know that next Friday is the day I break this off for good. I can’t explain how I know, I just do. I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know that it is better than this. I know that having nothing is better than having something terrible that I don’t even want anyway. Having nothing at least gives me the space in my life to one day let someone new in. Having nothing is more comforting than having someone who will only ever take from me and not care when they bleed me dry. Having nothing can be good. 

I tend to get stuck sometimes in these places, but I always eventually move forward. I can’t ever stay stagnant, I can’t ever settle for things I don’t want. I always need to be moving forward. I’m just built that way. Life always has it’s moments of uncertainties, and some people are too afraid of that and let it stop them from pursuing better. I’ve always moved through those uncertainties. It might take me a bit, I might hesitate, but I always eventually make my way through. I kind of picture it as me standing on the edge of a cliff, and it’s windy and it’s cold and I’m miserable being there. I can’t turn away from the cliff, because there’s nothing behind me, there’s nowhere else I can turn to; I have to either stay standing on that cliff edge or jump into the water below. I’m always going to jump. I know the water is rough, and I don’t know where the waves will carry me off to, but I know that taking that chance is better than spending the rest of my life on that cliffside.

I’ve been writing a lot lately - I guess you could call it “poetry” - and I’m cycling through old traumas so that I can bring them back up, deal with them, and finally heal. It’s a lot to unpack, and many things I completely forgot about are resurfacing, which I guess technically is good since that’s what I want, but it’s still difficult at times to deal with. Writing has always been super cathartic for me, like when I write (or type) something out, it leaves me and transfers over to something else, whether that’s a screen or a piece of paper. It’s a really useful tool that has always aided me in finding healing and relief. Me going back through things I’ve never fully processed or healed has been tough but it’s necessary. The downside to me always being the type of person who continuously moves forward is that sometimes I don’t fully heal things that happened before I start moving forward again. Maybe that is somewhat normal though, as a lot of people tend to do healing as they move along or somewhere far into the future. But anyway, the poem I’m on now is about my first serious relationship that I was in from ages 18-20. It was an awful, toxic, abusive relationship, and looking back on that time now, I never really fully processed just how awful that time was for me. It took me many months of distancing myself from him and sitting and reflecting on my life to finally decide that I wanted to move on. I had an eating disorder at the time as well, and I was tired of spending my life being miserable and abused, not just by others but also by myself. I wanted more. So I left him and also decided to fully recover. Things weren’t easy and they actually got even harder for a bit. I still lived with my abusive mother and then 5 months after I ended my relationship, I was raped. I was unmedicated for all of my mental illnesses. I almost dropped out of school because it was all so much. I was just trying to build my life and myself back up from the darkest depths of despair and I really have no idea how I did it. Whenever I felt like giving up, I’d repeat to myself, “Keep going” and then I would be like, “Oh yeah, that’s right, I have to keep going.” It was such a small, simple reminder, but it helped me so much. I took things minute-by-minute and day-by-day; that was the only way I could get through everything. I’ve been thinking about that time in my life, a little over a decade ago, and I’m looking at my past self and she’s reminding me that I’ve survived worse. I’ve survived so much worse. That young woman and the choices she made started me on this path to make a better life for myself. It was still super rocky at times, I still struggled with other things along the years, but I am here now, age 31 and still going. I remember when I turned 30 how I cried because when I was younger I never thought I would live to see my thirties. I thought I’d be dead by now, but I’m not. That’s why when people say, “Ah I’m so old” when they’re actually not, it ruffles my feathers a bit. Some people never even make it past childhood, past their teen years, past their 20′s. Getting older is a goddamn privilege. But I get it, society has had a huge part to play in telling us we’re old even when we’re not. I had to unlearn that a bit too when I was younger and I’m glad I did. I am so, so lucky to still be here.

I was actually touching on some of these points with my friend yesterday. I could have died several times in my life, but I didn’t. It wasn’t my time yet and I’m grateful for that. My friend felt the same, as he did a lot of drugs when he was younger, especially cocaine. I didn’t mention my suicide attempt to him but I did talk about my mental illnesses, which he already knew about, and expanded upon how some people die from having an eating disorder for only a few months, and I struggled for years with mine. It got me thinking as I drove home about my suicide attempt too. I still remember the doctor coming in and talking to me. He had a very gentle voice that was full of concern. He told me that the amount of pills I took with the amount of alcohol I drank could have been lethal, and he was even surprised at how fast my body was recovering from what I just did to it. He said if I had taken Tylenol instead of ibuprofen that he wouldn’t be sitting there talking to me. I remember thinking, “Oh yeah, I knew that.” A few years prior, when I was in my abusive relationship, I had considered suicide and did a lot of research on what type of pills or pill combinations would be enough to kill me. I found out Tylenol could kill you if you took enough of it. I just hadn’t consciously remembered that piece of information thankfully. On my way home from school on the day I attempted suicide, I remember standing in the Walgreens and I had the ibuprofen in one hand and Tylenol in the other, both extra strength. I decided to put the Tylenol back because it was more expensive (not that it really mattered if I was going to die, but idk, that was just what I ended up basing my decision on). I didn’t know it at the time, but when I put the Tylenol back on the shelf, that was the moment I had decided to live. I took 97 pills out of 150 with 3/4 of a bottle of a vodka and Moscato mix (I don’t remember the mL, but it was a pretty big bottle). I remember when I was sitting on the floor taking the pills, my cat Jewel came over and laid on my lap, purring. This past January, 8 years and one day later from my attempt, Jewel was on my lap and we put her to sleep to ease her suffering. She had comforted me when I needed her the most and I can only hope that in her final moments I was able to give the same to her.

Okay, so this went off in a direction I didn’t plan on it going, so back to the stuff I really want to write about. My anxiety has been pretty bad this past week as I already mentioned, though it’s now beginning to ease up. I’ve had anxiety about literally everything, including Chris. I don’t know why I’m having anxiety about him. I mean, we haven’t dated, nothing has happened aside from some texting, and I don’t even really know him. I was doing good with just leaving the situation be and trying not to put too much thought into anything. This past week has been the total opposite of all that though. I still have absolutely no clue why he gave me his number. I have my next appointment with him mid-November, which we’re almost halfway to at this point, and I think it would be awkward that he gave me his number then just didn’t utilize that, unless he moves me off his schedule and onto someone else’s to avoid any awkwardness. He literally only texted me once and snapped me once; every other time I was the one initiating. I tried to space out me reaching out as much as I could, and then I just decided to stop altogether. I don’t want to bother him if he’s not interested or is already in a relationship or dating someone. He was at least viewing my Snapchat stories here and there, but he’s stopped that now too. I’m not sure why. Idk if I did or said something wrong, if I’m not who he expected, if he doesn’t even like me as a person, or maybe any of the previous reasons I mentioned, like just being not interested, not single, or dating someone else. Maybe it’s none of those reasons; I just don’t know. I think the last Snapchat story he viewed was a selfie from a few weeks ago (pic below). Maybe he isn’t really attracted to me like he thought, or maybe he thinks I’m weird. I was experimenting with some makeup that day and was just having some fun, but maybe to him it was some type of turn-off? I’ve always struggled with “needing” people to like me, but I have improved on this a lot over the years. Now it’s shifted more to when I like someone (in general, not just romantically) I hope that they like me too. Chris is just one of those people who I hope would like me back. 

To continue for a sec on the whole relationship thing, if Chris is already with someone, that’s not a man I want anyway. I was in that situation with Scott and I hated it. It caused me so much pain and in the end I realized any man who goes behind his partner’s back is not someone I want to build a life with. He wasn’t “unfaithful” in the traditional sense I guess, but he would still come into work and flirt with me all the time. I wouldn’t do that to a partner and I would also expect them not to do that to me. It wasn’t until Scott separated from his wife and I became a potential romantic prospect that I realized I didn’t trust him. It was something I never thought about when we worked together because I never thought anything would happen between us.

Okay, so back to Chris. This has all been so confusing, and I have been trying so freaking hard to stop thinking about all of this and put it out my mind. I don’t even really know him and yet, somehow he left some type of impression on me that I can’t shake. I usually don’t care much about men. I don’t worry my head about them and in general I’m just not into them that much. I’m not into women,  but it’s just very rare for any guy to catch my attention, and pretty much always a guy is interested in me first before I take an interest in him. With Chris I took an interest from day one. I don’t feel like writing out everything I have previously, both in my public and private posts, as I hate being repetitive, so I’m just going to add a few new things here. When I had my second appointment, I was very on-guard, observant, looking for any red flags, any type of feeling I had or action or anything he said that would raise alarm, and there wasn’t anything. And I keep thinking, “Maybe I missed something” but I just don’t think I did. If I did somehow miss something, I don’t know how it happened, because that’s never happened before. Ignoring, yes, missing, no. I’ve also made some connections, first with comparing Chris to Scott and then realizing that it goes beyond Scott to literally every other man I’ve been with. Chris is warm where they were cold, open where they were closed, generous where they were selfish, comforting where they were distressing. And again, I don’t really know him and that is all based off of just our few brief interactions, but I can’t help feeling like I know deep down that all of that is true. I can’t find the right words to really explain that inner knowing. Yet on the flipside, my mind won’t stop questioning everything. Part of me feels annoyed that I let myself get too hopeful about all of this, another part of me is really bummed that that hope was false, and then another part of me is still holding onto that hope, telling me not to give up yet. I’m being tugged in these different directions and I really, really want my brain to just shut up because I’m tired of going in these circles trying to figure out something that isn’t figureoutable. I just keep trying to redirect my brain to the positives I got out of this: the hope that better is out there and I can move forward, I’m writing again and reading again and beginning to slowly incorporate some things I love back into my life, and this little fire I feel kindled in me to try even harder in life than I already was. Meeting Chris has certainly been a blessing, even if this is as far as knowing him ever goes.

Then sometimes I just stop myself and ask, “Am I really ready to date someone yet?” and unfortunately the answer to that is actually “no”. There are things I need to take care of still. I need to kick Scott out of my life, first and foremost. I also have to find an ADHD medication that works well for me, as I really cannot bring anyone into my apartment in the state it’s often in, which is pure and utter chaos. It looked so good when I was on the Strattera. Also, I feel like I need just a bit more time to myself. I think it was the last week of June where I got dressed up and did my makeup, went out to a café to write, and then bought myself a nice dinner. Last month I wanted to do the same thing but try out a different café, but that ended up not happening. I did take myself to the movies instead to see Guardians of the Galaxy 3. I was going to ask my one friend to go who I know didn’t see it, but I decided I wanted to go by myself. I’ve seen a majority of the Marvel movies with my dad, it was always just our thing ever since we went to see the first Iron Man together. My dad was diagnosed with cancer this year and it’s been a tough pill to swallow, especially with each new test he’s had giving worse and worse news, and they still haven’t started his treatments yet. His insurance company has also been difficult and recently denied the last test he was supposed to get done. I wasn’t sure if seeing a Marvel movie was going to be upsetting, so I decided to go by myself to cry if I needed to without having someone else there needing to worry about me. I actually ended up not crying during the movie itself, but I did cry a bit on the drive to the theater.

I’ve been thinking lately about how I’m living, and trying to pivot towards what I want. What I want is a soft life. I want a life where I feel full and whole on my own, where when someone else is ready to come in, we complement each other. There is no need for completion; we are already complete. I want a life where I’m so connected to what I’m doing, where I have my yoga every day and my studying, where I’m following my dharma completely and fully. A life where I can thrive without needing an office job anymore. I want my astrology, and friends, and leisure time, a beautiful clean home, a garden, less stuff and more moments to enjoy, less distraction more presence, less doubt and more trust. I want to be so full of love and have a life so full of love that everyone I come across can see it. I just want to enjoy as much as I can as fully as I can. I want a simple, soft life. I know there will always be difficulties, but I want a life I love so much that it overshadows anything that can ever be thrown my way. And sometimes, I see glimpses of all that and that is what my life feels like, so I know it’s possible. I know I can have that all the time. I have been trying to be less digitally connected, less online, less on my phone and more in the here and now. I’ve been doing fairly good, and I’ve been a lot more mindful of it lately. I wouldn’t say I was attached to my phone before, but it is something I’d use as a crutch, like in certain situations or just to pass the time. Now I just look around and try to engage with what’s going on around me. It’s nice. 

My Vedic astrology app is always on point and supports me just focusing on myself for this time. I get updates every few weeks or so, so the focus will shift to something else then. The one I received this weekend is below.

So scary accurate. I wrote all of the paragraphs up above before even getting this notification. All of my updates are always like that. It’s crazy. It’s also weird that they even mentioned someone else in this one, especially considering how I’ve strongly felt recently that I would like for Chris to like me back. It also touches upon how I view him.

I’ve been getting back into my astrological studies and recently, the nodes of the moon shifted into Libra (south node) and Aries (north node). This transit affects me a lot as a Libra sun, and it actually represents themes I’ve really been focusing on this past year, like setting boundaries, believing in myself, and focusing on caring for myself instead of always focusing on others. There’s more than just those few things, but those are some big ones for me. I’m glad I got a head start, even though I didn’t realize at the time that this transit was coming. Also, the north node in Aries is transiting my 3rd house of communication, which means my focus now is about moving swiftly and confidently (Aries) towards connecting with others, taking time to write, pursuing my studies and taking action on what I want to achieve, etc etc. This will be a challenging time for me as a Libra, but I actually love these challenging astrological aspects. I know at the end of this transit - a year and a half from now - that I’m going to have grown so much. I thought this was weird at first that I would get excited for these challenging transits, but apparently that’s the right way to go about it. When I had my Saturn return a few years ago, I couldn’t wait for it to begin. A lot of people tend to fear their Saturn return and other difficult transits, but after mine started and I dug in a bit deeper, I learned that the best mentality to have during these times is a growth mindset and remaining positive. So that made me happy.

To end here, I’d like to just touch base on some ways I’ve been setting boundaries that I’m very proud of myself for. I’ve started implementing them with my mom, and she’s gotten mad at me for protecting myself, but then that always eventually passes. My mother doesn’t have any boundaries whatsoever, so I also grew up without any. She also doesn’t respect other people’s boundaries when they do have them. I have tried so many times to give my mom advice on things, and sometimes she kind of starts to make changes, but it doesn’t ever really last long. Recently I’ve been encouraging her to at least get on some anxiety medication, and she actually brought it up to her therapist. So me making my own boundaries has also been benefiting her a bit too. I also had to set a recent boundary with an ex. So 3 years ago he reached out to me and asked me for blowjob tips, then proceeded to tell me he already gave his friend a blowjob, and then asked me to have a threesome with them. I had to say no four times before he finally left me alone. I wondered what about me made him think I’d be interested in something like that, but then I realized he probably didn’t think about that at all and was simply asking a bunch of women he knew. I have always tried to be nice and considerate, even when others don’t give me that in return. I was firm with my “no”s but really, I shouldn’t have cared about being nice at all in that scenario. Well a few weeks back he reached out to me again in the same exact way. I know this because for whatever reason, our conversation in Snapchat from three years ago ended up being saved in there, but I remembered our conversation anyway because it’s not everyday you get asked by an ex-bf to give him blowjob tips and have a threesome with him and his friend. Anyway, as soon as he asked for bj tips I said, “I am not interested in this conversation”. He completely ignored me and kept on going. I paused for a minute and reflected on how to respond to that. Then I realized that this guy isn’t respecting me, so why should I show him any kindness? I wanted to protect myself. That was my first priority, and I don’t need to tolerate this behavior from anyone either. When I responded to him I said something along the lines of, “Whatever list you have me on, cross my name off of it. I am not interested in anything you’re going to ask me for and that’s never going to change. The answer is no and it will always be no”. His response was that he didn’t mean anything by it and he just thought I was a “cool friend”. 😑 Like, dude, we don’t even talk. I am not your “friend” and I am not stupid enough to believe some lame ass excuse. He can miss me with that bullshit cuz I blocked him  🤗 I was very proud of myself. And you know what? I didn’t even feel bad about it! Setting such a strong boundary felt so freaking nice and empowering. It’s also such an incredible feeling to see all of the growth I’ve done not only this past year but also from the past few months. I’ve come such a long way and I’m going to go even further. Self-love, self-preservation, self-confidence, self-care....it really is so essential to practice all of those things. Anyway, this is it for now, not that anyone other than me is reading this lol

[atlanticcanada]

More concerns around lack of family doctors in New Brunswick

After 50 years with a family doctor, Ben MacMichael is now joining thousands of other New Brunswickers who are without a primary physician.

“My brother asked his doctor, which said they couldn’t take on anyone. They couldn’t even take on someone in their own family, they’re so busy. We’re waiting on another family member to ask their doctor, but we’ve put our name on the list,” he said.

Right now, MacMichael, along with his wife and mother, is trying to figure out what’s next after his family doctor announced he’ll be closing his practice in just a few weeks.

“It puts a little bit of fear in our hearts in wondering what the next steps are,” he said.

MacMichael deals with two ongoing health concerns. He has osteoporosis and nutrient absorption issues.

“I need regular blood work, which are pretty extensive. How do I get those? Do I need to go to a hospital and wait, or how do I get that follow-up?”

The most recent data from the Department of Health says that 50,500 New Brunswickers are in the same position.

Bernadette Landry, New Brunswick Health Coalition Co-Chair, says the coalition is aware of the challenges and it’s definitely concerning.

“We need more family doctors because there’s all those people waiting to have a family doctor and just going here and there for temporary care with people who don’t know them and who they’re probably not going to see again, that’s not good care,” said Landry. “We deserve better than that.”

In a statement to CTV News, the Department of Health said “the 2023-24 provincial budget allocates $39.2 million to support improved access to primary health care.”

Officials say there is another $29.7 million earmarked for recruitment and retention.

Landry says the coalition knows of a lot of doctors who experience “burnouts” in the industry.

“It’s incredible the number of doctors who are on sick leave,” she said.

“They are exhausted, just like the nurses. They have really important responsibilities. It’s really tough on them. It’s a stressful job, they can’t allow themselves to make mistakes so it’s really stressful for them and that’s why some of them just, after a while, they need a break.”

She says the main message the coalition is trying to get across is that the focus needs to be on the public sector.

“If you open the door to private clinics and you encourage those professions to go in private clinics, well that’s weakening the public health-care system,” she said.

There’s also concern that with more family doctors choosing to close their practices across New Brunswick, it could have a trickle-down effect into other health-care sectors, like hospitals.

“One of the things that happens when you lose your family doctor is you often think, ‘Well OK, then I’m going to go to the hospital if I have a health problem,’ and it might not be the right place because the emergency room is for emergencies,” said Landry.

For MacMichael, he is hoping that he’s able to find a family doctor soon, but with required bloodwork, he might have to rely on different options.

“For me, the only option I know of right now is the hospital,” he said. “I haven’t looked into what happens next. I’m still having faith that I can get a doctor, so maybe a little bit of denial there, I don’t know, but we will have to look in the next month or two to see what happens.”

In terms of what can be done, Landry says New Brunswickers can put pressure on the government to fix the system.

“We need to hire more doctors and I don’t know to what point the government is doing something about that,” she said.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/9qtQXgf

[maslows-pyramid-scheme]

Honestly share theories you may have with your doctor and be assertive about it and don’t downplay your symptoms and be mindful of the dates and times and even bring notes if that helps. Talk about your negative experiences with other doctors even and what you’re hoping to avoid. I think it’s about finding the right doctor as well as being an advocate for yourself.

I got lucky came in with all that ammunition and got lucky with a doctor that never denied me a referral or downplayed my symptoms. I told her about my bad experiences with doctors and how I had come in to see a doctor for gut problems… And how a doctor dismissed me and even told her what I thought was wrong and she actually agreed with me and disagreed with how my doctor had treated me. (Just was an assessment appointment/I wanted a new doctor and an appointment to go over my health/just a check up. I’m sad she left the clinic :( now I have to go through the process again. My primary care doctor before her love to downplay everything I had as anxiety. )

I feel like that’s a good way to vet out if you can trust a doctor or not. Always be sure you have a doctor that values your opinions.

THANK YOU SO MUCH @vegradfem!!! <3 <3 <3

I have a theory about what's wrong, but... I don't know, don't doctors get upset when you try to usurp their authority? I've been to a few doctors about the same symptoms before and they usually just waste my time with unlikely or impossible diagnoses.

I'm sorry to hear you need to find another doctor, that previous doctor sounded really good. How did you find her - did you just book an appointment with a (female) doctor and she appeared? Or did you hear about her through word of mouth/online/somewhere else?

[chaotic-archaeologist]

So, I’m in my senior year of college getting my bachelors in aerospace engineering, and I accepted a job offer for after I graduate. The job is a few states away from home, and I’ve never done a ‘permanent’ move before, so do you have any advice? I would really appreciate it cause I’m pretty anxious about it even though the job starts next July

I think that it's a really good thing that you want to start planning this now. That gives you the time to manage things in small chunks rather than having to do everything at once. Here's the advice that I have after completing a big move several states away:

Find a place to live. Depending on where you're going, housing can be very competitive and places will fill up quickly. Starting the looking process early gives you the most options.

Look up the cost of living in that area. If you already have a budget, that's great, but you'll probably need to adjust it for your new income/cost of living. Some of this can't always be done before you have boots on the ground, but you can probably anticipate a lot of what's to come with some thoughtful research and planning.

Record all of your information. I'm a big spreadsheet guy, but you can use whatever format works best for you. Include the address you'll be moving to, the website for the place/a tenant portal if they have one, resources that you might end up needing, etc.

Try to anticipate your needs in advance. Are you someone who goes to the doctor a lot? Find a primary care physician in the area. Do you take medication? Make sure to get enough so that you don't have to worry about running out after you move in. Do you have a pet? Look up vets.

Have a plan for transportation. Will you have a car? What's the public transportation situation like? What's within walking distance of your new home?

Pay attention to what you're using/doing now. What are the objects in your home that you interact with on a regular basis that you'll need to take with you? What can you choose to leave behind? (these two things are important for estimating what kind of equipment you'll need to move your stuff) Are there regular activities that you'll want to start up again after the move?

Deliberately seek out social activities. The trick to making friends is being with the same people over and over again. Look up gaming stores, religious institutions, community centers, libraries, gyms, etc and visit them once you get there.

Finally, I want to congratulate you! Getting a job after graduation is a big deal, and you've already cleared the first hurdle! Remember that you've gotten this far for a reason, and that you are capable of handling what the universe throws at you. This will be stressful and maybe even a little bit scary, but you can do it.

-Reid

[talesofstyles]

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain. 

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder. 

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment. 

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car. 

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.” 

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later. 

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald. 

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.” 

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later. 

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks. 

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off. 

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.” 

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors. 

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve. 

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING. 

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head. 

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her. 

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals. 

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom. 

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife. 

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process. 

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop. 

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache. 

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink. 

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers. 

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest. 

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room. 

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward. 

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket. 

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages. 

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side. 

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket. 

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door. 

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.” 

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going. 

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him. 

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear. 

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat. 

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes. 

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt. 

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige. 

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down. 

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.” 

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching. 

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

[therealvinelle]

I've always wondered this, but what do you think the Cullen's political viewpoints would be, given their individual backgrounds? if vampires don't change after they turn, then surely they would all be extremely racist (especially Jasper). would this not come up at some point? they aren't like the Volturi because the Volturi are too old to care, but the Cullens are young enough that they have been brought up with opinions on stuff like sexism, racism, homophobia and the like.

Oh fuck.

You get an early answer because otherwise I'll just chicken out and delete this one, pretend I never saw it.

UMMM.

Since I'm guessing you meant American political viewpoints, we need a disclaimer. I am not American, and not too knowledgeable about your politics. Not just in the sense that I don't follow the day-to-day drama, but as I am not an American citizen there are several things I don't know, can't know because I've never lived in your country and therefore can't know what the effects of living in a country ruled by American policies is like. What I do know is based off of the news in the foreign section, social media (by which I mean tumblr posts), and Trevor Noah's Daily Show.

I am an outsider looking in.

Which is really rather appropriate, since the Cullens are too.

The Cullens go to high school and college, Carlisle works, they pay taxes, they own real estate, and submerge themselves in American culture. Esme, Edward, Rosalie, Emmett, and Bella are young enough that this is in many ways their world, and apart from timeouts they've more or less spent their entire lives, human and vampire, integrated into American society.

Not fully integrated, mind you, they do what they need to to fit in and get to school or, in Carlisle’s case, to work. They go no further. No extra-curriculars for the kids, no book clubs for Esme, no game nights for Carlisle. They walk parallel to humans, not among us.

In addition to this they're obscenely rich, which puts them another thousand miles from the experiences of your average American. They won't deal with the health system, which means healthcare is a non-issue, they're not going to need welfare or other social programs, unemployment is another non-issue. Name your issue, and the Cullens don't have personal stake in it. Even the climate crisis won't be a problem for them the way it will for us.

What I'm trying to say is, American political issues are a concept to them, not a lived reality. Just like they are for me. So hey, you made a great choice of blog to ask.

I'll also add here that you say the Volturi are too old to care, and I agree- from an ancient's point of view, racism is a matter of "which ethnicity are we hating today?", and it all looks rather arbitrary after a while. Same with every other issue - after a while it all just blends together into "what are the humans fighting over today? Which Christian denomination is the correct one? Huh. Good for them, I guess."

I can't put it any better than this post did, really. The Volturi are real people, humans are nerds and tumblr having Loki discourse. Aro thinks it's delightful and knows entirely too much about Watergate (and let's be real, Loki discourse as well), but the point I wanted to get at is that politics really don't matter to vampires.

And I don't think they matter to the Cullens either.

So, moving on to the next point while regretting I didn't put headlines in this post, I'll just state that I don't think vampires' minds are frozen. Their brains are unable to develop further, and they can never forget anything, but... well, this isn't the post for that, but in order for this to be true of vampires they would barely be sentient. They would not be able to process new impressions, to learn new things, nor to have an independent thought process. Yes, we see vampires in-universe (namely, Edward, who romanticizes himself and vampires) believe they're frozen and can never change, but there is no indication that this is a widespread belief, or even true. Quite the contrary - Carlisle went from a preacher's son who wanted to burn all the demons to living in Demon Capital for decades and then becoming a doctor and making a whole family of demons. Clearly, the guy has had a change in attitude over the years. Jasper, in his years as a newborn army general, slowly grew disenchanted with his life and developed depression. James initially meant to kill Victoria and hunted her across the earth, then became fascinated and changed his mind about it.

Had these people been incapable of change, Carlisle would still be hating demons, Jasper would be in Maria's army, and James would still be hunting Victoria.

It goes to follow, then, that they are able to adapt to new things.

The question is, would they?

Here I finally answer your question.

So, we have these people who don't really have any kind of stake in politics, who keep up to date all the same (or are forcibly kept up to date because high school) and are generally opinionated people.

Where do they then fall, politically?

(And this is where you might want to stop reading, anon, because I'm about to eviscerate these people.)

Alice votes for whoever's gonna win. She also makes a fortune off of betting each election. Trump's 1 to 10 victory in 2016 was a great day to be Alice. MAGA!

The actual policies involved are completely irrelevant, she does this because it's fun. Election means she gets to throw parties. Color coded parties for the Republican and Democratic primaries, and US-themed parties for Election Night! (Foreigner moment right here: I at first wrote "Election wake" before realizing that's not what y'all murricans call it.)

Alice loves politics. Doesn't know the issues, but she sure loves politics.

Bella votes Democrat. She actually knows about the issues, and cares about them. This girl is a Democrat through and through.

Carlisle doesn't vote. I can't imagine it feels right. Outside of faked papers he's not a US citizen, this is meddling in human affairs that he knows don't concern him.

More, this guy has never lived in a democracy.

In life, Carlisle lived under an absolute monarchy that, upon civil war, became an absolute theocracy. From there he learned that vampires live under a total dictatorship.

For the first 150 years of his life, democracy was that funky thing the Athenians did in history books thousands of years ago, no more relevant to him than the Ancient Egyptian monarchy is to me. Then the Americans, and later other European countries started doing this.

Good for them.

There's this mistake often made by those who view history from a... for lack of a better term, a solipsistic standpoint. A belief that the present day is the culmination of all of history. “My society is the best society, the most reasonable society; all the others had it backwards. Thank god we’re living in this enlightened age!”

The faith in our current system of government is one such belief. We (pardon me if this doesn’t apply to everybody reading this post) have grown up in democracies, being told this is the ultimate form of rule, and perhaps that is true - but remember the kings who have told their subjects they had were divine and the best possible ruler based on that. Remember also that most modern democracies haven’t actually been democracies for very long at all, America is the longest standing at some 230 years (not long at all in the grand scope of things) and they have a fracturing two-party system to show for it.

Every society, ever, has been told they’re the greatest, and their system of government the most just. Democracy is only the latest hit.

This is relevant to Carlisle because he’s immortal and decidedly not modern. Democracy has not been installed in him the way it was the rest of the Cullens, Jasper included. To him- well, it’s just not his world. He has no stakes in our human politics, and as he is older than every current democracy and has seen quite a few of them fall, he’s not going to internalize the democratic form of rule the way a modern human has.

I think the concept of voting is foreign to him.

It requires a level of participation in human society that he’s simply not at. He does the bare minimum to appear human so he do the work he loves, but nothing more, and I find that telling.

As it is I think he'd be iffy about his family doing it. He won’t stop them, but in voting they’re... well it’s kind of cheating. They’re not really citizens, none of this will affect them, and by voting they’re drowning out the votes of real human voters. He does not approve.

Edward votes Democrat. He's... well he’s the kind of guy who will oil a girl’s bedroom window so he can more easily watch her sleep without being discovered, justifying it to himself as being okay because if she were to tell him to get lost he’d stop immediately. Same guy is so sure that he’d leave and never return again if she wanted him to, except this is the man who returned to Forks to hang around his singer, knowing there was a significant chance he might kill her. To say nothing of his Madonna/Whore complex, or of the fact that he tried to pimp out his wife twice, and was willing to forcibly abort her child.

This guy is very much in love with chivalry, with being an enlightened and feminist man who supports and respects women, while not understanding the entire point of feminism, which is female liberation.

He votes Democrat because he’s such an enlightened feminist who cares about women’s rights.

Emmett doesn’t care to vote, but if he has to he votes Republican. The guy is from the 1930′s, and has major would-be-the-uncle-who-cracks-racist-jokes-if-he-was-older vibes.

Esme doesn’t vote, that would require getting out of the house.

More, I just... can’t see it. I can’t see her being one to read up on politics and The Issues, period, but if she has to then I doubt she’d be able to decide.

Jasper doesn’t vote. Alice can have her fun, he does not care.

There’s also the whole can of worms regarding the last time he went to bat for American politics.

I imagine he stays out of this.

Renesmée doesn't vote. She has no stock in the human affairs. Who would she vote for, on what grounds? When Bella tries to pull her to the urns, she points out that she's three years old.

Rosalie, guys, I’m sorry, but that girl is definitely gonna vote Republican. Perhaps not right now as it’s become the Trump party of insanity, but the Mitt Romney type of Republicans? Oh yes.

And for the record, yes I imagine she does vote. To step back from politics would be another way she was relinquishing her humanity, and that’s not allowed to happen. So, yes, she goes to the urns, less for the sake of the politics involved and more because like this, she’s still a part of society in some way.

Now, onto why I think she’s Republican, I think it’s both fiscal and social.

This girl was the daughter of a banker who somehow profited off of the Depression, and who then became part of a family with no material needs that would soon become billionaires thanks to Alice. Poverty to Rosalie is a non-issue, as it is I imagine she views it as a much lesser issue than what she’s had to deal with. The humans can pull themselves up by their bootstraps, Rosalie’s infertility is forever.

Rosalie’s empathy is strongest when she’s able to project onto others, and she won’t be able to project onto the less fortunate at all.

Then there’s the fact that the Republican party is all about traditional family values, and pro-life.

Rosalie, a woman from the 1930′s who idolizes her human life and who‘d love nothing more than to get to live out this fantasy, is down for that. And as of Breaking Dawn she’s vocally pro-life, so there’s that.

This all being said I don’t think Rosalie cares to sit down and fully understand these politics she’s voting for, the possible impact they’ll have- that’s not important. What’s important is what voting does for her.

TL;DR: I bet anon regrets asking.

[okay-j-hannah]

Part 1: The Sun God

Doctor Who : Multishot

Tenth Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 6756

Warnings: There are descriptions of burns and burn victims. Also some talk of drug addiction

Request: This is just from my own head 😊 ​

A/N: One step closer to understanding what’s ailing the reader... meanwhile *lovestruck sigh* the bickering and flirting between the reader and the Doctor is ✨giving me life✨

Prologue: The Dying Girl

Part 1: The Sun God {You Are Here}

Part 2: The Tonic

Part 3: The Ending Song

Life with the Doctor went by in a blur of rescued planets, saved species, and TARDIS accidents. The hospital visit planned so many months ago was long forgotten.

(Y/N) and the Doctor were simply swept away with adventure after adventure. After partaking the famed gouda of the moon and dancing the night away in the Blankar System, their companionship became less of a requirement and more of a favorite pastime.

There was still the looming mystery of (Y/N)’s alien tainted particle trail and the Reapers around every corner. But the pair of them found themselves rather enjoying spending their time exploring rather than hunting.

And the longer she spent on the TARDIS, the harder it became accepting she should go home at some point. It had been months. Months: and thoughts of her fiancé were knocking at the door in the back of her mind.

“This way!” The Doctor grabbed her hand and started to run. They were always running.

Though this time she was feeling a bit winded.

“You shouldn’t have pointed out their sham,” she laughed, disregarding the angry human mob behind them.

“Well, they shouldn’t have tried to scam the money off of you. The way they were groveling you, trying to pick your pocket – honestly.”

She gave him a silent look of admiration and scolded herself. “Could you have parked the TARDIS any farther!” There was a burning tickling her lungs – she didn’t normally get this fatigued so quickly.

The Doctor scoffed, gripping her hand tighter and spotting their blue box ahead, “Running’s good for the heart, (Y/N). And what with you only having one of those, I’ve got to keep your cardiovascular system in shape.”

They slammed into the TARDIS doors. Locked.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” (Y/N) said, leaning into the box heavily, “Shouldn’t it open at your command?”

“Oh hush,” he snipped, “Extra precautions aren’t a crime.”

The mob scrambled closer, finding them stationary at the end of the street. (Y/N) nudged the Doctor’s elbow, “If they aren’t a crime then why is our punishment on its way?” The Doctor fiddled with his silver key.

“Don’t rush me.”

“We don’t exactly have the time, Doctor.”

“You’re less fun when you’re grumpy.”

“I’ll be grumpier if we’re on the end of those pitchforks!”

The doors swung open as the mob roared. (Y/N) and the Doctor entered and felt as the humans pounded against the police box outside. Their torches could be seen ablaze through the window.

The Doctor didn’t hesitate to jump to the controls and put the TARDIS in an orbit while (Y/N) tried to catch her breath.

Her lungs were still burning, a stitch in her side. It felt like there was a pulse entering her brain, so loud it drowned anything else out. She didn’t feel good. Really didn’t feel good.

“That was a close one.”

She laughed, though her face pinched into a wince, “No thanks to you.”

“Like I said, if only they had kept their grubby hands off of you… (Y/N)?”

She was holding her head with both her hands, her face going slack. Her knees shook as she felt a comforting pressure on both her shoulders, “I feel a bit faint.”

It was the Doctor holding her steady, “You look it. What happened?” And as her knees buckled, he caught her smoothly, wrapping his arms around her. “Woah, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Did something hit you?”

(Y/N) sighed, her head reeling – she couldn’t open her eyes; the light was so bright now. “I – I don’t know. I don’t think so. We just started running and I couldn’t breathe.”

The Doctor looked at her with bewilderment, but with her eyes closed, he snuck some fear into the gaze. “Well, up you get. Lets get you to your room.” With his arm slung around her, they sloppily made it to the ladder lowered beneath the grates.

“I’m finding the lack of stairs here very inconvenient,” she joked, practically falling into the Doctor’s arms at the bottom of the ladder.

He smiled though his brow was tense, “I’ll keep that in mind when I do renovations.”

(Y/N) was dragging her feet by the time they entered her bedroom. It was quite a bit different since she first moved in. After a few shopping trips and cleaning sprees, it was positively habitable. At least that’s what the Doctor called it.

He gently laid her on the bed and went to pull off her sneakers, “I’ll get you some water. Maybe you’re just coming down with something.”

“I never get sick, remember.” She had a hand over her eyes.

The Doctor pulled the sheets to her chin and gave such an intense look of concern he knew she’d make fun of him if she saw. But that was always the Doctor’s way. He waited for when she wasn’t looking.

“You also are adjusting to a new lifestyle,” he muttered, noticing the TARDIS lowering the brightness of the lights. “Maybe you’ve finally hit a wall.” When he turned to give her time to rest, she raised her voice.

“Don’t go,” she called, regretting how it made her head pound, “I hate it when you leave me alone. I know you’re off having more fun without me.”

He grinned, a feeling of elation and triumph centering in his chest. He scolded himself.

“I know you’re not used to the sickbed, but usually this is when the ill rest.”

“I thought we just agreed I’m not ill.”

“You are fatigued.”

“And see how you didn’t use the word ill?”

He sighed out that easy smile that came whenever she bickered with him. He ran a hand over his face and returned to her bedside, “You’re growing as stubborn as me.”

“You know I fall asleep faster when you tell me stories.”

“Oh, great. Thanks,” he laughed, choosing one of the comfy reading chairs (Y/N) furnished her room with – he pulled it closer to the bed.

She smirked, settling into the covers, “You know what I mean. They’re not boring… they’re soothing.”

“You just like hearing me talk,” he cheekily intertwined his fingers before him, “Besides, I shouldn’t be disturbing your rest.”

“Then why have you pulled up a chair?”

He observed that her eyes were still closed, though her brow was no longer pinched in pain. “Maybe I’m just making sure you don’t sneak out of bed before you’re properly feeling better.”

“Nah – you’re just in denial.”

The Doctor felt his joints freeze into place. It took a few moments for him to ensure his voice was steady, “Denial?”

She fisted the sheets and tucked them under her chin, it was ridiculously adorable. “You won’t admit we’ve become friends despite our agreement when we first met. You care about me more than just someone who has a mystery about them.”

Did she think because she had a ring on her finger she could toy with him like this?

“I thought I didn’t need to say it aloud, (Y/N).” He stared at her serene face, propping an elbow on the armrest of the chair. He put a finger to his chin, “Did you believe I didn’t think that?”

“Oh, I knew you cared from the moment Jack offered to take me dancing.” If her head weren’t about to explode, she might have burst into a round of giggles.

The Doctor held back a frustrated groan at the memory, “I was only looking out for you – Jack can be…”

“A catch?”

He paused, staring at her with more longing than he ever allowed himself, “A dog.”

She grinned but winced. Almost instinctually the Doctor leaned over from his seat and rested an arm on the mattress.

“You okay?”

(Y/N) took a deep breath, attempting to relax her face. “Tell me about Shakespeare again. Did he really have a full head of hair?”

The Doctor made sure her eyes were still closed as he lightly grazed a few fingers along her hairline, “He also was a terrible flirt.” He pushed the strands of hair away from her face.

“Bet Martha didn’t mind.”

“She said he had bad breath.”

“Then tell me about the mannequins – that one always gives me the creeps.” She felt her heart stutter as he continued to lean against her mattress. “Or maybe the TVs that sucked your faces off!”

He hummed, a deep sound from his chest, “Those stories won’t help you sleep.”

There was a moment of silence as (Y/N) simply took in the calming presence of him. One of the first things the Doctor promised her upon meeting was that he would keep her safe. And she felt it. She was safe with him.

“Tell me about the orange sky then.”

His chest ached. He knew exactly what she was asking for.

“The silver trees and the red grass,” she muttered, snuggling into her pillow, “Remind me how many times you failed your school exams.”

The Doctor chuckled, that ache threading up and making his throat dry, “All right.” He couldn’t help himself; he moved a hand and cupped her cheek. The same one he held when she woke from her coma.

~~~

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

The usual comfort of her favorite watch wasn’t coming to her this time. She was staring intently at her engagement ring. Pulled off her finger and held to the light, it glittered mockingly.

Months, she reminded herself, months she had been away from home. Didn’t she care about how Andy was doing at all?

Of course she did.

But did she care enough to run home to him and plan that wedding and live the rest of her life as a primary school teacher married to a nurse?

Apparently not.

But why was that? As she stared at the ring, she didn’t feel what she ought to have been. She should feel as though she were engaged to the man of her dreams, anxious and excited to be married. The thought of him should give her butterflies. The sound of his voice should make her heart skip.

Why wasn’t she feeling that anymore?

The Doctor.

No, it couldn’t be. She was losing those feelings long before the Doctor pulled her from her classroom.

Great – now her thoughts were settling on the Doctor. That brown eyed beauty. Did he know how conflicted he was making her feel? The wonderful bastard.

She peered at the engagement ring for a while longer, wondering how she was going to tell Andrew that she was having second thoughts. That there was a reason she was so willing to abandon her earth life and run away with an alien man in a time machine.

She wasn’t in love with him anymore.

A sudden flash of memory fought for room in her head: the Doctor brushing her hair away, gently tucking her in and whispering the story of his home planet. Of Gallifrey beneath the burnt orange sky.

She shook her head. If she were to make a bulleted list of things to know about the Doctor, it would start with:

1.      Stay near him; he’ll know what to do

2.      He will keep you safe

3.      He is incredibly and impossibly alone

4.      He cannot share a life with someone he could lose

No, that’s not quite right. The Doctor cannot allow himself to share a life. Every time he does he gets hurt. Hundreds of years of hurt that she couldn’t possibly understand. He told her in strict confidence about some of his old friends he’d lost.

She couldn’t insinuate, couldn’t encourage, being anything more than friends and companions.

She could handle suppressed feelings when the Doctor had been suffering for the majority of his long life.

Besides – she was an engaged woman.

A sudden bout of boredom overcame her. A sensation so powerful and unexpected that she hopped off the bed and began to pace her room. It reminded her dolefully of the Doctor. He was always on his toes, brimmed with impatience and boredom, looking for the next adventure without any proper sleep. Perhaps she was becoming more like him.

She felt immensely better after her fatigue spell. She might as well go find him on the main level.

And there he was tinkering with some wires at the console. “Good morning.”

He grinned, seeking her face immediately, “Hello!” A spark of the wires and a yelp from his lips made her laugh.

“Lets go out.”

The Doctor sucked a burnt finger, but stared at her with a furrowed brow, “You what?”

“I’m bored!”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised, “How are you feeling?” He came around the console and approached her sulking figure. “Does your head still hurt?”

She smacked away his hands, “I feel fine. I feel bored. Can we go somewhere exciting?”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m not fainting, am I?”

“You could be lying.”

“Since when have you refused to go exploring with me?”

“Since you’ve taken ill and, as your physician, I can’t condone behavior that could make you more ill.”

She put her hands on her hips, “I am not ill!”

His cheeky grin grew, “(Y/N) …”

“Fine!” She threw her hands in the air and made her way towards the innumerable buttons and levers. “I’ll find a place myself.” She started typing on the keypad and twisting a few knobs – the TARDIS immediately responded with a plume of steam and a flurry of flashing lights.

“Woah now!” The Doctor flew over, turning a few things and setting the ship right, “There’s no need to spring a mutiny.” He rounded on her, less kindness in his tone than he’d shown her the past night. But the pleading look on her face had his lungs constricting.

“Please.”

He pondered her expression for a few moments, eyes flickering about her figure to ensure she wasn’t swaying on her feet. As he usually did, he went to stare at the ring on her finger. A painful ritual he caught himself doing regularly.

But the ring wasn’t there.

What had she done?

“All right.” Perhaps she needed to get out of the ship for a while. “I’ve got a planet in mind you’ll find interesting. I haven’t visited in a long time.” He set the course and pulled the lever to start the engines.

(Y/N) beamed, wrapping her arms around his middle from behind. He stiffened. She didn’t notice.

“Thank you, Doctor.” She went to brace herself against the railing and the Doctor cleared his throat.

“It’s called Axiless the First. As you can imagine, the planet is axis – less. It doesn’t spin like many planets do in solar systems. It doesn’t move near as fast because it’s so stationary. That means the day and night cycles last about six months. And the magnetic field that’s usually created from planetary motion, doesn’t exist so there’s no field shielding the planet from UV rays. They have to use sun shields just to go outside!”

The TARDIS bumped to a stop and the Doctor pulled out some shades from a compartment in the center console, “It’s a small colony of people as they do have to live on mid-latitude areas, but it’s fascinating seeing a motionless planet. Imagine if the Earth stopped moving – your oceans would flood the continents.”

He tossed a pair of sunglasses her way. She slid them on with ease, “How do I look?”

It surprised him the amount of heat that crept up his neck. “Uh, f-fine. Suits you.”

She punched his arm playfully, “Come on then.” She bounced towards the doors and missed how the Doctor moved his hand to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly. He pinched himself.

The doors opened and a gust of hot air swarmed the ship.

The planet looked desolate, a desert of sand and rock. A few bare shrubs were scattered amongst the yellowed stones. There were even a few trees, though their branches were needlelike, and they provided little to no shade.

Sunlight was bathing everything in a harsh glow, it almost looked like waves were radiating off the sand. (Y/N) was slightly afraid to step on it for fear of burning the soles of her shoes. She had her sunglasses on, but she couldn’t help but shade her face with her hands.

“Bit hot, isn’t it?”

The Doctor stood beside her, blowing out his cheeks, “Must’ve landed in the middle of a day cycle. There was a fifty-fifty chance of hitting day or night. These glasses can be used in either cycle – day they’re sunglasses, night they’re night vision goggles.” He groaned, slipping out of his coat and throwing it into the TARDIS, “It’s hotter than I remember it being.”

“You don’t have a Hawaiian shirt in there somewhere?” (Y/N) laughed, stumbling as her feet shifted in the sand. “Surely you wear something more than those two suits.”

“I’ve got a dozen dress shirts and ties.” He started rolling up his sleeves, squinting despite having shades on. “Don’t you go bickering on about my outfits. Why is it hotter than before? The planet moves around their suns so it’s not like the sun has gotten closer and raised the temperature. Like I said before, it’s meant to be warmer than usual, the planet doesn’t spin. They have to keep the sun shields up to keep the harmful ultraviolet rays at bay, otherwise everyone here would burn.”

He started paving the way towards a sand dune; (Y/N) followed closely, feeling her feet heat up with how hot the ground was. “Are you telling me we’ve stumbled upon another doomed planet? What are the odds?”

She laughed but the Doctor ignored her. “The only way the planet could be heating up is if the UV rays have reached the surface. Like a microwave the sun is cooking the planet. Which means there’s nothing stopping the sun. Which means…” he put a hand through his hair, “The sun shields aren’t up and working.”

(Y/N) faltered, stopping at the top of the dune and catching her breath, “I don’t fancy being roasted alive, Doctor.” Below them was a small village, one made of glass and metal. “Do you suppose they know they’re living on a microwave?”

The Doctor wiped the growing sweat on his forehead. “Let’s go find out.”

The colony was little but were awed and welcoming at the presence of (Y/N) and the Doctor. It was impossible, in their eyes, for visitors to want to see their scorching planet. They were directed towards the people in charge, a race of humanoid beings; their eyes were a startling purple, and they had no hair. Intricate and beautiful floral patterns painted their skin and bald heads.

The smartly built huts were just as humid and stuffy on the inside as it was out in the sand. But they were grateful for the shade.

“I’m the Doctor and this is (Y/N),” the Doctor introduced, removing his shades, “We’ve come for a visit and couldn’t help but notice you’re… well, roasting.”

One of the humanoid aliens bowed, “You are correct. Our suns are infiltrating the shields. We’ve been suffering in this heat, unable to do anything.”

“What’s your name?” The Doctor asked, making his way towards a compartment of computers and scientific equipment.

The humanoid appeared to trust him near the technology. “I am Peony. This is my companion, Iris.”

“Like the flowers?” (Y/N) asked, eyeing their floral tattoos. “They’re very pretty names.”

“Yes, we’ve been compared before,” the other called Iris stated, “But the only correlation is that we are born of the ground. We’re planted seeds in a garden and sprout into being.”

(Y/N) gave them an appraising look, “Your babies are grown in the ground?”

“They’re a solitary species, (Y/N),” The Doctor called over his shoulder, “They don’t understand physical touch or procreation like you do.”

“There is no need for such intimacy,” Peony said. And (Y/N) could see how there was a purposeful distance between the two humanoids.

She shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know. I’d miss the cuddles.”

“Right then,” the Doctor shouted, “What did you mean the suns are infiltrating your shields? They’re only comprised of hydrogen and helium, only hot plasma that reacts to nuclear fusion. It’s not capable of motives like infiltration. That would mean they’d have consciousness.”

Peony and Iris shared a purple-eyed look before stating, “We believe there’s more to it then that.”

“You believe your suns are alive? Like actual beings?” (Y/N) asked, feeling the back of her shirt stick with sweat. “How is that possible?”

The Doctor peered at the information before him, screens that monitored the strength of the sun shields, “There are beings out there that we don’t fully understand. Gargantuan, God-like beings that are too powerful to observe and communicate with. I wouldn’t believe it – only…” He put a finger to his chin, “This chart here shows UV rays behaving like soldiers.”

Iris nodded, walking towards him, “You see them beating against the shield. They’re using physical force.”

“Like the arms of an octopus, they’re reaching out and tapping on the door,” the Doctor muttered, “Right, okay then. What’s the plan?”

A haziness enveloped (Y/N)’s eyes. Oh, no, not this again. She closed her eyes and tried to stay upright, taking deep breaths. She had felt perfectly fine that morning. Must’ve been the blasted heat.

Heat exhaustion. That’s all it was. (Y/N) didn’t get sick – has never been sick.

“We’ve been working on the theory to get the planet spinning again,” Iris stated, “It would create a powerful magnetic field and shield us permanently.”

“What? No. No! You can’t,” the Doctor said, “Making the planet spin would bring disaster to the surface, you will more than likely kill everything trying to survive here. Besides, you’ve got to have a core…”

“Our core is metallic,” Peony interrupted, “And planetary motion will help it create that magnetic field.”

The Doctor was getting that crazed look about him, one that normally pushed him to do rather crazed things. “But don’t you realize when your planet begins to spin again, whether instantaneous or gradual, everything will change. Tsunamis, earthquakes, volcanos, natural disasters everywhere! The planet surface will slide with the speed, bodies of water will be forced onto land, and plant life will be unable to cope.”

Peony looked at him as if they’d heard such an argument before. “It will also bring balance to the thinning air. We won’t have to only live in certain areas of the planet to breathe. We wouldn’t have to adjust to six month day cycles. And we wouldn’t have to worry about the sun. We are running out of options, Doctor.”

“We are dying either way,” Iris said, “It’s only a matter of which gets us first.”

“What do you mean?” the Doctor asked.

(Y/N) was leaning heavily against the wall paneling. It was a good thing the Doctor had something to occupy his mind.

“It’s either falling into natural disaster or burning from the sun.”

“There must be another way. Strengthen the shields again,” the Doctor muttered.

Iris waved a hand over to a staircase, one that went underground. “Follow me.”

“It’s no good,” Peony said, “We’ve been exposed to these rays for too long. We thought them simply ultraviolet, but that’s false. These suns are living beings and living beneath them has filled us with toxicity.”

“How’d you mean?” They continued down the stairs, (Y/N) still feeling woozy but appreciating the miniscule temperature drop.

They made it to a doorless room that held a wide window. It looked on at what could only be described as a burn clinic.

“What is this?” The Doctor continued questioning.

The longer (Y/N) looked, the more afraid she became. Numerous of the planet’s species were laying there, each to their own cot. And every one of them was covered in harsh, angry red burns. It looked incredibly painful.

Others in yellow hazmat suits were walking around and applying ointment, taking temperatures, and wiping foreheads. A few of the affected people were writhing in their beds, going mad with the heat. They had to be held down.

“It’s a sickness,” the Doctor whispered, mostly to himself.

“No, they’re just sun burnt,” (Y/N) said with an air of desperation, “Nothing some aloe vera can’t fix.”

“You forget we aren’t dealing with a regular sun,” Peony muttered, “Those are not burns from exposure, they’re from a plague.”

The Doctor leaned against the window, taking in the scene, “You’re dying either way. Sun shields won’t stop them because they aren’t only suns. They have motives and biology and warfare.”

(Y/N) felt her knees shake, unable to tear her eyes away from the camp of victims. It was like a horrific car accident – you couldn’t look away. “Are we safe?”

“You haven’t been exposed that long,” Iris said, “We’ve been living here our whole lives.”

“You only have to worry about those already showing symptoms,” Peony went on, “Don’t go near someone with the plague.”

The Doctor rubbed a hand over his face frustratingly. He was deep in thought, (Y/N) knew, he needed to think of a solution. Because he was brilliant. Because he was the Doctor. And he couldn’t turn away.

“What if we manufacture a magnetic field,” he banged a hand against his forehead, “We don’t have to shield the entire planet, only the parts people can survive in. Oh, my head! We’d need to mine enough metal and charge it with positive and negative energy. But a system could be built where that’s magnified to a specific area.”

Iris and Peony were sharing a silent look again, “That is a possibility we had not thought of.”

“We were busy thinking of the entire planets safety.”

The Doctor suddenly grinned, “But the entire planet isn’t habitable. Only parts. And we can secure those parts. I know I can build it - do you have the metal to wield it?”

“We have a metallic core, Doctor,” Peony smiled, “How else do you think we built these structures?”

Hello, (Y/N).

“What?” (Y/N) looked around, not recognizing the voice that addressed her.

The Doctor faced her, “Sorry?” He was still grinning from his brilliance.

“I thought…” she paused, very conscious of the sweat falling down the side of her face. “Nothing, I thought I heard something.”

You did.

“Right, lead the way,” the Doctor said, gesturing towards the staircase, “And while we’re at it, maybe I’ll find some revolutionary antibiotics for your patients.”

Your head is strange. Very dark. Very empty. What is hidden behind this steel door?

“What is that?” she questioned but realized that she was now alone in the small, windowed room. “Hello?”

Hello. How do you stand having so much hidden in your head?

“Where are you?”

I’m here. Inside you.

“Very funny,” she wheezed. Her breath left her, much like the night before. “Who are you?”

Ancient. Ancient like your Doctor. You’ve got quite the thought train dedicated to him, haven’t you?

“What are you called then.” Panic. She mustn’t panic.

We have no name. Only fire and ruin and wrath.

“You’re – you’re the sun. The one outside! Is this you infecting me? Am I sick?” She looked at her arms, fear starting to broil. But there were no angry burns appearing there.

This is our form of communication. We are so far away. The shields have dampened our telepathic field.

“Well, what do you want then? Why are you talking to me?”

There was silence for a few moments before:

I was bored.

The same reason she and the Doctor came to the planet. She was bored.

“And are you entertained now?” the edge of mockery in her voice was satisfying. But her head was beginning to pound.

You’re very strange. Very weak. Are you aware of how weak you are?

“Shut up!”

“(Y/N)?”

She whirled around and found the Doctor at the bottom of the stairs. She was breathing heavy, sweat dripping from her chin and hands.

“Who’re you talking to?” He kept his face calm, void of the real emotion he was feeling. Fear.

She swallowed, finding her throat remarkably dry, “No – no one.”

Interesting.

“Are you all right?” He took a few cautious steps towards her, his shirt sleeves still rolled up and his tie now loosened. She eyed him thoughtfully. Too thoughtfully.

Very interesting.

“I’m fine. The heat – it’s too much for me,” she cracked a lackluster smile, “It’s stuffy in here, isn’t it?”

The Doctor nodded carefully, raising a cautious hand and touching her shoulder. He pulled back almost immediately.

“What is it?”

Clever Doctor.

He stared at her with newfound confusion. The stare was so intense she felt as though she were being x-rayed.

“What have you done to her?”

Curiouser and curiouser.

“Can you hear him?” (Y/N) asked, whispering despite knowing the being could hear perfectly fine.

The Doctor refused to look away from her, “Answer me.”

You have some interesting trains of thought as well, Doctor. Very secret and very guarded.

“He’s in your head too?” (Y/N) looked back at the Doctor, trying her best to stay afloat. Her headache was becoming all consuming, she couldn’t ignore it much longer. Perhaps her wobbly knees will give way first.

The Doctor clenched his jaw, a few fingers to his temple, “You should ask for permission before you go snooping around.”

Ah, Time Lord – you have telepathy of your own.

“You have no right to this world,” he continued, “No right to consume what you don’t need.”

The man that regrets.

(Y/N) could feel the tension seizing the Doctor. She trailed her suddenly tired eyes towards his face. He wasn’t holding back now, he was upset – he was hurting. The label struck a cord in him. It made him think of an impossibly long list of heartaches.

And his companion: the dying girl.

She held her breath. That was a label she didn’t recognize.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t talk to it,” The Doctor said, moving his fingers from his head towards (Y/N)’s. “I’ve shut him out of my mind. Now I’ll shut him out of yours.”

You should be afraid. Be very afraid you weak, dying girl.

“Stop it,” she said. She wrapped her hands around the Doctor’s wrists, shutting her eyes tight against the words he could no longer hear. A burning like nothing else was heating her bones, it started low and began to grow until it was scorching.

“Stop it, stop it! PLEASE.”

“I’ve almost got it, (Y/N),” the Doctor ground out, “Bear with me, I’ve got you.”

No ones got you. You’re alone. Void of memories. Family. Life. Your time is up, dying girl.

Blisters erupted on her arms, searing away her skin. “Please! STOP IT.” Unexpected tears ran hot down her sweltering face. Sweat made her rosy cheeks shine.

There is no help coming. You are meant to die. From the moment you woke you were meant to be dead.

And snap. Her head was silent.

She fell into the Doctor’s arms, trembling and burning. He clutched at her, saying words that she couldn’t make out. White noise was shoving cotton in her ears. There was a scent of smoke in the air. Was that coming from her?

And she fainted.

~~~

It was bright. So bright.

There were shadows passing behind her eyelids and she was reluctant to open them. Every bone in her body, every joint, ached and burned. She was suddenly very aware of her limbs and how sore they were.

“What happened?”

Someone was near her, ready to answer, “You were filled with tendrils of that sun being energy. He stuck a needle into your mind and poisoned you. It was an instantaneous infection.”

She cracked open one eye to give him a look. It almost made him smile.

“He gave you the plague. You’ve been sick.”

She groaned, “If this is what being sick feels like, I’ve been terribly naïve.” She felt a hand on her forehead, and it was cool against the heat of her skin.

“You have been sick for a long while, my child.”

(Y/N) opened her eyes at the unfamiliar voice. She was surprised to see a cat. A blooming cat.

“Novice Hame, this is (Y/N),” the Doctor frowned. (Y/N) swiveled her gaze from the robed cat to his placid face. He had that expression sometimes when he was dwelling on something particularly sullen or painful.

When he dwelled on the past. Or his regrets. The man that regrets.

“Where am I?”

“Remember that hospital I wanted to take you to all those months ago.” His voice sounded tired. His hand trailed to the back of her head.

Novice Hame purred, “You’re a patient at the New New York Hospital. We’ve been treating you the past few days.”

“Days?” (Y/N) questioned. She tried to sit up, her face pinched in pain, and the Doctor helped her. “What’s happened to Axiless the First?”

“I’ve given them the blueprints, the technology. They’ll be fine. The Sisters of Plenitude provided medicine for their plague victims. They’ll be fine without me.”

“You didn’t stay to help?” She watched him pull his hand away, intertwining his fingers tightly across his stomach. He sat more stony as he watched her without much reaction.

“They’ll be fine. I was needed elsewhere.”

The way he stared at her was excruciating. She wished he would tell her what he was thinking.

(Y/N) looked at her arms, searching for the blisters and burns she felt explode on her skin. But they were clear, “I don’t look like I have the plague anymore. Why do I feel so sick then?”

“You’re ill with much more,” Novice Hame said, moving towards the bed and fiddling with a side table of medications. “Like I said, you’ve been sick for a long while.”

“How long? Sick with what?” She put a hand to her head, feeling faint again. “I don’t get sick, nurse.”

The cat smiled with pointed teeth, “We’re still working it out.”

“You don’t get sick with human disease, (Y/N). We’re talking about alien disease.” The Doctor put more inflection in his voice though his face was still flat. “I should’ve taken you to this hospital the first chance I got,” he whispered.

“Alright, now you’re scaring me.” (Y/N) turned towards the novice and asked, “Tell me.”

The cat woman appeared conflicted, as if she didn’t know where to begin. But she shared a look with the seated Time Lord and sighed, “As far as we can tell – you’ve been ill all your life.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

(Y/N) flickered her gaze towards the Doctor and saw the sorrow creep into his face.

“You still feel sick because it wasn’t just the sun plague that was ailing you,” Novice Hame continued, folding her hands in front of her, “The Doctor tells me you’ve been experiencing fatigue, dizzy spells, the last few weeks.”

She swallowed hard, “I’ve been tired is all.”

“You’ve been experiencing withdrawal.”

(Y/N) blinked, then scoffed, “Withdrawal?”

“Your body is dependent on a substance to keep it going. Since leaving Earth, you haven’t been receiving it.”

She glared at the cat, as if saying she’d better keep talking before something bad happens. The Doctor remained silent, sitting as still as he could but never taking his eyes off of (Y/N)’s reaction.

“While you were healing from the plague, we took the liberty of analyzing your blood. Over three-quarters of the cells there were mutated. They were defected, synthesized cells. They were still fully functioning; they just weren’t natural. They didn’t come from you.”

“Is that… is that why you were able to track me?” She addressed the Doctor.

If possible, his frown deepened. “Your particle trail. It was traceable because your biology has been tainted with a traceable substance.”

“What is this substance?”

Novice Hame continued, “The human body depends on constant cell replacement to survive. When you have a cut, the body creates new cells to heal it. When you scrape your skin, your body creates cells to replace it. Blood cells are used for so many things that they tire and die, and then must be replaced to keep the body functioning. Without cell replacement, oxygen won’t get to your organs. Nutrients won’t replenish growth. Nerves would become defective.”

“Alright, I get it,” (Y/N) said, her head aching with the upheaval of information. “Cells are important. I asked what the substance was in my body.”

“I’m telling you that’s what the substance does. This substance is acting as those new cells replacing your old ones. For some reason, your body has stopped producing its own cells, it’s completely dependent on outside help.”

“But – but if I’ve been dependent on whatever that is my entire life… how have I been getting it without realizing it?”

There was a long pause as the cat woman debated her phrasing. “Have you been in contact with someone or some place on a regular basis? A regular visit maybe that would give enough time for someone to administer the cells?”

“Well, the only person I see almost every day is my fiancé Andrew. The only person I see on a regular basis is Andrew.”

“And you haven’t seen him in months,” The Doctor muttered.

Novice Hame sighed, her voice delicate and feline, “What do you know of your fiancé?”

(Y/N) stared at her incredulously, “You’re not suggesting… you think my Andy has something to do with this?”

“He’s been with you from the moment you woke up,” the Doctor said with more of an air of thinking aloud. “Said so yourself, he was the first face you saw.”

Not true. And he knew it.

“Then we have reason to believe that this Andrew has been secretly giving you a substance of synthesized human DNA regularly. And you are in dire need of a cell replacement.”

(Y/N) sat there, a strange itch in her hands. She felt like she should be doing something. She felt like she needed to be moving. Her breathing was becoming heavy, her eyes wide and stunned.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, “Why would he make me addicted to something like that? And I need it to live?”

“Yes,” Novice Hame said, “We’ve been trying to get your body to regenerate cells on its own again, but to no avail. This drug substance is powerful and foreign.”

“And you can’t just make more of the drug?”

“I’m so so sorry.” The Doctor had finally put his face in his hands.

Novice Hame remained solemn, “We don’t understand its compounds. It may be synthesized, but we don’t know how to replicate it.”

They were silent again, except for the rapid breathing coming from (Y/N). She could feel the tears trying to creep into her vision.

“So I’m an addict, that’s it? I’m an addict with a drug dealer fiancé. Why would the Reapers want me for that?”

The Doctor stood from his chair, pacing in front of the bed, “And how could my alien tracer track you if this substance is only defected, synthesized human DNA? That’s not alien.”

“The mutations were manufactured by something alien; it always leaves a trace.”

“And the Reapers come after beings they believe have cheated death,” the Doctor continued, pacing with new purpose.

(Y/N) felt her eyes water further, “The dying girl.”

The Doctor snapped his attention to her.

“I was called the dying girl. Apparently I’m supposed to be dead. Meant to have died.”

He looked at her with fierceness, jutting a finger at Novice Hame, “You are going to find a cure.”

“But Doctor…”

“You are going to find a cure and fix this!” a deep seeded power was entering his voice. If she didn’t know him as well as she did, (Y/N) figured she’d ought to have been afraid. “She is going to get better. She has to!”

(Y/N) felt a pang in her gut.

“We’re going to ask dear old Andrew a few questions,” the Doctor continued, an ancient anger in his expression. “And we’re going to get you well. He’s bound to have more of that drug.”

“Doctor, she is very weak, you’re going to have to be careful.”

He put his hands on the railing at the foot of her bed. “Don’t worry. I’m not about to lose her. Not today.”

And (Y/N) believed him. Those tears left salty tracks down her cheeks as she stared at him. But if he didn’t lose her today, then when?

He cannot share a life with someone he could lose. Not so easily.

~~~

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[flockofdoves]

finally finally finally(!!!) got to go to have my first appointment with my new primary care doctor after her having such a long waiting list (even though it still was way shorter than other doctors ppl in a local lgbt fb group recced as being good with fat patients) and then having my first scheduled appointment last may canceled due to her having a family emergency

and god. started tearing up afterwards. ive never had such a good doctors appointment in my life.

she ordered the tests i asked about and gave me the sleep doctor referral i needed but then also went above and beyond and was thorough with ordering even more tests for stuff that occurred to her

it was so validating like i was trying to step around like ‘a friend with sleep apnea really encouraged me to look into getting a sleep study done and i already did one of those take home ones where you tape a little thing around your finger last year and it was negative but idk i thought maybe if possible i’d want to look into it still in case its something beyond obstructive sleep apnea’ and she was like yes of course! but then also asked ‘did the test you did at home come with any head gear?’ and when i was like ‘no just the finger thing the uhhh. blood oximetry light thing’ she was like ‘pshhh the only decent at home tests have head gear, thats nothing! and of course even then it doesnt look into a whole lot of other sleep issues’ which god. was sooooo affirming

and she was so upfront about the referral like ‘look. most sleep specialists around here are old cis white men who can be super intimidating and i’ve had issues with them misgendering my patients, if you tell me something like that happens i’ll always advocate for you, i’ve done it before, but just know that even if they dismiss you in the moment, while you shouldn’t have to go through that, you’re just there to get the results of those tests and i can help you advocate for what you need from there. not saying that to scare you off from doing it at all i’m writing the referral right now! but just i feel like to be responsible even if i know that type of doctor isn’t something new to most people, i still should give you that warning. i’d definitely recommend bringing a friend to your appointment with them if you can’

i know from people saying in the fb group that she is lgbt herself, but in addition to that the way she mentioned neurodivergence and me being autistic when referencing my medical history and also connecting it to other stuff i feel like she also has personal experience w that herself it was really cool

and god i still eased into it a bit despite literally going to her bc ppl said she practices HAES but the way she just seemed to totally Get all my stuff with my atypical restrictive eating disorder and experience with fatphobia in recovery and never mentioned my bmi and unprompted (when describing another medical concept with it as a relevant example) dismissed the idea of intentional weight loss diets as healthy for anyone

and both was really responsive to and appreciative of me just coming with a list of stuff i was thinking about and advocating for myself but then also suggested certain diagnoses as stuff to look into based on just like. normal listening to me without me even trying to feed information to passively hopefully get care which was so affirming bc it was all stuff i’d been curious about if could be the case for me but didn’t want to prioritize to look into above the main stuff i came with after not having a doctor for so long

also found out she also specializes in obgyn stuff so i dont even have to find another doctor for that!!

its slightly nervewracking that my follow up can’t be til december (also between that and her being pretty late to my appointment to help another patient, it makes me feel like. god. this system isn’t set up for good caring doctors to succeed. i hope she never gets burnt out or anything) fortunately i can at least do some of the blood work basically any time i’m free so thats cool

but god im just so grateful!!! holy shit!!! :)

[stardustedknuckles]

I have been dealing with psych since April trying to get my records over for them to take over my ADHD meds after I got kicked off my old insurance. Medicaid expanded their income requirements so even though my income didn’t change, I was pushed into it and lost pretty much all medical autonomy. 

This got long, sorry.

I offered to self pay to keep my doctor because she was very good to me and nope, clinics are not allowed to charge medicaid patients. The reasoning is that if you can pay for it you shouldn’t be on Medicaid. No fucking shit I shouldn’t be on Medicaid and also fuck Medicaid. Doctor recommends you do something medicaid won’t pay for? You literally cannot pay for it yourself. The only things scarier than being unsure if you can afford to cover a cost yourself is that not even being an option, legally. If they say you can’t have it, fuck you.

So my new and terrible PCP referred me to psych because nobody at her office could maintain my script, which I figured was coming because I’ve been seeing MDs since I got diagnosed. I had a luckily quick dx and I have always feared if I went to psych for meds they would be like “hmm the notes say he saw you for ten minutes, so I’m not going to honor this.” I woud have kept going to MDs, but they’re damn hard to find on medicaid and I learned that it didn’t matter how fast I was diagnosed, a dx is a dx.

For two weeks they have been telling me they got my records, everything looks fine, should be put in at the pharmacy any day now. And today they told me just kidding, actually, since my diagnosis is considered inattentive ADD there is no evidence to suggest it should be treated with the meds I’ve been on for three years.

A few of you ran into my blog for general critical role reasons but most of you are here because of the fic I write. That was not fucking possible before meds. Paying attention to something for four hours routinely was not possible. Staying at my computer and drafting plots and thinking about these characters was not possible. I was in a state of perpetual exhaustion to the point a few doctors have wondered if we’re actually treating chronic fatigue syndrome (HUGE overlap btw). Those doctors have all agreed - hold on to that ADHD diagnosis, because the end result is that I’m being treated effectively.

This right here is my worst nightmare. Forced to go to psych (they snuck me in one last appointment with my old PCP in march so I could get 3 more months of meds - I still don’t know who got that bill) only for them to jack me around and mislead me until I would not leave them alone. Where are the meds you promised me, I am now running low when I had a surplus (I didn’t tell them that part - I was sick enough earlier in the year that I had a few weeks where taking them was pointless). I have already been splitting my evening dose because I haven’t trusted them that they have it figured out and now they are just. No, sorry. Hope you had a good three years because you’re going to have to go through everything unmedicated again to do the test she wants to see.

Nobody even recognizes a difference between ADD and ADHD-I. They are clinically the same dx with the same treatment and have been for a while.

It’s fucking cruelty is what it is.

And I immediately started crying because new birth control and also nightmare scenario, but the only saving grace is that mom already got me in with a clinic that has an MD for unrelated reasons. She’s THREE HOURS AWAY but it is literally the only option and will allow me to keep my meds. I will still have a period where I am low/without them since I’m splitting and it still might not be enough but. Fuck.

And in the middle of all of this I have a kidney stone working its way through, AND my blood pressure keeps dropping me an hour after I eat and scaring the shit out of me. That’s why mom called up my brothers’ MD, because my primary care is utter shit. It’s not even “they do their best but they’re underfunded” it’s “I have medicaid now and that means I am disposable.”

Fuck the american health system up the ass. I can’t even begin to process what this would do to someone who didn’t already have a mistrust of doctors and a backup plan at all times. Who didn’t have a mom who is frankly routinely controlling but who also knows how to get shit done.

Now if you will excuse me, I have to lie down because the emotions from the last three days also set off some kind of histamine flare.