#and she referred me to a surgeon who referred me to this person?

[what-even-is-sleep]

ahh just got booked for a consultation meeting with a gender therapist for possible surgery this is unreal ahhhh

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

two of the transfems youre friends with have been talking to you about the clinic they got their bottom surgery done at. apparently its dirt cheap, and the surgeon - despite some oddities and, your friends admit, poor hygiene - is incredibly talented. theyre more than happy to give you her phone number when you ask, and while it sounds simultaneously incredibly sketchy and way too good to be true, at this point youre just so broke, desperate, and tired of gatekeepers that you're willing to give it a shot.

you call on a thursday afternoon, and the call is picked up on the fourth ring, when youre just gearing up to hear an answering machine. the voice on the other end sounds like a middle-aged woman with a smoking habit trying to sound like a cheery, bubbly young girl, and mostly succeeding. hiiiii! what can i do for you? she asks. you say er im looking for a surgical clinic is this the right number? she says mhm! thats me. you say okay, i just have a few questions. she says shoot. you say do you take patients who arent referred to you? she says nobody refers patients to me so yes. then she giggles. youve never heard somebody pull off a giggle in real life. you ask okay, so ive been looking for a place to get my metoidoplasty done, can you do that here? she says i dont know what that is give me like five seconds. then the line goes silent. you can hear her typing on a mechanical keyboard and humming to herself as she reads. youre now convinced that this is not in any way a legitimate medical institution.

youre about to hang up when she comes back on the line. OH you need a dick she says. sure i can do that! does tuesday afternoon work for you? i have that morning free too but i HATE getting up in the mornings so id rather not schedule it if i have to. you say tuesday afternoon is fine, how long should i expect the visit to be? she says i dont know like seven hours? you say seven hours? she says yeah give or take a few, every person is different so i dont know what itll be like until ive got your cunt opened up. honestly probably best to take the whole day off just in case it turns out to be a tough operation. you dont respond to that immediately. she says oh shoot should i not use the word cunt, is that too gendered? sorry. you say no its fine. you say i thought i was just going in for a consult? she says i mean yeah if youd rather. i dont mind doing same-day but some people like having more time to think about their options. do you have somewhere to be tuesday night or something? you say no its just... no tuesday afternoon should be fine. she says okay great!

she gives you her address. she says knock three times so i know its you and not my parole officer. parole officer you ask? she says im being good i promise but i still hate talking to him hes boring. you say if you dont mind me asking what were you imprisoned for? she says the ones i plead guilty to at the trial were a hundred and ninety-two counts of first-degree murder with a parahuman ability, two hundred and fifty-six counts of physical and emotional torture with a parahuman ability, five hundred and six counts of intentional infliction of emotional distress with a parahuman ability, four hundred ninety-eight counts of aggravated assault and battery with a parahuman ability, four hundred twenty five counts of domestic terrorism with a parahuman ability and two hundred and twelve counts without, three counts of arson, two hundred forty two counts of burglary with a parahuman ability, three hundred eight four counts of robbery with a parahuman ability, four hundred twenty seven counts of abduction with a parahuman ability, a hundred eighty six counts of human trafficking with a parahuman ability, three hundred ninety counts of destruction of public property with a parahuman ability, eighty counts of possession of a controlled substance, more than three thousand conspiracy and complicity charges in various felonies, eighteen violations of the Geneva Conventions, and the unauthorized practice of medicine. i plead not guilty to the larceny, sexual assault, contempt of court, corporate espionage, and identity theft charges and the prosecutor didnt really try to fight it since i had already earned seventy life sentences from the other stuff so im technically innocent of those.

you dont say anything to that.

after three seconds of silence she says sooooooooo i'll see you tuesday? you say tuesday, yeah. what was your name again? Riley, she says. Riley Grace Davis. you say thanks again and then hang up.

you debate constantly during the intervening days whether you should go on tuesday. youre grateful your friend group is so slutty; it means youve already seen with your own eyes that this surgery is real and not just a lure to murder you. still, you have some reservations, which you think is perfectly understandable.

you call one of your friends whos been there already. she picks up and you say if this is a joke its only sort of funny. she says if whats a joke? you say the clinic. you say you DID give me the actual number to the place where you actually had your bottom surgery done right? she says yeah, dont worry the surgeons so sweet. you say she admitted to doing two hundred murders when she was on the phone. she says i dont know anything about that but i trust her. you say if i end up dead, kidnapped, or mutilated, its your fault. she says dont worry about it.

tuesday comes. you never agreed to an exact time so you show up as early as you can and still have it be "afternoon" in your mind - 12:30. you climb the rusted fire escape to the third floor door and knock three times. the door is answered by a woman six feet tall in casual but very nice clothes with frizzy brown hair and an expression you cant read. you say er, riley? she says nope. another girl pushes past her, exasperated. she's maybe five foot two and her wavy blonde hair is worn down, with a red bow in it. she's wearing torn jeans - naturally torn, not the sort that you buy with holes in them that youve always hated but the kind that were once normal jeans and now have worn through much of the fabric on the knees. her tshirt is faded and has stains that you cant quite place on it, but youre pretty sure it was once Eidolon merchandise.

she says damnit amy let me answer the door next time. the taller woman, amy apparently, shrugs and steps aside to let you in riley claps her hands together once youre inside and the door is shut. introductions! she shouts. amy, this is, er... I never actually got your name? you tell them your name. she says right! hes one of my clients. and this is Amy, my sister. dont worry about her, shes just a little awkward. amy says can you PLEASE not introduce me as your sister. riley says make me. then she grabs amys shirt and pulls her down, standing on her tiptoes at the same time. they kiss in a very un-sisterly way. you clear your throat politely.

riley breaks away and says right, yeah, sorry! i get distracted easy. youre here to get a dick right. you splutter a bit, both at the bluntness of the question and the fact that amy is still standing right there. riley follows your gaze. she says oh dont worry about her! sorry, i wouldve run her off earlier, i thought you wouldnt come by for another few hours. you say sorry. she says dont worry, its her fault. amy says you didnt tell me you had a client. riley says you didnt ASK. you clear your throat politely again. you say er yes, i did come in for metoidoplasty. she bites her lip and furrows her brow. she says metoido... oh right. well i dont really do that here but i can give you a dick. you say uh im not really interested in phalloplasty. she says whats phalloplasty? amy says its the construction of a penis, usually via tissue flap taken from another part of the body, often followed by the insertion of prosthetics to allow the constructed penis to achieve erection. riley says oh, huh. yeah i dont do that either. i can give you a dick though. she takes a second then puts on an exaggerated scowl. who would want that she asks? amy says lots of people prefer it to metoido for aesthetic reasons or because they dont think theyll be large enough for penetrative sex with metoido. riley says but it wouldnt feel like a dick! man, some surgeons are talentless hacks.

you clear your throat again. you say so if youre- riley says youre clearing your throat a lot, are you okay? you say im fine, its just- she says oh duh were being so rude! why are we all standing around here. come sit down in the living room, do you want anything to drink? she leads you into the living room. it has the unmistakable air of a room thats been cleaned recently, with vacuuming marks present in the carpet and the unmistakable scent of air freshener. the sofa that you're gestured to sit on is, by contrast, unbelievably filthy. stains of every sort are visible on it - some of them are obvious, like the patches of blood and vomit or the ring of a coffee mug. others take you a second to place, like the crusty streak along one cushion that you realize all at once is semen, or the sticky yellow parts that you hope to god are honey. some of them, like the muddy green handprint along one arm of the sofa or the deep black smudge along a seat, are completely foreign to you. you can smell it from several feet away.

amy notices your hesitancy. she says i keep telling her to throw that thing out. riley says and i keep telling HER that its a relic from earth bet! its an antique and itll be worth millions soon. it just needs a good deep cleaning. amy says what that sofa needs is a bullet, not a deep clean. you sit down. drink? riley asks. you say er what do you have? she says water, diet coke, vodka, coffee. no more beer though, SOMEBODY drank the last one. amy says you never said they were off limits! riley says they arent, im just teasing. you say waters fine. riley says aaaaaaaaaamyyyyyyy, could you pleeeeeeaaaaaaaase go get our guest a glass of water and me a diet coke? oh and can you grab the pill bottle on the second shelf of the spice cabinet. amy says sure, i'll be right back.

riley sits down next to you. she says sooooooo what do you want for your dick? you say sorry, if youre not doing phallo or metoido then what exactly are you offering? she says no offense but it would take like literally eight years to give you enough background info for you to understand my explanation, and i dont have that kind of time. im not getting any younger. except for when i am. she laughs louder than you thought a human could. you have no idea how to describe the sound of her laughter. she says just tell me about your dream dick and ill give it to you. trust me, im a doctor.

except that youre not, amy says, returning with glasses and pills in hand. she sets the water down in front of you and you immediately take large gulps, feeling very much lost right now. riley says am TOO, accepting the pill bottle and diet coke from amy. she frowns. why is it can diet coke, she asks? she says glass bottle is so much better. she says why did i even BUY can. amy says they are literally the same liquid, what do you mean its better. riley says theyre not the same, stop deluding yourself. amy says which of us is the REAL doctor? riley says both of us! the PRT finally issued me an equivalency. youre talking to doctor riley davis, MED. amy says oh really? congrats she says. riley beams. then she unscrews the lid of the unlabeled, dark brown glass bottle, grabs three pills, and pops them into her mouth.

what is that you ask. ectasy she says. you want some? you say no thanks. she says you sure? you say i probably shouldnt take drugs before an operation, what if it interacts with the anesthetic? riley says dont worry, i made my own anesthetic that has zero drug-drug interactions. amy says except with sudafed. riley says ok YEAH except with sudafed, how was i supposed to know? she glances at you. you dont take sudafed do you she asks. you say no. she says good. it was such a bitch cleaning the pus off the ceiling she says. you say huh? she says dont worry about it, you dont take sudafed. she says are you sure you dont want any ecstasy? i promise its pure. you say i dont want to get addicted. she says i can surgically remove the addiction pathway from your brain if that would help. amy says riley, no means no. riley says fine. do you want any ecstasy babe? she says no thanks. riley frowns. she says you guys are a bunch of squares. she pops a fourth one and starts chugging diet coke.

she slams the can down after drinking what must be half of it, wipes her mouth with her arm and grins. sorry, we keep getting distracted! she says. she says im getting into the start of a manic episode and that always makes me roll right over people in conversation. what do you want for your dick? you say um. i hadnt really thought about it. its not normally a choice beyond the type of surgery, you sort of just end up with whatever the doctors are able to make work? thats lame she says. why are normal doctors all so lame she says. ok, rude amy says. OBVIOUSLY im not talking about you babe riley says. and stop distracting me from my client! amy holds up her hands in mock surrender, an easy smile on her face.

you didnt bring a toy with you did you, riley asks. you say huh. she says sometimes people bring a toy that they want me to model it after and that makes everything a lot easier. you say no you didn't. you say i hadn't really thought about my preferences, can we go dealer's choice on this? amy pipes up. she says you REALLY dont want riley to go dealers choice. riley says shut up and get me another diet coke, i just finished this one. amy says yes princess. you honestly cant read whether it was meant to be mocking or endearing. riley turns back to you. ok, she says, lets start with basics. primate? canid? equine? suine? dolphin? i could give you a hyena pseudopenis but i dont know if that would be offensive. you say human is fine. she says please dont tell me you're gonna just be boring this whole time. you say define boring. she sighs deeply and starts massaging her temples. amy, having stepped into the room in time to hear the last bit of conversation, tousles rileys hair. she says sorry babe, customer's always right.

you work out the appearance of your soon-to-exist cock this way. riley asks questions about length, girth, hair, amount of semen generated, percentage growth when erect, and you try to give what you think are average answers every time. amy watches, bemused, the whole time. halfway through she leaves to get the bottle of vodka. she drinks five shots in fifteen minutes. you say i didnt think the human body had that much capacity for alcohol resistance. she says it doesnt. riley swats playfully at her arm.

eventually, riley grabs a set of crayons and a cocktail napkin. she says ok, i think we got it, scribbling furiously. she shows you a crayon drawing of a dick. this look good she asks? you squint at it. there are no measurements given and the medium does not allow you to make out any fine detail. you say yeah thats fine. amy tries and fails to hide a smile. riley chucks the napkin aside and rubs her hands together. boring parts done! she says. time to get messy she says. amy pours a sixth shot of vodka. she says dont forget the anesthetic first. riley rolls her eyes. she says OBVIOUSLY i didnt forget the anesthetic. she says ill be right back. as soon as she leaves the room, amy knocks back her shot. she turns to you. she says you mind if i stay and watch? she says i dont want to make you uncomfortable, but i like watching her work. shes cute when shes working. you say at this point youre not sure you would mind anything at all. you say at this point you dont think you would be fazed if she came back with a fully-formed dick wriggling around in her hand like a fish and sewed it onto me. she says dont tempt fate.

riley comes back with a black bag the size of her head, which she sets on the coffee table with a thunk. she points at you and says okay, clothes off. or pants off i guess. you can leave the shirt on. or take it off. i dont care. you take it off. she tells you to lie down and starts pulling things out of the bag. amy stands up from the sofa to give you the space to stretch out and sits on the coffee table instead, one leg pulled up to her chest with her chin resting on her knee.

riley pulls out a syringe from the bag, filled with pitch-black fluid. she says okay this will hurt for a second but only for a second. you say huh? she flips you over onto your belly and jabs the needle against your lower back, into your spinal column. it hurts like a bitch for all of two seconds and then you stop feeling anything at all in your lower body. you also cant move your legs, you realize. what just happened you ask, as she flips you onto your back again. she says i just killed all the cells in the nerves in your lower spine. she says its the easiest way to make sure none of the pain signals slip through, and she'll just replace them with living ones when she's done. you don't know how to respond to that.

she pulls more things out of the bag. a cartoonish array of different cutting implements come out. most of them are various sizes of medical scalpel, ring cutter, or saw, but you also see a pair of chunky pink safety scissors, a pizza cutter, a serrated bread knife, an x-acto, a drill with a comically long bit, a pair of wire cutters, gardening shears, and an awl. she says okay im gonna start operating so look away if you dont wanna see how your crotch looks while its being rearranged. especially if you think you might puke, i hate having to stop to clean up puke in the middle of surgery. you look away. you notice amy is watching transfixed.

for a couple of hours things go on like that. amy and riley make light conversation, with riley filling any silence by humming a wordless tune you dont know. the sounds and smells youre getting are enough to make you slightly sick; you continue not looking.

in the middle of hour two, riley stops. oh goddamnit, she says. what amy asks? riley says she forgot that shed need extra meat. amy says you started a surgery to give somebody a whole new organ and forgot youd need more tissue to do it? riley says shut up, im dumb. amy says no youre not babe. riley says ughhhhh now what. amy says just get his stem cells to grow the tissue you need. riley says nooooooo thatll take forever, and i have places to BE tomorrow, and if i stop putting pressure on him here hes going to bleed out through his cunt. you say wait, what? amy says well i dont know what you want me to do about this situation, i gave you my solution. riley says baaaaaaaaaaabe. amy says whaaaaaaaaaaaat. riley says i think we have some bacon in the fridge, will you pretty please with sprinkles on top go get it? amy says and what do i get in return? riley says a kiss. amy says id get that anyway. riley says my undying love and affection. amy says i have that already. riley says not making me angry at you so you can sleep under my roof without having to worry that ill turn your sweat glands into acid glands in the middle of the night. amy says that, plus i get to top tonight. riley says fiiiiiiiiine, just go get the bacon. amy gets up.

you say look uh i know you said not to question what youre doing but i kind of dont want a dick made of bacon, not to sound ungrateful. also did you say something about me bleeding out? riley says dont worry, if you bleed out ill put the blood back in, im a professional. you say thats not as reassuring as she thinks it is. riley says whos the doctor, mister? you say technically both of us. i have a phd in social sciences you say. she says wow, theyre just giving out doctorates for anything these days, huh? you say hey, rude. she says only teasing. you say anyway, uh, you didnt address the bacon dick thing? she says oh dont worry about it, my amys amazing, youll see.

amy comes back in with the package of bacon. do you need this in any particular shape she asks. riley says nah just give me a good amount of it. and make sure its spongy, so when he gets hard the blood can- amy cuts her off. she says dont worry, ive given you enough penises at this point that i think i know what penile tissue is like at this point. you say given her enough penises? what the hell does that mean? riley says hey, dont kinkshame! she sounds legitimately offended. you say sorry. amy pulls the bacon out of the package, holding it aloft in her left hand. you watch as the familiar look of a half-pound of bacon shifts and warps into a strange lump of fatty, spongy tissue of a waxy color. she hands it to riley. riley says thanks sis youre the best, love you! amy says no problem. riley says id kiss you if i wasnt elbow deep in this guys cunt right now. amy says kiss me after the surgerys done.

another two hours go by. the sounds of flesh being chopped, sawed, and stitched underscore riley and amys meaningless conversation about whether they HAVE to attend their acquaintance lisa's birthday party. riley says lisa probably wouldn't throw a birthday party if there wasn't some sort of scheme going on. amy agrees but says that doesnt indicate whether they should get involved with the scheme or not. you wonder dimly if you will ever feel your lower body again. you wonder if this is purgatory, an endless afternoon of lesbians bickering affectionately while one of them does surgery on you. you turn your head enough to look at the clock. its 5:26pm. where the fuck did the time go?

another hour passes. riley stands up. she is soaked up to her elbow in various bodily fluids - mostly blood, but youre not looking too closely. she says finally! she says just need to regrow your nerve cells now. you say is that going to take long? she says like twenty minutes maybe as she flips you over. you say ok. she jams a different needle into the same spot, injecting a strange yellow paste into your spine. she then flips you onto your back again. you feel brave enough to finally look at your crotch.

there is a completely normal human penis of average size there. you reach a hand down and touch it. you dont have any sensation in it yet since your nerves are all still dead, but it feels warm and soft under your hands. you smile, feeling tears come to your eyes. its over.

rileys talking. she says i followed your specifications except i had to cheat a bit on the nerves, you actually didnt have very many in your clit for whatever reason so your glans has maybe eight thousand fewer nerves than you wanted, sorry about that. she says i gave you balls in your scrotum for shape but since you said you didnt want kids they dont produce sperm. let me know if you want that changed she says. she says it should be fully functional in every respect, but if you notice any erectile dysfunction, incontinence, discoloration in urine or semen, priapism, or any other issue come back and we'll sort it out. if you notice it bleeding in ANY capacity, call me immediately. if im not answering call Amy, ill give you her number. if SHES not answering either then you can start seeing normal doctors, not that those idiots will know how to help you probably. if you want any changes to it call me and ill pencil you in to get it adjusted. get all that she asks. you nod. she says cool. she says itll be like $200, no rush if youre not able to pay right now. you say it might be a bit since youre still trying to pay interest on your student loan debt. wait, she says, they have student loans again? you nod. she says the world ended like thirty years ago, when did they set up student loans again? fuck, how much do you owe? you say a little under eighty thousand. she says jesus fuck, nevermind, its free. goddamn. you say thank you so much. she says yeah of course. do you want us to dress you or do you want to wait until you can move and do it yourself?

[eoieopda]

I am here to request some silly, sweet Channie fluff 🥺🥺 as mild or spicy as you want, idm, just want some deep comfort feat. my favourite fun-sized snack 🥰🥰

the one with chan and the promotion (i)

pairing: bang chan x gn!reader type: drabble (fluff, hurt/comfort) au: fuck buddies to ?, pining rating: 18+ wc: 2.2k (don’t look at me) summary: you need a ride home after getting your wisdom teeth removed. chan just so happens to be free. | part two (4/20/24) cw: chan’s pov, minimal pronoun use (they), no smut but it’s referenced, reader has outpatient dental surgery (not depicted), reference to blood/swelling, reader is doped the hell up. 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

You’re drifting off in some twilight on the other side of a closed door, but Chan’s the one that’s stupefied.

Mechanically speaking, he knows how he got himself into this position: drove here in his car, parked in the lot outside, walked into the front door. His ass is in this very seat because he dropped himself there, and he hasn’t moved in the two hours that have passed since.

None of that explains why he’s in his current position, though — why you reached out to him, of all people, to come with you to something like this.

Why he’s more giddy over that choice than confused by it, even if it turns out that he was your last resort.

He’s lost in thought when your oral surgeon’s head peeks out through the doorway to the recovery room. She asks if he’s “the boyfriend”, and he has no idea how to explain that he’s more of a “semi-consistent fuck buddy”, so he simply says “yes” before allowing her to usher him into the room.

You’re slumped in a reclining chair when Chan walks in, heavy eyelids fluttering as you try hard to fight off sleep. Better still, the gauze in your mouth makes your chipmunk cheeks stick out while your still-numb lips fumble with words. The urge to reach for his phone and snap a picture makes his fingers twitch, but he doesn’t; you’d absolutely murder him if he tried.

“Mmfph?” You grunt when your narrowed eyes manage to clock him standing there.

He grins automatically, fingers reaching up to tip a hat he isn’t wearing. “Mmfph to you, too.”

Whatever drugs they gave you to knock you on your ass aren’t strong enough to overcome your personality; you roll your eyes much more easily than you keep them fully open. That trademark sass must’ve taken a lot out of you, though. You doze off again before he can blink, slumping further in your chair with your head lolled uncomfortably to the side.

Your neck is going to hurt later, he thinks with a frown. 

“Once they get their sea legs back, you should be okay to go.”

Chan jumps when the surgeon pipes up, having completely forgotten anyone else was in the room.

She clears her throat sheepishly, clearly aware that she’s interrupting something. Breezing right past that awkwardness, she pulls a prescription pad from her coat pocket. The top page is promptly ripped off and passed to him with a stern look. 

She warns, “Make sure they don’t take this medication on an empty stomach.”

Damn — only two hours in, and he’s already being promoted from chauffeur to caretaker? It should embarrass him that this fact tickles him thoroughly pink, but it doesn’t. Inwardly, he high-fives himself.

Nice one, Chan!

“Soup is best,” the surgeon continues, once again pulling him out of his own head. There’s a pause before she remembers the kicker; she waves her hand urgently when she finally does. “Nothing spicy, though.”

He nods in understanding, and just like that, she pats his shoulder and disappears out the door. Unsure what else to do, Chan takes a seat on the small stool next to your chair and waits.

And wait, and waits, and waits.

Jesus. What did they give you — a horse tranquilizer?

When your eyes open the second time, they find him immediately. They’re still a bit glassy, but they’re much more alert. Bright, even, which is a bit of a wonder, given the circumstances. Right away, he can tell that the space cadet has — sort of — returned to Earth.

“Can —?” You gesture to your mouth, which struggles to frown around the gauze. 

Uselessly, you flick out your tongue in an attempt to wet your lips. They're dry from all the time you must’ve spent with your mouth open, and his fingers twitch again when he pictures the chapstick in his pocket.

You distract him with what he assumes are words, prompting him to shift his gaze from your mouth to your eyes.

Everything that comes next is garbled, totally incoherent, but he gets the gist. With a quick glance at his watch, he confirms that it’s been thirty minutes since he started watching you sleep, and that feels like enough time. 

Right?

So, he shrugs permissively; you perk up the second you’re given the green light. Bravely, you only whine a little bit when you lay eyes on the slightly bloody, thoroughly spit-soaked material as you pull it away from your gums. 

Chan can’t tell if you’re trying to pout when you hold that mess out to him and stare expectantly, but the intent doesn’t matter much in the long run; the effect is the same. He takes your drooled-on trash without a second thought.

Squinting as he concentrates, he fires it off towards the bin in the corner like he’s trying to beat a buzzer. The pair of you watch as it ricochets off the wall, then drops perfectly in the basket below.

Immediately, he turns back to you with wiggling eyebrows and a smirk. “Bank shot,” he brags.

You ignore the true purpose of his raised hand — a well-deserved high-five — and instead latch onto it.  Gripping tightly as if your life depends on it, you drag yourself up and out of your chair. 

Before you can throw yourself entirely off balance, Chan swoops in to tuck you under his arm. You’re independent to a fault, however; and you glare up at him exactly like he guessed you would. Apologetic, he keeps his distance with his hands raised.

Go for it, then.

All it takes for you to accept defeat is a few wobbly steps toward the door and some curse words muttered under your breath, for zest. You give in faster than you want to and dive into his side with a long-suffering groan. You’re not looking, so he doesn't bother to hide the triumphant smirk that spreads when your arms wrap around his waist.

The walk back to his car takes a lot more effort than he initially expected. Though you cling to him like you’ll float off without him, you insist on attempting to wander in every direction except the one you need to head in. To the best of his ability, Chan steers you across the pavement; you babble through every stumbled step.

“I’m going to open your door now, okay?” He coos once you finally reach his car.

It surprises him slightly — the softness he’s exuding, and how much like a reflex it feels — but he doesn’t dwell on it. He’s got a far more difficult puzzle to solve: getting your wriggling body into his car.

After a few unsuccessful tries, you finally let him usher you out of the way of the door. You spill into his passenger seat like you’re more jelly than bones, knocking your skull against the doorframe as you go.

Jesus Christ.

Eyes wide, Chan ducks down to run his fingers gingerly over what will likely be a goose egg tomorrow. Nervously, he chuckles, “That — uhh — that was quite the entrance. You okay?”

Tilting your chin just so, you push your cheek into his palm and blink up at him slowly like you’ve already forgotten the question. Suddenly, so has he. Several moments whizz by just like that — with his arm raised uncomfortably and your heavy head resting against his hand.

Never in his life has he wanted to kiss a forehead as badly as he does yours. It’s like you’ve got a magnet where your orbital bone should be, and it’s a bit shocking. Whatever magic you’ve got — some sort of tractor beam in your eyes, perhaps — pulls, pulls, pulls, but he stops himself.

That’s not what this is, he reminds himself as he backs away and shuts your door carefully in his place. That’s not who I am to you.

In this moment, Chan is your taxi driver, carting you off to the apartment he’s been in a hundred times — but never once in the daytime.

As he goes, it becomes a little clearer with every kilometer: the sun can’t be beating down overhead because he feels it next to him, warming his arm through his jacket; blinding him whenever his gaze drifts over to the passenger side.

“Chan,” you pout out of nowhere.

Again, your head droops fast and bumps his shoulder. You don’t react to this second knock, but he does, sucking air in through his teeth.

“Need to get you a helmet,” he mutters with a sheepish laugh. “You’re gonna give yourself a concussion at this rate.”

“Don’t need a helmet,” you argue. “I need pork belly, bad. Stop, please?”

Glancing quickly down at you, Chan bites back a smile. You look so adorably pitiful with your hazy eyes blinking one at a time, lips all puffy to match your cheeks. It takes all he’s got to tear his eyes off you and put them back on the road ahead.

He sighs, genuinely sorry. “No can do, champ.”

You repeat the nickname, pop the last letter, and make yourself laugh so hard that you hiccup.

“Your options currently are soup or… well, soup.” He tries to sound firm, but if you pout at him a second time, Chan might throw your dentist’s warning right out the window. “Think it over while I stop at the pharmacy, yeah?”

In the quiet that follows, he swears he can hear the gears turning in your head. He doubts it has anything to do with what he just told you, but he doesn’t mind. Come to think of it, he doesn’t mind any of what this day has turned out to be so far. That doesn’t necessarily surprise him, either.

With the way things currently are between you, you don’t feature much in his everyday life; only weekends and the occasional weeknight. It works well, this thing you’ve got going. He enjoys what you do — that head game of yours is otherworldly — but judging by the glimpses he’s seen so far, he likes who you are, too.

Despite not knowing you on some deeper level, shit like this — being around you for some profoundly asexual purpose — feels natural. Like he could do it more often; be a little more than just a recurring character. If you let him, that is.

Would you let him?

That question rattles around his brain when he pulls up to the pharmacy and dashes inside, too wary to leave you alone for long but wholly unprepared to guide you through a shop in your current state. He’s still thinking about it when he jogs back to his car with your prescription in hand.

That bag is nearly dropped to the pavement below when he sees you, however; and he can’t remember what he was thinking about before because you’re weeping now. In a flash, Chan throws himself into his seat and jerks the door shut behind him, metal groaning in the process. 

“What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t mean to sound so forceful, but he can feel his pulse in his ears. On instinct, he reaches out and places gentle hands on your temples. Eyes scanning for any sign of injury, he tries to bury his urgency in a soothing voice. “Hey — talk to me. Are you okay?”

You blink up at him with wide, wet eyes. Oh, fuck, you’re breaking my heart. His stomach drops at the sight of your lower lip trembling, but then you whimper:

“What if worms don’t have best friends?”

And Chan needs a minute because he can’t believe you’re real, that you’re borderline bereft over worms, or that he’s this fucking enamored.

Before he knows it, he starts giggling so hard that his eyes start to swim. Thankfully, it’s with mirth and not utter devastation like yours. Pinching his bottom lip between his teeth, he wipes a tear off your cheek with the side of his thumb. Just as gently, he tries his best to reassure you, “I’m sure they do.”

“You’re sure?” You repeat with a sniffle. Chan nods; he’s never been more so.

Successfully placated, you fall into thoughtful silence next to him. It doesn’t last long, though. Abruptly, you and your goldfish memory change course: “Can we get pork belly?”

Something in him wants to give you the world in this moment — the moon on a string, or whatever — but he shakes his head, unwilling to budge. But then your face falls, and he blurts out, “When you’re better, I’ll take you out for some.”

And he means it.

You peep, “Maybe next week.”

Chan laughs while he puts the key in the ignition and turns it. Maybe, he thinks, if you remember having this conversation. As the engine roars back to life, a new thought bubbles to the surface in his mind:

Maybe you will remember.

If you do — and if he’s brave enough then — maybe he’ll confess that he’s a liar. He might own up to the fact that, when you called to ask for his help, he didn’t already have the day off like he claimed to; or that the sick time he rushed to claim in the aftermath wasn’t attributable to his health at all. 

Maybe he’ll admit that he doesn’t care how many people you asked before you turned to him because you ultimately did.

Just maybe.

As he backs out of his parking space, Chan casts another glance your way. It takes all the effort in the world for you to do it, but you smile at him with your whole damn face. 

That settles it, then.

He nods once — firmly — and corrects you, “Definitely next week.”

Part two.

[jungle-angel]

My Heart Belongs To You (Doctor!Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You and Bob share a beautiful little moment when studying for your exams

Warnings: None, Grey's Anatomy reference though (lol).

Notes: Inspired by the amazing moodboard of @ryebecca Honey, I couldn't help myself and yes there will be a part two to this (lol).

Tagging: @floydsmuse @ryebecca @callmemana @attapullman @hederasgarden @withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts @desert-fern

You groaned loudly, frustrated by the endless round of exams you were faced with over the next few weeks. All you wanted was to be out and about, enjoying the gorgeous summer evenings but instead you had your nose buried in a copy Gray's Anatomy that was clearly older than you. But oh was that old book smell worth it. You didn't care that your classmates had made fun of you for using those old books for studying, but their bitchy, superficial whisperings had made all the stress go straight to your neck.

"S'matter sweetheart?" Bob asked, placing his keys in the fishbowl near the door.

"M'fuckin stressed," you said, your voice muffled as you buried it in the pages.

Bob sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Lemme guess," he said. "Teddy Altman?"

"She's such a fucking BITCH!" you blurted, placing as much emphasis as you could on the last word. "She thinks she owns everyone and everything, that she's all that and a bag of chips and that she gets to boss around all the interns."

Bob laughed a little. "Oh believe me babes," he said. "She's on thin ice."

"She made fun of my books because I got them at the thrift store," you commiserated. "I'm sorry, I can't afford all those fancy medical books that I'll never use again and enjoy the smell of old books."

"Babes don't worry," Bob chuckled. "Teddy's about two steps away from getting fired after what she pulled on the last patient."

"Oh really?"

"Oh yeah," Bob answered. "Jake and I tattled on her because she was denying people organ transplant surgeries. We had a wicked young couple who both had CF and who had gotten married but Teddy of course had to meddle in it all."

"No!" you gasped.

"Oh yeah, total mess," Bob said, kicking off his shoes. "She told them that if they didn't get a divorce then she'd deny them the organ transplants. Jake and I reported her to Iceman and they're gonna give Teddy her walking papers tomorrow."

"Did the couple get the transplant?" you asked.

"Ice came to see them personally and told them that under no circumstances would he deny them the transplant," Bob explained. "Ricky and Julia are both going under tomorrow and you're looking at the surgeon who's gonna be operating."

You shrieked excitedly, jumping up from your desk seat and throwing your arms around your husband's neck, kissing his soft cheeks. "Bob that's amazing!!!"

"Oh that's not all," Bob elaborated. "I talked to Father McKenna, the hospital chaplain, and he said that Ricky and Julia wanna renew their vows before they go in for surgery."

You were practically melting at the thought. Meemaw Floyd had been right, true love really did conquer all.

"Alright, enough about my day," Bob laughed. "What's up here? What can I help with?"

"This stupid practicum," you answered. "I have to practice giving a full body physical and I don't wanna do it."

"I'll help," Bob said.

"You sure?"

"Absolutely!" he insisted. "I'll walk you through everything."

You and Bob set up a mock exam room in the living room and began the practice part. He guided you through everything and let you know if you were doing too much or too little.

"Alright Mr. Floyd," you said. "I will need to have a listen to your heart and lungs just to make sure everything's all good. Do you mind removing your shirt for me?"

"Don't mind if I do sweet cheeks," Bob chuckled removing the shirt of his navy blue scrubs.

You laughed a little bit as he tossed it to the corner. "You've got alot of nerve there mister."

Bob smiled and kissed your cheek. "I'm just teasing."

You pressed the stethoscope against his chest, listening for any abnormalities and moving it from one side to the other. You were surprised by how strong the beat of his heart was, not a single abnormality to be found and nothing out of the ordinary.

You moved it to just below his nip, the beat having grown louder and more noticeable. You didn't realize how long you had been listening until you felt Bob's hand covering yours, holding it there with a dreamy look on his face. You blushed a little, the heat rising to your cheeks, swearing you could hear Bob's heart saying "I love you" with every beat.

You took the earpieces out and set it aside as Bob pulled you closer to him, his skin warm against you. He pressed sweet little kisses to your lips, loving every little giggle that came out of you.

"I love you sweetheart," he whispered before kissing you again. "You're gonna do great."

And you knew he wasn't wrong.

[greenthena]

The Eldritch Ball or Aziraphale's Macabre Danse

I'm a huge sucker for dark classical music (I'm using the term "classical" broadly, not referring to the specific period. Music-y folks, please forgive.) As such, Saint-Saëns's "Danse Macabre" is one of my all time favorite pieces. It's spooky. It's intentionally dissonant. It's even got a jump scare! Like, literally, the perfect piece of music.

The story behind "Danse Macabre" goes like this: Each Halloween at midnight, Death enters the graveyard with a fiddle. As he plays, the skeletons rise from the ground and dance through the cemetery, resurrected by Death's power and possessed by his instrument.

In S2 E3, the Bentley plays "Danse Macabre" as Aziraphale drives up to Edinburgh. "What do we do? We play classical music that stays classical music." (And the Bentley listens to him! Because the Bentley is an expression of Crowley's subconscious and wants to please him and make him happy...and I'm sure you can find lots of excellent metas to that end. Or maybe you have another theory about why the Bentley is so pliant toward the angel? I'd love to hear it. But that's not what I'm talking about right now. I'm just getting distracted.)

Why is this song so perfect for a bit of subtle foreshadowing and repeated metaphor? So glad you asked. I have reasons. And evidence. Please, peruse my wares.

In the A Plot of this episode, Aziraphale travels to Scotland to visit a pub called The Resurrectionist. (Ya know, like Death? Like how Death resurrects people in the song? Okay, just wanted to really hit that nail into the coffin.) The pub is, of course, named for a certain Mr. (not Dr., he's a surgeon) Dalrymple, whom Crowley and Aziraphale meet in the accompanying flashback minisode entitled (you'll never guess) "The Resurrectionist." The minisode plot involves Crowley and his the angel encountering young Elspeth, a grave robber who, like Death, releases the bodies of the deceased from their earthly bonds of soil and stone. My interpretation is that Elspeth becomes Death incarnate, first in the process of using her instrument (her shovel) to resurrect the dead, and later when she inadvertently brings about the literal death of her partner, Wee Morag. Rather than allow Wee Morag's body to turn to dust in the ground, Elspeth "resurrects" her, selling her body to Dr. Dalrymple (sorry, Mr. Dalrymple, he's a surgeon, not a doctor), who will use Wee Morag's body for research, which will in turn save the lives of countless others by furthering the field of medicine. A form of resurrection, indeed. There's also the plot thread of Crowley and Aziraphale providing Elspeth with a nest egg to escape the cycle of poverty into which she has been born. This, too, is another form of re-birth. Or, say it with me, resurrection. Alright, you're getting it now.

Okay, now I get to delve into the fun stuff. Let's talk about that cotillion ball, shall we? You know, that danse party where Aziraphale persuades all the shopkeepers on Whickber street to attend a Jane Austen-style ball?

I personally refer to this whole fiasco experience as the Eldritch Ball. On the surface, it seems fairly innocent. The shopkeepers need a little bit of encouragement to attend the Whickber Street monthly meeting, but the angel manages to convince everyone to join with the help of some coercion-via-bribery. When they show up, they're transmuted into Austen-esque characters, from their clothes, to their speech patterns, even to some extent, their perception of reality. This is where it starts to get a little uncomfortable if you peel back the layers. Mrs. Sandwich can't talk about what she does for a living, which is a great comedy bit, but also demonstrates that her speech is being significantly censored and altered by an outside force. With the exception of Mr. Brown (hidden agendas here, Neil? I honestly don't know), all the shopkeepers find themselves in new, slightly-period-appropriate garments. What's really weird, though, is that no one notices the changes. When the dancing begins, to the music of Mr. Anderson's piano and an accompanying string quartet (strings...as in violins...as in fiddles. Remember Death's fiddle?), Nina appears to be the only one who realizes that something is off.

Maggie: This is something new.

Nina: This is something completely bonkers. Are we...? Why is everyone talking like they've escaped from Pride and Prejudice?

Maggie: Just getting into the spirit of things, I suppose.

Nina: The spirit of what things? This is meant to be the shopkeeper association monthly meeting.

Maggie: Hmm. Yes. Now that you put it like that...

Nina: Are we dancing?

Maggie: Yes.

Nina: Did you ever learn the steps to this dance?

Maggie: It's just what we do, isn't it?

Nina: No. No, it isn't. This is something mad. This is their [Crowley & Azirapahle's] fault. They're doing this.

Something is definitely mad. One might even say it's macabre. Aziraphale has become Death the Resurrectionist. He has lured the shopkeepers of Whickber Street through a portal (as Death leads his flock from the world of the dead to the world of the living.) Aziraphale's instrument is his clipboard and pen, held almost as one might hold a fiddle and bow, as he invites the various shopkeepers to the monthly meeting. Once they all arrive, he miraculously gives them new clothes (as Death knits together the bones of the dead), and then proceeds to control their bodies and minds, as though they are merely marionettes. They dance and speak in the way Aziraphale imagines, fulfilling his fantasy of a perfect Jane Austen-style ball (quite literally, the Danse Macabre.)

The shopkeepers have become the dead and Aziraphale controls them until the spell is broken--or rather until the window is broken.

To be honest, I don't think Aziraphale is really aware of how much he is able to transfigure his environment, including the humans who happen to be close by. Or, at least, I don't believe he does any of this with ill intent. He's just a bit blind to anything outside his fixation of wooing Crowley, at the moment. As a result, he creates a situation that is profoundly problematic and unnatural. Just like the dead in the graveyard have no agency when Death plays his fiddle, the Whickber Street shopkeepers are possessed by Aziraphale's intricate romantic fantasy and must dance as long as the music plays.

It is, in fact, only when the music stops, that the shopkeepers begin to realize that something is most certainly weird. The diagetic music (Mr. Anderson & Co.) abruptly cuts off when an approaching demon horde tosses a brick through the bookshop window. Now the spell, or in this case, miracle, begins to break down. While the shopkeepers still appear to be somewhat under the influence of Aziraphale's persuasive aura, a few of them glance down at their clothes in confusion and look around the bookshop, as though waking from a dream. And at this point, after a little finagling, Crowley escorts the humans out of the bookshop and out of Aziraphale's Danse Macabre.

Once the demons attack the bookshop Aziraphale's influence on his surroundings really starts to deteriorate. Throughout the season, he's been able to structure and manipulate reality (sometimes with Crowley's help) to suit his needs: protecting Gabriel, altering the Bentley, organizing the Ball, etc. But once the bookshop, his safe space, has been breached, he loses control of the situation. From this point in the narrative, nothing goes according to Aziraphale's plan. Aziraphale wants to protect Jimbriel, but the former archangel insists on giving himself over to the demons. Crowley leaves and Aziraphale has to defend the bookshop on his own, when he'd expected Crowley to come right back and save him. While defending the bookshop, Aziraphale reaches his "last" resort not once, but twice: first allowing Nina and Maggie to use his books (!!!) as weapons and then blowing up his halo in a last ditch effort to fend off the invaders. This was not on the agenda for today!

Things just continue to go downhill from there, Aziraphale losing all control of the situation. And by the time the Final Fifteen wraps up, the angel has lost his bookshop and possibly his most important relationship. By the end of the season, Aziraphale is no longer Death the Resurrectionist, the manipulator and puppeteer. Now the angel has become the puppet, dancing to Heaven's music.

[dfortrafalgar]

I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings. This chapter is also quite a bit shorter than the rest, the fic begins picking up speed once more after this chapter!

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock

Chapter 11

[Prev] [Next]

About one month passed since you were referred to the outpatient surgical center for your diagnostic laparoscopy, and you were just now starting to realize the extent of your husband’s vast reputation in the medical world.  Especially in your city where every doctor’s office, clinic, and hospital was owned by the same conglomerate.  As you sat on a gurney in a private waiting room, an IV fluid drip attached to your wrist, Law sat in a chair beside you with his head in his hands.

“If I have one more person ask me for my autograph, I swear…” he muttered.  Four nurses, two medical students, the receptionist, and the attending surgeon who would be overseeing your procedure today had taken the time to grace Law with their presences and ask for his autograph.

You were laughing, much to your brooding husband’s displeasure.  “It’s like you’re some kind of sports superstar!  An Olympic athlete in cardiothoracic surgery.”  You reached your hand off of the bed to ruffle his wispy black hair.

“It’s embarrassing,” he griped.

“Well I think it’s adorable, and I’m your wife, so you can’t disagree with me,” you retorted swiftly, puffing out your chest.  Law tossed a glance upward at you, but smirked when he saw your prideful expression.

Who was he to deny you?  Especially on such a big day.

The door to the small waiting room opened and in stepped one of the attending nurses of your procedure who, thankfully, had no idea who Law was.  He was finally able to relax in his seat as he surveyed the young woman putting on your blood pressure cuff, your blood-oxygen monitor, and checking your IV fluid bag.

“Alright, Mrs. Trafalgar, you’re ready to go in!” she stated with an unmatched enthusiasm.  “The operation should be no longer than 30 minutes and you’ll be under general anesthesia.  Is your husband going to be your ride home?”

You nodded.  “Yes he is.”

The nurse clapped her hands and removed the blood pressure cuff from your arm.  “Perfect, then we’ll get you wheeled into the OR shortly!”  She turned her attention to Law, who was now sitting upright in his chair.  “Mr. Trafalgar, I’m going to have to ask you to wait in the larger waiting room.”

Law finally stood, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans.  Before he left, he turned to place a kiss to your forehead, squeezing your hand and whispering something out of earshot from the nurse.

“You’re gonna do great, I’ll be waiting for you.”

—

Around 60 minutes had passed when Law got the call that you were in recovery and were being woken up from anesthesia, which was much longer than the timeline he expected.  He rushed to the outpatient recovery unit, anxious for both the results of your exploratory surgery and just to see you.  When he rounded the corner into your sectioned off area, he found you already sitting up in bed, a little less coherent than you usually were, but conscious nonetheless.  He smiled, beyond relieved.  He immediately took his spot at your side, placing his hand on your head and pressing a smattering of kisses across your cheeks and forehead.  (He needed to get his affection in quickly before anyone could bear witness to his softer side.)

You were giggling, easily a byproduct of the sedatives.  “Lawww~ your hair keeps itching meeee~” you moaned.

“I’m sorry, my love.”  He pressed one more kiss to your temple before sitting in the chair situated off to the side, scooting it closer to the bed so he could hold your hand in his.  “How are you feeling?”

You closed your eyes, your pupils still adjusting to the bright LED lights in the ceiling.  “Tired, but I feel fine.”  You smiled.  “The doctors kept talking about you in the OR.”

Now it was Law’s turn to grumble, dropping his head in embarrassment.  “Great,” he muttered, heavy sarcasm coating his tongue.

The curtain surrounding your sectioned-off portion of the small recovery ward was parted slightly as your attending surgeon popped his head in.  “Hey, hey, hey, can I come in?”

Law immediately swapped his discontented attitude with one of professional optimism as he returned the surgeon’s smile.  “Of course, doc.”

The bubbly man entered the room with a clipboard filled with notes and charts, mostly printed out from a computer.  He shuffled through the mismatched papers before finally turning his attention to your husband, who sat as still as a statue, though his eyes exuded impatience as he waited for the surgeon to speak.

“Well, firstly I must apologize for the longer timeframe than what was initially discussed,” he began.  “Fortunately, your wife’s suspected endometriosis appeared to be only around what we call ‘Stage 2,’ which is to say, on the milder side.  We managed to remove a decent amount of accumulated tissue from the outside of her uterus, however she did have a few cysts on her left ovary which we took samples of for biopsy.  Ovarian cysts are common with endometriosis patients, but we like to be on the safe side and check them in the lab just in case.”

From your bed, you made a small cooing sound, as if you were cheering in a library.  “Yaayyy for no cancer!”

Your surgeon laughed, but Law kept his expression pointed and focused.  Obviously it was amazing that your case wasn’t as severe as you feared, but Law was thinking about the long term.  He gazed at the surgeon, internally scrutinizing his up-beat attitude.  “Do ovarian cysts pose a fertility risk?”

The surgeon shook his head.  “Some do, some don’t, it really depends on the type.  Just from a visual standpoint, your wife’s cysts didn’t look like endometriomas, nor does she have any signs of PCOS, so my assumption is that her fertility should remain the same.”  He shuffled a few more papers around on his clipboard before procuring what appeared to be your patient chart and handing it to Law.  “As always, though, check with her gyno to be on the safe side.  You should expect to hear a call about the biopsy results within two or three days, and until then, make sure your wife stays at home to recover for at least four days.  Her next few bowel movements might be strange, but other than that her recovery should be quick.  The phone number for this facility is on her patient chart though, should you have any questions.”

Law finally had to swallow his pride and admit that, despite the surgeon’s… bubbly persona, he was incredibly thorough and educated.  The black-haired man stood from his chair and offered a tattooed hand to his distant colleague, which the latter man took with enthusiasm in a firm, cordial shake.

“I truly appreciate it, thank you,” Law uttered quietly.  “Are we expected to be discharged today?”

The surgeon nodded.  “A nurse will come by with her discharge paperwork in another hour or so once your wife has woken up a bit more.  She has directions on what to do for recovery and all that.  I imagine you already know a decent bit about post-op recovery, though,” he responded with a cheeky smile.

Law grimaced.  “I suppose I do.”

[u10como]

"Perils of High Society"

Brooke and Mark were dating for a year now. They met when they were both still college students working at McDonald's and immediately came to like each other. Mark never liked to talk about his family, so Brooke never pushed him too much, until one day he confessed: Mark was actually Marcus Bancroft-Agnelli, the heir to large hotel empire, who decided to handle his own life during studies, not relying on his family fortune. When asked about why he doesn't want Brooke to meet his parents He explained: His family has an odd tradition: All women in the Bancroft-Agnelli family had their arms amputated when they hit puberty, to signify their status of perfect trophy wives: Their bare armless shoulders proudly displaying the fact they never have to resort to manual labour - and never will. "Pretty terrible, right?" said Mark "Actually, " said Brooke, "It's kinda hot, you know?" "A what?" "Can you imagine me without arms? I mean, wouldn't i look really elegant? And if that's what it takes to meet your parents..." "Baby, you don't need to do that, i don't need you to be part of my family, in fact, i don't really want to be part of them myself..." "I know, but... i kinda want to, you know? I don't think i would be very much of a 'trophy wife' anyway, as that sounds a little posh and lazy and i would prefer to learn how to use my feet rather than just stand around being pretty, but i could do without my arms i guess..."

Two months later, Mark and Brooke came to attend a party at one of Bancroft-Agnelli five star hotels. Brooke, still feeling a little clumsy, but proud of her armless shoulders, was overwhelmed by everything around her. Being born in rural area just outside the city, she wasn't used to being anywhere this fancy and nothing Mark told her could prepare her for the reality. Entering the hotel's ballroom, they were aproached by two women: One young, dressed in grey uniform with white gloves, the other about fifty years old, with aura of authority and perceived superiority, dressed in white and gold, the dress showing her perfectly smooth armless shoulders.

"Mom, this is my fiancée, Brooke Miller. Brooke, meet my mother, Beatrice Bancroft-Agnelli" "Pleased to meet you, dear. I see my son finally came to senses and found himself a woman befitting of a proper Bancroft-Agnelli man." said Beatrice to Mark's annoyed eyeroll. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am" said Brooke, twitching her right shoulder in an instinct to accompany the greeting with a handshake." Looking at Brooke's gesture with a mix of surprise and disgust, Beatrice replied: "Oh dear, but look at you, you hold your body like an arm person!" "Mom..." Hissed Mark. "And those scars! Oh my goodness, did a butcher do that to you? I could have refered you to our family surgeon in France, his handiwork is ex-qui-site, you know? He would never leave ugly scars like these behind." "MOM.." said Mark, now significantly louder. "And that make-up, dear oh dear... I would fire that maid who did that to you, such a shoddy job..." "Ahem... Actually," replied Brooke before Mark could interject again, "I did that myself - i mean, it's not perfect, but applying make-up with a foot is harder than i thought..." "You did what?" said Beatrice with overly dramatic expression, her eyebrows so high up they could pop out of her forehead any second. "Oh my lord, sweetheart, you aren't some common working class cripple or..." "MOM! That's enough! Come on, Brooke, we're leaving!" Yelled Mark to his mother's astonishment and put his arm around Brooke's shoulders in a protective gesture, guiding her swiftly away towards the elevator. "I'm sorry, did i say something wrong?" asked Brooke with surprised expression and hint of tears in her eyes. "Not you sweetheart." replied Mark, visibly angry, but keeping his voice down not to upset Brooke even more. "She did!"

[livingdreams97]

Kylie Jenner -- "The Babysitter" (Part 1)

Kylie Jenner x fem reader/oc

Summary: Who would have thought that anwering to a babysitter job offer for the summer to a unknown family would let to meeting someone that would move your world.

Words: 4007

NEXT

Masterlist

(It´s not really well written but it´s something)

POV You

Relax Y/n, this is just a job interview. Just a job interview, just a job interview, just a job interview. I repeat myself over and over again inside my head. I pull up my metallic blue 2021 Jeep Wrangler two-door in front of the security fence and roll down the window.

XY: Good morning.- the guy from the booth greets me, with a tablet in his hand and stands next to the window. -Your name and the name of the person you are coming to visit please.- he asks me and I give it to him quickly.

Y/n: Y/n Brown Davis and I don't know who I come to see honestly.- I answer a little embarrassed. -They called me for an interview and they only told me to come here and to go to house number 2432.- I explain watching him nod and type on the screen.

XY: You're on the list.- he confirms and takes a weight off my shoulders. -See if you turn right at the second exit and continue straight for about five minutes, You will find the house right away.- he explains to me and I thank him enormously.

He gets away from the car and opens the fence for me, letting me pass into the urbanization. I follow the instructions he has given me, seeing the mansions on both sides of the street and thinking about which celebrities will live in those houses. 

I know that some of the Kardashian Jenner family live in this neighborhood, but I don't know where their houses are and I don't really care much either. I'm not a big fan of them, I only watch the reality show when it happens to be on and little else. But my older sister is the opposite, she loves the reality and everything that has to do with that family.

I come from a family that has money, enough to live comfortably with some luxury; but not because of an inheritance or something like that. 

My mother is one of the best surgeons in all of England, working both publicly and privately; so she earns good money. My father is an architect and engineer, so he also earns well, but less than my mother. My parents have always told me that I have to win my money, that I can't be depending on them and that I have to start having work experience.

My parents are both English, my mother was born in Manchester and my father in Surrey. Both my older sister Olivia and I were born in the London Hospital. My sister is 25 years old and she is 6 years older than me, since I am just going to turn 19 in two months.

But now I live in Los Angeles, because I won a soccer scholarship at UCLA and I couldn't turn it down. But my first year in architecture is about to end, the summer holidays were approaching and I had decided to get my first summer job. 

I had spent three weeks looking for some job news or something that was appropriate to what I can do and in which I had a minimum of experience.

But since it was my first job, I didn't have much experience in anything. But I saw an offer about being a babysitter and I had experience in that. Maybe not officially through a contract, but when I was 15, 16 and 17 years old I worked to take care of the children of some neighbors for almost three years. So I had some experience, so I sent an email with my resume and information and a week ago they contacted me.

In that email only the date and time of the interview appeared, along with the address and house number. My parents were somewhat insecure when I told them about it, since they usually put a reference name and there was none in mine. 

So they were not very sure and they were a little nervous. But I assured them that because of the area it was in, it would surely be because it was someone important and they didn't wanted to give the address to anyone.

When I get to the house, I stop and look out the window at the beautiful mansion in front of me. I park the car on the sidewalk and get out of it, locking it. Although it's probably not really necessary takin acount the money that tis mansions costs. 

I walk nervously up the long driveway, noticing the flowers and decorations on the driveway.

I stop in front of the door, taking a deep breath and making sure my clothes are okay. I had decided on something simple and casual for the interview. 

Black and white checkered pants, with a black short-sleeved bodysuit and white platform All-stars, with a small black bag for the car, house, wallet and mobile keys.

I take another deep breath and ring the doorbell of the house. I quickly run my hands through my hair, making sure my light brown hair is neat and not completely tousled. The door opens, letting me see a woman in her 30s or so with a friendly smile on her face.

XX: Do you want something? - she asks me kindly.

Y/n: I have an interview here. - I answer a little nervous. -My name is Y/n Brown and I come for the babysitter interview.- I inform and I see how she nods in understanding.

XX: Come in and wait here for a moment please.- she tells me letting me enter the house and closing the door to disappear around the house.

I just look at the marble stairs in front of me, looking at the entire entrance with fascination and taking in the architectural details. 

I get out of my impression, when the same woman comes back and asks me to follow her. I quickly do so and walk almost on his heels and playing with my hands nervously.

XX: Come in.- she says opening a door for me and giving me another smile.

Y/n: Thank you.- I thank you and enter the room, seeing immediately that it is an office.

Kris: Good morning.- she greets me and I am surprised by the person in front of me, but I prevent the surprise from being external. "Please sit down." she offers me, pointing to one of the seats on the other side of where she is sitting at her table.

Y/n: Good morning.- I greet with a kind smile; sitting where she just pointed me out.

Kris: First of all I want to ask you some personal questions, okay? - she asks seriously, but with some kindness and I nod. -In your curriculum it says that you are from London, that you are 18 years old and that you are here for your studies, right? - she asks and I nod again.

Y/n: I was born in London and I study at UCLA with a full scholarship for my sports skills.- I inform her, watching her nod and write something on a piece of paper.

Kris: And what are you studying and why did they give you the scholarship? - she asks me looking at me over her glasses.

Y/n: I study architecture and I have a sports scholarship for soccer.- I answer with a small smile.

Kris: Being English, I need to know if there was any problem with the student visa or something like that.- she tells me and I swallow a bit nervously.

Y/n: There would be no problem, since before coming I studied and got dual nationality: so I have English and American nationality. - I explain, seeing how she points something again and reads something else.

Kris: In your resume you say you've worked three years as a babysitter.- read and I nod. -Because of that do you think you are more qualified than another person to take care of four children? - I wonder and I almost open my eyes surprised; I thought it would be one or two children.

Y/n: I don't think it's so much about being more qualified than someone else, with all the respect in the world. I think it's more of something vocational, if you don't like children, no matter how qualified you are, you will never give everything at work and that is something very important from my point of view. - I begin to answer her. -It is very likely that there are many other people more qualified than a girl of almost 19 years, who has only cared for two children for three years and who does not have an experience of 10 years as surely many other people will.- I say seeing how she stares at me. -But I love children, I enjoy taking care of them and it is a job in which it is never the same every day.- I commented and I see how she writes something more. - In addition to the fact that the number is not so important, if you are able to handle two; You can handle more and in a very effective way with some tricks. - I finish telling her and I see how she nods.

Kris: The vacancy would be for specific dates and on weekdays during the summer.- she informs me and I simply nod. -What availability do you have? - she asks me, bringing the pen closer to the paper.

Y/n: All?- I ask more than I answer. -In a week I finish the semester, the university league ended a week ago and I have the rest of the summer completely free.- I explain and she notes something.

Kris: If we went on vacation, would you be available to come and take care of the children wherever we went?- she ask me and I nod immediately, work and paid holidays? Who would say no to that.

Y/n: If the contract stipulates that then yes,of course I will.- I answer as professionally as I can.

Kris: If that was the case, we would pay for both the flight and the accommodation and more.- she informs me and I just nod without taking my eyes off her. -Okay, I'll discuss it with my daughter and I'll let you know the answer.- she comments getting up and I do too.

Y/n: I'll be attentive to the phone.- I inform her with a smile and shaking the hand that she offers me. -By the way, you have a completely impressive hall from an architectural point of view and it's beautifull.- I praise and she smiles hugely at me.

Kris: Thank you very much.- she thanks me walking towards the main door with me behind. -Thank you for coming and pay attention to the phone.- she tells me as a farewell, once I am at the entrance and out of the house.

Y/n: Thank you, Mrs. Jenner, it has been a pleasure and I'm glad I was able to have this interview. - I say gratefully and say goodbye walking back to my car.

As I walk to my car, I just wait for them to call me so I can call my parents to tell them I've gotten my first job. I'm sure they will be incredibly proud of me as it opens my first job alone and without any connection; like taking care of the neighbours' children.

...................................................................

I had been working as a babysitter for Kim Kardashian for a month, Kris called me the next day and asked me to come to her house again. When I returned the next day, she was waiting for me with Kim in her office and a contract ready for me to sign.

The kids are amazing, North has moments where she acts a bit like a diva and is usually a bit difficult. But you just have to let her have a little tantrum and she immediately listens to you. 

In addition to the fact that the three little ones stick to me, they listen to me right away and are very calm. So I don't have many problems with them.

I'm usually with them from 8 in the morning, while Kim works from her office or goes out to work; until 6,7 or 8 in the afternoon. There are also a few days, when I stay over and Kim can go out or relax with the family without worrying about her children.

I knew everyone in the family except for Kylie, Rob, Kanye, and Caitlyn; since when I have been with the family they had not been and we had not coincided.

But from those I knew, I could tell that many of the things they say about them are completely untrue and that they are incredible people. Today was Saturday and I had the day off, since Kanye has the children this weekend and since they are separated I don't have to work.

I was lying on the bed completely exhausted, because last night after coming home from work I went out with some college friends and I had had a little to drink.

I had come home around 7 in the morning, drunk and with a slice of pizza in my hand. So I had not planned to wake up early or at least not before 4 in the afternoon. 

But my rest is interrupted by my phone. I groan pulling my head out from under the pillow and reach over to pick up my phone from my nightstand. I put it to my ear and it's Kim.

She calls me to inform me that there has been a change in the holidays, the plane would take off on Monday at 8 in the morning and we would go to Mykonos for 1 week. But apparently the trip is early, so the plane takes off in two hours and I have a half hour drive to the airport. I thank her and quickly get out of bed.

I shower, leaving my wet brown hair to air dry and have a quick breakfast in twenty minutes. I put on a set of black underwear, a white Reebok tracksuit, with a short-sleeved top by Ralph Lauren and white Nike air force ones.

I put the clothes and the things I was missing in the suitcase and close it. I pick up the black Vans backpack, putting some tissues, a bottle of water, a headache pill, disinfectant wipes, my glasses, my sunglasses, my wallet, my passport, and a sweatshirt just in case.

I close everything and with my cell phone and house keys I run to my car. I dump all my stuff in the passenger seat, climbing in on the driver's side and putting it into gear right away. I drive as responsibly as possible, but trying to arrive as soon as possible so as not to be late.

When I make it to the airport, I park the car and put on my sunglasses so that my head doesn't hurt even more. I walk as fast as possible to where Kim had told me to, repositioning the strap of my backpack every two seconds and dragging the four-wheeled suitcase.

In the distance I see one of Kim's bodyguards, who signals to me and as soon as I stop next to him, he asks for my suitcase. I give it to him and he asks me to follow him to the private plane that Kim and the kids are on. I climb the stairs to the plane, immediately hearing the screams of the children and making my head hurt.

North: Y/n! - I hear her scream and how she hugs me by the waist.

Y/n: Good morning North.- I greet her, returning the hug as best I can due to the height.

North: Come play with us.- she says pulling my hand down the aisle of the plane.

Kim: Northie leaves Y/n alone for a few seconds and sit down, the plane will take off right away.- she tells her daughter, who immediately complains and starts a tantrum.

Y/n: Pay attention to your mother, the sooner you sit down the sooner we'll take off and the sooner we can get up to play.- I tell her and like lightning she sits in one of the seats.

I help Kim by getting the kids into the seats and making sure they're strapped in. I sit to the right of Chicago and Saint, while North sits across from Kim and Pslam sits on her mother's lap.

Kim: I'm sorry I called you and that you won't have yuor free weekend.- she comments and as I pay attention to her.

Y/n: It's okay, last-minute changes happen and it's common.- I answer with a smile, taking a pill from my backpack and drinking it with water.

Kim: Fun night?- she questions me with some interest.

During this last month, Kim has been very kind and we have a good personal relationship. She is an incredible person and since she is divorcing Kanye spends more time alone at home and I'm there. So we talk a lot and we are quite confident.

Y/n: Quite a lot.- I answer with a little laugh. - I arrived around 7 in the morning and I had barely fallen asleep when you called me.- I commented with a small smile, looking at the little ones and then at her again.

Kim: I'm really sorry.- she apologizes again, but I make a gesture with my hand and dismiss it as important. -Kanye has canceled his weekend, so my mother thought it would be better to bring it forward so the kids don't notice it.- she tells me and I nod in understanding.

Y/n: It doesn't bother me at all.- I assure her, since she has a lot on her and I don't want to make her think that it has bothered me or something, and feel guilty about it.

A few seconds later I start to entertain Saint and Chicago who call me, so they don't start complaining and give me a terrible headache. Five minutes later, a little girl runs into the plane and approaches Chicago.

Kim: Stormi, what are you doing? - she asks the girl and I already know whose name it is.

Kylie: Mom has changed planes for us.- I hear how someone responds, but I am only able to help the girl get on with her cousins and I hear how they talk without any sense, making Saint look at me begging.

I listen as the grown girls talk quietly in the background. I stretch out my arms to Saint and sit him on my lap, watching how the little ones fit better and I help Stormi put on her seatbelt.

Kim: And this is Y/n, the babysitter we'll have in the summer.- I hear how she says and as soon as I hear my name I pay attention to the adults. -Y/n this is the youngest of all, Kylie Jenner.- she introduces us and I get up with Saint in my arms and stretch out my hand towards her.

Y/n: A pleasure.- I greet and she shakes my hand with a small smile.

Kylie: So you're the amazing new babysitter for Kim.- she says when we separate our hands and I take the opportunity to greet Kris with a little hug.

Y/n: I think so.- I say with a small smile, sitting back in the chair and tying Saint and me with my seatbelt.

Kim: It's a shame that it's only mine during the summer.- she comments and I look at her curiously.

Kylie: And why is that? - she asks sitting in front of me and tying her own belt.

Kim: Because she knows how to control the tantrums of that onw over there.- she responds pointing to her eldest daughter.

North: Hey that's very rude.- she tells his mother looking at her badly. "I don't throw tantrums and I find it ridiculous that..." she starts to shout and I clear my throat making her shut up inmediatelly.

Kim: See, not even I have achieved that since she was born.- she says pointing to what just happened.

Kris: You did well to listen to me honey.- she says to her daughter sitting on my right side, across the aisle and in front of Kim.

The adults quickly change the conversation, as soon as it is safe to remove the seat belts me and the children go to the back to play. So I start playing with everyone, being very careful with Pslam since he is still small and can do damage.

Kylie POV

I stare at the girl in the back with my nephews and daughter, as I process what just happened with my niece. About how just by clearing her throat, North has stopped complaining to her mother and immediately shut up.

Kylie: How the hell did she made it? - I ask completely impressed.

Kim: I don't even know.- she answers looking at her children with a smile. -But I don't know what I'm going to do without her when the summer ends.- she tells me and I look at her confused.

Kylie: And why is that? - I ask curiously.

Kim: Because she's covering the summer shift and Nicole and Sara will come back to work in September.- she answers me with a little grimace. -Besides that she has to go back to university.- I commented and I looked at her surprised.

Kylie: University?- I ask with surprise, since she seems young but I didn't expect her to go to college yet.

Kris: Yes, honey.- she answers me with a small laugh. -She studies architecture.- she tells me and I nod processing the information.

Kylie: But how old is she, because I thought she would be 16 or 17.- I comment and they both laugh.

Kris: She's 19 and this September she'll start her second year of architecture.- she says and I look back at the incredibly attractive girl.

Kim: In addition to the fact that she is in the women's soccer team of her college and has a full scholarship for it. - she informed me and I nod, without stopping looking at the girl and paying attention to every possible detail of her.

Kylie: I'm impressed.- I comment sincerely.

Kim: Well, you will be even more so during the trip, because when you see how she is with the kids and how they listen to her immediately.- she comments and I look at her for a few seconds.

My gaze turns to Y/n, paying attention to the clear abs of her body that the t-shirt exposes and the perfection of her face. How her wavy brown hair falls over her shoulders and back. Her sharp jawline is exposed when she pulls her hair into a high ponytail, exposing her strong, feminine jawline.

I detail her for the rest of the flight, trying to hide it as much as possible and prevent my mother and sister from noticing. I don't want my sisters to find out that i'm checking out Y/n and spend the rest of the trip laughing at me for it. 

So I try to be discreet while I look at her, feeling a certain pull in my stomach when I see her bite her lip or run her tongue over her thin but perfect and plump lips.

Those lips that call you to savor them and kiss them until your lips are sore. To kiss them until you feel like you'll faint from lack of air, until you feel like your lips will droop and you lose the feeling of reality.

I have never felt so attracted to a woman as i am right now. Yes, I am capable of appreciating the beauty of a woman, in a platonic and non-sexual or romantic way. But I have to admit that she would made me do anything for her and not complain one bit. 

In addition to my clear attraction to her, I haven't had sex for a long time and when I say a lot, I mean a lot. So just by seeing her body and some of her gestures I'm already starting to get turned on.

[demonicnarwhale]

just like many things I'll start something then toss it aside and we've done this before but here's the protocol: Eel saying she has this file on her computer for a long while now. And she knows she won't get back to this any time soon so here we go

Ok here's some explanation to this whole jazz:

Due to Scratch being like fuchsia blood (because of course) and so the Felt all wear some sort of uniform looking clothes. Tie in to how all wear similar green suits and stuff. And of course their blood colors are placed on them ya know.

(Minus HK posing as an olive as she's a lime, she doesn't have any powers as a lime. Like no ability to shoosh or calm high bloods lol. I just think it's funny and allows for there to be a reason that HK's there. Aka Scratch intimidation, she works as a cleaner so she doesn't have to worry about her getting hurt/blood reveal moment, and she'd rather not get caught by some other trolls or something tee hee)

Here's some silly info: (some stuff has been changed from previous post from some days or month(s) ago)

Heights aren't like up to date as the line up is really just to show their clothes and designs (or lack of)

Matchstick while a burgundy his sign is supposed to also kinda resemble wings. Like it's the most "trust me you gotta squint" sort of shit. But it's cuz I wanna give him a moth (perhaps plus some other animal) sort of lusus cuz hah light. Fire. He extinguishes fire but like haha lusus attracted to the light. and and and and and and and eel is trying her best here

Stitch is the only goldie but it's just funny that not only does he have no psionics to start off with, but also just like his og one eye got fucked up. So even if he did then it's like real weak. Just cuz like eye retina(??) and brain yeah im no surgeon

Sawbucks and Quarters to me are just like the guys who can take a fuck ton of hits? so indigo. yeah. that's all. Like Cans ofc can but I also just think of him more in an offense manner and Quarters takes up the defense

Die gets the cone of shame. fucking loser.

I was entertaining the idea of Clover and HK switching blood colors just cuz I can go "Haha Clover's soooo lucky that he's still alive" yadda yadda. But then, he wouldn't be able to get all weird and freaky with chuckle voodoo stuff. Yeah should he have that access? No :)

I could've made Trace a violet too but I felt like in their sprites, Fin (to me) is much more obvious to being a shark. Like look at that fuckin mug ya know? So i just went with making just Fin a violet.

the idea was to keep it where like there's more lowbloods than highbloods but ya know what. Just realized the only three midbloods I got are fucking Die Crowbar and Snowman. The sequence (ok I'll probably add someone else to the midbloods)

While I could've just made their blood off of like their ball or hat color, I felt like it'd be fun to see what blood color id assign them considering like their attributes or personalities like Itchy to me is an olive as I like to think that olives can be more rowdy or energetic? yeahhh like ofc not all but just for this yes

Also the idea of Itchy being a goldie sounds disastrous

Oh SHIT SAWBUCK IS A TEAL IM CHANGING HIM TO A TEAL OHAGUH

Doze is a burgundy but also like his sign a 2 and and anddd hourglass looking hehehe

Itchy was supposed to look like that dangly bit from the grandfather clock. And the others I gave up trying to implement some time looking reference

I know Snowy's pants are like so obvious cuz hahah spider web haha but BUT I AM SO HAPPY FOR HOW IT LOOKS. LIKE PANTS BUT COULD LOOK LIKE A SKIRT DRESS THING IF STANDING LEGS CLOSED AND AOUGH YEAHHHH

Oh yeah I'll also be adding or trying to come up with their clothes when not in uniform but that's a maybe. Maybe. There's ideas like I got Clover and Fin's but the others? yeah good luck.

Also I just really like ponchos or like the coat duster thingy yeahhhh

Also also PS. if there's like any questions please feel free to ask just cuz there's some other things I wanna talk about but it's either for characters not here or I am blanking

[phillipfancypants]

I wish I knew people irl who like Stormlight so i shall submit you all to my ramblings instead.

This song is so Kaladin coded and I feel like people more creative than me need to be aware of its existence.

My personal interpretation of the lyrics below the cut:

“There’s a voice that pulls me stumbling through a symphony // and the less of it I need the more I get” (the calling of honor and his need to do the right thing, even when it always ends up with him worse off than he started)

“Till I’m swept up by the shape of all the centuries // like an echo in the chambers of my chest” (his connection to the history of Roshar as a Knight Radiant)

“I think she fears I’ll be a servant to my history” (the “she” in this song reads very much as Syl to me. This is referring to every time Kal goes into a dark place when he thinks of all the people he’s lost)

“Or worse a slave to someone else’s misplaced doubts” (he’s often feeling he has to prove himself as worthy)

“And so I try to hard to kill what’s out to kill me// until I’m blind and hiding in the lion’s mouth” (he’s often blinded by his duty to protect himself and his companions that he ends up in over his head. This reads very much like book 1 to me with the bridge maneuvers)

“And the words she aches to hear pour through my canyon//and they’re singing in the caverns of my limbs” (the words are the ideals, also caverns makes me think of the chasms )

“And though I do my best to try to understand them // they only follow me like vultures in the end” (most of book 3&4 have Kaladin struggling to find and speak the fourth ideal. Also the symbolism of vultures being animals that prey on the dead. Kaldin’s 4th ideal is that there will be those he cannot protect, and the words follow him like vultures, surrounding those he’s lost)

“I once read that I should write something worth reading // or I should do something worth writing about” (these feel like the influence of Lirin and Dalinar on his life, Lirin wanting him to help people through the study of medicine and Dalinar encouraging him to join him in battles)

“As my ears they buzz like bees upon the ceiling//I start to pour a little more than I’m allowed” (all the feelings of what people want him to be and what he himself wants to be are overwhelming)

“I said our hearts know deeper seasons than our memories//she said this harvest might sustain us for a year” (this one is weird but I think it’s saying that the gut feelings of why you make the choices you do are more important that the logical reasons. Kaladin nearly breaks his oaths a couple of times doing what’s right, and Syl is telling him that this way of living isn’t sustainable for either of them)

“And of all the thousand ways the world could tempt me//I’ve never met a better fighter than her fear” (the world seems to be designed to make Kaladin give up, which is Syl’s biggest fear)

“So as I try to breathe the air that she is breathing//and we dance a lightless dance upon my floor” (idk I haven’t found a way to connect this yet other than that air and dance are often associated with Syl)

“I am yearning to tell her she’s all I’m needing//but I’m drowned out by all the noise outside the door” (the noise outside the door being all the directions Kal is being pulled in between his family, his squires, all of urithuru, his own depression, and everything else that I’m forgetting)

“Carried by the current of the morning//miles below the surface of the dawn” (Kaladin’s depression is like night, and the dawn is the light of being able to move on. Being miles below the surface, he knows a better world is up there, but it seems impossibly far)

“This is not the place that I was born in//that doesn’t mean it’s not the place where I belong” (he was raised a dark-eyed surgeon’s son and now is a soldier and a symbol of hope to his country. I love that the song ends with him coming to terms with his place in the grand scheme of things, and knowing that he is enough and he can protect those he loves)

[x22817]

^Herz at the hospital earlier today

This was the only picture I was able to get because I had to undress and put all of my belongings once we got onto the surgery floor

Health update under the cut

Scopes are done!

I had an endoscopy (they stick a camera down your throat into your belly) and a colonoscopy today. My OBGYN noticed I had really severe hemorrhoids the last time I had a physical exam with her. She was concerned enough I was referred to a GI surgeon right away.

This bitch is the coolest doc I've ever met. She came in with cat scrubs, a fish bonnet, and raccoons in trash cans socks. We walked through my entire, not just GI related medical history in about 45 minutes. The biggest concern are the hemorrhoids which have been causing me major problems lately. I couldn't poop without bleeding so much I would come close to passing out.

I was immediately scheduled for my scopes for today and for my CT scan in a couple of weeks.

The last scopes I got, I was diagnosed with a hiatal hernia, severe ulcers, diverticulitis, inguinal hernia, and "all-around general inflammation." I wasn't told what to do. Wasn't given any drugs or even supplements. Nothing.

All of my symptoms improved significantly when I was diagnosed with Addison's and started treatment. I also got much more strict with my diet. WFPB and a daily juice really helped a lot.

Alas, I never stopped having problems, then they suddenly got worse. Now we are here.

Having broken adrenal glads makes everything so much more difficult. This simple procedure had to be turned into a big event. When being sedated, I require an extra anesthesiologist who specializes with Addison's along with the regular anesthesiologist. This person is in charge of my 100mg injection of Sulocortef to substitute for my lack of cortisol.

The endoscopy revealed that I have really severe inflammation in my stomach along with the ulcers. This is probably why it always hurts to eat no matter what it is. The colonoscopy revealed that my hemorrhoids likely need surgery. We are happy I am not internally bleeding.

I have been given two medications that are supposed to help with the stomach issues. Fiber is the biggest thing that will help with the hemorrhoids outside of stitching them bad boys up. We are going to get a bidet because that helps with the pain, the bleeding, and cleanliness, though.

These are my least favorite health problems I have. I am not going to lie. I hate it all so much for so many different reasons.

BUT

I am so incredibly grateful for being heard by my doctors for the first time in my life. The nurse that did my IV, my specialist anesthesiologist, and my doctor herself all could not believe I had this procedure multiple times before and never treated for anything.

[k-s-morgan]

Hi, I hope you are safe and sound

I've been meaning to ask you a question about asexuality but was afraid it would be too personal. Your recent post is about, so I guess it's ok to ask, but if not, feel free to skip

I'm still young enough, going through my university years, but I've never felt attraction towards anyone. Even as a teenager at school. (Now, I'm not even sure if I can love anyone as a partner) Though I like reading romantic stories and do understand when a person is 'attractive' or not. So, the question is how/when did you understand that you are asexual and do you have any tips perhaps? It's just so upsetting for me to feel pressure from not only society but also my parents who expect me to find a lover and have a family

Hello! Oh, please don't worry, I don't mind any kind of personal questions as long as they are not deliberately offensive!

Asexuality means a lack of sexual attraction to anyone, but there is such thing as aesthetic attraction, meaning that you find some people aesthetically pleasing, very beautiful, etc. From what you said, you might be referring to it. Asexuals are perfectly capable of evaluating the general attractiveness of a person and they might even have their preferred ideal of beauty.

In my case: for a long time, I was confused because I felt aesthetic attraction., and like, I adored reading and writing and watching romance stories. It's my favorite genre. All of this made me think that I’m bisexual, and I identified as such. But even when I admired a person’s beauty, it was more like admiring a painting. I felt no desire to do anything sexual with them (or anything romantic). When I saw a great character, I wanted to ship them with someone instead of seeing myself with them.

When I read about asexuality, something finally clicked, and I was thrilled with understanding who I am. I never doubted it since I found my label around 23, and I knew at that point that I’m just not attracted to people, neither romantically nor sexually. If you live that long and you never experience what other people do, to me, it's a clear indication that you're different in some way. I was excited to find the source of this difference.

The most important thing is what and how you feel. You can find a definition that describes you best and makes you feel comfortable; you can change your mind later. Many people dislike labels in general; I felt pleased when I found one, but we all have different experiences. Just try not to push yourself into something you don’t want or don’t like. Even if others don’t respect your sexuality/preferences, respect them yourself and I think (and hope) that you’ll be happy.  

I understand about feeling pressure, and I'm sorry. I wish I knew what to say here. My immediate family is very supportive, but everyone else is often annoying. I’ve never dated anyone, I never felt romantic or sexual interest to anyone; I had my first kiss + sex out of curiosity when I was 22, and it didn’t change anything in me - it was just a weird, very mechanical activity. But my friends and most of my relatives still say stuff like, “Oh, honey, you just haven’t met the right person yet! Have you tried therapy? I hope this year, you’ll find the love of your life! Would you like me to set you up with my friend?” My Mom tried to explain to her co-workers why I don’t plan on getting married, and they all refuse to accept that asexuality exists. They think I must be hiding some trauma. This is extremely offensive and infuriating. 

Sexuality is a part of who you are. I try to make people around me understand it, but they just blink at me in confusion. I ask heterosexual folks, “Why are you so sure you are straight? Maybe you just haven’t find the right man/woman.” When my aunt wished me to find a partner for the 100th time, I waited for her birthday and wished her to become a surgeon (she never had any relation or interest in medicine). She seemed to understand something, but a few months later, we were back to where we started. Still, maybe something like this could help you?

I'm comfortable and happy with myself, so while other people are a source of occasional frustration, their opinions don't really affect me.

I don't know how aggravating your situation is or might get, so the only thing I can say is that I hope you remember that your happiness with yourself matters most. You might figure out what label fits you best, you might start/keep changing them - as long as you’re comfortable with who you are, it’s all fine!

[thebastardgerard]

Recently, after reading my friend @metalheadsforblacklivesmatter ‘s posts, I thought it was finally time to share my own story experiencing medical racism, transphobia and sexism.

TW: MEDICAL TOPICS, RACISM, TRANSPHOBIA, SEXISM AND EDS.

Somethings about me and disclaimers:

For those who don’t know me, hi hello, what’s the dealio? My name is Kuco, I’m a two-spirit black-indigenous mixed person. I am light-skinned, but most people can tell I’m mixed or assume I’m Latino, to the point where my medical documents mark me as Hispanic despite myself telling them to change it. I’m also AFAB.

While my experience is bad, it’s not unique to just me. Other people who are apart of the BIPOC community have faced the same or much worse. Regardless, please listen those in the community with darker skin. They often face much worse. If you’re only comfortable listening to those with lighter skin and feel more comfortable while claiming you’re an ally, you’re wrong and need to do better.

My story:

In 2021, I was experiencing nausea and vomiting after I ate. After a week of this continuously happening while working, I went to see a doctor who sent me to a surgeon, who sent me to a gastroenterologist to see what could be done without surgery.

This doctor was a cis white man in his late 60s who was apparently “retired.” After pointing out my symptoms and how they were getting worse, he looked through my medical history and noticed I had anxiety. He immediately went to the conclusion of a “brain-to-gut” connection, saying it was often found in woman. (Shock to no one, that wasn’t the case. Also, the issue was not my anxiety. My anxiety has progressive gone down and was at the lowest it had been in YEARS. My therapist at the time even confirmed this himself.) During this time, he also repeatedly referred to me using she/her pronouns, despite that my medical record points out that I am transgender and went by he/him pronouns at the time. (Despite me pointing this out, he continued to ignore this.) He gave me medications that were supposed to help, a doctor’s note (as I worked at the time) and sent me on my way.

Things only got worse. After 6 months of my symptoms getting worse and worse (to the point I could not eat solid food and started vomiting liquid) and several tests, he still believed it was a brain to gut issue. I had lost a lot of weight, to the point my own family noticed.

One of the last appointments I had with this doctor involved what’s called a gastric emptying test. For this test, a radioactive isotope (which isn’t harmful to humans) is put into some eggs and ingested. Pictures are taken of your stomach to track how long the isotope stays in your stomach after 2 hours, 3 hours, and 4 hours. Normally, your stomach is meant to empty at the 2 1/2 to 3 1/2 hour mark. (By what I was told, mind you.)

My stomach emptied finally at the ladder end of 4 hours. This was considered on the way lower end of normal.

Once my doctor got this result, this was his response: The test says that your empty is at the lower end of what was normal, so that’s normal. Just keep taking your meds. It’s more common for Caucasian (white) people to have more serious gastric problems. Just so you know, I’m not writing you another note for your work, it’s not what I do.

This is what broke the camel’s back.

I called my primary care doctor and let her know that I wanted a different doctor who was a woman to see. I told her that he wasn’t listening to me nor taking me seriously and I refused to see him again. I also let her know that he was refusing to write me anymore work notes, despite the issue not being resolved. (A small time after this, my job let me go due to not having a return date. They said I was allowed to reapply afterwards, but I didn’t for different reasons. That’s another story for a different day.)

My primary care doctor sent me to a different doctor who was a woman and also happened to be a POC.

I had an appointment a week later, in which I told her all my symptoms and how I was barely able to eat it drink anything without being nauseous and vomiting. She listened to me while looking at my previous results from previous tests, in which she saw my gastric emptying test.

Her response was: Your test says your emptying is on the lower end of what’s normal, but by what you’re saying, it’s only gotten worse. Why didn’t he give you anything? I’m surprised you’re even talking to me right now.

I told her that he had said that due to my anxiety, it was a brain to gut issue, which was common for “woman” and continually insisted on that, as well as his other comments. She concluded I have a condition called Gastroparesis, or delayed gastric emptying. This is a condition that affects the stomach muscles and prevents proper stomach emptying. While there isn’t a certain idea of why it happens, it’s thought that those who previously suffered from EDs and have diabetes contract it more. (I had suffered from EDs when I was younger and have a history of diabetes that runs in my family, which is where I believe my causes came from.)

I suffered 9 months with this condition without proper treatment, in which my symptoms were prolonged, got worse, and almost passed, all because if ONE doctor.

While I got better for a time, I’m still battling with this condition, as well as other conditions that came along.

~~~~~~~~~

When those in the BIPOC community tell you we don’t trust white people, especially doctors, it’s because we’ve been shown time and time again the complete disregard for our care and safety.

Use your allyship for good and protect us.

I would like to thank my friends for your help, but especially with my partners and my friend @metalheadsforblacklivesmatter . They helped me so much through those 9 months, and even now continue to help and support me. I love you guys so so much. 🩵🩵🩵

[swiftsdelucaa]

❛ 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 ❜

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Amelia Shepherd x f!reader ♡

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: You're a nurse in the Grey-Sloan and you really admire dr. Shepherd. A problem one day will change things for you...

Requested? Yes, by @mcseattles

𝘼/𝙣: Hi bestie! I really hope you'll like this💕

It's always been as if nurses didn't exist for surgeons. Or at least since they believed themselves more superior they showed it.

Patients have always been your biggest priorities, it wasn't just a job that could stress you, on the contrary, you loved it, you loved helping people.

When it came to Dr. Shepherd's patients, you always hoped to have some contact with her, and not just for the cases. But the only sentence you could hear from her was just "Thanks Y/n" accompanied by one of her smiles that managed to stay in your mind for a long time. That's how you always remembered her, smiling.

Today you were going to be treating one of her patients, who was due for surgery for a brain tumour. Her name was Lilian, and she had been hospitalized for a few months now. You had gotten to know her during her kemio cycles, she was a very sweet and nice girl. This was also one of your favorite aspects of your job, getting to know the patients and making them feel at ease.

"Today is the big day!" you said with a smile as soon as you entered the room to change the drip.

"Thank God, even though I've gotten used to all this" she said ironically.

"Well, how are we doing?" Amelia entered the room followed by Stephanie. Your gaze immediately fell on her.

"We're finally going to kick this worthless pile of shit out of the ass!" she exclaimed. You all laughed.

"Edwards" Amelia got Stephanie to make the case.

"Lilian Evans, 27 years old, third stage lymphoma, she'll be operated on today after being subjected to four months of kemio" Lilian turned towards you, you were her point of reference.

"The surgery is set for this afternoon" Amelia concluded.

"I'll count down!" Lilian said. Amelia smiled at her before leaving, while you stayed with her to keep her company.

"When are you going to tell her your feelings?" Lilian asked looking at you with a smile.

"What...?" you asked pretending not to know what she was referring to.

"Dr. Shepherd! Come on, your eyes sparkle when you look at her" damn was that obvious? Sure, you liked her a lot, but maybe you should try to limit your feelings a little.

"Okay- We won't talk about that-"

"Please the only thing that every person talks about with me in this hospital is my tumor, I won't miss the opportunity to face one of my favorite situations" she retorted interrupting you.

You looked at her for a while. She's right, when are you going to talk to her and get noticed? You can't go on like this.

"You should rest now, I'll come back later" Lilian rolled her eyes at your decision, and you walked out of the room.

"Y/n" Amelia called you.

"Yes?"

"Keep monitoring her and let me know if there are any complications, okay?"

"Sure" you smiled at her politely before she pulled away and you could look at her. «Stop being an idiot» you said to yourself.

While you were on your lunch break Staphanie immediately ran over to you, she looked anxious.

"Edwards, what-"

"It's Lilian, she's having convulsions, Shepherd is intervening, she told me to come and find you" she caught her breath between one word and another, she must have run half the hospital looking for you. You immediately got up and followed her.

When you arrived Lilian was unconscious, the convulsions had stopped and Shepherd had immediately ordered to prepare her to take her to the operating room.

"Where were you?" Amelia referred to you looking at you with a rather angry expression.

"I was- I was on break, I-"

"And her exams?" she raised her tone a bit.

"They were okay... I don't know what's happened..." she asked you all possible questions and you answered sincerely everything you had done. Why did this happen?

Amelia and Stephanie rushed Lilian into the room, other nurses were preparing her. All you could do was wait and hope that the surgery worked out, and that Lilian was okay.

When Amelia came out she took off her scrub cap and threw it on the floor in frustration. You were a little afraid to approach her to ask how it went. When she met your eyes it was as if you understood everything. Lilian is dead, things didn't go as planned. Her family was yet to arrive, and no one would want to break news like that to anyone else.

You didn't even dare to witness that scene. You locked yourself in one of the first closets you saw, you didn't know what was happening to you. You loved Lilian so much. And now she was dead. God, she was just a patient… But she also managed to become the only person she could understand you. Let's say that it seemed more difficult to socialize with others.

A tear came out of your eyes and you can't do anything to stop it.

At that point someone opened the door, the last person you would have expected to see.

"Hey" Amelia walked over to you. "I saw you come in here..." she sat next to you. You wiped away your tears.

"It's nobody's fault, it happens every day-"

"But Lilian didn't- she didn't deserve this" you said trying not to burst out in front of her.

"I know, it's terrible, but it's like this, and there's nothing we can do about it..." she said looking into your eyes.

As her eyes rested on yours you could almost calm yourself.

"The only thing I want to do is just kiss you right now" you said keeping your gaze on hers.

“Well, do it…” she answered the same way.

You placed a hand on her cheek stroking it as you brought your face to hers and she closed her eyes. You placed your lips against hers in a short kiss full of sweetness, she reciprocated making it a little more intense, you could have never stopped.

[avintmich]

AU! USSR JACOB

English!VERSION 18+

Mentioned: necrophilia, unpleasant description of person/things/actions, perversion, description of scenes of a sexual nature, murder. If anything is missing, let me know!

Notes from the author: all unclear meanings of words/terms will be indicated with a “*”. everything will be at the very end. she/her is used in the text. in all cases, exclude non-possible events with your gender (such as pregnancy) and substitute your pronouns. I do not recommend eating while reading! enjoy!

I worked with the help of a translator, so

there may be errors in the text.

(Headcanons may coincide with the ideas of these people: @mara-ma , @sapoz-ni , @vajaina-hi .)

-I saw a couple of options for the Russified name, but I am more inclined to “Dmitry Anatolyevich Oldenov”

-Dimitri is the same colleague who has yellow teeth, broken crooked fingers, huge bags under his eyes and constant bad breath. but you cannot avoid him, because for his merits he is close to the authorities and you constantly need something, but only a bespectacled man (as his colleagues call him) can give it to you.

-a possible scenario of actions when Oldenov could get acquainted with MC is:

1.You are a junior engineer who has just come to practice.

2. You either work at the post office, or as a telephone operator or librarian!

-In one of the cars of his victims he found a camera, later the device was left as a “souvenir” and a way to document his murders / they gave him a camera at work for his merits / stood in line*.

-when he tried to lure the victim, he was stopped by police passing by, seeing an unpleasant-looking man approaching the girl. Rope, a kitchen knife and Vaseline were found in his briefcase. Dmitry, exposing his yellow teeth, explained with a smile: “a rope for tying parcels at the post office, a knife just for cutting this very rope, and Vaseline for cleaning shoes!”*

-After this situation, Oldenov became even more cautious, the “photo sessions” stopped for a while, but physical attraction took over.

- all his hygiene is an old, completely hardened piece of laundry soap and, if possible, the remains of toothpaste. Very dirty, oily skin that over the years is complemented by wrinkles and stubble.

- After a new object of adoration appeared in his life, he began to shave and wash his clothes more often

-If he is in Moscow, the first place he will go is the library named after Lenin.*

- Aldenov is a fairly well-read and intelligent person; he adores writers of the Silver and Golden Ages. He often imitated the heroes of the works, courting the MC in the same ways, and offered his favorite lines from poetry to his beloved. he has his own shelf with a collection of books in a small Khrushchev*, it is complemented by a bedside table with vinyl records and a gramophone. Anatolyevich does not live richly, but as he himself grew up, “he has enough of everything".

-due to connections and flattering character, a shortage may occur*. Often taking advantage of his position, he could set people up or point out to them in the most rude way their lack of education.

- often fishes, finding peace and pleasure in this. Oldenov carried out his idea of founding a fishing club. Frequent visitors were his superiors and old people who loved fishing.

- was subscribed to magazines about photography, fishing and medicine. I kept and re-read each copy.

- grew up in the village with his grandmother Olga Gennadievna Oldenova, in turn, the woman was a midwife in a rural hospital. Seeing that Luchik (as Olga affectionately called him in childhood) took reference books and books about medicine from her, she encouraged Dimochka in every possible way for his aspirations and brought him more material to study. Gennadievna hoped that the younger Oldenov would become a doctor, perhaps a surgeon or dentist. “After all, the job is prestigious and brings in a lot of money,” as Oldenova said.

-after Olga’s death, Dmitry inherited a summer cottage and a house. Where I often came on weekends and tended to my garden. I sold all my pets and used the money from the sale to renovate my musty house. He often invited MC to his place for barbecues*

Not very pleasant things will be described

further

- let's admit that Dmitry, as in the original story, is a pervert.

-Oldenov, as a teenager, was excited by medical reference books with images of human organs. He found books either in the village library or on the shelves of his grandmother.

-there are many photographs and films depicting all stages of decomposition of bodies of different configurations and genders

- He witnessed a terrible accident in which his beloved Sarochka died. it was then that he experienced the strongest sexual arousal. Since then, haunted by visions in which people were writhing in agony, Anatolyevich was looking for a way to repeat that same feeling. And I found it. under the pretext of taking photographs, he lured people into the forest, performing sexual acts on the people killed at his hands, filming it all along the way

- because of the girl’s refusal, Oldenov’s ego suffered; in a fit of rage at her, Dmitry raped the girl who refused. each time, with aspiration and reverence, remembering how she writhed in pain. It was then that he received his first scar from the victim; she bit him on his left hand. But everyone when they ask him where this scar comes from, he brushes it off: “the dog bit me, if he ran away huh."

- when he met MC, he began to fantasize and see visions of the murdered/bloodied/crucified/decaying/writhing in pain MC

-after the appearance of a new lover, all his victims began to at least somewhat resemble you. height, voice, hair/eye color, similar lip shade, build, demeanor, same style of clothing/same clothing, shape of nails. Everything is in the smallest detail.

- a possible abduction would be similar to the story of the Skopinsky maniac*. Having invited MC to a barbecue, he added a strong sleeping pill to your beer, which the doctor prescribed for him. But instead of making a separate room under the house, he simply locked the MС in a basement specially equipped for living.

-further, as in the case of the Skopinsky maniac, he forced the MС to do disgusting things.for example: sex with foreign objects (such as vases or sticks), sex with pain, playing with a knife, suffocation (for some it’s nice), worship of his body, urine emission no matter who does it, he or you, creampie (o what words do I know), filming violent moments, rape, watching phim of all the pictures from his “photo shoots”, the possible cutting off of MC’s limbs and the list goes onDuring the whole process, MC becomes pregnant and Oldenov transports her to the city. Where does he deliver babies?

- having created the status of a good family, no one suspects that a new killer is already growing in the world. Although each of us has it.

---------

Thanks for reading! I hope you didn't throw up from the crap I did!

---------

*

All designations are taken from the

Internet/in personal words. yes,

I'm a lazy ass

wait in line- meant standing in line for scarce or ordinary goods. This happened because there was virtually no free market and competition in the USSR. there could be a queue for an apartment, a car, or the most ordinary sausage.

"rope, knife and Vaseline. "- a case from one of Chikatilo's arrests. after which the maniac remained free

Lenin's Library-Entry to this library was carried out only with a pass. therefore, not everyone could get there

Khrushchevka- Khrushchev buildings got their name in honor of Nikita Khrushchev, who personally participated in the design and creation of this type of house. These are standard panel or brick residential buildings, 4-5 storeys with no elevator and small apartment dimensions

Commodity shortage in the USSR-a phenomenon inherent in the Soviet planned economy, a constant shortage of certain goods and services that buyers could not purchase, despite the availability of funds

go to a barbecue -so to speak, have a picnic

Skopinsky maniac -Russian criminal who kidnapped two minor girls, 14 and 17 years old, in 2000, kept and raped them in a basement for almost 4 years. In the Russian media he is known as the Skopinsky maniac.

[icallpostit]

@ofnuerogod

{Life… Let’s just say it had a way of throwing curveballs in your direction. At times it seemed like my life was more curveballs than not, but I learned to deal with it. Well, I should say I learned to adapt. Sure, people tended to refer to me as dark and twisty, but I was okay with that. I mean, I was far from the sunshine and rainbows personality. I didn't have many friends. Well, more like no friends or people I really associated with, since I wasn't really a people person. I liked my space. No, dark and twisty suited me. It kept me guarded from even more disappointments in my life. Between the absentee father who abandoned me when I was a kid, and my mother who was more focused on her career than anything, I didn’t exactly have what anyone would call a normal home life or upbringing. Hell, I spent more of my time at the hospital, while my mother tended to patients and conducted surgeries, than I did in my own home… Once I became an adult, I followed the career path I knew would make my mom proud. Or at least that was my goal since I had worked my whole life to make my mother proud. In vain, of course, but still, I tried. Yes, I was going to be a surgeon. Mind you, my mom made sure to keep me grounded daily. You know, reminding me each day that I would never be the world renowned surgeon that she is, but as long as I didn’t embarrass her or tarnish “The Grey Legacy” that she set, then okay. Mother of the year, I’ll tell you. Even so, I pushed forward; eventually finishing college, then medical school, and now I was about to embark on my internship at Seattle Grace Hospital. Of course I wasn’t stupid. I knew my acceptance into that internship program had a lot to do with my last name and who my mother is. I was the daughter of the great Ellis Grey. That left people curious to see if I had what it takes to live up to the Grey name. Not that she pulled any strings to get me into the program since early onset Alzheimers set in for her, and most days, she didn’t even know who I was anymore. Oddly, she remembered her surgeries, some of her patients, the awards and accolades she received through her career, and some of the more memorable people she worked with, but nope, not me. Couldn’t remember her own daughter. Still, I made a point to visit her on a daily basis; sharing stories and memories that I thought might ring familiar to her, but she usually just cut me off to mention having to go into surgery, so she’d not so subtly tell me to leave the nursing home. It hurt, to say the least, but given my lifelong list of disappointments, I would adapt to this one too. I silently considered as I was in the midst of taking my daily visit to the nursing home where she resided. Figuring I better get my visit in now since tomorrow I would be beginning my internship at the hospital, and I knew I could be working some weeks up to a hundred hours; meaning my time will be limited on my visits to see my mom from tomorrow on. Even so, my car had been dropped off at the shop earlier for an oil change and tire rotation, so once I left the mechanic’s shop, I decided to walk to her nursing home. It wasn’t /that/ far, so even I could handle the walk. No, I wasn’t the most athletic individual, especially on days like today when it’s windy and rainy, but even I could handle walking several blocks to my destination… I mean, what could go wrong? I thought with a silent scoff as I pulled my hood up to cover the rain from hitting my head as much as possible; all the while keeping one hand in place at the side of my hood in an effort to keep the wind from blowing my hood down} Oh yeah… This was a great plan. {I murmured sarcastically under my breath as I approached an intersection; stopping with a few other people for the light to change, so we could ultimately cross the road and continue to my next destination}