#he told me his mother was a plastic surgeon and explain in detail some personal projects he was involved in.

[troubleangel1994]

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[cudan2]

Starbucks and Skin Grafts

Spring Break Shadowing Part 2

Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Word Count: 2,206

Summary: You’re starting your second day of shadowing with Dr. Cullen and get to learn more about him.

A/N: I underestimated the amount of research I’d have to do for this series woops. I’m pre-dent and not pre-med, so if anyone here is actually a doctor or a med student or even knows more about medicine than I do, feel free to tell me what details I should change! (I really did try my best though, but it’s turning out to be more Grey’s Anatomy-esque) 

Anyways, this is #4 on my headcanon list. 

Masterlist

XXX

When the train stops at the 168th Street Station, you make your first task of the day to find Doctor Cullen. The campus is growing to be familiar territory, but it’s still massive and you find yourself getting lost on the main surgical floor despite already getting directions from a receptionist. Your frustration begin growing as you turn another corner and realize you’re still as lost as before.

“Just the person I’ve been looking for!” a familiar voice calls out. You turn to look over your shoulder and find the doctor you’d spent the last fifteen minutes searching for. He’s wearing a white coat and lacking the scrub cap from the previous day. So he’s blonde, you notice, not a single strand out of place. You take several steps towards him to meet him halfway.

“Good morning, Doctor Cullen. I’m sorry for not meeting with you earlier. It might have been a little difficult to track you down,” you give a sheepish smile.

“Don’t worry, it can certainly take weeks to learn how to navigate this hospital. I’ve just finished doing my morning rounds, so there is about twenty minutes before I meet for a pre-op. Why don’t we grab some coffee and get to know each other a bit more?” Before you can even give an answer, your stomach growls loudly and you mentally berate yourself for not eating anything beforehand. “Perhaps a little less coffee and some more food would be beneficial for you instead,” Doctor Cullen chuckles.

By the time you reach the Starbucks on the first floor of the hospital, you’ve learned the basics about him and vice versa. He’s a plastic surgeon, this was his first year as an attending, he moved here about five months ago, actually started working here four months ago, and attended University of Washington in Seattle for both his undergrad and medical school.

Meanwhile, you currently attend school away from home at New York University, you’re in your third year of college, majoring in biology, minoring in psychology, and on track to graduate a semester early.

“Hey, Doc! The usual as always?” you hear as you make it to the front of the Starbucks line with Doctor Cullen.

“Good morning, Emily. Yes, the usual as always.”

“Sounds good! Will that be all?” Both the barista and the doctor look towards at you.

You splutter out your intended order and lean towards Doctor Cullen as Emily is writing your name on a cup. “You really don’t have to pay for the food and stuff. I mean, I brought cash so–”

“Think of it as compensation. I can’t imagine how many people actually enjoy being up this early in the morning, especially seeing how this is your spring break. Besides, I think you’ll find you need the energy to keep up with me today. I must warn you though, it won’t all lap appys and fun like with Doctor Stone.”  

“I like a good challenge,” you smirk at him. He gazes back at you with a twinkle in his eyes and a soft smile and you can’t help the fact that your heart starts beating just a little faster.  

Another barista call your names out and you’re suddenly reminded that this is the real world.

“Thanks for the breakfast,” you quickly say, breaking eye contact and grabbing the orders from the counter. Stop thinking about how pretty his eyes are, you tell yourself, even if they do look like pure amber. Doctor Cullen follows suite and goes to grab his grande-sized cup.

“Careful, wouldn’t want to burn the surgeon hands,” you notice the amount steam coming out of the lid and hand him a sleeve for the cup. When he accepts the sleeve from your outstretched arm, you see a peculiar expression on his face and hear a soft chuckle from him before he thanks you. It’s almost as though he knew something you didn’t.

The two of you walk back to his office so he can grab his notes on the patient. On the way there, he tells you more about his daily life as a plastic surgeon as you eat. He’s done so many different procedures that you can barely keep track of the list. There’s a lot less liposuctions and facelifts – those were for the cosmetic surgeons – and more reconstructions and repairs in his line of work.    

“The patient you’re about to meet was in a car accident two years ago,” Doctor Cullen explains. “He received extensive burns to the face and neck, all of which have scarred over now. Our goal is to reduce the scarring and give him back some mobility.”

Before you can ask any questions, Doctor Cullen is already knocking on the patient’s door and entering. The door opens to reveal the patient sitting up in bed along and a woman standing beside him. The other two doctors in the room wore ceil blue scrubs – residents, you note, following Doctor Cullen into the room.  

“There’s the man of the hour!” The woman exclaims.

“Mom!” The patient lets out an exasperated groan.

“What? As if you aren’t excited to see the handsome doctor either, Tyler!” You try your best not to laugh but can see the two residents smother their own smiles behind fake coughs. Doctor Cullen is the one to accept the indirect compliment and bids both the patient and his mother a hello.

“Tyler, I have a student shadowing me for the week, if you wouldn’t mind another pair of eyes in the room?”

“Yeah, I don’t mind. I’ve definitely experienced a whole lot worse,” Tyler responds.

“Perfect. Doctor Wang, would you present the case?”

One of the residents looks up from her charts and begins reciting the details as if it were second nature. “Tyler Sardella, age 24, scheduled for scar revision.”

“And what procedures will we be performing today?”

“We’ll be planting an autograft and doing a Z-plasty to minimize the appearance of scarring. Skin grafting will help give a bigger range of motion in the neck, accelerate the healing process, and prevent any future scarring.” Her words exude confidence and you hope to sound like that one day. Skin graft and Z-plasty... you’re not entirely familiar with the terms but store them in the back of your head. After all, you’re here to learn.

Doctor Cullen gives a nod of approval to Doctor Wang and turns back to Tyler. “Tyler, do you have any last-minute questions before we send you to the OR?”

“Nope! I’m so ready to turn my head 180 degrees again.”

“Sounds good, I’ll see you soon then.”

You give a quick nod to Tyler and his mother as both Doctor Cullen and you take your leave. The two residents reconvene with their attending several minutes later and exchange words before they both head off to prepare for the surgery.

You stand around awkwardly for a moment as Doctor Cullen looks over the charts. He suddenly calls your name out, eyes still scanning over his notes.

Your response is to stand up just slightly straighter as you say, “Yes?”

“What procedures will we be performing on Tyler?”

Well shit, you certainly weren’t expecting him to ask you that.

“Um, you’re planting a skin graft, an autograft to be more specific, and then doing a Z-plasty.” You’re unsure and your voice shows it. Of course you could regurgitate words, but it’s hard to explain any further when you didn’t know the meanings to those words.

Doctor Cullen looks up from his charts with that twinkle in his eyes again and a smirk playing on his lips. “Correct!” he exclaims and laughs when he sees the petrified expression you’re wearing from being caught off guard. “Y/N, I did warn you it wasn’t going to be easy. However, I may have failed to mention it was going to be me making your experience here more difficult.”

“Why though?”

“What can I say? I like to keep my students on their toes. It keeps things interesting.”

You huffed and followed him to the OR. Challenge accepted.

Scrubbed – check, PPE – check, scrub cap – well, that was for Doctor Cullen, but check. He’s still scrubbing when you hear him.

“Are you sure you want to be in there? It’s going to take approximately three hours.”

“You told me that,” you remind him. “And I told you that I like a challenge.”

“Alright, but please let me know if you feel any fatigue. I can ask one of the nurses to bring in a chair or you can step out for some air–”

“I will be fine,” you insist. “I sit all day in class, standing for three hours will be a good change of pace.” The concern etched into his face is almost endearing, but really, you’re going to be fine.

Everything and everyone is prepped and ready to go by the time you two enter the OR. You make sure to stand in an area that gives you a perfect view of the surgery but would not get in the way of anyone else. Doctor Cullen has his loupes on and you start feeling the high that comes with observing any sort of surgical procedure. It’s not every day that a mere undergrad like you can witness this kind of stuff.

Two hours later, you are still engrossed in the surgery. There’s 80s music playing in the background at the request of the two residents from earlier, who are now chatting away. About fifteen minutes in, Doctor Cullen had properly introduced you to his residents, Lily Wang and Jaime Montes.

Doctor Stone was great and all, but there is something about the blonde doctor that really makes him stand out as a surgeon to you. He’s able to cut and suture whilst explaining the entire procedure to you. He makes all of this seem so... effortless. Although Lily and Jaime are working as much as Doctor Cullen, it’s clear who the leader in the room is.

“You said you went to University of Washington for your undergrad and med school. What made you decide to work here instead of staying in Seattle?” you ask Doctor Cullen suddenly. The conversations around you die down. It seems you aren’t the only one curious about the surgeon.

“I suppose it felt like the right decision at the time.” He glances hesitantly at you from the head of the table before looking back to his work. You can tell there’s more to the story. “I previously worked in a hospital in a small town called Forks.”

“Forks? As in the thing you eat with?” Jaime asks and everyone around you laughs.

“Yes, Forks. It had less than 4,000 inhabitants, so you can imagine the lack of cases like these. The other residents would have gone crazy. It was peaceful for some time but I was ready to move on. It’s a silly notion now that I say it out loud, but I wanted to make an impact on the people I treated.”

“You weren’t making a difference in Forks,” you say. It isn’t a question, but a statement.

“Exactly. One of my deciding factors in working for Columbia was its resources and size. Here, I could save more people to the best of my ability with the most advance resources available.”

Once the surgery reaches its conclusion, you go scrub out with Doctor Cullen as everyone else stays to finish up. You unceremoniously flop onto the bench outside the OR, propriety be damned. Your feet are sore and you wish you could be wearing scrubs and sneakers instead of business-casual clothing.

A water bottle enters your peripheral and you look up to the person handing it to you. Doctor Cullen’s scrub cap is gone once again and his blonde hair is slightly astray.

“Thanks,” is all you can say as you grab the bottle and take a nice, long drink from it. “Nice hair by the way.” Doctor Cullen has the audacity to look down rather bashfully and runs a hand through his hair. Great, now he looks even more attractive.

“You survived,” he says.    

“I did.”

“I’m impressed.”

You let out a snort.

“You’re impressed? You, Lily, and Jaime were the ones doing everything. I literally stood there for three and a half hours! I should be the one that’s impressed.”

“You showed resilience. I have a feeling most students your age would have given in for a chair at least.”

“Yeah, I did tell you I like a challenge,” you point out, even if you did feel like never standing again.

“You also asked very good questions, Y/N. Don’t sell yourself short. You have a lot of potential in this field whether you think it or not. Now go get some lunch, you deserve a break.” He sticks out a hand and you grab it to get up. Damn, his hands are cold. “I have some paperwork to file, so I’ll catch up with you later.”

“I’ll see you then,” you say and begin walking in the direction of the cafeteria.

“Y/N!” you hear him halfway down the hallway and turn to look over your shoulder. “How are we treating the donor site wound?”

You decide to keep walking.

[lovebubblechoices]

Frozen Forget-me-not

Author’s note : This, was requested a lot (no pressure haha ><) and then my twisted silly mind imagined this. I hope you will like it as much as I liked writting it. Of course it will be angsty and sad for the most part at the begining but the theme is not easy. There’s an accident, a car accident + coma involved. I’m not a specialist by the way so don't get mad at me… I’m doing it for the Community so feedback would be nice you know, just saying… Of course, apart from MC (Victoria “Vicky” Monroe) every characters belong to Pixelberry and lastly, as usual, English is not my first language so be nice and enjoy!

Word count : 2,346 (woopsie…)

Tags : @missmiimiie - @caroldxnvxrs - @unusualvisionsblog - @acourustic -@faithhasnowords - @wvndora - @tiki-tay​ - @noboundariesplease​ - @openheart12​ - @youcancallmeanet​ - @edgiestwinter​ -  @basicgirlwithbasicdreams​ - @nhievyenne​ - You, maybe?

Chapter 1 : The Downfall

The ambulance was rushing toward the hospital at full speed and with the lights on. Rafael Aveiro was driving as his own life was on the line and the other paramedics within the ambulance were scared to death.

« You’re gonna get us killed Rafael! Slow down Jesus Christ! »

But the driver was so stressed he did not and then responded something in Portuguese while his brain could not proceed English at the moment. He never was so stressed by his job really; for him it was just about saving countless lives and heroism, making his Nana proud even. But tonight, as he hurried to Edenbrook hospital everything felt different. Rafael’s beliefs were shaken because of his friend lying at the back of the ambulance.

The night had started correctly for Dr. Victoria Monroe, just like any other nights when she wasn’t working. She had planned a lovely evening on her own, outside of Boston for once. What she did not planned at all was for her car to get hit by a trunk on her way back at some crossroad in Boston. Everything happened fast - her checking the road twice, her driving carefully then some horn on her right side and blinding lights, her screaming while the trunk get closer and closer. Finally brutal noises of shattering metal while the car took a dramatic fly in the air only to fall on concrete completely destroyed and its owner left unconscious inside. She had been bleeding nonstop and her life was endangered since then. When the ambulance arrived and that the paramedics managed to get her outside the still-steaming wreck, Rafael recognized her on the spot and insisted on driving whereas he was supposed to be in the back with her. The heartbreak was too much to handle for him - seeing one of the few he loved and cared about in this critical situation. Thankfully the ambulance finally arrived an eternity later, which was in fact 25 minutes later because of the speed and much to his displeasure, Rafael ran into Dr. Varma and Trinh.

« What do we g- VICKY??!!! » Jackie shouted, shocked as ever. « I’ll get her to the OR » indicated Sienna who was trying her best to remain calm and professional despite it was her bestie in front of her. « How long had she been unconscious Rafael? » asked Jackie « At least for 30 minutes I’d say... » the young man responded. « I don’t know her vitals, I was driving... probably too fast » he smiled to himself.

He left without another word, lost in his thoughts. Jackie sighed and went back to her other patients since she wasn’t a surgeon, unlike Bryce or Harper Emery. The young talented doctor wiped forming tears in her eyes as she smiled weakly. She was hoping her friend would be taken care of by Dr. Emery. She feared Bryce would paralysed in front of a lifeless Victoria. But she wasn’t worried that much: Edenbrook was considered to be the Elite. What could possibly go wrong?...

***

Dr. Emery had Dr. Lahela step down for this one. He usually assisted her because she could tell he was one of the most driven surgeon-to-be in here but the young fellow became paralysed when he heard it was Dr. Monroe and that it was ugly, very ugly. But he accepted his fate and welcomed it with some sort of relief. At least, he wouldn’t be the one to blame if the situation messed up and that comforted him somehow but deep down… he was genuinely worried for his friend – he had caught Harper’s look studying the body and he knew what it meant.

No good.

But Victoria, or Vicky for friends, was tough; a true force of nature. Surprisingly enough Bryce came to wonder if she had any lover… He wasn’t quite sure why the thought hit him but there he was gazing in front of him without noticing anything strange or out of the ordinary on the wall. As if the wall could give him that answer. Was it the terror of losing her for good that made him think of potential boyfriends she could have?

For sure, Bryce Lahela could have easily been one of them. At some point, the two were flirting back and forth but it was mostly pick-up lines that made them laugh like idiots. But there was somebody in the picture since last year because he wasn’t on the DT but Bryce noticed small changes in her behavior and he had teased Vicky multiple times about this but she never said anything. It was her secret and her lover’s.

“Not practicing with Harper tonight Lahela?” asked a deep masculine voice.

“Ah! Dr. Ramsey!” said Bryce, looking up. “No… Not tonight. Or this current one at least” he sighed in deafeat.

“How come?”

“I… I could mess it up Dr. Ramsey” Bryce explained “and obviously, I don’t want to” he added thoughtfully.

“I’ve been told you’re one of the promising one Lahela. Why the fear?”

“It’s one of friends in there… How do you put distance between your carrer and your personal feelings Dr. Ramsey?” Bryce genuinely asked the older doctor.”

“I guess everyone’s different Lahela” Dr. Ramsey chuckled.

He was giving the young surgeon the impression his argument for stepping down wasn’t valid but truth was Ethan Ramsey understood the young lad too much. He almost replied that he went to the Amazon for that same reason.

 ***

“I guess I’ll learn with time…” sighed Bryce.

“Who is it, if I may ask?”

“Oh… hum. Probably the best among our small gang. Dr. Monroe’s in there, fighting for her life and I literally cannot step up for the challenge…” the surgeon sighed once again.

“If you’ll excuse me Lahela… I have business to attend to” Ramsey uttered in a slow monotone voice.

“Oh! Of course Dr. Ramsey. Thank you for your time…” simply replied Bryce and Ethan nodded as he continue down the corridor.

***

He. Had. Not. Been. There. For. Her.

There was an earthquake beneath his feet. What kind of doctor he thought he was? What kind of man even? Ethan Ramsey couldn’t think straight. He wanted to go in the OR and helped Harper but could he? Could he help her colleague saving the woman he loved more than his own life?... He wasn’t so sure about that but his pager decided otherwise.

Need you in OR 2. HE

He was screwed. He wasn’t ready to see Victoria on the operating table but hell must be damned: he needed her in his life even if they were doomed to stay colleagues. He must do something, he had to save her. Everything but losing her.

Ethan clenched involuntarily his fists because of the anger growing in him. He was angry with him because he wasn’t able to protect her and he was angry with her because apparently, it was a 50/50 chance to save her. Why on Earth she had been outside of Boston? Why she hadn’t told him about her plans for tonight? Why she hadn’t texted him?

You idiot! You hate texting. And you make excuses up – boundaries, personal development and so on. The diagnostician hated himself. He ran down the corridor the other way and entered the Operating Room n°2 after he dressed up appropriately. Then, he silently acknowledged Harper and came by her side where she was doing was she did best…

Ethan mechanically followed Harper’s orders but his mind was focused on the body lying down the operating table. His hands were slightly shaking but still precise. That was his way to keep control over the whole situation but he knew he couldn’t hold this for long. The dam was thinner and emotions were ready to flood everything and everyone else.

Ethan was on thin ice.

***

After multiple surgeries and countless hours, Victoria’s state was finally stabilized and therefore she was put in a coma and transferred to the intensive care unit. She will be able to make it thanks to Harper Emery’s talent and dedication for her job. Ramsey was glad he had not lost it but he was exhausted and his early day shift wasn’t finished yet. He had to meet Mrs. Monroe and informed her about her daughter and this was dreadful even though Victoria Monroe was out of danger for now.

He called her name in the waiting area of Edenbrook and instantly a middle-aged woman stood up and walked towards him. Ramsey took a minute to detail the woman before him as they exchanged a formal handshake.

She had seemingly soft grey short hair that were unmistakably blonde when she was younger. Dark green eyes lighten her tired features and a worried smile soften her angular yet beautiful face. Ethan could say Mrs. Monroe was an elegant woman and a quick look to her clothes confirmed it. He also assumed a wealthy background but clearly the Monroes weren’t the richest but provided for their daughter or children if Victoria had siblings. He closed the door behind her and gentlemanly offered a seat which she accepted hastily. Then, he went behind his desk, sat and faced her for the first time.

“What happened? I’ve been told my daughter’s been transferred to intensive care” she sobbed quietly.

“That’s correct Mrs. Monroe. Would you like a glass of water before we continue?” he asked her.

He grabbed a plastic goblet and put some water in it before handed it to the lady. She accepted it gracefully and waited for him to unfold the events for her. Ethan Ramsey returned to his desk and explained as calm as he possibly could the events to the worried mother. He wished his own mother was like this but it never ever had been the case. That woman walked on them when he was only 9.

“But is she saved?”

“It’s too soon to be assertive but I know her quite well… she’s a tough one.” He smiled.

“That she is.” confirmed Vicky’s mother. “Could I see her anytime soon?”

“Not for a week at least, I’m sorry.”

“No, no! I understand Doctor. Don’t apologize for doing your work. I appreciate honesty. It’s just… hard, you know? She’s my baby” she justified herself.

“Don’t worry Mrs. Monroe, I perfectly understand it” Ethan assured her in return.

“Her friends must be devastated…” she tought for herself “I’m sorry but… do you know if there’ll be consequences? After-effects due to the coma?...”

Ethan Ramsey took the time to respond. This was a serious matter and he did not know the answer for sure. He sighed heavily as he was facing the truth also for himself.

“The coma here is designed to help the recovery, to ease it. The risks of after-effects are great and unfortunately” his tone darken “the loss of her memory is plausible at this stage. Depending on how long Victoria stays in coma”.

Silence enveloped them afterwards. Then, Mrs. Monroe looked Dr. Ramsey right in the eyes and said:

“Thank you Dr. Ramsey for you know… saying the truth and only the truth to me. And also caring this much for her. As I said, I feel very lucky she has you.”

“No need Mrs. Monroe. I’m just doing my job and… And she means a lot to me” Ethan vaguely concluded.

 If only you knew what your daughter meant to me, you’d be terrified dear… Ethan was trying to stay focused but his mind kept running back to the accident, to the fact that he wasn’t there with her when it happened. Moreover, there were all the things he left unsaid on purpose because he thought that was the best thing to do for both of them but now, he was losing her as Victoria was lying in a bed in the intensive care unit.

If only I had not been such of fool of myself… We’d be the power couple of Edenbrook and nothing could stop us from being the best diagnosticians… Ethan Ramsey sighed but he did not feel defeated as he had felt defeated when Naveen was dying and he didn’t know what to do. With Victoria, he instinctively knew what to do. He knew he had to be there for her, talk to her, wait for her to return from the darkness she was in. All he had to do was waiting for her to come back to him but the wait already promised to be ridiculously long and painful.

Ethan Ramsey promised Victoria’s mom to inform her of any development on her daughter’s case. Then he stood up, imitated by Mrs. Monroe. He accompanied her to the hospital exit and ran into Naveen who was looking for his protégé.

“How are you feeling my boy?”

“Exhausted and nervous. I extended my shift because Harper needed me” Ethan explained.

“I heard yes…” Naveen nodded “and about that Ethan…” he said cautiously “I should dismiss you of the case.” Naveen clarified sadly.

Ethan let out a sigh. Deep down he knew Naveen would do such a thing but he could he accept it without a word? Not that easy. “Listen, I know I’m close –“

“Ethan… I hope you know it is to protect both of you. What did exactly happen in Miami last year by the way?”

“I… We…” Ethan hesitated. “She kissed me” he finally murmured.

“I KNEW IT” Naveen shouted in the hall overjoyed. “You deserve happiness my boy, so does she”

“Maybe you’re right… But don’t dismiss me, I need her and she’ll need me”

“I won’t for now but I hope you’re aware she might not recognize you when she wakes up…” inquired Naveen

“Yeah… I know the risks. But I am willing to take them. She’s worth it” asserted Ethan.

For the first time in his life, Ethan Ramsey was willing to fight for a woman. Naveen smiled mischievously and pated Ethan on the shoulder.

“Congratulations my boy, you’re in love.” he beamed.

Ethan chuckled and they parted ways.

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Who is Nicole Langsfeld? Wiki, Biography, Age, Family, Surfside condo collapse, Missing

Nicole Langsfeld Wiki - Nicole Langsfeld Biography

Nicole Langsfeld and her husband Luis Sadovnic "are praying and hopeful for her rescue and safety." The tragedy continued to unfold as the death toll from the partial collapse of a condo building in Surfside in Miami-Dade County rose to nine on Sunday, June 27. More than 150 people are still missing from the Champlain Towers South condominium where the incident occurred. in the early hours of June 24. And among the missing is Nicole Langsfeld, whose relatives took action on the matter. The following events were heartbreaking. Along with Langsfeld, her husband Luis Sadovnic is missing. Friends of the couple also reported where they may have been before the collapse. Nicky Langsfeld and Luis Sadovnic are also wanted by their friends. They should have been on the eighth floor, "tweeted one person sharing a screenshot from Instagram Stories.

Nicole Langsfeld Age

Nicole Langsfeld's age is unknown.

Nicole Langsfeld missing in Surfside condo collapse - Victim

Karimi then tweeted more details about Langsfeld. “Nicole 'Nicky' and her husband, Luis, are among the people missing in the Surfside collapse. "She was funny and smart and she loved animals, all kinds of animals," said her uncle. "She would have moved an elephant into that condo if she could," she wrote. Five members of an Argentine family, including a 7-year-old girl, are among the 152 people who remain missing in the deadly collapse of the Florida condominium building, as relatives of a missing student were also heard shouting his name as they visited the rubble on Sunday, hoping she was alive and could hear them. Single mother Graciela Cattarossi, 48, her daughter, Stella, her parents, Graciela and Gino, and her sister Andrea, who was visiting at the time the Champlain Towers South Condo collapsed in Surfside, are missing, reported the Miami Herald. "Her devotion to her son was unparalleled," her friend Kathryn Rooney Vera from Miami told the news outlet. The two women have known each other since they were neighbors at the Grand Venetian in Miami Beach in 2008. The Uruguayan consul has confirmed that Cattarossi's mother is a Uruguayan national and was a diplomat in the country in the late 1960s, according to the Herald. Vera, whose children attend Von Wedell Montessori with Stella, said the generosity of her missing friend of hers extended to both her friends and her family. "She worked hard for everything she had, and she was very generous," Vera told the newspaper, describing Cattarossi as "down to earth" and "a bit bohemian." Vera also described her friend as a photographer and immigrant who loved her adopted country. "She loved everything we stand for," said Vera. "She used to say, 'Americans should understand what they have and hold onto it and fight for their freedom.' She loved the essence of America." She said that she wondered if Cattarossi would have a chance to bring her daughter closer in the midst of the catastrophe. "I hope she wraps her little girl in her arms," ​​she said. Meanwhile, relatives of missing student Nicole Langsfeld took turns shouting her name at the tragic scene Sunday, hoping she could hear them. Langsfeld and her husband, Luis Sadovnic, "are missing following the tragic events there and we are praying and hopeful for her rescue and safety," according to a statement on GoFundMe. CNN reporter Faith Karimi wrote on Twitter: “Some relatives of those missing in Surfside were allowed to visit the site of the collapse this afternoon. (The area is cordoned off). "Nicole Langsfeld's uncle told me that when they got there, they took turns shouting her name, hoping she would hear them under the rubble," she added. Other missing include Andrés Galfrascoli, a 45-year-old Argentine plastic surgeon, his 55-year-old partner, Fabián Núñez, and their 6-year-old adopted daughter, Sofía, who were allegedly visiting a friend in unit 803 for one night. The couple, who had come to Florida for about three months to escape the worsening COVID-19 pandemic at home, were staying with their friend Nicolas Patoka in Hollywood, about 40 minutes north of Champlain Towers, the Herald reported. . Pakota offered his friends his apartment in Surfside so they could take Sofia to the condo's private beach. He told the Argentine newspaper Clarín that the decision haunts him. "I wish we had told them no," said an excited Patoka, the Herald reported. "They weren't just friends, they were family." Núñez is a well-known theater producer whose social circle includes Argentine celebrities such as television actor Nicolás Vázquez and dancer Flavio Mendoza, according to the report. Galfrascoli is a prominent plastic surgeon who is a close friend of Fabiola Yañez, the current first lady of Argentina. "She was the best person," Alicia Aguilar de Caba, one of his patients, told the Herald. Even though he had famous clients, he was always nice to her patients, regardless of how much they could pay, she said. “During our dates, he never missed the opportunity to laugh and joke with me about Corrientes, where my husband is also from,” said de Caba, adding that Galfrascolial also always talked about his family during the dates, especially his daughter, to who loved very much. Read Also: Who is Harry Rosenberg? Wiki, Biography, Age, Family, Surfside Condo Collapse, Investigation "That girl was his dream," Pakota told Clarín. “They are such humble and good people who have never been given anything in life. It would be impossible to explain how much they had to fight to have her little angel, and now she too is missing. " Some of those killed in the tragedy has also been mourned, including 54-year-old Manuel “Manny” LaFont, who owned a condo on the eighth floor of Champlain Towers South. Danny Berry, director of the Miami Beach Youth Baseball League, told the Miami Herald that LaFont, a business consultant, spent most afternoons playing ball with his 10-year-old son, Santi. "They were out there until the lights went out," Berry told the newspaper. His ex-wife, Adriana LaFont, picked up Santi and his 13-year-old daughter Wednesday night, hours before the fatal collapse, the Herald reported. Adriana asked her Facebook friends to pray and posted photos of her family from her years together in Champlain. "So many memories within the walls that no longer exist today, experiences etched forever in the heart," she wrote. LaFont had just started a new job after being out of work for most of the COVID-19 pandemic. "When I heard the news, I was hoping he was out of town," Berry told the Herald. “I called his cell phone. He went to voicemail. "Two other victims have been identified as Luis Bermúdez, a 26-year-old Puerto Rican who lived on the seventh floor of Champlain Towers South, and his mother, Ana Ortiz, 46, the outlet reported. The two disappeared along with Ortiz's newlywed husband, Frankie Kleiman, and Frankie's mother, Nancy Kress Levin, and her brother Jay Kleiman, who was visiting from Puerto Rico. “God decided that he wanted one more angel in heaven. I still do not believe it. I LOVE YOU and I will love you forever, ”his father, also named Luis Bermúdez, wrote on Facebook. The grieving father shared a photograph of himself hugging his son while his son smiled at the camera, saying it was one of the most beautiful images they had together. "My Luiyo. You gave me everything, ”he wrote on the back of the photo. "I will miss you all my life ... I will never leave you alone." Bermúdez's aunt, Magui, said: “Watching us from heaven! Fly high, my warrior! " FOLLOW US ON FACEBOOK Read the full article

[thecowardlycreative]

True Terror in the Middle of the Night

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Pairing: Laxum, Plaxance, whatever we’re calling it now

Summary: Despite her every effort, Plaxum still dies of a stroke at the age of 29. Lance loses his wife. And Ruby loses her mother.

Words: 1520

Notes: [title from: Surrender by Ball Park Music, the rest of the lyrics aren’t quite as fitting...] This will, hopefully one day, make it into the actual main work of my single-dad!Lance au. That’s why it kind of dumps you in the middle of it, sorry.

It all ended one night after Ruby had been put to sleep. Plaxum was wearing those big fuzzy socks she loved and had her hair braided for bed. Lance was still half dressed for work. He'd traded in his stiff slacks for a pair of sweats but he still wore his collared shirt as he napped against the welcoming warmth of Plaxum’s neck. They were entwined together, Netflix playing forgotten on the tv in front of them, feet up on the couch cushions, legs tangled, arms around each other without even thinking.

Then Plaxum grabbed Lance's arm. Her fingers trembled. She managed two words passed her sagging lips. There was terror in her eyes. She knew exactly what was happening. "Lance," she said. "Ambulance." And Lance was suddenly wide awake. 

"Are you riding with us, sir?" asked the paramedic but Lance’s attention was glued on the sight of a gurney being rolled into the ambulance through the open door behind him, red and white lights highlighting the pines in the front yard in a rhythmical pulse and a dark green space-blanket crumpled under the straps that held down his wife. Boots on gravel. Hushed, urgent voices. The sharp tang of hospital smell, so out of place in the fresh alpine air.

It was like something out of a drama. It couldn't be real.

He had barely absorbed the paramedics words, still not converted to meaning, when another sound came to both of their ears. "Mummy! Papi!" Ruby was awake and, being not quite two and definitely not trusted on the stairs by herself, was screaming down the stairwell over the safety gate.

The paramedic’s face changed; drained empty and washed back in with pity.

“Ruby…” Lance murmured and vaulted up the stairs three at a time.

“Mr McClain!” the paramedic called after him. “You really need to make a choice now.”

“One moment!” Lance shouted back, desperately aware that it was one more moment Plax still wasn't in hospital.

The second he saw Ruby’s face, tears and snot and fear, he knew a moment wouldn't be enough. But shit. He couldn't just let Plax go by herself. She was scared too. The fear on her face was still playing behind his eyes. God, the absolute terror that had been there almost made him wish she wasn't so clever -- that she wasn't aware of what was happening to her. 

He loved her. And she was dying. But Ruby was right there, reaching out with grabby hands for the reassurance he'd never hesitated to give her before. He was torn. His baby girl or his wife. God, the panic was overwhelming. If he just had two seconds to think -- Plax would know what to do, dammit.

Hunk. Oh, thank god for Hunk. He was barely three streets away.

“Go without me!” he shouted down to the paramedic again, heart heavy and racing. And he slid open the gate to pull Ruby up into his arms just as he heard booted feet cross his foyer and slam the door.

“Hey baby,” he cooed over the retreating sound of tires on gravel and the stuttered restart of a siren, bouncing her on his hip, his own tears too close to the surface for comfort. “What's the matter?”

Ruby just bawled straight into his neck. Lance fumbled for his phone. Ruby pulled on his collar and called for him again. He bounced her and hushed her and gave her all the panicked comfort he could offer as his trembling fingers reached for Hunk’s contact. By the time the call was over (a terrifyingly honest plea for him to get his ass up to their house as soon as possible), Ruby had mostly calmed and Lance turned to sit them both on the top step.

“Men in the house, Papi,” Ruby finally sniffed quietly.

“Not anymore, baby. They just came to pick up Mummy,” he answered just as softly.

“Where Mummy going?”

“To the doctor. Just like always.” Lance pretended he couldn't hear the lie in his own voice.

Ruby scrunched up her face in confusion, no doubt trying to articulate that the ambulance was too new to be ‘like always’. Lance wished Hunk would hurry up.

Finally she settled for sticking her snotty nose back into his neck and mumbling, “men in the house,” again.

“Mummy will be back in the morning,” Lance lied. “And she'll make you some breakfast just like always. What do you want for breakfast tomorrow, Ruby-Rubes? Waffles? Yoghurt?”

“Pancakes,” she replied sleepily, nose against her father’s jaw.

“Pancakes it is then.” Lance gave a brittle smile just as Hunk stumbled though the door, panting and sweating. “But for the minute, Papi has to go see Mummy so Uncle Hunk will make you some warm milk and read you another bedtime story and tuck you back into bed.”

“Papi?” she mumbled.

“I'll see you at breakfast, baby,” he promised as she fell back to sleep in his arms. He had no idea if that was the truth or not.

“You really shouldn't be driving right now,” whispered Hunk as he took Ruby from Lance’s arms.

“I don't have much choice,” Lance whispered back.

Hunk started back up the stairs with his god-daughter. “Dude, take a cab.”

Lance just grabbed their insurance information from the drawers by the front door and yanked his key off the hook.

“I can't wait that long,” he said and the keys jangled in his trembling hands.

***

Even by A&E standards, Lance’s eyes were wild as he accosted the triage nurse for details on ‘Honorè. Platea Honorè’. He paced about the waiting room he was shown to. He bit his tongue and called his in-laws and managed to keep the tears at bay until they hung up. He called his mum and let her whisper soft reassurances in Spanish to him even as they passed in one ear and straight out the other. And then he just sat. He just sat in the cold plastic chair with his face in his hands as his head throbbed from crying and his heart continued its marathon sprint in his chest.

There was only one other person in the room with him -- he didn’t know where exactly he was but it didn’t seem to be the regular A&E waiting room -- and they were snoring loudly in a corner, a five year old copy of Cosmopolitan draped over their face. Nobody had come into the room since Lance arrived. Not a doctor. Not a nurse. Not even a cleaner to empty the bin beside the door that overflowed with tear-stained tissues.

There was nothing.

Nothing at all but his thoughts. And all he could think was: what if. What if this was it. What if she was dead. What if she wasn’t but she was never the same. What if that brilliance that was so synonymous with Plaxum was gone. What if she was a vegetable. What if she couldn’t see. What if she didn't remember him.

How would he explain any of that to Ruby?

And even if she survived without any major complications, the fact remained that this would undoubtedly only be the first of many. She’d keep on stumbling until one day she didn’t get up. She would die before he did. She would die a long time before he did. He’d known this. It was a fact. But, sitting there in that chair with nothing but a stranger’s snores for company, he was starting to think he’d never really understood what it meant.

The doors rattled and Lance looked up. A nurse, round and kindly looking with streaks of grey in her dark hair, stood in the doorway with a clipboard.

“Family for… Ms. Honorè,” she said, pausing to consult the clipboard, and Lance felt like his legs couldn’t possibly support his weight as he made his way over to her.

Lance was deaf. Lance was blind. All he could see was his daughter’s face the last time he’d seen her -- her little sleeping face mushed against Hunk’s chest, just peeking over the top of his shoulder as he walked up the stairs. The surgeon was talking, saying something about plaque build-up, something about medical bills, something about sorry, and Lance didn’t hear any of it until suddenly it stopped. The surgeon was looking at him, waiting for some response but Lance wasn’t even thinking in words. The inside of his head sounded like the sea, like a radio tuned between stations, like nothing at all.

“I told Ruby she’d be back for breakfast,” he said distantly. “She’s not going to be back for breakfast?”

He watched as the surgeon clenched her jaw, somehow that small rise of muscle and tendon across the bone was startlingly clear despite the fog that would eventually creep across his memories of that moment.

“I’m afraid not, Mr McClain,” she said.

Lance frowned. “Oh.”

[caveartfair]

What You Need to Know about Design Icon Ettore Sottsass

If you know the name Ettore Sottsass, you’re likely to associate it with Memphis—the design collective he spearheaded in the 1980s, which remains one of his most well-known achievements. But the true force of the designer’s character is much bigger than any single movement and was refined throughout various moments of his career. Sottsass was always motivated by a desire to reach deeper beneath the surface of the objects he designed, and to bring out their poetry.

On the occasion of a major retrospective of his work at the Met Breuer, we look back on his career and reflect on the wide-ranging impact he’s had on the design world.  

Who was Ettore Sottsass?

Portrait of Ettore Sottsass by J. Emilio Flores/Corbis via Getty Images.

Sottsass was born in the mountain town of Innsbruck, in his mother’s native Austria, in 1917. His father, Ettore Sottsass Sr., was an architect. Early on the seeds of the craft were planted in the young Sottsass, who would watch his father work with fascination. In 1929, the family moved to Turin, Italy, where Sottsass Sr. had the promise of better jobs and where Sottsass Jr. could attend the prestigious Politecnico di Torino. After graduating in 1939 with a degree in architecture, he dutifully joined the Italian military during World War II.

When Italy switched over to the Allied forces in 1943, many Italian soldiers, including Sottsass, were captured by the Germans. He lived out the rest of the war in a concentration camp in Sarajevo, where his native German tongue came in handy, and he survived by being put in charge of the camp’s food store.

In 1946 he moved to Milan, where he curated an exhibition for the Triennale and started contributing to the design magazine Domus. A decade later, he visited New York for the first time and worked with designer George Nelson—an experience that led him to shift focus from architecture to design.

After a month in the U.S., he returned to Italy where he worked as an art director for design company Poltronova. In 1958, he took a job in the electronics division of Olivetti, an Italian typewriter manufacturer founded in 1908 and known for its attention to industrial design. That position would lead to some of his most iconic designs, like the Elea 9003 mainframe computer and the Valentine typewriter. In the mid-1960s, Sottsass designed a series of plastic laminate cupboards called “Superboxes” for Poltronova, which, with their bright colors and totem-like form were an early precursor to his Memphis days. His work became increasingly more experimental and postmodern, as exemplified by his proposal for a mobile, multi-functional furniture unit that was exhibited in MoMA’s “Italy: The New Domestic Landscape” exhibit in 1972.

What was Memphis?

Ettore Sottsass, "Carlton" Room Divider, 1981. Courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, John C. Waddell Collection, Gift of John C. Waddell, 1997 © Studio Ettore Sottsass Srl.

Ettore Sottsass, "Ivory" Table, 1985. Courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of Dr. Michael Sze, 2002 © Studio Ettore Sottsass Srl.

In December 1980, Memphis was born when a group of designers got together in Sottsass’s small Milan apartment. They had been listening to Bob Dylan records, and the group’s cheeky name is in part a reference to his song, “Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again,” as well as the ancient capital of Egypt and the modern city in Tennessee. Though Sottsass has been considered the group’s leader, that is not a position Sottsass would have wanted to take on. “He detested any type of institution or hierarchy,” the designer’s widow, Barbara Radice, once noted. “He didn’t like anything that told you what to do. He believed everybody should find their own way of doing things.” From its debut at Milan’s 1981 Salone del Mobile, the movement generated sent ripples through the design community. In 1982 in New York, Sottsass organized the first stateside exhibition of Memphis, titled “Memphis at Midnight,” which opened to an eager crowd of over 3,000 people waiting to cram inside the Chelsea loft showroom where the works were displayed.

The Milan-based collective of designers—including Michele de Lucchi, George Sowden and Nathalie du Pasquier—banded together to challenge the rationalist design principles they had been taught. They employed unexpected forms, bold colors, graphic patterns, and cheap materials—like plastic—to forge a new approach to design. If there was such a thing as a “Memphis style” it was characterized by an attitude more than anything else.

Sowden once said that the scope of Memphis “consists of broadening the area of style itself, of never being satisfied with what has already been done, and of looking for a new style all the time.” Though the work coming out of the designers’ studios was met with both repulsion and fascination—and was never a major commercial hit—its concepts and attitude ended up being a dominant force in the design world throughout the 1980s.

Sottsass left Memphis after a few years in 1985 and founded his own practice, Sottsass Associati—a firm that continues to operate today—and his focus once again turned to architecture, with projects like the design of Milan’s new Malpensa airport in 2000. Though Sottsass tended to describe himself as first and foremost an architect, he was something of a “Renaissance man.” He was also an industrial designer, a painter, a writer, a curator, and a photographer. He saw life as continuous, and every element of his practice was part of a much larger whole.

What inspired him?

Casa molto normale, . Ettore Sottsass Antonia Jannone Disegni di Architettura

Ashoka Lamp, 1981. Ettore Sottsass The Modern Archive

If one characteristic defined Sottsass more than others, it was his insatiable curiosity. He drew inspiration from a spectrum of sources, like literature, anthropology, ethnology, geography, and archaeology. He was an avid photographer and took thousands of images everywhere he went—from details of walls and doors to the beds he slept in. Part of an impressive social circle, he took portraits of luminaries like Bob Dylan, Pablo Picasso, Max Ernst, Chet Baker, and Robert Mapplethorpe.

His photography was fueled by another one of his passions: travel. “I believe you travel to confirm your ideas, and whatever you can’t confirm you discard as you travel,” he once said in an interview with Hans Ulrich Obrist. “In a certain sense, you redesign yourself when you’re traveling.” He spent time with the Beat writers in California, went on a tour of Italy with Allen Ginsberg, and travelled extensively to India—a country that left a spiritual imprint on the designer. “In India I found very strongly a sort of dimension of sacrality. Every object could become something so related to your life that it becomes [part of] your vision of la sacralità [the sacred],” said Sottsass.

Throughout his work, color played a critical role and was an ongoing preoccupation. He didn’t approach color with scientific rigor, but rather he was captivated by its ability to evoke memories and emotions. Red was important to him not just because it carried a bold presence, but for what it symbolized. Red is “the color of the Communist flag, the color that makes a surgeon move faster and the color of passion,” he would say. Design historian and Sottsass biographer Deyan Sudjic recounts a memory about his time in Montenegro, where the designer was making watercolors based on colorful textile patterns. “One day he was out there but didn’t have any paint left, so instead, he described every color,” Sudjic writes. “There were 30 of them and he used a different word for each one—amazing.”  

What makes his approach to design different?

Ettore Sottsass, Side Chair "Synthesis 45" Office Furniture System, 1972. Courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Anonymous Gift, 1987 © Studio Ettore Sottsass Srl.

Ettore Sottsass, Valentine Portable Typewriter, 1968. Courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and Associazione Archivio Storico Olivetti. Courtesy of Associazione Archivio Storico Olivetti © Studio Ettore Sottsass Srl.

“We read the world sensuously,” Sottsass once noted. “We also catalogue it and intellectualize it, but the source of everything remains the senses. To a Functionalist, the surface of this table is a geometrical square; to me, it’s a piece of plastic, warm or cold.”

For Sottsass, designing was a more complex endeavor than just building a house or creating a new consumer object—it was about achieving a deeper connection to the world around us. “Ettore thought that design should help people become more aware of their existence: the space they live in, how to arrange it and their own presence in it,” explained Radice. “That was the core of Ettore.”

Take, for instance, his infamous, bright red Valentine typewriter for Olivetti. He described it as a tool to be used anywhere but an office, “so as not to remind anyone of the monotonous working hours.” Rather, he envisioned it to be used “to keep amateur poets company on quiet Sundays in the country or to provide a highly colored object on a table in a studio apartment.” He called it “an anti-machine machine” and “an unpretentious toy.”

His focus was not on the technology of the machine but on how the person using it would be made to feel. Every detail is tactile and invites interaction: The light, plastic shell is chamfered at the corners to reduce its visual weight, the surface is finished with a matte texture that evokes leather grain, the two typewriter spools on the inside are finished with an orange lid that has a circular tip at the center—a slight suggestion of a nipple, which adds an unexpected hint humor.

Writing in Domus magazine in 1963, Sottsass described his approach to design as a search for exuberance: “I have tried as best as I can to gather together the terms of a new vitality and, where and how I was able, to collect the shapes, colors and symbols that could represent the change in the images of this century from an intellectual organization to a reality that must be lived, to a kind of pure and vital energy.”

Why are we still talking about him?

Ettore Sottsass Solitaria Console, 1992, 1992. Ettore Sottsass DADA STUDIOS

When Steve Jobs declared in 2000 that the new Mac computer would launch with on-screen buttons that “look so good, you’ll want to lick them,” he may well have revealed the impact of a design philosophy like Sottsass’s on the company’s design aesthetic. Recent years have witnessed a resurgence of Memphis, with reissued pieces being sold for prohibitive price points, and the group’s ethos has found its way into the work of contemporary designers and artists.

Sottsass developed a series of iconic objects that transcended their physical characteristics: They were full of symbolism, global and historical references, and had the ability to appeal to their users’ emotions. In a recent biography, Sudjic describes Sottsass’s life-long project as an exploration of “the tension between the ostensible commercial purpose of an industrial object, and its ability to be shaped in such a way as to call into question the values and the culture of the society that brought it into being.”

Perhaps the biggest gift Sottsass gave us throughout his varied career was the ability to think more deeply and in different ways about the material world we live in.

—Alexandra Alexa

from Artsy News