#i finished my emt class and i only have to take one more test until im licensed

[botanyshitposts]

how crazy would it be if i became a biology lab instructor. would that be crazy or what

[potts89]

By @potts89 for @hold-our-destiny, written for the fourth @friendly-neighborhood-exchange.

Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts Summary:

“Honey,” Tony coaxed her, purposely not taking his eyes off the monitor in front of him. “What did I do?” “What do you mean what did you do?” “You’re giving me the look.” He could hear Pepper sighing but Tony simply assumed that she must have had a long, tiring day, that’s why. “Tony, when should I pencil you in to see Peter?” “See him for what?”

It started out as a run-of-the-mill, after school patrol... until Peter was reminded of a different alley, from a different time, but a very much familiar scenario.

Read it here (full fic under the cut) and on AO3.

“You’ve got the board meeting at four o’clock today, and Morgan’s ballet recital is at ten tomorrow morning and we’re supposed to meet Jim for lunch afterwards.”

Pepper went through Tony’s schedule as she waltzed into his workshop that afternoon, the measured clicking of her heels somewhat making him nostalgic for those days back when she was still his personal assistant and she would always harangue him about his meetings. He smiled distractedly at the thought that his wife and CEO, even after over a decade and a half, still refused to delegate his schedule to someone else. Not that he was complaining (because, really, he much preferred it this way), because Pepper, Tony knew, happened to be very hands-on after all. That and the fact that she probably knew that, except for Morgan, no one else could pry Tony away from whatever new project he was currently obsessing on. So it made sense that if Pepper wanted him to actually adhere to his schedule, she really should take the reins herself.

Tony threw a cursory glance at his monitor just to check the time, because Pepper was standing in front of him with her arms crossed in front of her chest, impatiently waiting for him to say or do something.

He noted that he still had about an hour to wash up, get dressed, and take the elevators to the conference room which was just twenty floors down, so unless he forgot their wedding anniversary (which, to his credit, had never happened), Pepper shouldn’t be giving him that ‘Drop whatever it is you’re doing right now,’ look.

“Honey,” Tony coaxed her, purposely not taking his eyes off the monitor in front of him. “What did I do?”

“What do you mean what did you do?”

“You’re giving me the look.”

He could hear Pepper sighing but Tony simply assumed that she must have had a long, tiring day, that’s why.

“Tony, when should I pencil you in to see Peter?”

“See him for what?”

Ever since he got the kid back, Tony had been consciously trying to keep some distance. Sure, not a day went by that he didn’t worry about Peter – the anxiety over something happening, again, that could take the kid away from him, again, never truly completely disappeared – but he didn’t want to suffocate the boy either. So as much as Tony wanted to be a helicopter doting (pseudo-) parent, he kept his distance. He no longer required daily patrol reports, he disabled the Baby Monitor Protocol (at Peter’s request and much to his disapproval, although they did reach a compromise that Karen would automatically ping FRIDAY should Peter be fatally injured (they had a long discussion on what Tony actually meant with fatal afterwards)), and he didn’t mess with Peter’s patrolling unless the kid specifically asked for his help and advice.

The adjustments were difficult, but Tony knew that he wouldn’t be around to hold the boy’s hand forever so he endured the changes. Plus, Peter seemed to appreciate this new sense of responsibility and independence, and Tony could only imagine that this was probably what it would feel like when the kid would finally leave for college at MIT.

God, he could feel the separation anxiety already.

“Michelle called…” Pepper trailed off and Tony would later on realize that he really should’ve noted the worry in his wife’s tone. “Something happened during his patrol.”

That surely caught Tony’s attention. He quickly glanced up at Pepper while the screwdriver he had been working with clattered to the floor.

“Is he—”

“He’s not hurt… physically.”

“Right, of course. FRIDAY would’ve alerted me if that’s the case.” He breathed a sigh of relief, but that relief was short-lived when he finally actually noticed the frown creasing Pepper’s features. “Wait, Michelle called? Where’s the kid?”

“He was on patrol. He tried to stop a mugging incident but by the time he got at the scene, a young boy’s father was already shot and—”

“He’s been blaming himself for it,” Tony finished for her and he knew just exactly what’s going on in Peter’s head right now.

Pepper reached for the rug that was lying on his worktable before walking up to him and giving it to him to wipe the grease off of his hands. “Michelle has been trying to convince him otherwise. Now I’m telling you this because Peter knows that Michelle’s the one person who will comfort him no matter what—”

“Which means he won’t believe it when she says it wasn’t his fault.”

Pepper nodded while Tony sighed tiredly, hating the fact that Peter seemed to have picked up on his own tendency for self-reproach. He handed the rug back to Pepper who seemed pleased that her husband appeared to be finally on the same page as she.

“Pep, honey, how important is today’s board meeting?” he asked, even if he knew that Pepper wouldn’t keep him anyway.

“Well, R&D is presenting that tech that you wanted the patent on.”

“Tell them I’ll have to reschedule.”

She smiled at him, a knowing smile that he had gotten so familiar with and so thankful for over the years. “I already did.”

He really did marry the perfect woman, didn’t he?

“You’re the best,” he told her, wrapping his arms around her and it did amuse him to note that she didn’t make a comment on how the grease would most likely get on her own clothes. He kissed her, deeply though hurriedly. “I love you.”

“Go and be a good dad. I love you, too.”

---- --- ----

“I thought we already agreed that you’d disable the tracker in my suit,” Peter muttered without glancing, long before Tony could even announce his arrival thanks to that thing he really didn’t like to call ‘Peter tingle.’

He had been sitting there alone all afternoon, deep in a quiet, one-way conversation with the headstone in front on him which bore the name of the uncle that pretty much raised him as his own. The same uncle who, up to this day, Peter still felt guilty and responsible for.

To say that Peter was having a terrible day was definitely an understatement. It started out like any normal afternoon – he nailed that physics test, he listened (enraptured) while MJ discussed the women’s suffrage in great detail over lunch, and he swung by Stark Tower to drop a new toy for Morgan sometime after class – there was nothing out of the ordinary, at least until a few minutes into his patrol.

He was swinging by some of his usual hunts in the city when his hyper-keen senses caught the scream of a young boy just a few blocks away. Peter rushed to the scene without second thought, but what he initially anticipated as a run-of-the-mill mugging incident in one of New York’s quiet alleys turned out to strike too close to home.

Peter just stood there, unmoving, rooted to the spot as the bandit fled the scene of the crime leaving behind a young boy quite possibly no older than nine, a man in his mid-forties lying on the pavement and possibly bleeding to death, and Peter who seemed to have been transported back to a different alley, from a different time, but in a very much familiar scenario.

Peter felt numb, so much so that for a while there, he completely believed that he was watching a younger version of himself, helplessly crouching over the bleeding man, while the police and ambulance sirens sounded nearer and nearer and nearer…

“What happened here?” one of the EMTs shouted but Peter was too stunned and completely trapped in his own head that he was practically the most useless person on the site. “Spider-Man?” the EMT prodded but Peter was too out of it (or maybe, too into it) that he barely registered the question at all.

Everything was a blur afterwards. He barely recalled the EMTs loading the victim and the young boy into the ambulance, he was quite unaware of the many people looking his way wondering why Spider-Man was standing there, motionless in an alley. He barely recalled clutching his phone to his ear and hearing MJ’s confused and worried voice as he muttered “It’s my fault,” over and over and over again.

He couldn’t even exactly remember how he managed to end up in this place, or how long he had been sitting there on the ground apologizing to the indifferent headstone that offered him neither forgiveness nor reassurance.

For hours (he wasn’t really sure if it had been hours, but it certainly felt that way to him), he kept having those dreaded flashbacks in his head… The image of the boy crouching over his father’s body merging and morphing into looking more like Peter, while he himself applied pressure on the man’s wounds with his bare hands, the same man who was beginning to look more and more like his—

“I did disable your suit’s tracker, but I didn’t exactly need one to know where to find you.” Tony’s voice was grounding, pulling him back to the present… to what was real, to what was happening.

“How did you know I’d be here?” Peter asked, not really knowing what was the point in asking. Still, he avoided Tony’s gaze, choosing to focus his eyes instead on the headstone in front of him even as the older man took a seat beside him. “You didn’t need to come and pick me up, I was heading back anyway—”

“Of course I know you’d be here, you give me so little credit, kid.” Peter felt that gentle, reassuring pat on his shoulder and the gesture alone was enough to break what little composure he had left. “And I also know that I didn’t need to come, but I wanted to.”

He didn’t really know what to say to that, not out of shyness nor awkwardness because he and Tony were definitely past that point by now, but more because he was once again reminded that Tony actually cared… that the man was in his corner and would always be, come hell or high water.

Even after all these years, Peter still couldn’t wrap his head around that idea, that he actually had someone, that he wasn’t truly completely alone.

“Alright, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?”

“Who says there’s anything on my mind?” Peter deflected, easily picking up on Tony’s usual modus operandi when confronted with something that he wasn’t really keen about discussing. Peter learned from the master, after all.

“There’s always something on your mind,” Tony’s tone was patient with a hint of chiding, and Peter wanted to stop himself from thinking that the tone was almost paternal. “The only time it doesn’t pop right out of your mouth is when you’re not sure you should say it… that and when you were still trying to tell MJ that you actually like her. So?”

“I’m fine,” Peter mumbled, but he knew it would be pretty naïve of him if he were to believe that Tony would actually let him get away with not talking about it. Still, he could try, right?

He almost did believe that Tony had decided to drop the issue because the palpable silence stretched between them, with Peter not really wanting to relive the afternoon and with Tony probably waiting for that conversation opening that Peter would be absolutely unwilling to give to him. Still, Tony, Peter knew, was nothing if not persistent.

“Pete, you can’t save everybody.”

It was said so simply, so fatherly even, that Peter could really do very little to stop the dam from finally breaking. He knew that Tony knew that he never really felt comfortable talking about his uncle, and Peter was actually thankful that Tony had opted not to pursue the topic directly at least.

Still the thought didn’t do much to alleviate Peter’s guilt from what happened that afternoon. He kept thinking that if he had only been a bit faster, a little braver, a bit tougher… if he hadn’t let the ghost of his past failure haunt him at such a very crucial moment…

Peter cringed at the possibility that another kid could be orphaned by now all because he got scared and stunned, exactly like the boy he once was the last time he actually saw his uncle breathing and living…

“Kid, it’s not your fault. We try and we try but we can’t save them all.”

“But you did, and granted that it cost you a lot,” Peter paused, his red-rimmed eyes quickly darting towards Tony’s prosthetic arm, making him feel so small and unsure and inept. “But you did… you did save us all.”

“I didn’t, kid.”

“No, you actually did—”

“I didn’t, kid, at least not during the first time. Else, I would not have spent a lot of nights imagining, dreaming that I saved you in Titan. Because every night before I go to sleep, in the last five years I keep thinking about the things I could have done differently… Kid, every night I save you, in my head and in my dreams. But when it mattered the most, when it actually counted, I failed. I didn't save you.”

“No, Mr. Stark... Because when it mattered the most, you brought me back.”

Peter didn’t really know what else to say other than that, but he hoped that it was enough for now. He was, after all, very much aware that no matter how immensely grateful he truly was, his thanks wouldn’t even begin to give justice to what Tony had to do, had to gamble with, just to get him (and the others) back.

To tell the truth, he would have dwelled on the thought, on the more appropriate thing to say, but his mind was basically elsewhere at the moment and he blurted out his worries before he could even stop himself.

“I just… I froze earlier because I know what it’s like to be orphaned young, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

“Touché.”

“I’m sorry— I didn’t mean…”

He glanced at Tony but there was nothing but understanding in his old man’s eyes, the memory of his own loss clearly still as saddening but time had clearly played a factor in healing past wounds.

“I know what you mean, kid, more than anyone, really. I was twenty one then, technically already an adult, but I was very far from being one.”

“It’s just, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy… And to think that I could’ve done something earlier today had I been faster, stronger, braver…” Peter trailed off, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat as he thought back to his own parents and his uncle. “I know what it’s like to be alone, to be on your own… It was difficult, it still is.”

“I’m sorry, kid.”

Peter furrowed his brows at the way that Tony’s voice broke. “Sorry for what?”

“I try so hard… so hard to make you feel that you have someone, that you’re no longer alone, that you’re not an orphan, at least not anymore. And I really thought that giving you some independence was what you wanted, but I guess I wasn’t doing enough if you still feel that—”

“But you are,” he cut in, only realizing in that moment that he had inadvertently made Tony  feel inadequate, when the truth was Peter actually felt so indebted to him. Peter knew that he owed him his life, so much so that he actually felt shy being around the man, especially whenever he would see Tony’s prosthetic arm because if not for him…

“You’re doing more than enough,” Peter assured him, wanting to tell him that he actually filled that paternal void just exactly when Peter needed him the most. “Mr. Stark, you’re like the—”

Peter caught himself, stopping before he could even say anything more… because doing so would be impolite, would be imposing, would be asking for too much.

“I’m like what?”

You’re like the father I wish I had.

Peter bit his lip as he tried to grapple not necessarily with the right words but with more appropriate ones, less assuming ones, because he was still so uncertain about his place in Tony’s family. Never mind the fact that Pepper would regularly set a place for him on the dinner table and Morgan would ask him to read her bedtime stories and Tony kept calling him kid but…

He didn’t feel worthy.

Because if he couldn’t protect them in the end just like the way that he failed with his own uncle, he would never be worthy. If he couldn’t keep that kid’s father from earlier that afternoon safe, how would he be able to keep this family safe?

You’re like the father I wish I had.

“You’re my mentor, Mr. Stark,” was what Peter settled for in the end. “And I’m very lucky because you’re doing more than enough for me.”

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Tony smirked at him when Peter threw a sidelong glance in his direction, the obvious chagrin in his voice making Peter curious about his remark. “Because I thought you were going to say that I’m like a father to you, but mentor’s fine, I guess. I’ll take it.”

Peter gazed at him, his brown eyes so full of wonder while Tony simply grinned in that patented smile he usually reserved for the adoring public.

“So let me get this straight. You see me as a son-figure?” Peter asked, forgetting all about his earlier reservations.

“Well, Morgan did tell her teachers that she has an older brother so—”

“That’s Morgan. How about you, though?”

“—and Pepper’s still about twelve percent convinced that you really are my secret lovechild from back in my playboy days—”

“Would it kill you so much to say it out loud?”

Tony laughed and Peter honestly thought that it would probably be better if the ground simply swallowed him up at that point. This was just so embarrassing but he figured that his need for affirmation outweighed his sense of shame, at least in that moment.

“You’re my kid, okay?” Tony reached out to put an arm around his shoulder and somehow, Peter felt lighter, safer, in spite of the day’s events. “Mine and Pepper’s, Morgan’s brother. You’re family, Pete. You always have been. Why do you think you have a room at the Tower and at the lake house?”

“I just thought they’re guest rooms,” he mumbled quietly, eyes downcast because he could feel the tears now streaming down his face.

“Those rooms have photos of you with Morgan, and Star Wars memorabilia, and clothes and shoes in your size. Guest rooms can’t be that specific.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“And it’s not your fault. What happened today and what happened with your uncle, it was never your fault, Pete. You’re just a kid.”

Peter couldn’t help but wipe his eyes with the back of his hand while Tony pulled him into a tighter side-hug. He wished he could tell Tony thank you, but he was quite sure that words would betray him at this point. He honestly didn’t know what happened back there at the alley – he had, after all, been to space and fought his fair share of nemeses – but the familiarity of the situation caught him off-guard, hitting too close to home and trapping him in his own mind and with his own memories.

Peter realized that maybe it was because he had not really forgiven himself… for what happened with his own uncle and for Tony having to make a sacrifice. But if Tony never really blamed him, then…

“Pepper asked me to tell you that the boy’s father is now out of the woods and that he will make a full recovery,” Tony told him after some time, reading the message Pepper must have sent him on his phone. “And that she’s expecting you at dinner tonight, at the tower.”

Peter furrowed his brows, frowning in confusion as he did so. “How did she know about…”

“Who do you think Michelle called?”

“Of course.”

“So let’s go? Home?” Tony stood up, tossing him the keys to the Audi. “You drive. Slowly. I’m gonna guide you, but drive slowly.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t feel alone anymore. After all, he never really was, and he never really would be.

He grinned just as he started the engine, the way that Tony gripped the edge of his seat was not lost on Peter at all.

“You know, Mr. Stark, I think as long as I drive slower than you do, we’ll be fine.”

“Pete, driving slower than me doesn’t automatically mean that you’re driving within the speed limit.”

“I merely said—”

“Just drive. Slowly.” Tony cut in, sighing as he closed his eyes beneath the tinted glasses he was sporting. “Before I change my mind.”

Peter smiled, stepping on the gas and speeding off, within limits, of course.

***

[detectivejay-chuckles-halstead]

Nervous Breakdown // Jay Halstead x Reader

Photo by @karihighman​

Description: Jay is there when you start to break down.

Words: 1539

Warnings: None

Pairing: Jay x Reader

A/N: So, this I wrote for me. The schedule Reader talks about is my actual schedule. The sign offs are the things I actually need. This was me last night, except I didn’t have someone like Jay to talk me down from my nervous break down, I just had it and then had to be at my clinical this morning (which I’m still at btw lol). But yeah. Hope you enjoy. And if my posting is sporadic in the next month or so, this is why. 

“Come to bed,” Jay told you softly, leaning on the doorframe of your bedroom with his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at you with papers spread across the floor, couch, and coffee table. 

Your movements were frantic as you tried to organize them all, trying to figure out the best system to keep everything together. Every section was chronologically ordered for the online documentation, paper clips holding each stack together. Then, there were the colored sheets that had even more important signatures on them. You had to make sure everything was in order as class was drawing to an end. 

“I’ll sleep when I’m done, Jay,” you snapped at him before closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I just-”

“I know.” He walked over, stepping around the stacks before sitting directly behind you in the only place clear of paper. “Come here.” 

You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning back into his chest, his arms wrapping around you. Grounding you as your mind went a mile a minute. You also couldn’t stop yourself from grabbing your calendar, flipping it open to this month.

“What’s the schedule look like?” His chin rested on your shoulder as he looked at the planner. 

“I have to help with the EMT class Saturday from seven to three. Then I start my shift at work at eight tomorrow night. Then, work Sunday night. So I’m going to try and catch up on some sleep on Sunday. I have my exam in Med Emergencies on Monday. Then, I have an ambulance clinical AM shift at seven. Same on Wednesday. A quiz in Med Emergencies on Thursday. Then, I work Thursday night. Off at eight on Friday morning, but I picked up a shift from two to ten Friday day. Then, ambulance clinical on Saturday AM shift. 

Same with that next Sunday. A quiz in Med Emergencies on the seventeenth. Then work that night. Work the night of the eighteenth, but I’m off at four in the morning instead of my usual eight. Mainly because I have an OR clinical on the nineteenth from seven to three. But then I work that night, off at five on the twentieth because I have an exam in Med Emergencies that day. Ambulance clinical AM shift on the twenty-first. Twenty-second, I have an ER shift from seven to three, then I work that night. Work Sunday night, so I’m going to try to catch up on sleep that day. 

Twenty-fourth I have another exam in Med Emergencies. Ambulance AM shift on the twenty-fifth and sixth. Then, we review for our Final in Med Emergencies, but I work that night. I’ll get off at six to get to my ambulance clinical on the twenty-eight at seven. I work that night, but off at five to get to my Maternal-Fetal Truck shift by eight. 

On the thirtieth, I have an ER shift from three to eleven. The thirty-first, I have my final in Med Emergencies, and then work that night. Off the day of the first, but I work that night. Then, an ER shift at three on the second. Then, I work that night, but I’m going to try to switch shifts just because my ER shift won’t finish until eleven. The third, we have our student evals. The fourth, I’m helping the junior class with their Ops day, and then I have an ambulance clinical that night. Off the fifth, but work that night. Off the sixth, but work that night. Seventh is labor day, so completely free. ER shift on the eighth at three. Then, on the ninth, OR shift at seven.

“After that, I don’t know because we haven’t signed up for our capstone. Which all of this,” you said, motioning to the mess of papers, “is me getting everything in order to make sure I have everything done and what I still need. Because we can’t start capstone until all of our skills check offs are done, and we’ve hit all of our demographics.”

“What do you have left to do for your skills?” That question got you to sigh, putting the planner down and grabbing a notebook. You had to push your glasses back up on your face as you looked down at your messy handwriting. 

“Five peer reviews for pediatric intubations. Two peer reviews for needle cricothyrotomy. Three peer and two instructor reviews for trauma assessment. Five peer reviews for trauma intubations. Two instructor reviews for joint splinting -- which I’m already an EMT, why the Hell do I have to sign off on the BLS stuff again? Same with long-bone. I need one peer review and two instructor for traction splint. Again, BLS bullshit. Seven peer reviews for medical and cardiac scenarios. Eleven peer reviews for IV starts, and one instructor. One instructor for IV piggyback. Five peer reviews for IO. Oh, and another instructor. Three peer for IM injection. Three peer for synchronized cardioversion. One peer for defibrillation. Three peer transcutaneous pacing. Four peer reviews and one instructor for adult team lead scenarios. Five peer reviews and one instructor for pediatric team lead scenarios. Eleven peer reviews for being a team member. Three peer reviews for being a team leader for geriatric scenarios. Six peer and one instructor reviews for adult physical assessments. And finally. Six peer and one instructor review for pediatric assessment,” you read off, letting the paper fall to the ground. 

He held you a little tighter. You felt bad. With all the stress you’d been under for the past month, and with how crazy his job was, the two of you hadn’t gotten to spend a lot of time together. And the next month was going to be even crazier. 

“When are you supposed to start your capstone?” He pressed a kiss to your neck, your eyes fluttering closed in response. 

“They want us to start September Ninth, but I’m going to be the last one who gets to sign up because I’m so far behind! Everyone is going to pick the cool preceptors, and I’m going to get stuck with the ones nobody else wants,” you vented before huffing in frustration. 

It was indeed very frustrating, stressful, and downright annoying that you were so far behind compared to everyone else. That’s what happens when you have to be off for six weeks because you tore your knee. Now, it was a constant game of catch-up. 

“Just breathe when I breathe,” Jay instructed in that calming voice, following his breathing pattern. It got your heart rate down as tears came to your eyes, despite your internal protests. You were on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Maybe you should email your instructor?” he suggested when you had your breathing under control on your own.

“And have her take me off all my clinicals and reschedule everything? No. No fucking way. I can’t just email her and schedule my nervous breakdown, Jay. She was very clear in first semester that if we took on too much and couldn’t handle it, she’d take us off our clinicals and completely reschedule everything. I can’t do that, Jay. I can’t because then I’ll be even further behind.” You were talking a mile a minute, Jay taking a deep breath behind you. You took the hint and matched your breathing again. 

“Okay, then don’t email her. But, I want you to come to bed right now. It’s two in the morning. You have an ambulance clinical in five hours. You need your sleep. All of this will be waiting for you when you come home tonight,” he insisted. You didn’t want to, but you knew he was right. 

The two of you stood up, walking into the bedroom. You couldn’t help it as you collapsed on the bed with a groan, much more comfortable than the hard floor in the living room. He wasted no time in joining you, pulling you close again. This time, you were able to see his face at least, tracing his features gently with soft fingertips. You missed him. 

“How about we do something Labor Day? Just you and me to destress a bit?” you asked, Jay nodding in agreement before lips met gently. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he said with a soft chuckle, kissing you again. “But you’re almost done. This is the worst of it. After your final, you’re pretty much done with lecture. Capstone is your last hoorah. Then, your tests and you’ll finally be a paramedic after over a year. Doing this through a pandemic. Through all your family crap. I’m proud of you.”

“You really know how to sweet talk a lady,” you joked, resting your head on his chest.

It was the exact thing you needed to hear. Jay always knew what to say. You were so close to being done. Then, you’d be in your dream career. All the hard work was going to be worth it. The thousands of hours in clinicals, the hundreds of hours in class. The countless sleepless nights and caffeine filled days. Yes. It would be all worth it. Just a couple more months to go. And Jay was by your side.

[eleventhdoctorsangel]

Can you hear me screaming please don’t leave me

Summary: Bobby Nash and his niece were always really close. But on one fateful day he and his team were called to her house after her suicide attempt. After saving her his niece decided to go in the same line as work. 

The summer went by fast. Within that time I have passed all of my tests to become an EMT. Only Uncle Bobby and Athena were there the day I passed my test and got my assignment to the 118 of course. Uncle Bobby made sure that I was put with the 118. Still no one beside him and Athena knows. I have also been spending time with Buck, Hen and Chimney. Just like Buck promise he and I went to a concert. We went to see Falling In Reverse (RIP Derek Jones I’m going to miss you.). When the mosh pits started Buck protected me as if life deepened on it. I just laugh my head off and Buck thought I lost my mind. I was used to mosh pits and I guess Buck wasn’t but he face was still priceless. Within all the time that I’ve spent with Buck so far he told me about his family, his sister Maddie, and his girlfriend or ex-girlfriend he wasn’t so sure about that situation. Anyways I’m currently on my way to the station to surprise everyone and tell them the news. I wasn’t the only new member that joining the 118. There’s a new guy named Eddie Diaz. I really only knew his name since that was all that Uncle Bobby told me.

When I got to the station the rest of the team was out on a call so there weren’t many people there. So I went upstairs and sat on one of the couch as I waited for everyone to get back. I texted Uncle Bobby to let me know when they come back so that I could hide if I needed to. I was playing on my phone when I could hear footsteps approaching me. “So you must be the Captain Niece.” A voice say. I look up from phone to see a very hot guy sitting on the table that was in front of the couch. I put my phone in my lap. “I’m guessing you are Eddie Diaz.” I said. “I am.” Eddie said. “Well I’m Y/n it’s nice to meet you.” I said holding out my hand. “Well it’s nice to meet you Y/n.” Eddie said as he shook my hand. “Eddie huh it that short for Eduardo or Edmundo?” I asked. Eddie looked kinda shocked. “How did you know?” Eddie asked. “I’m observant. So which is it?” I asked. “Edmundo.” Eddie said. “You look like an Edmundo.” I said smiling a little. “Why thank you. So Y/n what made you decided to do this? Because no offense you are really small.” Eddie said. “None taken but I can handle my own. As for why I chose to do this is a circumstance I went through I guess you can say.” I said. “Well I would like to hear all about it if you don’t mind telling me.” Eddie said. I shook my head. “No I don’t mind. It was a few months ago. I wasn’t exactly in the best mind space again. I’ve dealt with depression almost my whole life as with self harm. I tried to kill myself for the third time. I tried when I was thirteen and again when I was sixteen. I know that I can’t change what I’ve been through but I want to help people so they don’t have to feel or go through what I did.” I said as showed the scars that were on my wrist. Eddie took ahold of both of my wrist as he ran his thumbs over them then looked up at me. “I’m sorry that you had to go through that.” Eddie said. “Thank you Eddie that means a lot.” I said. “I guess that makes since now. The captain told me about a lot of people here are protective of you.” Eddie said. “Yeah that would make since. So I told you about myself some now why don’t you tell me about yourself.” I said taking my hands out of Eddies grip putting them in my lap.

Eddie told me about his life that he was in the army and that he has an extremely adorable boy name Christopher and that poor Christopher has cerebral palsy. Eddie even told me about the situation that was going on his wife and how didn’t know what he was going to do about it and how he was going to explain it to Christopher when he does. I told him that whatever he decides that Christopher would understand in time and that he might be the one who might take longer to get over it than Christopher. I made sure that Eddie knew that if he or Christopher needed someone to talk to that I will be all ears. Eddie seemed relieved when I said that. Uncle Bobby finally texted me saying that they were on their way. I smiled as I started jumping slightly in my seat. “Well someone seems excited.” Eddie said. “Well I asked my uncle to text me when they were on their way back because I want to surprise everyone.” I said. “So no one besides the captain knows?” Eddie asked. I shook my head. “Well I hope you have fun surprising them.” Eddie said as he got up. “Are you not going to say to see their reaction?” I asked. “I hope I’m still here. I have to get back home to Christopher.” Eddie said. “I understand that. I hope to meet that little cutie soon.” I said. “Christopher would really like that. So I guess I’ll be seeing you around.” Eddie said. “Yeah see you later.” I said giving him a little wave. 

I stay sat on the couch until uncle Bobby told me that it was safe to come down. When he finally I got up from my spot and made my way down the stairs. “Okay that is a beautiful man.” I heard chimney say. If I had to guess it was probably Eddie that were talking about. “Where’s the lie and I like girls.” Hen said.  “Who in the hell is that?” Buck said. “It’s Eddie Diaz a new recruit. Graduated top of his class just this week. Guy was working a station six for time and a half but I convinced him to join to join us.” Uncle bobby said. “What do we need him for?” Buck asked. Which made everyone laugh. “He severed multiple tours in Afghanistan and he’s an army medic he’s got a sliver star. It’s not like he’s wet behind the ears. Beside he’s not the only new face that going to be around here.” Uncle Bobby said. Taking that as my que I finished walking down the stairs and over to everyone. “Yeah now you guys are going to have to deal with me a lot more.” I said. “Wait are you serious?” Buck asked. “Yup I passed my test last week.” I said. Buck smiled as he hugged me. “Welcome to the team sweetie.” Hen said. “Thank momma Hen.” I said. “Come on I’ll introduce you to him. He likes to be called 8 pack.” Uncle Bobby said as Hen and Chimney went with him to go say hi to Eddie just leaving Buck and I. “Raw Sliver star.” Hen said. “Better drop some more pounds there butch.” Chimney said. Buck looked back towards the locker room and kinda glared at Eddie. “You know I can see the steam coming for your ears. What to share with the class.” I said. “We don’t need that guy around here.” Buck said. “I’m pretty sure they said the same thing when you came around. Just take some time and get to know him Buck. He’s a nice guy.” I said. “How can you be so sure about that?” Buck asked. “Because before everyone got here we talked. Just talk to him Buck who knows you two could become best friends.” I said. “Yeah but you’re my best friend. A best friends that should have told me about this.” Buck said. “I wanted it to be a surprise. Come on admit it you were surprised Bucky bear.” I said.  “Ok fine I was surprised. But you should have told me I would have been there when you took the final test.” Buck said. “I know but Uncle Bobby was there. I wasn’t alone. I have to go change but I’ll be right back.” I said as I left to go to the ladies locker room so I can quickly get change so I can get ready to start my first shift.

 Luckily I was able to get change before we had to go out in a call. “So what kind of experience is my first call going to be?” I asked. “A guy fell on to an air compression butt first.” Uncle Bobby said. “The million to one shot.” I said. I could hear people trying not to laugh even uncle Bobby was trying not to laugh. “Come on get in the rig.” Uncle Bobby said. I nodded and made my way inside the fire truck. Buck was sitting on one side of me and Chimney was sitting on the other side of me. I out the head set on and we made our way to the call. “So sliver star huh?” Chimney asked. “Yeah.” Eddie said. “Did you save a platoon of something?” Chimney asked. “No no. Nothing like that uh just a convoy.” Eddie said. “Eddie you heard about the hot firefighter calendar?” Hen asked. I look at Buck to see him glaring at Hen. I playfully nudge him. “I’m sorry the what” Eddie asked laughing at little. “For charity.” Hen said. “So is your full name Eduardo?” Buck asked. “No.” Eddie said. “People every call you Diaz?” Buck asked. “Not if they want me to repose.” Eddie said. “Something gotta give we got Cap, Hen, Chimney, Buck. We just can’t call you Eddie.” Buck said. “Can’t tell if he’s being serious or not.” Eddie said. “I like to always operate under the assumption that nothing he says is serious.” Chimney said. “Oh come on Bucky bear you know we love you.” I said nudging him. 

When we arrived at Hector’s Rim and Tire shop Uncle Bobby was the first to go talk with the worker while the rest of us got the Medical stuff that we were going to need. We were lead over to a like who had blew up like a balloon. “Okay Hector can you hear me? Alright hang in there buddy. Alright let’s get him on his side maintain pressure on the wound.” Uncle Bobby said as He, Eddie, Chimney, Buck and I helped with lifting Hector off of the air pressure. “It’s a hundred pounds per square inch pumped through his entire body.” Buck said. Hen started to check his heart rate with a stethoscope. “Breathing shallow. He’s heart is racing. Airs filled his stomach, his chest, even behind his eye lids. I’m more concerned about the space around his heart and lungs.” Hen said. “Ok Eddie start a nasal cannula. Chimney get him some morphine.” Uncle Bobby said. “On it.” Chimney said as he went over to Hector’s side grabbing his hand and tried to stick him. “It’s like trying to inject a needle into stone.” Chimney said. “The pressure is pushing everything out. I can’t even get any air through the nostril.” Eddie said trying to get the nasal cannula on. “Jugular venous distention, tachycardia, hypotension, diminished breath We’re looking at tension pneumothorax.” Hen said. “The air pressure is collapsing his organs. We need to get in there and drain the fluid. Buck I need you to get a 14-gauge angiocath. We need to start decompressing the pleural cavity. Y/n I need you to cut away his shirt.” Uncle Bobby said. I nodded as Chimney handed me a pair of scissors the I cut away at Hector’s shirt so it would be easier for Buck. I stood back up so Buck could have room to work. “Alright. Alright.” Buck said. “You want me to help?” Eddie asked him. “I got it.” Buck said. “Hang in there Hector.” Uncle bobby said. “I’d go lower.” Eddie said. “What? Um no. Second intercostal space. Midclavicular line.” Buck said. “The chest wall is thinner at the fifth intercostal at the anterior axillary line. It’s a decrease chance of injuring any vital organs. I’ve treated guys with collapses lungs in combat.” Eddie said. “Do it.” Uncle bobby said. “Please?” Eddie asked as he held his hand to Buck. Buck handed the syringe to Eddie. “Thank you.” Eddie said as he stuck the syringe parallel to Hector’s under arm then undid part of it as the air started to leave Hector’s body. Hector let out a breath as he opened his eyes. “That’s it Hector breathe. Nice and slow.” Uncle Bobby said. Then we got Hector on a gurney and I help Buck pick stuff up and take it back to the rig. 

A/n: I know that I have another way of watching season two. But I usually watch the stuff I need with subtitles and I can’t with the way I've been watching it. So I might have to be this story on hold until either it get back on Hulu or it comes out to DVD

Overall Taglist: @the-broken-halo-writer​

[steviemae]

accidents happen // vl

requested by anonymous: veronicaxreader - reader somehow gets injured really badly and Veronica worries for her life and looks after her

Driving through the streets if Riverdale during a wind storm was not ideal, but here you were. Cruising along the streets, paying extra attention to get to Veronica’s house. The things you do for that girl. You were coming up to a stop light, but of course the wind was so strong it blew the power out, so you stopped. Treating the non-working lights as if it were a four-way stop sign. You were about to go until you noticed a car coming from the side not bothering to stop so you waited. The last thing you remembered was the sound of metal crunching and tires screeching.

You woke up to the sound of someone shouting at you, “Can you hear me, miss?”

“Yeah, can you maybe stop yelling. You’re killing my head.” you reached up wincing slightly at throbbing pain that only got worse when you touched it.

The guy who was yelling a second ago let out a chuckle before advising you not to touch your head, “Do you feel pain anywhere else?” he asked.

“Just soreness but my head feels like it’s exploding.” you answered. He left for a second to grab another guy to help get you out without jostling you too much. While you waited you looked over at the passenger side where there was supposed to be another seat, only to find the door crunched in completely. Yikes you thought, what the hell happened?

The guy came back with someone else and they opened your door, helping you out and leading you over to the ambulance that was waiting. That’s when you realized you should probably call your mom and Veronica.

“Have you seen my phone?” you asked as you checked your pockets but didn’t feel it.

“It’s probably somewhere in your car. You can use mine to call whoever on our way to the hospital.” the EMT said handing you his cell phone. Immediately you called your mom, informing to your best knowledge of what happened. The details were still a bit fuzzy.

“Can you please call Veronica and bring her when you come? I can’t find my phone and i don’t remember her number.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart. See you soon.” you could tell she was worried out of her mind, but she wanted to stay as calm as possible. You knew your injuries weren’t too bad, but then again, you don’t remember what happened so there could literally be a list of things wrong.

You hung up and gave the phone back to the EMT and laid back on the bed, closing your eyes only hoping it would help calm the pain in your head.

“Don’t go falling asleep on me now. You most likely have a concussion.” the EMT said.

“Is that the worst thing that’s happened?” you asked.

“Other than some bruising and a few cuts from the glass, i’d say the concussion is definitely the worst injury for you.” he informed.

You stayed silent for the rest of the ambulance ride. The EMT cleaned up the blood that spilled from the cut on your forehead and stopped the bleeding. He kept telling you that the only thing you’d have to worry about it taking care of yourself, insurance and the cops would take care of everything else.

When you arrived at the hospital, you were wheeled into a room immediately and seconds later your mom and Veronica burst through the door.

“Oh thank god, you’re okay, honey.” your mom said rushing over to kiss your forehead. Veronica sat next to you in silence, grabbing your hand in hers and refusing to let go. Even when the doctor came in.

He ran a few tests and xrays to make sure there was nothing else wrong that you hadn’t seen or felt yet due to the adrenalen. Thankfully, the only thing you walked away with is a cut on your forehead and a concussion from hitting the wheel and the window during impact.

Sheriff Keller walked in after the doctor left to get all of your paperwork together for insurance and to call in the prescription he wanted you to take for your head.

“How are you feeling, y/n?” he asked.

“Good besides my head. Can you tell me what happened? I don’t really remember much.” you confessed.

“You stopped at the light because the power was out, i’m assuming you were also waiting for the idiot who wasn’t going to stop to pass but there was another car behind you who planned on not stopped either so when they rear ended you, your car went into the intersection and the car you were waiting for, hit your passenger side. Both cars were going over the speed limit as well, which is why your car got pushed into the intersection.”

“Oh my god, am i gonna get a ticket?” you rushed, eyes wide with panic.

“No, the car that rear ended you is at fault. You don’t have to worry about a thing. Their insurance will cover your medical bills. Unfortunately though, i’m positive your car is totaled.” he explained. You let out a sigh of relief when he told you you weren’t in trouble.

“Don’t worry about your car, dear. Your father and i will talk with Mr. Mantle tomorrow.” your mom told you patting your leg to tell you not to worry about anything. Your mom and Sheriff Keller left to get some coffee from the hospital cafeteria, leaving you and Veronica alone.

“You’ve been awful quiet this whole time, V.” you pointed out.

“I was freaking out when your mom called me. I thought you were dying. I don’t know what the hell i would’ve done if you did die. God, i was so worried about you.” words flew out of her mouth at a high speed as she got out everything that was running through her mind as she sat silent and listened to you and your mom talk to the doctor.

“I didn’t die and i’m not going to, V. it’s just a concussion. I’ll be good as new before you know it.”

“Still doesn’t stop me from worrying about you. I care so much about you that i called Kevin to tell his dad to arrest whoever hit you and cause the accident. Of course he told me that was possible because the guy wasn’t under the influence and no one died. He just wasn’t paying attention apparently. He did get a pretty hefty ticket though.” Veronica explained. You let out a chuckle thinking about her sassiness telling Kevin to have his dad arrest the guy for hitting you.

“Good to know you’ll go to those means to get back at anyone who does anything to me.” you laughed.

Soon your mom came back and told you the doctor said you were clear to leave and the three of you headed out. Veronica sat in the back seat, with your head in her lap while she played with your hair. Your mom offered for her to stay the night and Veronica quickly stated that she was going to regardless if she was invited or not, which made you and your mom chuckle.

You were going to be out of school for a couple of days until the headache went away and you got used to the medicine so everyday was an argument with you and Veronica. She refused to go to school, wanting nothing more than to just stay home with you and take care of you.

“Well then who’s going to bring me all of my assignments and well taken notes so i don’t have to read everything?” you asked.

“I’ll have Betty do it.” she answered quickly.

“Veronica, don’t be ridiculous, Betty and i only share two classes. You and i have literally the exact same schedule. I’m fine. Just go to school and come back after. I’m going to need your help with the work anyways.” you kissed her cheek before gently pushing her to the front door.

A couple hours later, you were sat on the couch watching the mindless kid shows they played during the weekday afternoon since there was nothing on. Suddenly a knock came from the front door and you got up to go open it. There stood Veronica with both hers and your bags on her shoulders with a shit eating grin on her face.

“What are you doing, V?” you asked.

“I twisted my ankle this morning at practice and i told the nurse i might have sprained it so she sent me home to go get it checked.” she said as she walked like there was absolutely nothing wrong with her ankle.

“But obviously there’s nothing wrong.” you said.

“What the nurse doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Besides, accidents happen.” she said with a shrug. You rolled your eyes before laughing and joining her on the couch, getting started on the stack of school work you had to finish and take back when you were ready to go back to school.

[greatpretending]

For the prompt thing. Numbers 15 & 35, age 19, Please? Thanks x uwu

“Was that supposed to hurt?”“Do you regret it?”

For most people, the Soulmate Bond was a comfort, something they enjoyed. It manifested itself in a variety of ways. Some Soulmates could feel each other’s emotions, every bubble of happiness, wave of sadness, or flash of anger. Some Soulmates could feel each other physically, every stab of pain or buzz of pleasure. Some Soulmates could hear each other’s minds, every deep secret or fleeting thought. No one knew what made a pair of Soulmates have one connection or another, but most people agreed that it was a good thing. One of the best things. 

For you it was a nuisance. 

You, of course, had the Physical Bond with none other than Peter Parker. AKA Spider-Man. AKA a reckless nineteen year-old who often seemed to forget that his Soulmate didn’t have super-human strength. That you couldn’t take blows the way he did. That hits that barely made him stumble knocked the breath out of you.

You loved Peter–god you loved him–but the dark bruises, broken bones, and deep cuts were a lot sometimes. It hadn’t always been this way, of course. You don’t make a Bond with your Soulmate until you meet them for the first time. You and Peter had only met a handful of months ago in your Intro to Biochemistry class. Just over a week into lessons he’d leaned over and tapped you on the shoulder, asking to borrow a highlighter. You’d turned around, made eye contact, and been Bonded ever since.

The first night was startling. Peter was out doing his routine patrols, high off meeting his Soulmate and not thinking about the consequences. He hadn’t been watching where he was swinging, effectively smacking his head on a lamp post. He barely had a bump, but you ended up with a mild a concussion.

You’d called him as soon as the stars left your eyes, despite the late hour, to ask if he was okay. Fifteen minutes later Spider-Man was swinging into your apartment window, explaining everything, apologizing, and promising to be more careful in the future.

Peter was careful, for the most part. But some of the injuries were out of his control, and you understood that. You’d gotten pretty good at bandaging yourself up, and Peter was wonderful at kissing it better at the end of the night. The worst though, was when you’d been woken out of a dead sleep to blinding pain. The worst pain you’d ever felt, rendering you unable to breathe enough to even scream.

Peter had a bruise, but you’d fractured a rib.

Peter was incredibly apologetic. He basically moved into your apartment for the six and a half weeks it took for you to heal. He went out of his way to pick up work and notes from your professors and classmates. Spider-Man all but disappeared until you were better, and even then he’d been hesitant to go back out there.

“I hate seeing you in pain because of me,” he’d said.

“I’m willing to deal with the pain if it means you helping all of those people,” you’d replied. “I will never ask you to be anything less than who you are, and part of who you are is Spider-Man.”

So the web-slinger returned to the busy city streets, and you returned to your classes.

Things were good for a while. The bruises became manageable and you and Peter were so happy. You wouldn’t give up his smile for anything. (Not to mention the sex was fantastic. A major upside to the Physical Bond.)

Today, however, was worse than the day you’d fractured a rib. Peter’s worst fear had come to light. Someone had found out who you were. They’d taken you. They’d tied you up and thrown you in a helicopter. You didn’t know where you were, but Peter was here now, in all his spandex glory.

They’d gotten him, too.

Kneeling on the cold cement floor of… wherever you were, you watched as they wheeled him in, chained to his chair an unable to move. His masked eyes widened when he saw you. Hands tied behind you and mouth gagged with a bandanna, you couldn’t do anything but look at him in fear.

“We have it on good authority that this pretty little thing,” the woman started, grabbing your hair and yanking you into a straighter sitting position. “Is Spider-Man’s Soulmate. A Physical Bond, if my sources are correct. Shall we test that theory?”

The gleam of a knife in another woman’s hand caught your attention. She approached Spider-Man–who was doing everything he could to get himself loose–and smiled wickedly.

You watched as the woman pressed the tip of the blade into Spider-Man’s shoulder and dragged it in a short line, clenching your teeth as an identical cut appeared on your body.

“Now that just won’t do,” the woman still holding your hair said, clucking her tongue. She let go and you slumped down again, feeling the her tug at the knot of the bandanna. It fell from between your teeth. “I want you to be able to hear her when she screams.”

The woman with the knife turned back to Spider-Man, punching him squarely on the side of the head, sending you sideways onto the concrete as pain exploded behind your eyelids, throbbing through your skull. You pulled yourself back onto your knees as the room swam around you, setting your jaw and looking the woman dead in the eye.

“Was that supposed to hurt?” you asked her, and the woman next to you laughed.

“Tough girl!” she said. “But tough won’t save you today.”

A blow to Spider-Man’s stomach had you keeling over once more, wind knocked out of you. You couldn’t do anything but watch the woman who had been beside you approached Spider-Man and wait for your lungs to accept air again.

“Why are you doing this?” Spider-Man asked them. “She didn’t have to be part of this!”

“Because we want to watch you suffer the way you let us suffer!” She yelled angrily. “We have people we care about, too. Soulmates. That incident on the bridge last month? You pushed them off, you hurt them! You hurt us,” she finished, voice quiet and icy.

Another punch to Spider-Man’s head, and the world went dark.

…

The world came back, but it was fuzzy. Everything was swaying, halves of shapes meeting for a moment before shooting off in opposite directions again.

“Hey, hey, hey,” a familiar voice said, and you forced your eyes open.

Peter.

He slowly came into focus. He was still in his suit, mask off and hair wild. His eyes were wild as well, filled with worry as he looked down at you. There was a pounding in your head that seemed to resonate through your whole body, all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes. You could tell Peter could feel it too, although on a much lesser scale, by the look on his face. You tried to sit up but he held you down. 

“No yet,” he said softly, so you relaxed and listened. You took in your surroundings, you were still on the concrete floor in the same room.

“What happened?” you asked. “What happened to those women?”

Peter shifted to the side a little and pointed at the opposite end of the room. You lifted your head just enough to see two body-shaped web cocoons plastered to the wall.

“They’re not going anywhere for a while,” Peter said. “The police are on their way, and an ambulance for you. I am so, so sorry this happened. I feel awful.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you told him. “It isn’t your fault.”

“But it is,” Peter replied. “If I had dealt with those guys differently–”

“Do you regret it?” you cut him off.

“What?”

“Do you regret pushing them and their bomb off the bridge? Saving hundreds of lives?”

Peter turned his head to the side and said nothing.

“I don’t want you to regret it,” you said quietly. You reached up with one of your now-free hands and carded your fingers through his hair, turning his face back to yours. “I don’t ever want you to regret Spider-Man, because Spider-Man is so good. Spider-Man puts everyone else before himself. Spider-Man never hurts anyone when he doesn’t have to. Spider-Man loves his city and all the people in it. I’m proud of Spider-Man. But I’m more proud of Peter.”

Peter sighed, cupping your face between his hands and pressing your foreheads together gently. Not for the first time, you wished you’d had a Mental Bond instead. What you wouldn’t give to know Peter’s thoughts right now.

“I don’t deserve you,” Peter whispered.

Before you could respond, you heard sirens approaching, and Peter sat up again. He pulled his mask back down over his face and helped you sit up.

“I can’t come with you in the ambulance,” he said. “But I’ll meet you at the hospital, okay? As- as Peter.”

“Okay, Spider-Man,” you said quietly. You took his hand and slipped one finger under the material of his glove. The Bond made you crave skin contact almost constantly, but with the high emotions and the shock of the days events it was impossible to ignore at the moment.

You rested your head on Spider-Man’s shoulder and waited until the EMTs and police officers hurried into the room.

You’d have to be more careful in the future. That probably meant no more late-night visits from the web-slinger. No more gathering his bag from the empty alley he’d left it in so it wouldn’t get stolen. No more trips with him to rooftops to watch the city move below you.

But those were all things you were willing to let go of, because the one thing you weren’t willing to give up was Peter’s smile.

@havefaithintomholland - @spidey-shit - @zendmylife - @spideyscnses - @pbpz - @httpsamholland - @vegetarianpineapple

[contrivedcoincidences6]

The Bodyguard Ch. 19

Need to catch up? Here is chapter 18!

Written by @alittlemissfit and I! 

P.S. good luck. 

Scully drives the rented convertible, a rare indulgence, grinning at the feel of the wind in her hair and the promise of a week in solitude. Skinner asked her to get out of the city for a while, giving her keys to one of the company owned beach houses. Initially, she’d been irritated, questioning his motives, but after talking to Mulder she realized getting away for awhile was just what she needed.

Even now her cheeks burn remembering him bringing up Daniel. She’s replayed their conversation a hundred times in her head and each time she feels more and more unsettled. She can admit his concerns were valid, but having her past thrown in her face in a public setting had been humiliating, and his tone and attitude towards her had stung. She felt angry, raw, and knew that any chance they had at a relationship, even as friends was gone. She hadn’t even realized she wanted that until seeing him again. He’d been waiting for her at that restaurant looking so casually handsome, but his words and behavior had been enough to drive her away.

At night, visions of him still come to her that are difficult to drive away. She finds herself, guiltily, picturing his hands in place of hers when trying to relieve tension at the end of the day. The images come to her unbidden, make her come in minutes. Afterwards, she always feels empty, knowing his hands won’t touch her like that again.

Shaking her head, hoping to rid herself of all thoughts of him, she sighs. Turns up the radio. Moping is not going to change anything, and the last thing she wants to spend her vacation doing is wallowing. She thinks about going to a bar and picking up some hot random somebody for a one night stand, but the thought makes her feel queasy. Even still. She’d woken up feeling off and the fresh air hadn’t been enough to settle her stomach.

Reaching over to the passenger seat she rifles through her purse with one hand, tears open her roll of emergency Tums. Once they kick in and she gets closer, the road starting to neighbor the ocean, each whiff of sea air settles her down and makes her smile.

The beach house is a larger blue cottage, situated just a few yards from the water. She pulls into the driveway and sees not much had changed since her last visit.

Her first time here had been a work retreat. Volleyball games on the beach and surf and turf for dinner, all to act as bonding time once her class of recruits had finished training. When Daniel whisked her here for a weekend away a few months later, she hadn’t objected and hoped she could make some new memories. Little did she know that now they left her feeling queasy again.

Letting herself in with the key she drops her bags off in the guest bedroom, refusing to set foot in the master suite ever again. Opening her suitcase up on the bed, she glances out the window at the almost identical yellow cottage right next door and the van parked in the driveway. Carter’s nurse’s vehicle, if she had to guess.

Skinner had told her that her protege was recuperating in the main house. He had constant in-home care, and his mother had even come down for a week’s stay not too long ago. She knew she should stop in and see him. She owed him that much, but right now she was just too tired.

Exploring the rest of the house she sees it has been well kept since her last visit, though a little dusty. Seeing the small specks scattered and dancing in the light beams, she opens the windows to let out the stale air before she starts to unpack.

Once settled in for the night with a glass of wine, a good book and a fire in the fireplace, Scully falls asleep to the sound of waves. Promising herself she’ll visit Carter tomorrow.

Come tomorrow, however, she finds herself bent over the toilet. At the crack of dawn, she’d woken up the same way she had for the past four days. Feeling panic set in, she quickly gets up off the floor. Grabs her day planner from the desk in the spare room.

“Oh no...no,” she breathes, running her finger over the small dots she uses to mark her cycle.

“Son of a....fuck!”

Throwing her planner across the room, she sits on the edge of the bed. Closing her eyes and willing herself to calm down. They used a condom, she reminds herself. That part of the night she remembers clearly. Then she starts remembering all the reasons condoms can fail and feels herself spiraling all over again.

“Stop it, Dana. Damn it,” she scolds herself, knowing her stomach can’t take much more stress.

“It could mean anything. You can be late because of stress. You could be nauseous from food poisoning. It...it could be anything,” she says, hoping if she says it aloud she’ll start believing it.

When her hands stop shaking she gets dressed, gathers her things and drives into town to the store.

An hour later she is perched on the bathroom counter, looking down at three positive tests in her hands. Tossing them in the nearby trash can with a yell, she proceeds to cry her eyes out.

Standing in the parking garage, waiting by his former boss’ car, Skinner checks his watch impatiently, then looks up and glares hearing footsteps.

“What the-”

“Waterston!” he booms. At Daniel’s flinch, he fights the urge to smile.

“Oh, Walter. I thought you were someone else.”

“Who the hell did you think I was?” he scoffs.

Seeing Daniel’s lack of poker face, he clenches his jaw, knowing his suspicions about the man are at least partially true.

“Have you paid a visit to Teena Mulder by any chance?” he asks.

Swallowing hard, Daniel adjusts his tie.

“Teena Mulder? As in Mulder from the detail, Mulder?”

“Let me ask the questions here, alright? Have you met with Mrs. Mulder or not?”

“No, Walter. I haven’t,” Daniel snaps. “What reason would I have to go all the way to an estate that far from the city?”

“I don’t know, but you must’ve had one at some point. I’ve got an agent stationed outside her home who saw you speaking with her last week.”

Knowing his fib pays off at the fearful look on Daniel’s face, Skinner shakes his head.

“For Christ’s sake, Daniel.”

“At least let me explain myself,” the older man asks, getting a nod to continue.

“I kept quiet about the visit because I knew I’d get questions and a look like that from you. But she needed to know the truth about Dana. A truth that I assume you now know, considering you’ve taken the trouble to meet me like this.”

“Just because I found out the truth doesn’t mean I didn’t deserve your version of it. We’ve worked at Artemis together for how long, Daniel?” Skinner spits, as Daniel shakes his head in a condescending way.

“Long enough for me to know you’re a sucker for a pretty face.”

“Excuse me?” he bristles.

“You’re putty in the hands of Dana Scully, Walter. It’s not your fault. I know exactly how persuasive she can be. Add to that her looks. She’s had you wrapped around her finger since the day we recruited her.”

“Well, at least I had no problem keeping it in my goddamn pants. And you know why? Because unlike you I respect Dana. I just wish she hadn’t found out about you so late in the game.”

“Found out what about me?”

“Besides the fact that you’re a piece of shit who forces himself on women, you haven’t given a damn about Artemis for years.”

“I was perfectly content to keep my position until that slut got me suspended,” Daniel mutters as Skinner steps in, grabs him by the collar.

“You talk about her like that again and I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Get me expelled?” Daniel snorts, backing out of his hold and fixing his tie. Skinner holds his ground though, continues towering over him and staring him down.

“I can do a hell of a lot worse and you know it,” he says, smirking when Daniel gulps, takes a step back.

“Who’s the man with the cigarettes I keep seeing everywhere?”

“What man, I don’t know-”

“He was in the car with Fox Mulder,” Skinner growls, shoving Daniel into a support beam.

“The day of the accident, he barely had a scratch on him while our detail was stuck in the E.R overnight.”

“And you’re blaming me for this?”

“I’m asking you what you know about it,” he says crossly. “Here’s what I know so far. This smoking man works with Bill Mulder. I got my hands on his phone number and checked his call log. You two seem to chat a lot.”

“Well, this man. Mr. Spender and I...we go way back. We’re acquaintances. Old friends.”

“What’s your old friend’s part in all this?”

“Nothing,” Daniel shrugs. “He’s Fox’s godfather but aside from that-”

“I know he was at the hospital that night despite having been medically cleared by the EMT’s. I know too that he was skulking around Carter’s room after the car bomb went off.”

“He could’ve been there chatting with Fox. I know that he was injured in the blast.”

“You seem to know a lot of things. How about you fill me in. Tell me why after seeing me, your friend Spender couldn’t get out of the hospital fast enough.”

“He probably was trying to avoid being interrogated by you the way I am right now,” Daniel snaps, trying to step around Skinner but failing when he’s backed into the beam again.

“I’m afraid this interrogation isn't finished yet. Where’d you send Carter?”

“I didn’t-”

“Where’d you send him, Daniel?!” Skinner growls, grabbing Daniel by the collar. When he doesn’t respond he slams him back into the support beam.

“You think this is a game? You think I won’t air out all your dirty laundry and make your life a goddamn misery while I do?”

“He’s at the beach house!” Daniel chokes out, wide-eyed.

“What beach house?”

“The cottages! I sent him to the cottages! Where we had the retreat. He...he’s with a nurse. He’s alive,” he sputters as Skinner releases, then shoves him away in disgust.

“He’s alive, Walter. I swear it.”

“That’s not my only concern,” Skinner mutters, pacing now as he runs a hand over his bald spot, realizing Carter is in the same spot he sent Scully to. Turning on his heel he stares Daniel down.

“Does Spender know what you did? That you sent Carter to recuperate there?”

Nodding, Daniel slumps back in defeat against the garage wall.

“He’s the one who suggested it.”

“Why the hell would he do that?”

“Because your junior agent knows something. Spender wants him out of the way.”

“Alive and out of the way?” Skinner asks roughly, feeling his stomach knot when Daniel goes pale.

“Daniel!”

“It started out that way. Until he learned some other facts that…changed his thinking.”

“Facts like what?”

“Facts that pertained to the disappearance of Samantha Mulder. Fox’s sister.”

The knot growing bigger now, Skinner leans back against Daniel’s car. Trying to come to grips with what he’s just heard.

“You say you know Spender. What do you think he’s going to do?”

“If I had to guess...if he thinks Carter knows anything about any of this, he’ll kill him.”

“What about Dana? Would he hurt her? Try and kill-”

“Why would you ask that?” Daniel asks, frowning.

“Because she’s in the same damn spot as her protege. Because I sent her there,” Skinner admits, filled now with fear, dread, and guilt that only grows at the look in Daniel’s eyes.

Shaking his head in disgust, with the weak man he just left and with himself, he quickly walks to his car. Wonders who the hell he can trust to help everyone out of this mess.

“I don’t know, Mulder. Sounds like she was playing you,” Langly shrugs, taking a swig of beer.

Mulder looks down at his longneck, his fifth of the night, picturing Scully’s face before she walked away. The look she’d given him was one of pure hurt like she’d been utterly betrayed. Even bordering on wasted, he can’t believe that she is part of any of this.

“She’s a looker, Mulder. But I think she’s a slippery one,” Frohike says, slapping him on the back.

Lurching forward on the couch, Mulder rubs his hand down his face, fending off dizziness.

“No. Not Scully. She...she didn’t know anything.”

He feels their pitying eyes on him but presses on.

“Guys, I could tell. I knew. She was embarrassed ‘bout what my mother told me, but she...she looked so hurt when I asked if she spied. Was a spy.”

“Of course she looked hurt. They trained her to look hurt! Look at you, doubting the obvious because of a big pair of baby blues,” Frohike scoffs, swigging down his remaining beer before letting out a moderately loud belch.

“No. You’re wrong. I….I have a feeling about her guys. Scully….she...she’s not one of them.”

“Mulder,” Byers sighs, fidgeting uncomfortably in the wing chair across the way.

“Look, we understand what you’re saying but we came here to fill you in on something else. It’s urgent.”

Looking up curiously, Mulder frowns. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

“Your other guard, Carter. He’s been moved from the hospital but we can’t find where he went.”

“We asked some of the nurses and doctors. It’s like the guy disappeared without a trace. Nobody knows,” Langly says as Mulder scoffs, peels the label from his beer bottle.

“Carter. That’s Scully’s boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Langly and Frohike say in unison.

“Yeah,” he snorts, glancing up with bleary and narrowed eyes.

“At the hospital, I caught her talking to him in his room. The way she sat with him there. She held his hand-”

“And that means they’re dating?”

“They’re together, guys. Why else was she so upset about us sleeping together?”

“Because she’s a good actress. Been playing you from the getgo…,” Langly mutters under his breath.

Rolling his eyes, ignoring him, Mulder opens another beer and takes a swig.

“So hang on a second, why do you think Carter disappearing has anything to do with me?” he asks.

“Well, we checked some of the security cameras,” Byers says.

“Saw an old friend of yours there. One who’s fond of cigarettes,” Frohike interjects. Langly goes to chime in but is cut off by the phone ringing.

“Mulder,” he answers, watching closely as the guard waiting outside his door peeks inside.

“Mr. Mulder, this is Walter Skinner.”

“Ah, Skinman! What’s going on?” he asks.

“Have you spoken to Agent Scully within the last week?” Skinner asks gruffly, the edge to his voice putting Mulder on edge. Sitting up on the couch he frowns, sets his beer on the coffee table.

“Yeah, I... I saw her yesterday,” he says, slurring slightly despite his efforts. “What’s going on, is she-”

“You and I need to talk.”

[shimmershaewrites]

Waltzing's for Dreamers, Chapter 16. (a Walking Dead story, Caryl AU).

Title:  Waltzing’s for Dreamers

Rating:  PG?  PG-13 maybe?

Warnings:  some adult language.  Innuendo. 

Characters/Pairings:  Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier, Sophia Peletier, Dale Horvath, Arat, Jessie Anderson, Sam Anderson, mention of Ron Anderson, Lori Grimes, Carl Grimes, Siddiq, mentions of Michonne, Merle Dixon, Dr. S.   

  Waltzing’s for Dreamers

      More than a year after Vegas.  Early September.

      The call comes in while Daryl’s at work. 

  He’s elbow deep in the engine of an old clunker better suited for the junk yard.  Has been for the better part of the afternoon and the woman that brought the car in keeps sneaking fretful peeks at him around its hood.  Giving a play by play to her husband over the phone even though it’s painfully obvious she don’t know what the shit he’s doing.  Looks like she’s got other things on her mind, like keeping the squirming toddler on her hip from making a break for it.  And for once?  He’s grateful for Arat’s obnoxious taste in music because it’s full on blaring.  The bass tugging at his gut and making his tools rattle whenever he sets one down.  It gives him the out he’s looking for when she bites her lip and offers the phone to him.  He shakes his head, makes a show of not being able to hear a damn thing and it ain’t no lie.  Really ain’t.  Still.  He can’t suppress the twinge of guilt when she tucks the phone back between her shoulder and her ear with a wince, bounces the whining kid in her arms and turns her back to him.  Walks away. 

  “Looks like we got another penny pincher on our hands.” 

  “Grade A asshole,” Daryl agrees, wiping his hands on the red rag sticking out of the front pocket of his navy coveralls.  “Turn that shit down.” 

  Arat smirks.  “Sounds like somebody needs to loosen up your buttons, Dixon.  Pretty little wife not doing it for you?  Could always invite me over.  Three’s not such a crowd anymore.” 

  His neck goes hot at the suggestion and a growl rumbles deep in his chest.  “How many times…” 

  “You know I’d make it good for you both.” 

  “Fuck off.”  She cackles as she retreats to the back of the garage, singing along when the tune changes on cue to one Daryl figures should be her anthem.  His brother’s, too.  Although Merle sticks to chasing skirts.  On more than one occasion, Arat’s proven she ain’t as discriminating.  Backed up all that bold talk with the people she brings around.  “Old Man ain’t fundin’ your sexual harassment.” 

  “Just having a little fun.” 

  “Well, I ain’t,” Daryl mutters.  “So get on back to work.” 

  “Um.  Excuse me?” 

  It’s the frazzled mother again, this time minus the kid.  A quick glance toward the office shows him the old man hamming it up with the moon-eyed toddler and the corner of Daryl’s mouth lifts when he sees a smile break out on the shy little boy’s face.  “Ma’am?” 

  Wringing her hands, the woman sighs.  

  She chews on her words so long Daryl takes pity on her.  “Lemme guess.  No lifesaving measures.” 

  “What’s the cheapest quick fix?  I need to pick my other son up from school soon.” 

  Scratching absently at the back of his head, Daryl lays out the truth for her.  “Be no better than plugging a leak on the Hoover dam with a wad of bubblegum.” 

  “Pete won’t agree to anything else.” 

  “Alright.  Okay.  I’ll get you hooked up.  I’ll…shit.  Snuck up on me, Old Man,” he grumbles.  “What’s the matter?  Look like you seen a ghost or something.”  

  The woman steps between them, holds out her arms for her son.  “Sam, come here.  Come to Mommy.”   

  Soon as that boy’s in her arms, Daryl steps closer to Dale even though Arat has killed the volume on the radio and is currently walking toward them, shepherding the woman and her child outside to give them some privacy and it’s a good thing.  Because Daryl don’t like the look on his boss’s pale face.  He don’t like the way his bushy brows are bunched in worry. 

  “Sophia’s school called.  They couldn’t reach Carol.” 

  “Got that test today.  Been studying for it for weeks.  Dale?  What’d they say?” 

  “That’s just it.  They wouldn’t tell me anything.  Other than she was in an accident and she’s been taken to the hospital.” 

  “Fuck.  Fuck.  I need to…” 

  “Go,” Dale cuts him off.  “Just don’t get yourself killed trying to get to her.” 

  Daryl tries to mind the old man’s instruction as he races toward the hospital, but he breaks at least ten different traffic laws before he skids to a crooked stop in the parking lot.  Forgets to even lock the truck’s door before he sprints to the ER entrance and rushes inside.  Nearly collides with a pair of EMTs on their way back out.  He only realizes his hands are shaking when he grabs the arm of the first person he sees wearing scrubs.  “I’m looking for my little girl.  Her school called and…”  About that time, he catches a glimpse of a familiar figure in front of a row of vending machines, lets go of the puzzled hospital employee and calls out to her.  “Lori!” 

  Lori whirls around.  Tucks her phone and a couple packets of candy back in her purse and meets him halfway, her brown eyes bright but calm. 

  “What the hell happened?” Daryl demands to know, not even giving her a chance to say anything.  “Where is she?  What the fuck are you…” 

  “Even doing here when I’m still responsible for a class full of six-year-olds?” Lori finishes for him when he runs out of steam.  “Walk with me.  I can explain.” 

  By the time they reach Sophia’s cubicle, he’s heard the whole ugly story and he’s calmer, yeah.  At least marginally but he also has this passing urge to whip some first grade ass, his own history notwithstanding.  “Something needs to be done ‘bout that kid.  Little terror’s been bullyin’ ‘Phia long as I’ve known her.  This so-called playground scuffle ain’t his first go-round.”  

  “Trust me,” Lori sighs.  “I’m aware.”  Combing her hair back behind her ears, she reaches for the privacy curtain but waits for his cue before pulling it back. 

  Daryl nods and suddenly there she is.  Looking so damn tiny and defenseless in that huge stretcher he feels his knees go weak. 

  Her freckles stand out in stark relief against the paleness of her skin, the small butterfly bandages that follow the line of her strawberry brow and disappear into her hairline.  Blood and dirt smudge the front of her favorite rainbow shirt and a neon green cast extends from her short fingers all the way above her right elbow. 

  He’s so busy silently cataloguing her hurts that he doesn’t notice he’s been spotted until the young man in a lab coat recaps the black Sharpie in his hand and relinquishes it to Sophia with a smile. 

  “Looks like Dad’s here just in time.” 

  “He’s not her…” 

  Lori’s quick to shush her boy.  Taking him by his skinny shoulders and pulling him to her.  “Carl.” 

  Daryl’s grateful because he can’t find his fuckin’ voice to do it himself.  He’s on autopilot, being pulled in by the magic of Sophia’s shy smile.  He feels his heart squeeze with overwhelming affection when her pink tongue pokes through the gap left by her missing baby teeth and his calloused hand reaches out to cover her foot.  “Had me worried, Ladybug.  Nearly gave me a heart attack.” 

  “M’sorry.” 

  “Wasn’t your fault,” Carl’s quick to interject.  “Was Ron’s.  He’s a big mean bu–”

  The little shithead scowls when his mama’s hand closes over his mouth just in time, looks mighty fierce with that impressive shiner blacking his eye and Daryl smirks when Sophia giggles.  Nods at the young doctor when he likewise smiles.  “Thanks.  For takin’ care of her.  Know her mama’d appreciate it.  Know I damn well do.” 

  Lori echoes the sentiment.  “Thanks, Siddiq.”    

  “I just helped put on the cast.  Sophia did all the hard, brave work.” 

  “Still,” Daryl insists.  “Thank you, Man.” 

  “You’re welcome.  If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see if I can round up Dr. S so he can get your discharge paperwork started.” 

  “Carl and I should get going, too.  Now that Daryl’s here.”  Leaning over the stretcher’s rail, she places a careful kiss atop Sophia’s hair.  Reaches out and briefly touches Daryl’s forearm before digging through her purse and offering up a package of M&M’s for later.  “You did good, sweet girl.  I’ll see you back in class Monday, okay?  I’ll bring more markers so everybody can sign your cast.” 

  “Okay,” she murmurs in response. 

  “Your mama will be here soon.  Michonne’s going to go get her soon as her test is over and bring her here so she doesn’t have to drive.”

  “So she won’t worry?” 

  “So she won’t worry as much,” Lori gently corrects.  “Bye, Sweetie.  Why don’t you close your eyes and rest?  I know you’re tired.”    

   “I’m here,” Daryl reminds her.  “Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”  

  “Promise?” 

  “With pinkies and everything,” he says gruffly. 

  “Pinkies and everything?” 

  “Yep.  Now close them pretty eyes.  I’ll still be here when they open back up and your little friend Carl?  Well, he’ll finally be gone.” That comment earns him a giggle.  From Sophia, then Lori, and eventually the boy himself, who just shrugs when he offers up a halfhearted apology.  Then they’re gone and it’s just him and ‘Phia and he thinks she’s drifted off until she mumbles his name. 

  “Daryl?” 

  “Hmm, Ladybug?” 

   “Dr. Siddiq called you my dad.” 

  “I heard.”   

  “I don’t want to call you that.” 

  “Don’t have to call me anything you don’t wanna.  Daryl’s just fine.” 

  She falls quiet again, her breath evens and slows and then.  “What ‘bout Daddy?  S’that okay?” 

  It takes him a minute.  Damn lump makes it hard to swallow, much less speak.  But eventually he husks a response, “Even better.” 

[kisseumeoppathings-blog]

Kwon Ji Yong, Boss Pt 12

Hello Lovelies! I have officially finished part 12!~ I really hope you have been enjoying the series so far, and I have officially gotten my inspiration on getting it to not be so boring! Sadly, It will be ending soon, but I will probably start a new series soon.

Reminder: Y/N: Your Name Y/S: Your Son’s Name Y/E: Your Ex’s Name

I really recommend that you read all the parts, because this may be confusing if you haven't. Now without further ado, ENJOY! : 

XOXO~

                                     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

            Checking out of reality, you put your earbuds in music drowning out the noise of the rambunctious kids next to you. Even though this was the in school library, people were still loud.  You had classes in the evening, at the University itself, and you were trying to study for your next test in Psychology. Ji Yong was texting you little things here and there, so when your phone started to buzz like crazy you knew he was on a break. Hey beautiful, I’m on break and I kept thinking about you… Wish you were here, my office is really big. ;) Laughing to yourself, you start to answer him, but suddenly all the students drop to the floor, and you hear screams over your music. Yanking your earbuds out, someone grabs your arm and drags you under the bench that you had been sitting on. It connected to the wall, so hiding under it was safer. “Ye Ri… What’s going on?” You feel fear start to creep on your skin, sending chills down your back.

               “You didn’t hear it?” Ye Ri had tears in her eyes. “Gunshots from down the hall. Screaming and everything.” The lights turned off suddenly, and you remembered the text. You there?” Another text had gone through. Shaking, you opened the app and turned on the voice message. “Oppa, someone has a gun in the building the lights have turned off and we don’t know who it is or why this is happening, but if something happens to me, please, please take care of Y/S. Make sure he grows up smart and honest and respectful. I love you Ji Yong, and I love my baby… I love you Y/S.” Hitting send and silencing your phone, you slip it into the side of your combat boot. Ye Ri looked at you with terrified eyes. “Are we going to die?” She whispered. But you didn’t get to answer her. Suddenly as though it was right in front of you, more gunshots echoed. “Students, here’s the deal.” You heard his voice and shivers went down your spine.

               “Ye Ri,” you whispered in her ear, “If you get the chance, run and do not look back. The doors are right there. I don’t think they are locked. But if there is any chance you can get out, do it.” Ye Ri was like you, in the sense of being a mother. She was the same age as you, 23, but she had two babies at home. Twins, one boy and one girl. And she was a couple months pregnant, with a loving husband at home. “What about you?” Her voice was shaking, as were her hands as she grabbed yours. “Don’t worry about me. You have more reasons to survive. Okay?” Ye Ri was the one person that had greeted you and befriended you on the first day of classes.

Flashback: 2 Months Earlier

               “Hi!” A cheerful voice piped up next to you. A woman about your age was standing beside the two-person desk, two books in her arms and a heavy looking backpack on her back. “Is anyone sitting here?” You shake your head and she sighs in relief, dropping her books on the desk. “My name is Ahn Ye Ri. Is this your first semester too?” You nod, smiling at her infectious grin and enthusiasm. “My name is Y/N. And yeah, I wanted to go to University after High School, but something happened, and I couldn’t.” She put her head on her hand, turning on her phone. Revealing her home screen picture. It was her, ad handsome young man and two toddlers who looked like twins. “This is my husband, and my twins, my girl is Jae Hwa and my boy is Jung Hwa.” Looking at the grins on the babies faces, you chuckle. “How old?” She holds up 2 fingers. “Two.” Opening your phone, you show her your background. It has Ji Yong and Y/S making faces, and crossing their eyes. “This is my boyfriend and my son, Y/S.” She giggles, awing. “Ohh how cute! How old is he?”

               “Three, and he is my precious baby boy.” Ye Ri nods, handing your phone back, “Are you guys going to have anymore babies?” For a moment you wonder if you should tell her that he isn’t Ji Yong’s son. You must have had a sad look on your face because she put her hand on your arm. “Is he your Oppa’s son?” Blinking hard, you shake your head. “But he calls him appa.” Ye Ri claps her hands together once. “Then he is Y/S’s Appa! It doesn’t matter if he isn’t blood. He is helping raise him so therefore it is his dad.” The two of you begin to talk more and more, eventually becoming really good friends.

               The Present

Ye Ri looked truly terrified and you knew that she was. “Stay here.” You whisper, covering her with your black jacket. Slipping out, you move slowly away from where Ye Ri was hiding, in hopes of him not seeing her. “I’m looking for someone. Someone named Y/N.” A few people started to chatter, and you knew that it was only a matter of minutes until he found you. “She’s over there.” A guy shouts, pointing towards the place that Ye Ri was hiding. Y/E starts to walk towards the bench, but stops as you call out his name. “I’m here.” You stand, the setting sun still shining some light into the building. It would’ve been perfect, except for the hostage situation. Outside there were sirens, and you could see people now lining up behind slowly forming police barricades. “Ah ha… You bitch.” He kicks you in the stomach sending you backwards. Your phone flies out of your boot and slides under the bench with Ye Ri. “What was that for?!” Gasping for air, as the pain intensifies, you look up at him. “You ran away, took my son to some bastard’s house and you don’t know why I am angry?”

               Knowing that he wouldn’t kill you in front of all these people, you took your chances. Struggling to stand, you knew that all the self-defense you had learned would be useless. Especially since he had been born into all types of Martial Arts and different trainings. “I was going to shoot you,” Y/E waved around a handgun, “But, I figured that was just to simple.” He pulled a knife out of his pocket, grinning. As you moved away from him, turning so that his back was to Ye Ri and the door, you slightly motioned your hand hoping that she would see. As he continued to curse you and Ji Yong, you saw Ye Ri slip out from under the bench and start to crawl towards the doors. Holding your breath, you watched her reach the door and use her student ID. The doors opened, and suddenly everyone was rushing to get out.

               Y/E didn’t really seem to care, but he did turn and smirk. “Why do you care about them so much? No one cares about you.” The door had closed and locked, a large number of students still in the room. It grew silent again, as they strained to hear what he was saying. “You know, you tell a guy you love him, you seduce him, make him go crazy and then suddenly leave. You tricked me into signing the divorce letters you know. I was drunk, and obviously you wanted to take advantage of that. You were carrying my child for goodness sakes! Why would you leave me?” He lunged forward swiping with his knife. A slight dodge, and he missed, but the second one he took hit your arm. Again and again he swung, hitting you ever so slightly, intentionally hurting you, but not enough to damage you. “I hate you.” He smiled, evilly. Backed up against a wall, Y/E smirks, and laughs. “Looks like it’s the end of our conversation.”

               The room began to spin, and your hands were on the handle. He had driven it right into your stomach. Darkness began to threaten the edges of your eyes, and blood was starting to pool around the blade, staining your grey shirt. As unconiousness started to take over your weary body, there were suddenly people holding him down, and helping you up, laying you down. The last thing you heard was someone yelling your name, and seeing the lights of an ambulance reflecting off of the EMT’s faces.

[overlord-of-sarcasm]

I don’t know when I lost my faith. 

Could it have been when I was sixteen, and I was throwing up in a public bathroom because my ‘best friend’ had raped me, and my mother walked in, asked what was going on with me, why am I acting weird/etc, and I told her, and she told me to get over it?

Could it have been when, literally three months after that, a different ‘best friend’ tried to rape me, and I didn’t eat for two weeks, and my mother told me that I looked great and should keep doing whatever it was that I was doing? I wasn’t even at all chubby to begin with.

Could it have been when I was sixteen, and in my community college class, where I couldn’t get away from the guy who kept trying to take me home, and, no matter who I told, either no one believed the ‘stupid blonde girl’ or told me to be flattered?

Could it have been when I was sixteen, and at a water park with a friend, and seven guys surrounded me and tried to rip my top off?

Could it have been when I was seventeen, at the student life center in my community college, and three strangers + one friend of mine cornered me to try to force me to do a porn shot with them, and my friend tried to pretend nothing was happening?

Could it have been when I was seventeen, and, after a year of complaining about and dealing with the eczema on my hands that was so bad that I couldn’t bend my fingers anymore, my mother finally took me to the doctor to get treatment, and accused me of not telling her when the doc asked her why she waited so long to take me in?

Could it have been when I was seventeen, and I was in church class, asking questions that my teacher didn’t like, so he told me I was going to hell?

Could it have been when I was eighteen, and started having seizures, but I didn’t know it at the time (eyes rolling into the back of my head, sometimes some generalized shaking, and both during and after, 7/10 times my legs won’t cooperate and I can’t support myself), and the only people who even pretended to care were my coworkers, my Bio 112 classmates, and my philosophy professor?

Could it have been when I was eighteen and it got so bad that I collapsed/had a seizure in a haunted house (shut it down lol) and my mother, once I told her, just got mad at me for ‘allowing it to happen’? I have no control over this.

I know it wasn’t when I had a seizure/ episode in the middle of my philosophy classes, and my prof, who had an epileptic student in a previous semester, begged me (plus a few other students, so it wouldn’t be just me and him) to stay so I wasn’t driving right after the seizure.

But could it have been when I was eighteen and I was at work and I had a fit/episode/seizure that was so bad that I was out of commission for several minutes, and my manager had to force me to sit down, and I had already given up on telling my mother, cause I knew she didn’t give a damn and would probably just be mad?

Could it have been a few months ago, at nineteen, the first day moving into my new house (alone), with the roomies moving in two days later, when I came home from Walmart to find one of the old (male) tenants eating dinner there, and I panicked and went to a church thing, where I magically ran into one girl who I knew, and told her, and she found a friend of hers who was willing to have me over at her house for a few hours, then helped me to barricade the door so Jack couldn’t come back in that night? (seriously, what the fuck, Jack?)

Could it have been a few months ago, at nineteen, when I totaled my car after the first home college football game of the season (I know I shouldn’t drive with seizures, but I didn’t know that they were seizures at this point) and a truck full of boys saw me laying on my steering wheel trying to move, and, instead of trying to help, or even at least seeing if I was ok, did a Chinese Fire Drill around their car before driving off? (I will admit to laughing at this later, but still, not cool)

Could it have been the night of the accident, when I had to call a friend to tell him that I wouldn’t be able to drive to go help with the Hurricane Harvey clean up efforts in Houston the next day anymore, and it didn’t even occur to me to tell him why, because, at this point, I was so used to looking after myself that I didn’t even consider the fact that he was a paramedic, and could probably help me if I needed it?  I about cried in relief when he told me to park my car, which had overheated after not even a full mile, and wait for him to come pick me up.  Then, literally less than two minutes after he had gotten there, I had my first of several fainting spells, and he immediately recommended that I go to a doctor, but told me that I had the choice.

Could it have been the night after this, when I went to the store with my roommates, and a guy forgot his drivers liscence at the register, and I offered to run it out and see if I saw anyone who looked like him, and I went to the parking lot to search.  I looked absolutely horrible, I was stiff, and sore, and exhausted, and I just wanted to sleep, but I didn’t look like I belonged on the streets.  I saw a guy who looked like the guy in the ID pic getting into a truck, and when I tried to talk to him, he assumed I was homeless and told me that he didn’t have any money. (His face as I explained the situation was priceless, though)

Could it have been two weeks after the accident, when, after I had passed out no less than seven times, I finally went to an on-campus (super cheap) clinic, where they told me that this actually seemed super serious, and tried to load me up in an ambulance to take me to a hospital for tests, and I had to call my mother to ask for her permission/opinion, and she said that there was no reason that I should need to be seen, and essentially told the docs to screw themselves?

Could it be when I was picked up by my same paramedic friend (Matthew), and he told me that I really needed to go to a doc, and I wanted to, but I would need to use my parents insurance, and my mom already said no, that I didn’t need to go to a real doc, and he told me to call her so he could talk to her, and she said “You may be a paramedic, but I’m her mother, and have been her mother for 19 years. Exactly how long have you been a paramedic? My point exactly.  I’m also old, and so I know what I am talking about.” Then hung up, and he looked at me, and told me that I needed to see a doc, but understands that my mother disagrees, and gave me what was essentially a standing offer for a ride to the hospital if I needed it, and tried to help as much as possible, but couldn’t really do anything further?

Could it have been two weeks ago, when I was working (ushering at a football game) and I had an episode/fit, and couldn’t stand up, and my supervisor (great guy, I go to church with him and his kids) saw and made me sit down, and called the medics, and they took a few readings, then tried to get me to stand up, where I nearly fell on my face, making them get a wheelchair? They took me to the medic bay, where I had no less than 5 EMTs and 1 nurse telling me that these things that I’d been experiencing for the last 1.5+ years were seizures, and that I might have epilepsy, and they tried to put me into an ambulance (again), but I told them I couldn't afford it.  Their response was that, if it really was epilepsy, I really couldn’t afford not to.  So I tried to find someone to take me to the hospital, but no one answered, or they were busy. Finally, I called Matthew up again.  He picked me up, and wouldn’t let me call my mom. (lol) The EMTs made sure that they would be able to handle it if I passed out in his car, and off we went to a hospital. Matthew made me wait until after I’d already given blood and urine samples and was in a hospital room before calling my mom to tell her. I know that I lost my faith in her when she informed her crying teenage daughter who was in a fucking HOSPITAL BED that there were cheaper ways of trying to get attention.

Could it have been five days ago, when I had a seizure while riding my bike, and barely had enough control to jerk my bike right, into an empty parking lot, rather than left, into oncoming traffic, where I crashed and laid for what felt like an eternity, trying to regain control of my body enough to finish the two mile ride back home, and no one so much as sent a second glance my way?

But could it have been three nights ago, when I went country dancing at a bar with a group of friends the night after I stayed up all night studying, when I had a seizure while dancing, and managed to stagger and collapse against a wall, rather than in the middle of the dance floor, and, due to both these factors, ended up laying near the wall waiting for my friends to be ready to leave before someone informed the management of the girl who was passed out on the floor? They got my friends, and I had to be carried out by two of my (large) male friends.  I think it was when someone congratulated my friends on getting the obviously underage girl so drunk and my friends had to tell the guy that I was sick, and he didn’t even apologize, more so than the fact that I had a seizure at a bar in the first place.

Could it have been, just maybe, the fact that, as a female, I always carrying a visible weapon to deter the possible predators, and I know that, no matter what happens to me, I will always do my best to beat the living shit out of anyone who so much as dares to attempt to sexually assault someone else, and yet I still fear what will happen when that day comes? Will I be punished, for defending a girl? Or will I be punished, for ‘embarrassing a man by helping him out’? Will someone else stand up for me the next time? Cause I know that I’ve almost always been entirely on my own before. I don’t want to place my trust in someone, only for them to be the one who attacks me.  Again.

[taylorrush]

What 2017 Taught Me

When things get difficult. they get really difficult. Difficult to the point you can’t fathom anything ever getting better. But they can and they will if we have just enough patience and the right amount of hope. I promise.

2017 was a shit storm. There’s honestly not any other way to put it. It was really bad, like on all possible fronts but it opened my eyes to things every person needs to learn.

So let’s backtrack to January of 2017. It started out great. I spent the first week with my sister in Vancouver and it was snowing and freezing but it was fun. We drank and tried not to kill ourselves walking on the thin layers of ice across the city, and acted like the tourists we were. Now, I don’t want to come off as dramatic but when we returned, the fun kinda ended. I was back to working the same retail job on the Downtown Plaza in Sonoma I’d been at for a total of three and a half years. It was a great job at first, but really there’s only so long you can handle drunks out in the daytime, yelling at me about having to pay ten cents for a bag (THAT WAS NOT A STORE POLICY BUT COUNTY/STATE LAW). The work situation just wasn’t fun for me anymore but it was a store of made up of three people: myself, the owner and the manager, so there was no room to quit. One of the things I learned about myself this last year was that I literally would do anything to help someone else rather than do something to make me happy.

During my realization that I just didn’t like my job anymore, I really thought that was it. That’s the only unfortunate thing that will happen to me this year. And I was okay with that because I knew I’d be moving at the end of the year. Just get through the year and finish up your schooling so you can transfer and be out of here. These things did happen and I’m thrilled that I walked out of that store for the last time: onto bigger, better things. But, my work life was not the hardest thing that had happened.

I had known my father had a cold at the end of December, and it had never really gone away.. but it’s not until you’re getting calls or texts in the middle of the night saying “we’re at the hospital, everything will be okay” do you really start to fear that things are getting worse. No doctor, nurse, EMT, or paramedic had any idea why or how my father had fallen ill so quickly. February through May, he was in and out of doctors appointments. In and out of ambulance rides and emergency rooms. Being told one thing, being treated for a different thing, being tested for another but progressively getting worse. You start losing faith in the medical field, you start wondering how in the freaking hell someone who has a PhD couldn’t figure out this one thing. All we knew was he had lost a lot of weight, (80ish pounds, I believe), had a cough, had spots all over his legs resembling the plague and he had a failing kidney. I was visiting home to see my parents at the start of April and it was then that I had witnessed first hand how bad things had gotten. He didn’t recognize me. He didn’t know I was even there. We drove him to the hospital a few hours after I had arrived. He was only getting worse. During this visit, we had been told he was being poisoned by penicillin. Had we not taken him to the hospital within a few days, we would’ve lost him but they changed his prescriptions and within a few days he was back to being my dad. We found out that he had an infection residing in his heart, where he had had a heart valve transplant nearly 10 years ago. One test was all we needed to find this out, and it had taken months to figure that out. We were angry but he started feeling better, and we all thought, “this is it, we’re getting back on our feet”. We could live with this.

On April 26, my sisters birthday, my dad, at 57 years old, had a stroke. I received a text in the middle of the night, for what felt like the millionth time, that my dad was in the hospital. When I asked if he’d be okay, my mom responded with “I don’t know”. There’s absolutely nothing that will ever drop your heart as fast as knowing something horrible has happened and that there is absolutely nothing you can do. Nothing. The next morning, I woke up and immediately got in my car to make the 4 hour journey to be at the hospital. I dropped everything, I didn’t go to class and I told my boss I didn’t know when I’d be back to work. I got to the hospital after a road trip filled of tears only to be met in an ICU waiting room with a blabbering mom, for good reason. My dad wasn’t exactly waking up and the bleed in his brain hadn’t stopped; it was the size of a golfball. They thought the vegetation of the infection on his heart had flaked off and traveled to the brain, causing the stroke. The right side of his body, his dominant side was also immobile. Life had changed in the blink of an eye.

Fast forward a week, honestly nothing exciting had happened, only that he was sleeping, a lot. Most of the time actually. But, we had found out, we were losing time. If he wasn’t transferred to a rehabilitation center soon, his chances of a full recovery were slim. Oh, but insurance companies are always such fun to deal with, aren’t they? Anyways, we had figured something out and we got him transferred. In this facility, we spent 6 weeks where us kids took turns staying with him so our mom could get some decent sleep when she wanted. And we were patient and positive like the therapists and nurses told us to be. He started remembering us, and gaining some strength back. My brother was set to get married on July 28, and my dad had told us he’d be walking down that aisle. We all went along with it, but ultimately I don’t know if we all truly believed he’d be able to. But this guy, this guy is one stubborn, feisty and determined man and I walked right behind him down that aisle.

This was a long story, I know but it was the story of my 2017. It’s a long road to recovery but he’s now back to basically normal, in only 6 months. He has his limitations, like ask him to hold a beer in his right hand and it’ll probably shatter .5 seconds of holding on but he’s getting there. His kidneys are still only like 32% functioning so, he doesn’t need that beer anyways.

You may be thinking, well Taylor that’s quite a story but how does this relate to what you learned?

Well, what I learned this year is that family is absolutely everything, and how important it is to have an army behind you, big or small. Without a support system, we give up cause it’s just so easy. You don’t need a massive group of people, but you need someone. You need someone willing to help you, work with you, heal with you, take care of you and unconditionally love you. I also learned a lot about marriage. If you can’t imagine yourself dealing with something of this proportion with whoever you’re with, don’t marry them. Imagine the hard things you may have to go through and really think about what it means to be in sickness and in health. I mean my parents have been married 33 years now, and they’ve dealt with countless tragedies together but nothing like this. There’s no way to even prepare for something like this but my mom advocated the hell for my dad and didn’t leave his side unless forced. I learned to appreciate my body more. Imagine not being able to use one whole side of your body for months. It’s not fun, is it? I also learned to appreciate the little things, like small victories. My dad would always get really excited when he would feel something working again, like a toe or having feeling back on his calf. Small things that led to a huge recovery.

In retrospect, I think we can all benefit from a life-changing experience like this. There’s really no ruder wake up call when it’s literally life and death but I don’t know if I’d change anything. My parents would probably say otherwise but what happened, happened. You learn to get back on your feet. You learn to love harder and appreciate more and you’re sent on this wild ride of emotions but it’s all part of the human experience. So, 2017 was kind of a shit show but here we are, with such a heartwarming story now public for the world. Am I too self-aware of this blog?

Till next time, Taylor

[lessflufff-blog]

This is for you.

Hi I'm Lily and I'm an alcoholic. I grew up in Brockton, Massachusetts. I have two alcoholic parents who have alcoholic parents. My mom was an alcoholic workaholic and my dad was a drunk. They did the best they could with what they had. They weren't terribly abusive or anything like that, but they were drunks none the less. I showed character defects at a young age, I was always lying and running away etc. I told my kinder garden class I lived on a farm, I would lie about why I was late for school, and I was always kind of ashamed of my parents. I went to school with a bunch of rich Jewish kids and I had that "different than" feeling almost all of us had. As I got a little bit older and had the awareness of what was going on with my parents I started to get the whole  "maybe if I am good enough my dad will stop drinking" complex. Some of my earliest memories are of hiding his vodka bottles in the basement. And my teachers having to bring me home from school when my dad forgot or passed out. I had a pretty normal social life until around 3rd grade when I got really sick. I started experiencing a lot of health problems that affected my physical appearance, I started losing my hair and getting rashes and my throat was swollen so I was kinda strange looking and I was always being pulled out of school to see different doctors. I got teased pretty badly. They were unable to diagnose me for 4 years and it was a long four years. My parents health seemed to decline with mine as they tried to drink their stress away. Finally I was diagnosed with an immune disorder and put on a few medications and started getting better within a few months. Around 6 months later, I was in 6th grade when my dad went into liver failure. He came down to breakfast and was completely jaundice, my mom begged him to go to the hospital and he did, he gave me a hug and I told him I hated him. I felt like he had chose alcohol over me. Today, I obviously know now that wasn't the case but anyways, he went into detox and went into complete organ failure from alcohol withdrawals and was a vegetable within a week. My mom was a mess, I was numb and just trying to hold it together for her as her substance abuse got significantly worse. A month or so after I lost my dad I had my first drink, I vaguely remember the "aha moment" but I ended up in the hospital that night for alcohol poisoning and had to get my stomach pumped. And I was off and running. My high school years consisted of me maintaining my double life, being an honor student and a theater kid and being a full blown addict and alcoholic behind closed doors. My grades held up. I overdosed for the first time when I was 16 or 17 years old, I didn't really have any sort of authority figure to address that so it didn't change anything. I completely destroyed any relationship with my mother that was left and we both just drank to cope, becoming more distant strangers every day. I began to lose all of my friends as they caught on to what I was getting into and as a video went around my school of me nodding out in the back of a car burning myself with my cigarette. When I was 18, I was less a month shy of graduating and I got mad at my guidance counselor and decided to drop out, throwing away a handful of scholarships. That's where my best thinking got me. I moved in with my super cool/absolute loser boyfriend and my addiction really took off. the next few years were dark. I went back and forth between brief periods of functioning and periods of homelessness or incarceration. doing a series of shameful acts to get what I needed. I don't care to get too detailed in the war stories, they are all the same. Within those few years I overdosed 9 times, totaled 5 cars, attempted suicide numerous times, spent weeks in the hospital 3 separate times due to blood infections that spread to my heart and lungs as a result of abscesses  and I marked up my criminal record real good. God proved himself to me time and time again but I was unable to see it. 2015, I decided to come to Florida to piss of my then boyfriend. We got into a physical confrontation, like we had many times before and I was like "fuck youu i'm going to Florida" I had no real desire for long term sobriety as much as I wanted to prove a point to him. I walked off the plane weighing 89 lbs and had a broken cheek and collar bone and a hacked up mullet thinking I was hot shit. I was introduced to AA at this treatment center and I spent the majority of my time arguing that there was no God and that life was unfair, but it planted the seed. I spent my first 6 months here goofing off hopping around halfways and playing musical boyfriend/girlfriend. I tried to control my addiction every way I could think of outside of AA, to no avail. It was explained to me like this, say you are allergic to hay.. and you walk into a hay field and you sneeze. So you walk out and you say to yourself " no its wasn't the hay, it must be these adidas." so you take off your shoes and you reenter the hay field. And you sneeze. So you leave again, you realize it wasn't the adidas so you decide it must be the angle you walked into the hay field.. and what happens? You sneeze. You repeat this over and over and over again, but you always sneeze. Trying to just drink, or trying to just not SHOOT dope, or trying to just smoke crack, or trying suboxone maintenance. So, I landed myself back in detox and I met a guy, and the combination of being tired and my feelings for him I decided to give being sober a shot. I half-assed a program, but I didn’t do much work on my internal condition. Through being sober I started gaining the material things back, I was happy in my relationship, he treated me right and loved me unconditionally which you never experience while you're running. I was able to put 14 months of abstinence together, my self worth started slowly rising, I had my own place and a big bougie job, the thought crossed my mind and I figured I was "cured" so I decided it would be a good idea to have a drink. A week after picking up my first drink I was convincing my boyfriend, Tim, to get high with me, he was skeptical and didn't want the worst to happen. He was more afraid of anything happening to me, saying he didn't know what he would do if anything happened to me. He wasn't worried about his own life, that's just the kind of person he was. I convinced him it would be fine. I woke up four hours later laying on top of him and he was dead. They couldn't bring him back. That's where my disease took me. Convincing my best friend to risk and lose his life. And hiding the dope before the EMTs got there. I lied to his mother, all of his family, my own family, friends.. telling them I just found him. I didn’t tell Tim’s mother that her only son was dead for four days. I was living a lie. I couldn't look at myself in the mirror. For the next 7 months I was in hell. A month following his death I realized I was pregnant. I briefly believed I would be able to pull it together to raise a child and tried with every ounce if my being to hold on to the only part of him I had left but I couldn't stay sober. I lost our child two months following his death. I would get a week sober, maybe even 30 days and go back out, I contemplated suicide every single day and attempted it regularly. I overdosed almost exactly a year ago today and got arrested. I was out on pretrial and couldn't stop getting high, knowing I was going to fail my drug test and go back to jail. I hit my lowest low last July, I wasn't homeless, I wasn't broke, but I could not look at myself, I hadn't slept in three days, I wanted to die but I couldn't act on it. I watched the aftermath of Tim's death destroy his family and friends and it had smashed the delusion that I would only be hurting myself and I couldn't bring myself to do it. Maybe it was the mania but I called for help and ended up at above all. I fought tooth and nail throughout the program. I didn't automatically surrender, wish I could say I did. But I was a nut. There's one day that sticks out. It was the morning before I had to go to court and I was on my knees, praying to a God I was unsure of and I started off saying " keep me out of jail, blah blah blah." but then I retracted and I said "do whatever is best, do whatever is going to keep me sober. I can't live like this anymore" and for the first time, I gave up my will. And I didn't go to jail that day, I should have. I took back my will over and over again but I made an active effort to give it up. I was still a pain in the ass. I struggled to get honest, it had been a long time running. After treatment they suggested I needed more help than they could provide me with and sent me to a smaller all women's IOP and an overly structured halfway. Both the halfway owner and my therapist couldn't stand me, They will admit that today. In the beginning the ONLY thing I did right was continue to pray. I had a few months sober when I was asked to speak at a women's meeting. I reluctantly agreed and when I was finished sharing there was a girl with less than 24 hours who shared that she had just lost her boyfriend the same way and that she was thinking before the meeting that she wanted to get high but that I gave her hope. This caused something to change in me. It gave me a sense of purpose, it strengthened my belief in God. I suddenly believed that maybe I had been through what I had been through for a purpose. That feeling was further enforced this past January when my mother wrote me a letter telling me about her first four AA meetings. She told me my strength gave her strength. I'm still in disbelief. My mother had never even admitted she had a problem, never mind expressed a desire to get sober. That lit a fire under my ass. I began to open my eyes to all there was to be grateful for. I realized that the desire to use had been lifted. And I still thank god every day for that. I came into this program 100% "atheist" and now I'm the loser who cries in church. I had the opportunity to go home this past mothers day and meet my niece for the first time, I was able to be civil and even bond a bit with my step sister who didn't even invite me to her wedding. I have a relationship with my step dad who at one time had charges pressed against me. I was able to go to a meeting and hear my mom share her story. I can't even express the joy that that brought me, I never would of thought that day would come in a million years. I am forever grateful for this program and all it has given me. I don't have all the material things but I have a great job, a boyfriend who loves me for me, real friendships, the halfway house owner that once absolutely hated me has me working as her house manager. But more than anything, I have found peace. Even before losing Tim I truly believed I would never experience any form of serenity and I was certain of that after losing him. And even when my peace is disrupted briefly I have faith that it will return, that's more valuable than anything else.  The closer I get to my higher power the more clarity I receive. I'm far from perfect, sometimes I don't remember to pray right when I wake up but I believe that if God can forgive me for what I did while I was out running that he'll forgive me for slipping up here and there. I never thought I would achieve any form of peace, even when I had put a little time together before. I am eternally indebted and grateful to the people who have been apart of this journey with me, Neither my father nor Tim had a chance to live this life and I hope to continue to honor them and continue to set an example for my mother.. Anyways, that's it. Thanks for listening.

[luraslunacyl]

Purple Ribbons and My Disdain For the Color Pink

I was a sophomore in high school when it happened. My day was pretty average, I went to 7am Bible, met with my friends in the band room, and then went through the classes I usually did. At lunch time, we sat together in a retired basketball gym that was now used for almost everything but basketball. My friends were laughing, and cutting up, and teasing me for how long it took me to finish a single lunchable-I often got so wrapped up in conversation that I would forget to eat my lunch.

And then suddenly I woke up to a pain of an IV being jabbed in my arm, surrounded by people who were vaguely familiar to me. It was as if I was pulled from the Matrix, or shaken out of a very deep sleep that I wasn’t even aware of. I was told that I had experienced a seizure, and that my parents would meet me at the hospital. My principal rode in the front seat, while an EMT stayed in the back with me. The EMT reminded me of a coach that taught history for me that same year, with a shaved head and the look of constant concern.

He was patient, and kept asking me about the date, when I was more concerned with the passage of time- how could he expect me to remember what yesterday was if I could barely remember today? All that I knew was that it was homecoming week, and that I had an excruciating migraine. He told me that I had slammed my head against the table, and that I had a black eye, but I couldn’t feel it. All I felt was the soreness that reached the equivalent of running  a marathon untrained, the exhaustion that made me want to sleep into the next century, and an uneasy feeling of nausea from the mild concussion I had gotten.

They sent me home that afternoon, deeming I was safe and that they were unsure if I would have another one. They say that ten percent of all Americans will experience at least one seizure in their lifetime. I took the next day to resting and trying to think of any subtle way to cover up the hideously purple black eye I had sustained, but nothing worked. Then it was Homecoming Friday, and I was excited to return to school.

Homecoming Fridays at my private christian high-school were the closest equivalent to Field Day that it got, except you weren’t required to participate, but you still got a half day. I had my basic ACA BAND shirt spread out on my bed with a pair of jeans and black socks, and my uniform bag hanging on a hook on my door. I was quick to wake up and get in the shower, even though my muscles were still acting as if I had been beaten. I was too tall, and too clumsy to stand and shave my legs, so I sat in the tub with my head leaned against the linoleum, focused on not cutting myself, when the world around me was black again.

I woke up that time on the couch, wrapped tightly in a towel, with the worried face of my mother and two EMTs that looked nothing like the ones I had seen two days prior. One of them asked me my mother’s name to which I replied, “Jean Cox.” But when he asked me my name, my brain couldn’t decide that it was a different question, and assumed that I too was Jean Cox. He asked me then if I was felt confused or disoriented, but frankly.. Who wouldn’t be, if you woke up in a totally different part of the house from where you fell asleep? The EMT talked to my mom about things that flew over my head, other than the fact that I had to have someone watch me while I took showers and that I couldn’t drive for the next six months. After they left, I started to cry. Not because I had experienced yet another seizure, not  because my mother would have to sit outside of the shower, not even because that I had lost the chance to drive after only having my license for four months, but because I was going to miss Homecoming. My mom reassured me, and had my father take me to see the homecoming festivities, even though I couldn’t participate with the band that evening. I’ll always be grateful to him for that.

The months after that involved a lot of testing, a lot of switching between drugs, and just general absolute stress that was debilitating that I would wish upon no one. A test that at first I didn’t mind, but have grown to hate, involves sticking glue to my hair and electrodes, and forcing me to hyperventilate until I induce hypoxia- essentially starving my brain of oxygen.

Every pilot goes through hypoxic training, where they all sit in a decompression chamber while air is oxygen is taken out, to simulate what it is like being at an altitude of twenty five thousand feet. The point of the exercise is for the pilots to realize that something is wrong, be it a leak or worse, and to put on their oxygen masks before they get into too much trouble.

When you have a tonic-clonic/grand-mal/classic seizure, your breathing can be interrupted.  You aren’t exactly aware that you’re hypoxic even when you’re waking up, you just feel like you’re floating on a cloud. It’s quite euphoric.

When you’re inducing hypoxia yourself however, it’s much more frightening. Your body lessens the amount of oxygen to the rest of your body to try and give the brain as much oxygen as it can, giving you this numb sensation like everything from the neck down has suddenly fallen asleep. You don’t feel in control of your body, and despite your desire to stop, a nurse tells you to keep hyperventilating, and suddenly you’re very aware that you’re on a cloud, but that you’re twenty five thousand feet in the air and without a parachute. I have done this test at least eight times in my life, and have never produced results from it. The last time I took it, I berated the technician, and my mother scolded me, but the tech didn’t even flinch. I think they understood too that it was the kind of panic you just can’t handle. I apologized to them later.

It’s been six years, and I finally do have an answer to the area of the brain my epilepsy starts in. It shouldn’t have taken me that long to find out, but the more I research epilepsy, the more I realize how little people really know and understand, even neurologists are baffled as to how the medication they prescribe keeps their patients at bay. Worse than that, sixty percent of epilepsy cases don’t have a particular known cause.

If there is any advice I can give to anyone who has just had their first seizure, it’s to not let it sweep your feet from underneath you. Don’t get frustrated when people ask you about strobe lights, they’re just trying to help. Don’t berate, instead, educate.Don’t be afraid to have a moment for yourself if things feel too tough, chronic conditions are hard to deal with, and while the people around you may mean their best, sometimes it’s easy to feel like they have the condition instead of you, for how concerned they are.

To the parents, or children, or anyone who knows someone dear to them who is having seizures for the first time, get educated. While there isn’t a lot of research, just understanding the DOs and DONTs can make all the difference when an episode does happen (I’ll post these at the very very bottom of the page), and if you’re calm, the people around you will be calm too. Stay strong, and take help where you can get it. To the parents especially, no one knows your kid better than you do, and keep that in mind when you’re finding medications that work and are visiting neurologists. Stay strong, but heal yourself too.

The following rant is a hundred percent selfish, but I have to get it off my chest, as someone with grandmothers who have survived breast cancer. Why is it that there is an entire month, trashcan, and national marches to spread awareness of breast cancer, meanwhile there are people who still think it’s acceptable to put a wallet in someone’s mouth while they seize? Why is it that a breast cancer sticker on your car makes you a feminist, while three weeks ago I got a message saying I was possessed by Satan for having seizures?

This coming October, instead of putting on a pink ribbon, consider donating or educating yourself in a different cause, and I don’t mean just epilepsy. There are lots of diseases out there that affect the people around you every day that could still use improving and education. Below, I will list a number of diseases and conditions that could always use more educating and funding, linked to a place where you can donate to any of the causes of your choice.

Asthma

Epilepsy

Focal Segmental Glomerulosclerosis/Nephrotic Syndrome

Progeria

Emphysema

Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome

Parkinson’s Disease

Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease

Dementia

Alzheimer’s Disease

Diabetes

Suicide Prevention

Dos and Don’ts of Seizures

Do check for a medical ID.

Do call 911 if: they have injured themselves, if they have no record of seizures prior, if they are pregnant, or if the seizure lasts longer than five minutes.

Do keep yourself calm and the people around you calm.

Do move the person experiencing the seizure out of harms way. Remove glasses or sharp objects.

Do move the person into a recovery position with their face tilted down in case they need to throw up or drool.

Do time the seizure. Seizures typically only last 2-3 minutes.

Do stay with them as they awaken. They will be confused and disoriented.

Don’t put anything in their mouth.

Don’t try to restrain them or hold them down. .

Don’t leave them alone during or after the seizure.

Don’t attempt CPR unless the seizure has finished and they are not breathing.

[finefigure]

Unbreakable

Under the bludgeonings of chance,

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

                                 –William Ernest Henley, “Invictus”

It was the paragraph loop that did it.

We were the only ones on the ice. I was grappling with my biggest challenge that year: right forward inside loops. Nancy Blackwell-Grieder was working on RFO paragraph loops for the 2017 WFC.

I came around my loop just in time to see her rock onto her heel and overbalance. 

I saw it in slow motion, too far away to catch her when she fell.

After she screamed, the first thing she said was, “No, no, no, no, no…”

I don’t know what people normally say immediately after sustaining a major injury. However, I’m pretty sure you have to be a seriously focused athlete to have your overriding thought be, “This can’t happen so close to the competition.” But I knew that was what the “no”s were about.

That was around the second week of July.

On the last day of September, Nancy became the new World Figure Champion.

This recollection is not strictly in order. Trauma and excitement do that: they chop things up, bringing some into sharp focus and smearing or obliterating others.

And it is only a memory. It’s my experience of what happened, and therefore not remotely the whole story. For that, you’d have to ask her.

She didn’t want me to call 911.

“Let me see if I can get up first,” she said.

So we waited for a while. She called her husband, Tony. (I later had to call him back and explain what she’d been talking about.)

When she started shivering and still couldn’t stand, I yelled up to two boys playing in the stands above. Told them to tell the front desk there was someone injured on the ice.

In a minute, other people arrived to help. I went to gather her things and tell my student, Brendan, who had just gotten off the ice, what had happened. I barked information over my shoulder to the person on the phone with emergency services as I passed by and heard him say, “I don’t know.”

Between brief errands, I kept running back to where she was still lying on the ice. An EMT was removing her skates, and I was furious at how clumsy and rough he was being. I snatched them from him, to take them away and dry them. To do something useful. To try to blot out how hard she was shivering, every shake jolting pain through her injured body. I remember wanting to get down on the ice to hug her, try to keep her warm at least. But I couldn’t help at all.

Brendan and I followed the ambulance to the hospital in Nancy’s car. Her brother-in-law met us in the lobby and told us that she was in radiology. At some point, Brendan and I went and had lunch. I remember we lugged my skates and his and Nancy’s into every air-conditioned building we visited: it was a scorching-hot day, and we didn’t want to break down our heat-moldable skates by leaving them in the car. At some other point, Tony came out to the waiting room and sat with us while Nancy was in CT.

At a third point, I was in her hospital room with her, holding one of her hands while Tony held the other. She’d been given heavy painkillers and was kind of adorably loopy for a few minutes until a nurse came in and told us that the scans had shown that she had no broken bones. I couldn’t believe it, but I was so relieved.

The nurse said to Nancy, “Do you want to try standing up?”

The loopiness gone, Nancy put a hand to her face and took a couple of deep breaths.

“Sure,” she gritted.

I looked across her at Tony and said quietly, “That was really a no.”

He nodded. But the nurse was there, cheerfully, briskly insistent.

I left to give her some privacy. Nothing like having an audience for your most painful moments, particularly when you’re in a hospital gown.

The standing up did not go well.

They discharged her anyway, for some reason extremely reluctant to provide her with a wheelchair to get to the car, and telling her that no, they didn’t have any crutches, and anyway, she should try to just walk.

A later MRI revealed what the CT and x-rays had missed: two fractures to the pelvis and a torn right labrum. (Incidentally, had she tried to walk as advised by the emergency department personnel, she might have displaced the fracture and had to have surgery.)

No Worlds for her this year, I thought sadly.

It’s the afternoon of September 29, Day 1 of the championships. Nancy and I are in the same flight of competitors for this first set of figures. Everyone in the flight is standing by the door to the ice, waiting for the chief referee, Alicia, to give us our patch letters and instructions.

Nancy bends over, breathing hard, nauseous from nerves. I go over to try to comfort her, rub her back, and she leans against me. I can feel her heart pounding. It calms me down to have someone else to focus on. Something to do. A way to be useful.

Alicia arrives. We stand up straight and listen.

A week after the accident, Nancy was back coaching from the hockey box. For patch class, she had an on-ice assistant coach. Also, I scribed circles in front of where she was standing with her crutches, and she called people over to her one by one so she could see their tracings while she taught them. World Figure Sport’s Figure It Out Workshop was at the end of the month, and some of her students were testing and competing. I was one of them. It was my first competition ever, and some other people’s too. She didn’t want to let us down.

At the workshop, we pushed Nancy around the ice on a chair so she could help teach the workshop skaters. She acted as the chief referee for the exams and competition. Afterward, she drove Karen Courtland Kelly to the airport and then drove another hour back home.

A week or two after that, she told me she was getting back on the ice: she had a student who learned best by being moved around physically. The inside of my head started screaming a little. I asked her if she wanted me to be there. I could even move the student for her. She said she’d be fine, that I shouldn’t bother to come.

I said OK, but then found that I couldn’t sleep the night before that lesson. And I thought, Everything will probably be fine. But will you be able to live with yourself if it’s not?

I was lacing up my skates the next morning when Nancy walked in the door. She stopped dead and gave me the eye.

“You are so silly,” she informed me.

I shrugged. Whether I was silly or not, I had to make sure she was all right.

Everything was fine that day. The kid had a good lesson, and nobody fell over.

About a week after that, Nancy started practicing again. Face drawn, lips white, body shaking.

She’d catch me looking at her and say, “It’s only pain.”

Yeah.

“How is she doing that?” Richard Swenning whispers in my ear. We’re in the stands of Dobson Ice Arena in Vail, watching Nancy compete the double three. She’s on her third tracing, and it looks like close to one line where she comes nearest to us.

“I don’t know,” I mutter back, “but that’s her bad leg.”

Four tracings. Right on.

Five.

“How is she doing that?!”

I just shake my head.

Six.

We let our breaths out.

A funny thing: if you ask her how she was doing that, how she made it through any of it, she’ll say she has no idea.

Well, that makes all of us.

Once Nancy got back to preparing for the competition, I only saw her really discouraged once, and then just for a few minutes. We were practicing a couple of weeks before the WFC. I was in the hockey box retying my skate, and she abandoned her tracings and came to the boards where I was.

“I can’t feel it,” she said. “I can’t feel any of it anymore.”

I made some joke welcoming her to my world, but she wasn’t in a laughing mood.

“Yes, but no one expects you to feel it,” she rejoined, on the verge of tears. “I should be able to.”

I grabbed her gently by the sleeve.

“Hey. You’ve got this,” I told her.

“No. I don’t have this!” She named a couple of our competitors. “I know they can feel everything!”

“You’re not them. They’re not coming from where you’re coming from. You can only do what you can do. Right now. And even if you can’t feel it, your body knows what it’s supposed to do.”

She stood there for a moment, staring out at her tracings. Then she took a deep breath, nodded to herself, and skated back to them.

That was all.

The score sheet for the second-to-last flight of the competition – my flight – has just been posted. I do some quick math, smile, and make my way into the stands, joining two of Nancy’s young students on the floor by the boards at her patch.

My grin fades. It’s time for the paragraph loop.

In one hand, I’m holding one of Nancy’s pre-Worlds gifts to me: a little plush snowy owl. The fingers of my other hand are at my throat, touching the pendant of the necklace that was her other present. Two good-luck charms. I hope.

The whistle blows.

I’m barely aware that I’m stream-of-consciousness coaching her in a whisper. Bend, hold it, hold it, easy. That’s one. Great, right there, you’re fine, you’ve got this, come on, hold on. Two. Good. I don’t think I’m breathing. There’s more tension in me now than when I was on the ice less than an hour ago skating my own figures.

An agonizing two minutes later, she finishes the figure and skates off to prepare for the next one. I relax a little. She isn’t quite out of the woods yet, but she’s conquered the nemesis. I start smiling again.

Unable to keep the reason to myself, I lean over and say quietly to the nine-year-old next to me, “Do you know what happens now?”

She looks my way, shaking her head.

“If Nancy doesn’t fall, or touch down more than twice on the next three figures, she wins.”

The girl’s eyes go wide. I nod and show her my crossed fingers. She returns her attention to the ice, leaning forward on the boards. I slide over and say the same thing to the twelve-year-old, a more reserved child, who regards me solemnly for a moment and then nods once before shifting her eyes back to the action. (“So you’re who got them all worked up!” exclaims the older girl’s mother later. “They said they’d never been so nervous in their lives!”)

 Swiss S.

 Done.

 Maltese Cross.

 Done.

 Creative figure…

  Done.

 The two kids turn to me for a second, their eyes wild and shining, as we all applaud.

Later, Nancy will have a suspicion confirmed: she has severe osteoporosis throughout her body, to the point where some of her bones are difficult to see in x-rays. It would be dangerous for her to keep competing. Even so, it will take her a long time to bring herself to announce her retirement.

Nancy quit skating the first time after she passed her gold figure test in her late teens. When you quit skating as a teenager, you do it knowing that you’re giving up a high-level skating career for good. Maybe you’re sorry, or maybe you’re glad, but you know it’s permanent.

But then what if, through a set of completely unforeseen circumstances, that turns out not to be true? What if suddenly, one day when you’re in your early 50s, this crazy chance appears for you to skate again?

You grab it and run with it, because nobody gets a chance like that.

Imagine that. And then fast forward just three years and imagine being told that no, actually, you really shouldn’t do it anymore after all. No, now that you’re hooked on it all again, now that you love it again, more than you did the first time, now that you’re really good and getting some recognition for it—you need to stop.

Don’t get me wrong: I think it’s a good decision. It’s just that I can see that it might take a while to reconcile oneself to making it.

When she finally does that in the spring of 2018, she will throw herself wholeheartedly into being a coach and a WFS official. She’ll be the special guest judge at a workshop, standing in for Janet Lynn. Her patch class will become so popular that she will have to consider putting a cap on attendance. She’ll have retired from competing only to jump into another, bigger set of roles. It won’t be the same, but I suspect that it will grow into something even better.

But right now…

The competitors are lining up on the ice against the boards as the finishing touches are made to the awards podium. Dorothy Hamill is over there on the other side of the rink, getting ready to place the gold medal around the neck of the 2017 Ladies’ World Figure Champion. Olympians, world champions, and skating show stars are milling around casually in the background.

Standing here next to me on this magic black ice, Nancy murmurs, “Doesn’t this feel surreal?”

“No,” I tell her. “It feels exactly right.”

World Figure Sport has recently set up a scholarship fund in honor of Nancy. If you were moved by Nancy’s championship win, I know she would love it if you would donate to that fund, which will help introduce more skaters to the world of figures. You can make a donation by clicking here:

 https://squareup.com/store/world-figure-sport/item/wfs-s-nancy-blackwell-grieder-scholarship

Thank you for reading!