#lets shoot for a hysterectomy next then

[skunkes]

[thinkinonsense]

Magnetic──★ Logan Howlett x fem!oc: Chapter Four

╰┈➤Summary: After years of torture, Daphne decides how she wants to spend the rest of her life; at the bottom of a lake. Out of nowhere, Logan pulls Daphne from the water and finds her help. Now they must navigate how to live with their decisions.

╰┈➤C/W: mentions of death, suicide, cursing, age gap, mild violence, issues with infertility, slight sexual themes, mentions of body mutilations, blood, and sort of a hysterectomy (nothing super graphic)

ᯓ★ mdni.ᐟ

ᯓ★word count: 1.7k+

ᯓ★ spotify playlist link

ᯓ★ last chapter here

ᯓ★ A/N: Sorry for the chapter being so short. i had this idea and needed to right it. hope you enjoy!

✮⋆˙ It's been days and Daphne hasn't seen Logan around the mansion. She began to worry that maybe he was starting to regret his decision to save her and bring her here. It wasn't until day three while training with Storm, that she found out where he had been.

"Jean mentioned they would be busy these next couple of days," Storm says nonchalantly.

"Oh," Daphne let out under her breath.

The worst part of Daphne's attraction control is that it can work both ways. Deep down she was yearning for something she didn't deserve. She felt it once before and now he is dead. Maybe that's why Logan has been avoiding her; he feels like she is manipulating his feelings. Daphne figured that the best thing she could do for him was avoid him too; for his sake.

That is exactly how that week went. Not once did their paths cross. Logan disappeared with Jean while Daphne spent time training with Storm and some of the other students. During the evening, Daphne stayed in her room with Juna. Storm, Rogue, and even Jean would knock on her door to invite her to join everyone at dinner but she always declined; making up some bullshit excuse. Nighttime was a struggle for Daphne. She would fight off sleep by distracting herself with books, her cat, or pacing around the room until her legs hurt. It wasn't easy for her as her eyes would often drift into slumber at some point.

Tonight happened to be one of those nights.

──★

Within the walls of her slumber, Daphne awoke in the familiar glass cage, curled up, and barefoot covered in a puddle of her own blood. A loud yell in the distance urges her to crawl to the glass, despite the gush of blood seeping from her.

"Help!" Daphne screamed at the top of her lungs. "Please!"

After minutes of howling, she sees them. Bellinor, two guards, and the love of her life; tied up and blindfolded. Daphne panics banging against the glass frantically. She did what they told her, wiped out millions and now they would wipe out what she loved too.

"Please! Take me instead!" Daphne cried, face full of tears. "Take me! Kill me instead! He doesn't deserve this!"

They ignored her pleas; instead calling the bonded man a 'trader' and 'coward' for caring for someone so evil. Someone who could never truly love him back.

Daphne's powers were useless behind the special glass. Bellinor made her watch as he destroyed the only world she knew. In a split second, the bullet flies through his head. In a mighty roar, Daphne's eyes roll back to return to dark red. Everything around the men shakes angrily, including the floor and ceiling. Finally, the glass cell bursts open.

Like a true coward, Bellinor runs, telling the others to shoot her dead. Daphne tuned out their groans, screams, and cries for help. To her it was quiet.

──★

3:15 am

It started with the chandelier downstairs. A few students woke up and noticed. Next, were the doors and windows slamming, waking the adults. By the time anyone realized where it was coming from, the floors were shaking.

Logan steps out of his room, joining the others down the hall. Similarly to the students, he had no idea what was happening. That was until he saw Jean, Scott, and Storm outside Daphne's bedroom door, talking.

"What's doin' on?" Logan asks, confused.

"Your damsel is shaking the whole mansion at three in the morning, that's what's going on," Scott informs Logan. Storm smacks Scott in the chest, shooting him a glare.

"We are pretty sure she is having a nightmare," Storm states.

"It's horrific," Jean warns him.

"I'll check on her," Logan states. "Get the kids back to bed."

Storm and Jean nod, gathering the children before Logan opens the door. The room looks normal to him, that is before he sees the woman thrashing and intertwined in her bedsheets. As Logan moves closer to the bed, he can hear her mumbling with tears streaming down her pink puffy cheeks. It was devastating to watch.

"Daphne," He says, shaking her softly. "Hey wake up, sweetheart."

Logan repeats this twice until she jumps up with her heart pounding so hard that he can hear it ringing in his ears. There's no hesitation in Logan's actions as he pulls her into his chest. Daphne's wet tears leak onto his tank top with her mumbled apologies.

"I-I'm sorry." Her voice breaks as she speaks.

"It's okay, it's okay" Logan whispers into her head of curls. "No need to apologize."

It felt like a lifetime spent in his arms, Daphne thought; a lifetime well spent. She used his heartbeat to steady her own. Logan didn't make her feel like she was overstaying her welcome in his embrace. One of his hands tangled in the hair near her neck while his other sat on her lower back, thumb swiping back and forth over a small exposed slit of skin.

When Daphne stares up at Logan with her glossy green eyes sparkling in his direction, he thinks he might've fallen under a spell. He knew he shouldn't feel this way while she was in a vulnerable state, but anyone would feel spellbound under her gaze.

She shouldn't be staring, she thinks. It's not fair to give them both false hope. She should let him go; remind him that she's a liability. Daphne wanted to use every excuse to make him stay but she knew better.

"Sorry. You shouldn't have to save me anymore," Daphne said softly, avoiding Logan's hazel eyes.

Suddenly, the hand in her hair moves north to her jaw, gently keeping her in place. Logan shakes his head, "Like I said, no need for apologies."

"Right..." She hums, pulling back and then adding, "Well, I should probably let you get back to bed-"

"I could, um.. I could stay," Logan blurted out, cutting her off. "If you would like."

"You want to stay?"

"If you don't mind. I could watch over you in case you have another nightmare."

"You don't have to..."

"I wasn't getting much sleep before anyways." He reassures; standing up, and pulling over the chair in her room. He sits on the right side of her bed while Juna curls up next to Daphne. They sit in silence for a while and Logan is almost sure she fell back asleep; until he hears a whisper.

"Do you ever get nightmares?"

"All the time."

"Me too. I try not to fall asleep."

"What are yours about?"

Daphne blinks slowly up at the ceiling before answering him, "They vary; but tonight was the return of a painful memory. The man who captured me mutilated me then took the life of the man I loved."

Logan's body stiffened as she spoke. This didn't seem too far-fetched considering what Charles had let him see before of her life. He never saw a lover though. Logan didn't doubt that she would've had many of them, it seemed odd that none of them would've tried to protect her.

"Mutilated...?" He hesitated to ask.

"They cut me open so I wouldn't be able to have children." Daphne sounded numb, he thought. "I was left bleeding out in my cage."

"Daph..."

"Some nights, I can see my life as a mother. It's so silly but I can picture myself cooking dinner while my baby sits in their high chair; both of us waiting for my husband to come home from work." She sniffles quietly; letting her hand travel down her stomach, stopping between her hips to trace the scar left behind. "It is the sweetest form of torture."

Logan stares at the floor, trying to picture her fantasy. He saw Daphne standing in the kitchen, baby bouncing on her hip while she stirred a pot on the stove. She was right; it was the sweetest form of torture.

"What was he like?" Logan asked.

"Who?"

"The man you were in love with."

Daphne smiled, picturing him so clearly. "He was great. Our situation wasn't ideal but we made it work. At first, I thought he was out to hurt me like the others but over time, he would open up to me."

Logan wanted to question their relationship but knew better than to crush her dwindling spirit. Perhaps a part of him felt a sting of jealousy at how much she gushed over a man who helped keep her locked away.

"... it was like catching lightning in a bottle." She sighed. "I would give anything to feel it again."

"You'll find it again."

Logan watched as Daphne traced the scar on her lower stomach.

"Do you ever think about it..?"

"Think about what?"

"A family."

There is a long pause. Daphne wonders if she overstep, then again they didn't know each other very well. When she went to apologize, he cut her off.

"Sometimes." Logan shrugs. "But it's not realistic."

"Oh, yeah," Daphne lets out a dry chuckle. "I almost forgot you're an old man."

A small smile forms on Logan's lips at her laugh.

"Not everyone can be young and pretty like you, dollface." Logan noticed her shift onto her elbow to look at him. Her face turned a cherry wine color in the moonlight and her eyes went dark as they found his.

"You don't mean that." She shakes her head. "It's the curse talking."

He was offended by her assumption. I mean, look at her. Daphne was more than her mutation, more than her 'curse', more than those horrible moments that she thought defined her. It was a tragedy that she didn't see that.

There was so much that he wanted to say to her; to assure her that her life was not doomed, her dreams weren't far-fetched, and that she could be happy.

That's all she wanted, right? Happiness?

Logan could do that. Restore the light that left her eyes long ago. He was convinced he could give it to her.

Too caught up in his thoughts, he almost missed her muffled, "Goodnight, Logan."

As he watched her lay back on her pillow, eyes closed, smile still on her face, Logan realized he did not give a damn if it was her attraction control anymore; he was done for.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

tags: @bethexo07 @marcybug @borapsycho @thatonegirlwiththebeanie367

@aylawylie @princessanglophile @mxtokko

if you want to be tagged for future chapters of Magnetic, reply and let me know <3

[emersonfreepress]

hi! information!!

- I feel a lot lot LOT better. Finally not anemic, officially recovered from a hysterectomy, and slowly making progress towards ending a major environmental stressor (🤞🏾)

- I'll be recording that update video early next week! I'll make sure to add a transcript when I publish the post here.

- Uh, I'm starting a YouTube channel. No super clear direction yet, but the first video is my personal analysis of JD Vance as a Republican vice presidential candidate. And I will be reviewing his trash book Hillbilly Elegy before the end of the year. Sooo... political comedy! sorry lol First script has been in the works for a little while and I hope to have my first video out either before or right on Election Day but we'll see, life has been non-stop developments and events lately

- I got a job! Finally! At a public hospital, very exciting :)

- I'm entertaining the idea of doing a late night live stream next Tuesday for the election. I am one of Those who feels the need to keep tabs all night, but I don't wanna do it pacing alone in my apartment. I'd probably just be chatting, checking news outlets, and maybe playing some games. I'll let y'all know if that's happening!

K that's it. And thank you for the kind messages and continued interest; I am finally on the cusp of greatness and I have tinglies about my creative output over the next few months. Look forward to it! I'm not the same person I was when I started this game and that's only for the better :)

Talk soon!

oh and if you ever wanna shoot me a message that's not about cie or about something more general, my personal blog is @hotmess-exe. I'm trying to embrace my inclinations to be extroverted because I've been actively repressing them for so long 😅 I miss being myself on the Internet!

[first-edition]

Love

Mafia boss!Bucky x singer!reader

Sum- you and Bucky had been together for 3 years before he left, he had even put a ring on your finger. You never knew why he left but it broke you to peices. When you finally forgave him you were shot and dying in his arms.

Cw- hospital, doctor talk, guns, kissing heavy petting, smut, shower sex, unprotected, pinv sex, fingering, recovery, size kink (if you squint)

Part 1 ‘lyrics’

Part 2 ‘letter’

This is part 3

Flashing lights of red and blue shoot through the the city. The screeching of tires as Bucky followed close behind the ambulance. He just got you back he knew this would happen but regardless he needs you.

“FUCK! Fuck fuck fuck!” He curses hitting the steering wheel of the car as he speeds through stops signs and lights. Screeching into the hospital parking lot he parks and rushes out of the car just barley missing you on the stretcher as they rush you to the back.

“Baby!!?” He calls running after you. A nurse sitting on the bed if you giving you cpr.

“BABY!”

“Sir.” A nurse says holding Bucky back.

“NO FUCK- GET OFF ME!” He yells.

“Sir Calm down!”

“NO DONT FUCKING TELL ME CALM DOWN DONT-“

“Mr Barnes! Sir!” Rumlow walks to him pushing him back.

“Your covers In blood sir are you hurt anywhere?” The nurse asks.

“No. No I’m fine just- she can’t die okay I can’t-…..she…fuck.” Bucky turns away.

“The waiting room is down the hall to your left I’ll go find some clothes for you.” She kindly directs him and rumlow before walking off.

———

“Bucky sits in the waiting room sam and rumlow on either side of him. He’s changed into a black tshirt and jeans the blood washed off.

“Mr Barnes?” A doctor calls he stands up faster than ever the guards following.

“Is she okay?” He asks

“She’s stable but needs to be closely monitored she lost a lot of blood and flat lined…” the doctor trails off.

“Well?” He says

“The bullet has hit a blood vessel causing damage to her internal organs on the lower half of her body…including cutting off blood flow to the uterus. We…we had to perform and emergency hysterectomy….if at all you and her were planning..” She says

Bucky looks at the doctor taking in all of the things she had just said.

“Can I see her?” He asks. She nods gestures to follow which he does.

“She’s on high pain meds and should be waking up soon” she says.

Following the doctor down the hall his mind rushes about what he’s going to tell you when you wake up. Did you know? We’re you planning to tell him at some point?

Arriving at the room he sees you asleep in the bed an oxygen mask on your nose and mouth.

“No. Wait out here I don’t want anyone except me and that doctor coming in or out so you understand me.” Bucky says hardly to the guards they nod taking place on either side of the door.

Bucky walks up to you sitting next to you taking your hand your pale and a bit cold. Despite the heated blanket you have.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never should’ve dragged you into my fucked up life. I-I never should’ve left you alone. I promise that I will stay by yourself forever and always.” He says kissing your hand resting it against his cheek.

Your fingers move as he sits up straight leaning to you.

“Hey doll?” He says your eyes open weakly as they adjust to the light in the bright pale room.

You frown as tour eyes focus.

“Baby.” He says look to him. Bucky smiles seeing you looking at him.

He lets out a pained sigh kissing your hand thanking whatever deity that your alive.

“Bucky…..” you say weakly.

“I’m here I’m right here.” He says holding you Mr hand to his face.

“Hey baby…I-I gotta tell you something.” He says. You look up at him frowning a bit.

“When you got shot you lost a lot of blood. Remember on the beach in pairs..you were talking about having kinds mm?” He says. You nod looking up at him as he shakes his head.

“Wh-..what..” you say weakly.

“Its okay.” He says tears well up in your eyes as you understand what he’s trying to telling you. You begin to cry as he pulls you into his arms.

———

You stand in front of the bedrooms floor length mirror, nude. You finger tracing over the scar left on your lower abdomen. Its long and ugly. You sigh turning away going to the shower Turing it on and letting the water heat up to steam. The entire bathroom coating the glass and mirror is a fog.

Opening the door you step in feelign the water warmth you body.

Its been 4 months since you were shot. Bucky has barley left your side. They found the person who did it and Bucky, “brought him to Justice” which you know means he killed him. Put a bullet through his skull like he did with the first man who tried you in a club some many nights ago when you first met.

The healing was easily but the depression from not being able to go out was another thing. Bucky helped with bringing the outside to you as much as he could even starting a plant garden of the roof of the penthouse.

Lost in your thoughts you dont notice your husband has opened the door and stepped into the shower with you. His hands, both cold one colder than the other, make contact with waist pulling you gently against his front.

You inhale smiling as you realize.

“You’re home.” You say turning around wrapping your arms around his neck pulling him into you in a kiss. He kisses you back but with a pained expression pulls away. His hands still holding you on your waist.

“Whats wrong?” you ask looking him.

“I was just thinking.” He says trailing off.

“Mm?” You ask

“It shouldn’t worry you hmm.” He says pecking your lips.

“Turn ‘round.” He says. You obey and turn to his command. He snakes his arms around your waist you stiffen a bit as his skin makes sudden contact with the scar drawing your front.

“I love you. You know that right?” He asks.

“Yes.” You say giggling at your own response to not saying it back one of buckys pet peeves.

“Hmm? what was that.” He says

“I said yes, i know you love me.” You say, giggling.

“Mmhmm and what else.” He says.

“I dont know what you mean?” You act dumb he chuckles. Lifting your chin to him kissing you. Whats supposed to be a short peck turns into a make out.

he walks you back. Your back hitting the cold wall of the tile making you gasp giving him perfect leeway into your mouth with his tounge.

His flesh hand moves up your side to your breast his thumb brushing over the hardened bud. The minute you’d realized he was in the shower with you, clothed or nude to which he is in fact just a naked as you are, it turned you on deeply.

A small moan is left from your mouth as bucky squeezes your breast in his hand. His metal once easily finds your core brushing his fingers up and down the slit.

“F-fuck..” you gasp out inserting a thick digit he chuckles into your neck at you reaction. Pumping his finger and rubbing you with his thumb gives you almost everything you need.

He wraps his arm around you and picks you up pinning you against the wall taking the opportunity to shove a second finger into you making your mouth drop open as he thrusts his fingers to you brushing the upwards to the spot in you his thumb plays with your clit.

You clench around his fingers feeling the knot in your stomach. He pulls his fingers out of you. Before you can complain about the absence of pleausre you feel the familiar stretch in your cunt of bucky’s cock.

Your mouth drops open once again as he thrusts up into you his metal hand against the tile behind you and his flesh hand grips your waist.

“F-fuck..i missed you.” He says kissing your jaw line and neck.

You smile moaning out as the overwhelming pleausre surges through you. Clenching down around him the knot he made from his fingers explodes as you cum against him.

Your walls flutter as he continues to fuck you. He picks you up your legs wrapping around his waist allowing him to fuck you deeper in the position you are.

“B-buck..ah!” You moan out your arms around him your fingers gripping his hair and skin.

“Such a pretty girl.” He grunts. Making you almost fold to his will.

“F-f..fu..im gonna c-cum again..ah” your voice breaks as he recklessly thrusts into you.

He pants his thrusts getting sloppier as you feel his throb in you.

“You gonna cum for me doll. Hmm?” He asks his lips attaching to your neck. With a rough thrust up into you cum clenching around him. He releases his own orgasam chasing it with deep movements in you filling you.

You cling to him your nails making marks to his shoulders and back as you pant.

“L-look at me.” He says his blue eyes taking you in you look at him.

“I love you..you’re perfect, you’re everything to me I will never leave you. Ever.” He says placing his hands against your cheek. You smile nodding your nose brushing against his before sharing a kiss.

THE END.

[bataddictedloony]

Define a woman!

I’m gonna rant this here cus this argument keeps returning on the clock app and one day, I’m gonna be stupid and leave a comment in the wrong thread or smthn so I’m just gonna get it out of my system:

“How do you define a ‘woman’?”

Answer for idiots: you can’t.

You cannot possibly make a definition for the term ‘woman’ without excluding someone from the group when they clearly ARE part of the group (even if you’re a piece of shit transphobe and don’t want to include trans women). A woman is someone who has the potential to give birth? You just excluded every child before puberty, every infertile woman and every woman on menopause, next. A woman is someone who has a uterus? You just excluded a bunch of intersex women and all women who had a hysterectomy, next. A woman has a period? Excluded the millions of women who never get their period for various reasons AND all the women who take continuous birth control AND women who are pregnant AND again, little girls and women on menopause. A woman has to have XY chromosomes? Are you gonna check that for every feminine-looking person you’re gonna meet? How? Do you not think women with down syndrome are women?

Decades of feminism working so hard to make sure women are more than their genitals and potential to give birth, all flushed down the drain because you refuse to believe trans women are more than men in wigs? You’re weak as shit.

So answer for people who actually want to use their brain:

Woman is defined through experiences. Which experiences? Entirely up to whoever defines themselves as a woman.

The ‘female experience’ is so broad. You cannot possibly define it in one sentence and stick it on everyone who calls the word ‘woman’ their own.

You feel feminine and empowered by doing your nails? Congrats, that’s the female experience and makes you, therefore, a woman.

You feel feminine and empowered by wearing plaid and splitting wood in two with a giant axe? Congrats! Female Experience. Woman.

You feel feminine in a dress? Woman. You feel feminine in a tux and suit? Woman.

You feel empowered as a mother and love being pregnant? Woman! You despise the idea of being pregnant but find empowerment in your career? Woman! You feel like your period makes you more in tune with your femininity? Woman. You feel like your period makes you less than human and getting a hysterectomy makes you feel more comfortable in your body? Woman.

you love long hair? Woman. You love short hair? Woman.

You love loving men? Woman. You love loving women? Woman. You love both? Woman. You love everyone? Woman. You don’t feel like love is your thing? Woman!

Sitting at home with a good movie and a bottle of wine? That’s a woman. Getting bloody in a game of soccer? That’s very woman! Taking a walk with your dog? How very woman! Going to the gym? Such woman! Eating out with friends? Friend woman. Shooting a gun in the yard from the patio you built yourself? All woman!

Whatever the fuck makes you feel in sync with your femininity is your female experience, and if you have female experience and you like it, you are a W O M A N ✨

Same goes for men and the male experience btw! Since the question “what defines a man” is never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever EVER asked for SOME 👀 reason. (We all know the reason….) Also same goes for my fellow enbies and the non-binary experience. If painting your nails bring you closer to your enbie side, you’re non-binary.

Gender is such a deeply personal experience, it’s just dumb to define it for someone else, let alone the entire human species. It’s like asking to define a chair, like, you KNOW what it is but you can’t possibly define it without excluding some chairs (“has at least 4 legs”, that’s a horse also swivel chairs exist).

Sidenote: If some idiot tiktokker shoves a microphone and a camera in your face and goes “WHAT IS A WOMAN” or “HOW MANY GENDERS ARE THERE” just go along with whatever dumbass scenarios they come up with. “How many genders are there?” “My dude, as many as you want!” “Oh so like 40??” “Yep!” “Can I identify as a helicopter lol?” “Sure, who cares, do it!” “Should I demand everyone at my job calls me a helicopter” “You can go to your local townhouse, request to change your name to ‘helicopter’ and they’ll most likely let you. You’re an adult, you can do whatever you want as long as it’s not hurting others.” “You don’t think it would be dumb of me to do that?” “Why would I care, I don’t know you?”

[skzsauce01]

Harmony

Synopsis: Dogged by a shameful past, you try to fit as your new identity in a new dance program at a renowned music conservatory. The school heartthrob and world-class violinist takes interest in you, which would be fine if he wasn’t also your childhood best friend.

Warning: hysterectomy, infertility, panic, mention of murder disclaimer: fertility does NOT determine your worth as a person

Word Count: 10.3k

Pairing: fem!reader x Kim Seungmin

There he is. Of course, there he is. Where else would the handsome prodigal son of the most prominent violinist go if not the best music conservatory in the country? You watch his bleached head of hair make its way across SKZ Conservatory of Music’s courtyard as fans flock him from behind. 

As for you, you sit on a random bench by yourself, waiting to start your first day at the conservatory’s new and nameless dance program as Emily Regan, not Y/N L/N, and most definitely not the gifted Kim Seungmin’s long-lost childhood best friend.

You must have stared at him too long, for he catches you and smirks. Blushing, you quickly clear your throat and head to class. He couldn’t have recognized you, right? No, you definitely look nothing like you did when you were six. If so, then why is he following you? You speed up, and while he makes no attempt to do the same, he surely is still on your tail. You turn the last corner and he does the same. You enter a room and take a seat. He— oh, you have the same class. First year literature. Just your luck. 

He walks by where you are seated and stops. “Hi there. What’s your name?”

You wish the ground would swallow you, but at least he didn’t call you Y/N or something like that.

“R-Regan. Emily Regan,” you mutter.

“Oh, American?”

You nod, still avoiding his eye.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Emily. I’m Kim Seungmin.”

He extends a hand out to shake, and you take it hesitantly. You aren’t sure you are on first name basis yet, but Kim Seungmin does what Kim Seungmin wants, you suppose.

“Hello, Kim.”

He smiles and takes the seat next to you and you wish you could disappear. But you can’t, so you excuse yourself to use the washroom. You thought you could get another spot when you returned, only to find him reserving your spot next to him for you.

The whole class, you do your best to focus on the professor, but he makes it difficult for you. He makes no effort to hide that he’s stealing glances at you, and fear creeps up your spine. What if he connects the dots and realizes you are your father’s daughter? He’d hate you, that’s for sure. After all you’ve done to him, it’s only natural.

You shake your head and he looks at you curiously. No, the one who did all that isn’t you, but Y/N L/N. You’re Emily Regan now. You just have to make sure you keep it that way.

Still, you’re glad to be able to see him again.

You know you should not be doing this, and there is no reason for you to potentially embarrass yourself even more, but you cannot help yourself. His pieces of work are right there, and his door was propped open so that you could see the music inside. So, you let yourself in.

Being the son of a major benefactor of the school, Seungmin has his own studio on campus. Instruments of all sorts line the wall and his Stradivarius violin lays on the table beside the draft of his latest composition. No one will steal it anyway; it’s chipped and insured. 

It does, however, mean that Seungmin probably just stepped out for a bit, so you’ll have to be quick. You look at his piece and hum the notes to yourself.

A small smile forms on your lips as you read the sheet. It’s a duet, and he’s only written the second violin part for now. 

This whole thing feels familiar. Reading music with him, cheek to cheek, is something you did often. In fact, that’s exactly what you were doing that day you got that call to rush home only to find where you once lived was turned into a slaughterhouse. Your fingers curl around your cardigan as you recall that day. It was Albinoni’s Adagio. You shake your head and refocus on the notes before you, humming a little louder to drown out your thoughts. You need to finish before—

“You have perfect pitch.”

—Seungmin returns.

You shoot up straight and turn slowly around. Seungmin leans against the door with his arms crossed.

“You have perfect pitch,” he repeats, walking over to his piano. He takes the sheet and plays it on the keyboard. “You weren’t even a microtone off.”

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t—”

He holds up a hand to silence you. “You’re a dance major, right? Do you play anything?”

You shake your head and lie. “Not really.”

“That’s a shame. Well, it’s never too late to start.” He picks up his violin and hands it to you. “Do you want to hear how the piece actually sounds?”

Your eyes widen at the familiar instrument and you visibly flinch backwards to which he raises a brow.

“Emily? Something wrong?”

“No, er, I, uh…” What should you say? “I’m alright. Thank you, and sorry for intruding. I need to use the washroom now.”

“Hold up,” he calls, effectively making you freeze in your step. “You don’t think you can just walk in here and leave unscathed, do you?”

“W-what do you mean?” you laugh nervously.

“You’ve got to pay the admissions fee,” he replies. “If you don’t play the violin, then here.” He hands you his music. “Compose the first violin.”

“What? I don’t even play!”

“You can try, or I can call security. You might even get suspended,” he smirks.

You open and close your mouth soundlessly. If you fail here as Emily Regan the dance major, then what will become of you? You have no choice but to concede and take the paper from his hands.

“Great. It’s only thirty-two bars, so bring it by tomorrow!”

“But I—!”

He takes out his phone and begins dialing the number for security while reading out each digit.

“Fine! I’ll do it!” you relent.

He grins victoriously. “Great!”

You frown at your new project. “But if I may ask, why the first violin? Don’t people usually compose both at once or the melody part first?”

“I like playing second best,” he answers casually.

This you remember from your childhood days, but that was long, long ago, and only because you always wanted to play first. His skills have improved tremendously since then. Anyone who calls Kim Seungmin a second violinist these days would surely be mocked. “Second? But you’re a renowned soloist!”

“I just haven’t found the person I want to follow yet.”

There’s a pain in his voice that makes you bite your own lip. Even if that person is still here, how can he, the prodigal son from the greatest violinist in the nation, stand next to, let alone play with again, the child of a pariah?

“I better get started on this,” you excuse yourself. You can’t bear to see the scars you left on him any longer.

Seungmin finds you the next day with your face on your desk. 

“Rough night?” he chuckles.

You pop your head off the table and swipe your hand over your mouth to rid it of any drool. At this point, you should give up ever looking good in front of the school’s heartthrob. 

“Here,” you cough, sliding over your work. “I’m forgiven with this, right?”

He hums approvingly and pulls up a keyboard on his phone. After playing it once, he shakes his head and pulls out another score and places it in front of you. 

“This won’t do. Try again.”

Your eyes widen. “But—!”

“You didn’t put yourself into this piece did you?”

How can he say that after you spent all night researching and writing drafts, trying to make something that wouldn’t disappoint the great Kim Seungmin? You open your mouth, however, no objection comes out. Something in you knows he’s right.

“Take your time with this next one. Just bring it to my studio when you’re ready, okay?”

You give a small nod and look at the paper on your desk with dread.

“But you did work hard on this,” he continues, “so here. A reward.” He slides a cup of coffee to you.  “Tell me what you like and I’ll get that next time.”

“Thank you, but you don’t have to,” you say, a little surprised by the gesture. “This time or the next.”

“Oh, come on. A little boost is nice after a rough night, isn’t it? How many hours did you even sleep?”

Good question. You’re curious yourself. You went to bed at four and were awakened at seven by your bladder, so one, two, “Three.”

He looks at you weirdly.

“What?” you defend. “I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

“You’re not from America, are you?”

That came out of the left field. “What?”

“Americans count like this.” He raises his index finger then his middle and then his ring, counting a number with each digit. “But you went like this.” He holds up five fingers and progressively puts one down, starting from his thumb.

“I must have gotten used to it here already,” you laugh sheepishly. “Oh look, the professor!”

You feel his stare, but thankfully, he does not say anything else after the instructor greets the class.

The next attempt takes you eight days. You wouldn’t mind a little longer to work out the finer details, but seeing him in class pressures you to just turn it in.

You hold your breath as he scans over your new attempt. Your nervousness does not last long though as he does not even bother playing it and instead drops it right into the bin. He takes out yet another copy and slams it on the table in front of you.

“I really am trying my be—”

“That’s not what I’m looking for,” he cuts sternly. “Remember what I said. I want you in this piece. Not your best— you.”

“I—”

“No. Look here. Look at me. Focus.”

You gulp and do as told. His lips are pursed and his eyes intense.

“What do you feel?” His question sounds more like a statement.

“Happy?” you try.

He scowls.

“Sad?”

“No, you don’t,” he says. “Look at me. What do you feel?”

You rack your head for emotional words. What answer could he possibly be looking for? “Attraction?”

Seungmin breaks his seriousness and laughs loudly. “Attraction?”

“I mean, you have all those fans and the looks, wealth, and talent,” you try to explain, “so I thought you were looking for that.”

He pokes your forehead. “This isn’t about me or what I’m looking for. It hasn’t been since I gave you this piece. Think about it honestly. What does Emily Regan feel?”

Emily Regan? “Frustrated.”

Another shake of his head. “Deeper. Think. What do you feel?”

You bite your lip and flick your eyes to meet his. What do you feel? What do you feel, posing as a dancer here at SKZ Conservatory in front of Kim Seungmin?

“... shame.”

He smiles bittersweetly and hands you a pen. “Write,” he whispers gently.

You stare at the empty bars, pen quivering slightly above the page. Finally, you draw a small oval in a line.

You write and write, humming the notes to yourself and not realizing how time has passed. When you finally finish, the sun has already gone down. You look up and see Seungmin with his elbows resting on the table across from you and his hands clasped, not having moved a centimeter for the past few hours.

When you finally put down the pen, he turns the sheet towards himself. He stares at it for a good ten minutes before standing up with it and pulling out his Stradivarius. From his phone, he first records him playing his own composition and then plays yours over it.

The whole thing could not have been more than five minutes, but to you, it feels like an eternity. 

At last he finishes the piece with an up bow and brings his arm in a circle to his side. He stares at your work for a few more silent moments before saying, “Have you published music before?”

That certainly is not the comment you were expecting. “No?”

“It’s… familiar. I don’t mean the piece, but the style, it’s…”

“Well, do I pass?” you cut in before he can think too much of it.

He sets down his instrument. “It’s a little bland, but I'll take it. Good work, Emily.”

“I’ll be taking my leave then. Goodbye, Kim.”

“Wait—” He calls after you, but you are already out the door.

You speed walk until you are in the safety of a nearby washroom. You rest your back against the stall door and let out a sigh. Does he remember the amateur pieces you made almost two decades ago? Did you accidentally just expose yourself? No, prodigy or not, there is no way he can connect you to Y/N L/N just from thirty-two bars of music. At any rate, it’s best to lay low from him for now, you decide.

Laying low does not really work when you are one of the few members of the conservatory’s budding dance ensemble though. Seungmin is hosting a charity concert and requested dancers for his show. You manage to finish your numbers for the night without complications and are now waiting in the wings for the curtains as Seungmin begins his final piece.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to enjoy his music until something about the tune strikes you. Your eyelids flutter open as a familiar melody fills the auditorium. It’s your piece! Sure, he wrote it into a solo, but the resemblance is unmistakable. 

When he finishes, he bows and makes a speech. Your classmate nudges you to snap you out of your surprise and urges you onstage for the curtain call. The whole time, you stare at Seungmin, unsure of what to make of the situation. 

At the end of his speech, he gestures for the dancers to come forward. He meets your eyes with his usual smirk and grabs your hand for the bow.

When all is done, you want to find an explanation for that last piece, but your bladder demands to be released right at that moment. You’ve been finding yourself needing to go more and more or the area starts to hurt, so you quickly relieve yourself and speed out. To your luck, it seems Seungmin took his time packing up his violin; you see his silhouette just across the field from the performance hall.

“Wait,” you call out, running after him. He doesn’t hear you until you are closer. “Wait!”

Seungmin turns around as you stop in front of him, resting your hands on your knees to catch your breath.

“Emily?”

He takes a look at your state. You’re still in your costume from having rushed out, and your sheer asymmetrical skirt is doing nothing for you against the night wind.

He shakes off his coat and wraps it around you. “Are you here because of that last bit?”

You nod and stare at him, hoping your gaze draws an explanation out of him.

“It’s a good piece. I felt the need to share it.” He fixes the collar around your neck. “I know I should have asked first. I’ll buy you food sometime to make up for it, yeah?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter that you played it; I just want to know why you did it.”

“I told you already. I like it,” he shrugs.

“You like Paganini. You like Strasate. Anything from them or even something you wrote would have made a better finish. Why this?”

“It’s a charity concert for the needy. Your piece had fitting emotions.”

You narrow your eyes at him. Is there really nothing else?

“Hold on.” He narrows his eyes back at you. “How do you know so much about composers?”

“I— It’s— This is a music conservatory! I’ve just seen their names around in murals and such!”

“Makes sense,” he nods.

“Good. Well then, have a good evening, Kim,” you bid, relieved, and begin to turn around.

“Do you want me to walk you back to the dorm? It’s quite late,” he offers.

You turn around but do not stop walking away. “I still need to change. Thank you though!”

It is only when you’re in the green room do you realize you still have his coat.

“Kim,” you call out, shuffling your feet quickly after him.

A wide grin spreads over his face as he turns around and sees your form. There’s a tuba on his shoulder. “Emily! Looking for me?”

You nod and thrust forward the bag in your hand. “Your coat. I came to return it.”

Seungmin dramatically wraps his hands around the instrument. “Oh no! My hands are full right now! Could you bring it to my studio in fifteen minutes?”

Your grip on the bag tightens in frustration, but he leans towards you, tuba looming overhead, and blinks thrice.

“Please? I’ll make it worth your effort.”

You fumble backwards, flustered, and drop your hand and the bag to your side. “Fine,” you relent. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes,” he promises. As you walk out of the music hall, you hear a tuba playing fanfare.

Fifteen minutes later, you knock at his door which opens before you even finish your first knock. Seungmin greets you and gestures inside where a plate of mochi sits on his table with two cups of tea.

“Care to join me?” he invites.

You again hand him the bag and keep your feet planted where they are. “I think I’ll have to pass, but thank you.”

“Aw, don’t you like sweets?” He reaches for the plate and circles it around your face.

Still, you shake your head. “Again, thank you, but based on the last few times I was in here, I would rather not be.”

“I promise not to make you compose again. Just come in before the tea gets cold!”

“Why do you want me to anyway?”

“Huh?” His eyes widen at the question.

“I mean, other people have perfect pitch, yet you only sit with me to work through a composition. You sit next to me and buy me coffee and now you’re inviting me to tea. Why are you so interested in me?”

He tilts his head to the side. “‘Cause I like you, obviously.”

That sets off your alarms. Quickly, you dart your eyes around, looking to see if any of his fan girls are around to hear that and murder you. You then push him into the room and slam the door behind you.

“Excuse me, what?” you exclaim.

He sits by the food, crossing his legs. “I. Like. You.” he repeats slowly.

“B-b-b-but that’s impossible,” you sputter. “Curious? Maybe. But attracted to? No.”

He chuckles. “Why not? I mean, it did start out as curiosity, but the more I poked around, the more intrigued I became. You’re a woman full of mysteries, Emily. I like that.”

You put your hands in front of you and slowly back up. “No, no. No. No. There’s nothing to me at all. We don’t know each other very well. Of course a stranger is going to have a lot of unknowns. Once you get to know me, you’ll find that you’ve wasted your time and energy.” You like your acquaintanceship right now. Even being ignored by him is totally fine, but if he ever finds out who you are, he’ll hate you and spit on the person you’ve tried so hard to become.

“Oh really?” He stands and advances to you, making you shrink. “Then let’s put your theory to the test, shall we?” 

“What do you mean?” you gulp.

“You answer my questions and I’ll see if I still like you then.”

“Q-questions?”

“Yeah. We can go slowly if you’d like. Maybe one a day? How does that sound?” 

When you don’t respond, he begins. “Why do you seem so afraid of touching a violin?”

“I— uh…”

“Why did you lie about your home country? Why did you feel ‘shame’? Why did you sneak into my studio to look at my work yet claim to have no interest in music?”

With every question, he takes one step in your direction, finally backing you up against the wall. 

“And” —he lowers and softens his voice— “how does it feel to kiss you?”

“I’ll— I’ll—” You squirm in your shoes, head down and fists balled. The silence is deafening between your stutters, but he makes no effort to fill it, waiting patiently for your response.  “I’ll answer the last one,” you finally squeak.

“Alright then.”

You hear one of his hands pressing on the wall behind you and feel the other coming up to your jaw. He leans closer and closer and you squeeze your eyes tighter and tighter. You’re shaking so much, you can’t tell if you’re even still standing anymore.

His breath fans your lips as he suddenly chuckles and straightens up. He leaves a quick peck on your forehead and steps back.

“You don’t have to do things you don’t want to, Emily.” He has a soft smile which you stare at with surprise at the turn of events. “Doesn’t mean I’ll stop annoying the daylights out of you though,” he adds cheekily.

He slides the mochi back into the box they came in and hands them to you. “Go back to your dorm. Maybe we’ll continue our interrogation next time. Oh, and there’s a closer toilet if you turn right since you seem to go all the time.”

You stand there, mochi in hand, with your jaw opening and closing without any audible sound. He laughs again and turns you around towards the door.

“Go, before I poke you with my bow.”

Mention of a violin snaps your soul back into your body. “Okay, okay. Goodbye, Kim.”

“Thanks for returning the coat,” he calls after you as you disappear into the washroom on the left.

“Remember to choose a partner for this project. Let me know if you can’t get one by next week,” your literature professor concludes and whisks out the door.

You feel the entire room turn towards your direction no thanks to the one and only Kim Seungmin sitting next to you. He himself turns toward you with a plotting grin.

“Emily.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, pain rippling through your belly as you do so. There is no point resisting, and you don’t feel up to it today anyway.

“Are you free tonight? I’ll pick you up after your practice and we can get a head start.”

That night, you already know who has just arrived when the girls come squealing into the locker room. You couldn’t care less though. You try to rub away the pain that’s nagging at your belly and fumble around for some pain killers. You allow yourself five minutes after tossing back the pills, but begrudgingly drag your feet outside so as to not keep Seungmin waiting. 

He greets you with an electrolyte drink which you take and thank him for as discreetly as possible without catching the attention of his fans. He thankfully seems to take the hint and follows you outside, only fully approaching you when the last of the girls retreats back into the changing room.

“Ready for our project?”

“You’re awfully excited for homework,” you comment.

“It’s not just any homework.” He bumps you with his shoulder. At that moment, another wave of pain grips your stomach, causing you to stop in your step and bend over.

“Did I nudge too hard?” he gasps. “I’m sorry!”

You shake your hand. “Just… premenstrual cramps. It’s a little hard to manage these days,” you squeeze out.

He walks you to a nearby bench and kneels in front of you. He opens your drink for you and wipes sweat from your forehead.

“Are you okay? Do you want to go home and rest for today?” he asks worriedly.

“I’ll be fine in a bit; I just need the medicine to kick in. Sorry for delaying us.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He takes your hand and massages the pressure point between your thumb and index finger. “Is there anything you need?”

You assure him that you’re fine and can continue with the scheduled homework session which you know he cut short with one excuse or another. You two do the bare minimum on the assignment before he “realized” he scheduled an appointment to restring his violin. After Seungmin walks you to your dorm, you quickly put on a liner and head to bed.

That night, you learn that a liner was a mistake. You wake up as you often do by a call from the bathroom. Groggily, you swing your legs off your bed and are startled by a loud ‘squish.’ Too distracted by the gnawing in your pelvis, you think nothing of it, until you open your door and the hallway lights pour into your room, illuminating your blood-covered feet. With a gasp, you quickly turn around and see the trail of red behind you. You quickly reach for your heaviest pad only to be gripped with the worst shock of pain you’ve had yet. You fall to your knees then ultimately to the floor.

Waking up on the floor makes you forget where you are, and realizing that you are laying in a pool of blood and urine does not help. It takes a moment for you to recover from the shock the state of your room gave you, but when you do, you decide to get yourself cleaned up first then deal with the room later.

Twenty minutes later, you again face the disaster that is your dorm. Thankfully, you do not have literature today, so no one— and by no one you mean Seungmin— will notice if you take a day off to take care of it.

You begin pulling off your bedsheets to wash when you hear a knock at your door. You panic and look around. It doesn’t take a genius to know your room is in no condition for a guest right now.

“Emily?”

And of course it has to be Kim Seungmin. You freeze in your spot, not knowing what to do.

“Did she leave?” you hear him ask himself. This is good. You hope he leaves.

“I guess so,” he mutters. 

You hear some plastic shuffling outside and then his retreating footsteps. You breathe a sigh of relief which you immediately regret because of the pain that comes with breathing too heavily. Your periods have never hurt this much, you note with worry.

You return to your sheets until your phone vibrates with a notification.

Kim Seungmin- Lit [10:59 AM]: Hope you’re feeling better. I left some soup and food at your door since it seems like you aren’t home.

Kim Seungmin- Lit [10:59 AM]: Call me if you need something. Or if you need a ride to the hospital.

Hospital? You rub your abdomen, wondering if the pain warrants a visit. You take some more painkillers and eat the food before finishing cleaning your room. As you leave the washing machine running downstairs, you sit at your table after another washroom stop for a quick nap. You nestle your head in your arms and close your eyes…

… and open them a few hours later, feeling like you’d rather be dead. You can barely breathe and your room spins around you. You don’t even remember to grab your keys as you stumble out the door. Hospital, hospital. No, the hospital’s too far. The conservatory’s health center will have to suffice for now, and it’s only two buildings away.

You must look really unwell, for as soon as you step into the facility, there are already three staff members rushing to your side. You aren’t sure what happens next. It looks like your arrival caused quite the commotion, but all you can hear is Mozart’s Requiem playing somewhere. The world is closing in on you, and you feel your legs give out.

“Seungminnie…”

You wake up to the humming of machines in a hospital room. You realize they transferred you when you see an old lady sleeping in the bed beside yours.

Thankfully, you feel much better now, though you suspect it has something to do with IV connected to your wrist.

Seeing that you are awake, a nurse comes in to check your vitals.

“Are you feeling alright, Miss Regan?” she asks.

You nod and thank her as she replaces your IV bag.

“The doctor wants to see you in a bit for your consultation, but I need a bit of information from you first. We couldn’t find any family members attached to your name, so you’ll have to fill out some forms for yourself, alright sweetie?”

After making sure you are able to, she hands you a clipboard which you complete steadily until one section. “Emergency contact,” it reads.

Seeing your hesitation, the nurse chimes in. “It can be anyone. A friend, teacher, anyone you can trust just in case, you know?”

You smile politely. "May I leave it blank?"

The nurse looks stunned. "I suppose, but what if something happens?"

"You can call a lawyer."

She looks doubtful but stays quiet save for the few instructions she gives to reach your doctor’s office. As you walk there, you think about what just happened. Emergency contact? You'd just moved here for school. Your mother passed during childbirth, and your father— Emily Regan doesn’t have a father. There's no one you could have put down, you tell yourself. No one. Not even a certain overzealous violinist. 

You knock twice on the door you were told. 

“Miss Emily Regan?” the doctor greets as you walk in.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Nice to meet you. My name is Doctor Lee. How are you feeling right now?"

"A lot better."

"Glad to hear it. Please take a seat. Tell me, have you experienced frequent urination lately?"

You walk out of the pharmacy with a paper bag in your hands. Your heart drums in your ears but for a completely different reason this time. What will this mean for you? You’ll need to be resting for two months after the procedure, and as a dance major, this means you can’t attend class. Never mind its impact on your school year, what will this mean for your entire life? Your father has already tarnished the name Y/N L/N. You’ve tried so hard and lied so much just to make Emily Regan real. What have you made her into now? Dirty. Fiendish. Despicable. Even if you escaped being the daughter of the most hated artist who shamed his whole nation, you’ll never escape who you really are. And now this? Your hand unconsciously rises to your belly, rubbing it. It’s only further proof of what a defect you are. 

It is around four by the time you arrive back at the dorms. Thankfully, the hospital phoned your resident assistant who has your keys for you. You’re still distracted by your thoughts as you approach the building and nearly miss the man pacing up and down the front door.

Seungmin has his shoulders hunched and hands clasped together as he blows on them to keep warm, his grey cardigan not doing much against the evening chill. 

“Kim?” you call out, not believing your eyes. You are, after all, on a lot of drugs.

He immediately runs towards you when he recognizes you. You stand where you are and wait for him to come, now believe that he truly is here. Was he out here waiting for you? Your hand curls around your belly. He shouldn’t be wasting his efforts like this on someone like you. Never mind the faults of Y/N, even as Emily, you no longer deserve the love of someone like Kim Seungmin. You’d never wish for your childhood best friend to be with someone as flawed as you.

“What are you doing here?” you inquire as he stops in front of you, raising his hands as if wanting to hold you but is afraid you’d break under his touch.

“You didn’t pick up the phone…” he whispers. “You weren’t home and you didn’t pick up the phone…”

“I… had something going on.” You tuck away your prescription in your coat. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t—”

“Kim.”

“—the phone—”

“Kim Seungmin!”

His eyes look up to meet yours and you see the daze being snapped out of them.

“Huh?” 

You exhale sharply and repeat. “What are you doing here?”

“Your dorm doesn’t allow guys past twelve,” he replies matter of factly.

Your brows knit together. “You were out here for four hours?” 

He nods. “Where were you? You were sick yesterday, and now you’re off the map until four in the morning.”

You shouldn’t have snapped. You know what he means by his words, but you aren’t exactly having the best day, and Seungmin isn’t supposed to be here. You aren’t who he actually likes. You aren’t the six year old Y/N nor are you an ideal bachelorette. No, you are some imposter and you hate it. You hate it, so you state flatly, “Why does it matter to you where I was? If you’re worried about the literature project, then I’m sorry. I promise to finish it on time, but it was you who ended the homework session early yesterday, and as far as I’m concerned, we don’t have anything scheduled for today. Thank you for the meal earlier, but if stuff like that’s going to make you feel entitled to knowing about my every whereabouts, then please stop doing it.”

“That’s not what I—”

You close your eyes and let your head roll back. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s been a long day, so please just leave me alone for a bit.”

You walk past him, expecting the conversation to be left at that. You hear him hesitating, which you also expect, but you are not ready for the:

“No.” 

Seungmin runs in front of you and spreads his limbs out, blocking your path. “You’re suffering. I don’t know from what, or if it’s even really period cramps, but you are. I’m not letting you do it alone.” He sucks in his cheeks as he tries to find his next words. You half expect him to take you to his studio and sit you down with a drink until you give him at least a hint of what’s happening, but he surprises you with, “I’m not saying you have to share it with me, but you need to have someone.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t,” he objects. “And trust me. I’ve seen a man try and it cost him his life and his daughter.”

The familiar story makes you freeze. Despite yourself, you ask, “Who?”

“My father’s best friend. The late violinist, L/N.” 

“T-the one who turned out to be a murderer?” Why are you saying this? Just leave him and go!

Seungmin approaches you now that you’ve stopped. His presence makes your eyes water. “He only got involved with the wrong people and ruined his name because he tried to deal with the grief of losing his wife on his own. He even hid it from his own best friend, and that’s how everything tumbled out of control.”

“And his daughter?” Stop it! Y/N— no, Emily, stop it!

“No one knows, though she could be dead. My father immediately sent out searches for her, but nothing ever came up.” His voice softens almost to the point of inaudible as he talks about her. “Father hasn’t played a duet since, and neither have I.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you say.

“Don’t be. You didn’t even know about it, so what could you have done?” he laughs dryly. 

The irony makes your toes curl.

“Just don’t make me watch another person go down the same path, okay?” he pleas gently.

Again, you should have done something else. You should just say, “Okay, I’ll reach out if I need it” and leave it at that. Instead, you turn to him and ask, “Can you play me ‘Méditation’?”

You watch his eyes widen at the ‘coincidence’ of your request, especially after that story. 

“‘Méditation?’” he asks.

“Yes. Massenet’s.”

He visibly takes a step back and you know why. After all, you’ve made this exact request a million times whenever you were left to sleepover at your father’s best friend’s house.

You wake up on the couch of his studio. Seungmin lays sprawled out on the floor next to you, violin on his chest and bow dangling from his thumb. You use the blanket he put over you to lift the ten million dollar instrument onto a table before he can roll over and crush it. You cradle the Strad, lifting it over its owner to the table on the other side.

“You know who composed ‘Méditation’ but you can’t touch a violin?”

The voice startles you, and you jerk backwards, stumbling back onto the couch. Once you’ve regained your balance, you glare at the man who’s still laying on the ground, moving only his eyes to look at you.

You sigh and pull the blanket over your head. “Don’t pry my secrets or I’ll have to keep avoiding you,” you warn.

“Oh!” he hums.

You pull the blanket back down and see him sitting up now with an arm propped on his knee. “What?”

“You finally admitted to hiding things,” he tells you.

“Everyone hides things.”

“But not everyone sucks at denying it.”

“Hey!”

He points at your jacket. “Your pill bottles are literally rattling with every move you make, Miss I’m-totally-fine.”

You wrap your jacket tighter around yourself. “They’re— they’re—”

“Pill bottles,” he insists. He folds his hands on the couch and rests his head on them. “Your inept lying is adorable.”

You groan and toss the blanket over his head. He tries to pull it off, but you clamp your hand over his to stop him.

“I don’t want to tell you this, but you did house me for a night, so you deserve to know at least this much, I guess.” Your serious tone stops his resistance attempts. “I’m scheduled for surgery in a little over a week. I’ll be in a hotel for two weeks after the procedure with a nurse since I don’t have someone to care for me during the bed rest period. It’s a relatively safe procedure, so don’t worry.”

Seungmin flips your hand over and grabs it. The blanket slips off his head and you are left looking at his glassy eyes.

“I…” He takes a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing. “I won’t ask you where you’re staying if you don’t want to tell. Just promise you’ll text after the surgery. Let me know that you’re still alive at least.”

You nod. “You’ll see me working on our Powerpoint for the project at least.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he tells you.

“I won’t be able to dance for a month and a half after this. My general education classes are all I’m going to be doing,” you assure him.

“If it gets too hard—”

“I know. Thank you, Kim.” 

You roll your suitcase off the bus. You aren’t sure if it is extra windy today or if it’s just your nerves, but you shiver as you stare at the hospital before you. You take a deep breath and take a step forward only to find your feet glued to the sidewalk. 

Just then, you hear a ping through your earphones. You pull out your phone and see a message.

Kim Seungmin- Lit [7:41 AM]: [get_well_soon.mp3]

You click into it and a piano and violin playing a familiar intermezzo fills your ears. You then look down at your feet and successfully lift one up and place it in front of the other until you are in front of the reception.

“Hello. I have an appointment under Emily Regan, and I'd also like to update my emergency contact information.”

After two weeks, you’re at last pushing open the door to your own dorm room.

You aren’t sure if it’s the morphine or the darkness of the room, but stepping inside after two weeks and seeing your curtains sway lightly in the evening air makes you feel emptier than you’ve ever felt before. Suddenly, your emotions overwhelm you all at once and you succumb to the floor. Your throat tightens and you wrap your arms around your abdomen, tucking your knees to your chest. You think you are crying, but you can’t be sure. The walls are closing in. You feel yourself being shackled by chains and no matter how hard you scream, no one hears you. Your voice bounces in your head like a ricocheting bullet and water is seeping in from somewhere, filling your nose and mouth, depriving you of air. All the while, your heartbeat echoes in your head.

Ba dum.

Ba dum.

Ba 

… dum.

With a strangled gasp, you manage to break one hand free for a split moment, and you immediately look for the remote that has called a nurse for the past two weeks. Of course, you are no longer at the hospital, so the only thing you grab is your phone.

“Seungminnie… Seungminnie, Seungminnie.”

You fumble with the device, but the chains are tightening around you again. Fog clouds in and you can’t see your phone anymore. You don’t even hear it hit the floor as it slips from your hand.

Ba dum. Ba dum. Ba dum.

Suddenly, you’re six again. Before you is the empty hallway of Violinist Kim’s mansion. Your plastic princess heels thunder with every step as you run down the hall.

Ba dum. “Seungminie?”

There’s no one there. Every turn you make just leads to another empty hall. The ground begins to morph, twisting and turning under your tiny feet. 

Ba dum. Ba dum.

The giant bow on your dress unravels and cinches around your ankle, and you trip and scrape your chin.

“Seungmin!”

“Emily!”

The ribbons shrivel. The chains clatter to the ground. The water drains. You gasp haggredly for air as your hands fly up to his shoulders for support. Beside you, your phone sits on the floor, his name illuminating from the screen.

“Emily, what’s wrong?” he asks, lowering his own device from his ear.

Your hands climb up to his face, cupping it. Your eyes are still glazed over. Blood drips from your lips from having been gnawed on too much.

“You’re… you’re not Seungmin.” You put your hands all over his face, feeling its features. “Or are you? No…”

“Emily—”

“Who’s Emily? You’re not Seungmin.”

“Stop biting yourself.”

“Seungmin’s not blond. Seungmin’s not—”

“Emily!”

“WHO’S EMILY?”

He freezes and looks at you. You’re drooped over at this point, defeated and tired. He then puts one hand behind you and pulls you into his arms.

“I am Seungmin,” he says gently. The vibration of his chest as he speaks lulls you. “I am Seungmin,” he repeats. “I’m right here. You’ve found me. I’m right here.”

Shakily, one of your hands reaches up and grabs his shirt while the other circles around to your lower belly.

“... Seungminnie…”

You’re in the furthest corner of the bed, staring at him. He’s just standing there, staring at you, juice in one hand and your keys in the other.

“So,” he begins. “What do you remember?”

“Nothing,” you answer truthfully. Your eyes shift to your desk where some medicine including a bottle of Kadian and a pack of birth control sit carelessly. “But I don’t suppose I had to say much for you to figure things out.” He’s going to leave you all alone now. Why is he even still here? He should realize how unsuitable you are for someone like him. There’s undeniable evidence in front of him now.

He clutches at his chest and scrunches up his face as a glaze passes over his eyes. He takes a moment before taking out one of the pills. He hands it to you with the juice, obviously having read the administration instructions.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “That and the frequent urinations. How much did they take out?”

You look away and your hand subconsciously reaches down. So he is still holding onto hope for some miracle. That’s why he hasn’t left yet. “Enough.” Now go, Seungmin.

He sits beside you, fiddling with the blankets between his fingers.

You break the silence first. “Don’t feel inclined to stay.”

“Huh?” he questions, looking up.

“I’m” —you motion downstairs— “you know. You’re here because you like me, right? Well, I can’t exactly produce an ideal family anymore. You should probably look for someone who can help you continue your and your father’s legacy.”

He looks more confused than you’ve ever seen him. “What?”

“I’m saying you should walk away now. I won’t hold it against you, so you don’t have to live with any guilt. I never considered our relationship possible anyway.”

Confusion shifts to anger. “You— You think I— I—” He struggles with his words after having been presented a scenario he’s never even considered. He exhales long and hard. “No. Just” —he grabs at an imaginary stress ball— “no. I’m not leaving, and you can’t make me. I don’t like you just because of your fertility. How could you think that? I don’t want a child. I want you. Do you understand? You! I couldn’t even sleep or drink for the past two weeks you were hospitalized, and the only time I could eat was whenever you sent a text or when I saw your little cursor on the Powerpoint. You think a surgery like that can weigh out whatever I felt that drove me to do this?”

“Still, I’m—” 

“Worthy, beautiful, and loveable,” he insists.

Those words are foreign to you. They’ve been long before you went to the hospital. How can he believe such things about you? Would he say the same things about Y/N? 

Seungmin sighs when you don’t respond and drags you closer. You don’t resist which he takes as a good sign. “So you don’t have to hide things from me anymore, okay? I’ll be here for you.”

You try to bite your lip only to find ointment there, so you play with a loose thread on your blanket instead.

“I… I’m already hiding a lot of things from you that I’m afraid to confess,” you admit. “Will that still be okay?”

You feel him nod. “Take your time. I’ll wait until you’re comfortable.”

You close your eyes and bask in his warmth. Will he really be okay if he knew he has in his arms the daughter of a drug addict murderer? Will he really be okay knowing you’re his “best friend” who left him without a trace for all these years?

You hope so. 

You want to believe so.

“It’s out! It’s out! It’s out!” you exclaim. 

“It’s just one grade. Relax,” Seungmin chuckles. Still, he stops playing the piano and swings his legs over to look at your phone.

“Not all of us have an established violin career to fall back on,” you remind him while logging into your account. You cover your eyes and hold the phone away from you as the page loads. “I can’t look.”

Seungmin takes the device. “I think you should.”

“Why? Is it good or bad?”

“We got a hundred.”

“We did?” You uncover your eyes. “We did! We did!” 

In your excitement, you give him a quick hug. He puts your phone on the table and drags you onto the piano bench. “You’re not doing anything right now, right?” He puts a simple piece in front of you. “Try this.”

“Kim, I don’t play.”

“It’s simple. Look.” He squeezes in behind you and puts your hand on the keyboard. “That’s middle C.”

He presses on the key and you scoff. You lift your left hand up as well and humor him. You’re definitely a bit choppy, but you make your way through the piece slowly and surely. Seungmin wraps his arms around your belly and rests his head on your shoulder with his eyes closed, swaying slightly to the music. When you get to the end, you lift up your hands and rest them on your lap.

“You’re just cuddling, aren’t you?”

He opens his eyes and looks at you. “Are you uncomfortable?”

Your eyes shift to the music. “No, I like it.”

You feel his heartbeat accelerating at your words. “So uh, you’ve played piano before, haven’t you?”

“Uhm. I played a few different things.”

“Violin?”

“That was my focus.”

He’s not surprised. “Were you good?”

“I was better than you,” you tease.

“Oh, really?” He jumps up and puts his violin under his chin in a challenging stance. 

You put your hands defensively out with a laugh. “That was like years ago!”

He wiggles his eyebrow and starts performing up-bow ricochet and left hand pizzicato.

You roll your eyes humorously. “We get it, Mr. World-class-musician.”

He laughs too and sits back down beside you. “Speaking of which, I’m playing with the JYP Philharmonic next weekend. You’ll come, right?”

You nod. “If I can manage to walk there.”

“I need to get there early, but I’ll have my driver take you.” He smiles widely. “You have to come, you have to. I have someone I want you to meet.”

“Who?”

He holds a finger to his lip cheekily. “Now it’s my turn to have a little secret.”

You fix the ribbon around your neck and smooth out your skirt as your driver comes around to open your door. You thank him and make your way into the building where Seungmin asked you to meet him. You hear him before you see him.

“Oh, she’s wonderful. She really is.”

There’s another lower voice that mumbles a reply you can’t make out. 

“Kim?” you call, approaching his waiting room.

Seungmin’s grin widens as he turns around and sees you. You, on the other hand, drop the chocolate and banana you brought for him when you see the other man in the room.

Seungmin gestures to you and looks at his companion. “Dad, this is Emily Regan, the girl I’ve been talking to you about. Emily, my father.”

Violinist Kim looks as shocked as you. “Emily… Regan?” His eyes narrow.

Seungmin furrows his brows. “What’s wrong, Dad?”

He doesn’t say anything and extends a hand out to you. “Nice to meet you, Emily Regan.”

You shake his hand uncertainly, unable to look at his unblinking eyes.

“Emily? Dad?” Seungmin looks between the two of you.

The older gentleman turns to his son. “See me for a moment.”

After Seungmin sits you on a couch, the two step out into the garden as per his request. You watch as Violinist Kim says something that makes Seungmin run a hand through his hair then stab them into his pockets as he slouches backwards. He replies with something that his father quickly rebuttals. What can they possibly be discussing? It’s clear Violinist Kim does not approve of you. Does he realize who you are? Or is Emily Regan the one he disapproves of? As a parent, it’s not uncommon to want grandchildren after all.

Suddenly, someone else bursts into the room. “Mr. Kim Seungmin, the conductor is looking for you!”

The stage worker is surprised to see only you in the room, and you inform him where the performers are. He thanks you and lets himself outside to deliver the message.

You stand as Seungmin and his father walk back in. Your friend pauses in his steps to talk to you.

“I’m sorry about that,” he apologizes. “This isn’t how I thought my dad would react to this. I’ll talk to you after.” He then spots your hand which has again found its way to your abdomen and frowns. “I swear that’s not something we talked about nor is it even something worth getting upset over, okay?”

You give him an assuring smile. “Break a leg.”

You watch as he hurries to catch up to the stage worker who is giving a briefing as they walk. You don’t bother to ask what is wrong. You can already tell from the cold eyes of Violinist Kim what is wrong. All you can do is wonder how much he told his son.

The concert goes well. You can tell that whatever happened with his father took a toll on Seungmin’s mentality, but his concerto was still dynamic and captivating. A few rows in front of you,  you spot Violinist Kim still nodding along to the music and supporting his son. 

After forty minutes, the house lights come back on and it is time for intermission. Seungmin is done with his concerto, so you go back backstage to see if you can catch him. You don’t have to go that far though. On your way, you hear a tree go, “Psst, Emily!”

You look and see him waving you over. He’s still calling you Emily, so that’s good, you note.

“Why are we out here?” you inquire.

He takes you a little further into the woods until he finds a boulder for you to sit on. He hoists you up so you’re comfortable.

“I thought I should clear things up before my dad talks to you,” he explains. “I’ve seen enough K-dramas to know what kind of headache misunderstandings cause.”

You nod, prompting him to go on. He does.

“You remember when I told you about Violinist L/N?” 

This sends your heart racing. Has he found out?  

“Well his daughter used to be my best friend. The thing is, my dad thinks you look a lot like her, and he thinks I’m only with you because of it.” 

Oh, it’s just that. Thank goodness. 

He grabs your hands, his eyes serious. “I just want you to know that no matter what he tells you, that’s not it. I like you for you, Emily, and nothing more and nothing less.”

You’re still convincing yourself that he isn’t aware of your past identity, and you must be making a face that he registers as doubt for he slides a hand up to your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Please believe me.”

You snap out of it. Of course you believe him, and it wouldn’t change much if he were in love with Y/N L/N anyway. However, you don’t miss the opportunity to ask, “What would you do if she is not dead? What would you do if she came back?”

“I’d celebrate her return. I’d grab lunch with her and introduce the two of you, but that’ll be the extent of it.”

“What if she’s been doing well all these years, and you were the only one left hurting and alone, wondering where she is? Could you forgive her? Could you accept someone like that, not to mention a child of a murderer, with open arms?”

Seungmin retreats his hand and frowns at you. “Why are you saying things like that? She’s my best friend!”

You grab his hand before it can go far. This time it’s your turn to stare him in the eye. “I’m not accusing her. I’m just asking if you, Kim Seungmin, would be able to forgive her in this scenario, and I’m not going to say that you’re right or wrong if you do or don’t either.”

“Then why do you ask?” His frown shifts to a perplexed one.

You let your hand drop to your side. “I… I’m in a similar situation. I don’t know if my friend will accept me if I try to reconnect.”

“Do it.” He has on a smirk now as he walks closer. “If it’s you, I’m sure she’d love to reconnect.”

You pout at his unsatisfactory response. “You’re just biased.”

Your pursed lips only makes him stare at them. “I sure am,” he mumbles. 

He again brings his hand up to your neck, index finger resting behind your ears. You can’t tell if he’s avoiding your question or just distracted, but who cares? You’re distracted now too. The woods are setting the perfect mood, and the orchestra is playing something romantic inside. Your eyelids begin to close. He looks at you one more time, his own eyes drooping.

“Is this okay…” he whispers raspily. “... Emily?”

Your eyes fly open and you shove him away a little harder than you intended to. This isn’t you. The person he wants to kiss isn’t you, and you can’t steal that away from him, even if you desperately want it yourself. You can’t have this. You can’t have him. It isn’t yours and it isn’t right.

He falls down and looks up at you, bewildered.

“I’m— I’m sorry!” you blammer. “I, uh, I have to go.”

You jump off the boulder and walk faster than you know you should post-op.

“Emily.” You hear his feet crunching leaves right behind you. “Emily. Stop. Emily. Emily. Emily.”

Why does he keep saying that name? 

You don’t turn back and you don’t slow down.

You hear him curse and speed up, which scares you, but before you can react, he sweeps you off of your feet and carries you in his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Something you won’t on your own,” he replies vaguely. He storms to his green room and kicks the door open. He sets you down in the middle of it and pulls out his violin. “Play,” he commands you.

You shrink back at the sight of the instrument. It’s a glorious instrument carved from a choice tree and shaped over a careful flame by masterful hands, capable of drawing out the soul of its player. You know touching it will draw out what you’ve been working so hard on suppressing. You aren’t Y/N, daughter of Violinist L/N. You have no business with a violin. “I can’t. You know this, Kim.”

“You can’t play or you can’t admit the truth? Play, Emily.”

Wait, what?

He holds the Stradivarius in front of you. His tone is firm and his eyes are fierce, but he doesn’t hold the violin any closer than thirty centimeters away. He needs you to make this last leap.

“What do you know?” you demand.

“Play.”

“Tell me, what did your father really tell you?” you screech.

“Play.”

You begin shaking. The f holes are taunting you. You hear the screams of your father’s victims. You hear the TV reporters all cursing his name. They’re all inside there. They’re all inside, waiting for you to release them with your playing and eat you alive. “Kim, please.”

“Play.”

“No, I— I—”

“Play.”

He already knows. You’re sure he already knows, yet somehow, this still feels like a chasm far too wide for you to cross. Can you accept this violin? Can your past? Y/N is the child of a drug-addicted murderer. She’s a six year old whose own father bathed her in blood and blacklisted her existence. Can you accept Y/N L/N?

You look up at the deep brown eyes before you. You know he can.

“Seungmin…” you choke.

He lowers his voice and softens his gaze. “Play,” he tells you.

And so you do. You timorously reach for the instrument and perform Albinoni’s Adagio, the very last piece he’s heard you play. 

Tears roll down your face as your fingers fly across the board like you’ve played the piece all your life. You’re scared, you’re scared, you’re so, so scared. You didn’t even realize how hard you’ve been working to repress this part of you, and now that you’re facing it head-on, you don’t know what to make of it, but for once, it’s okay. Even if you fall. Even if you break apart, you finally have someone who will pick up the pieces. 

You play, and play, and play until you don’t know what to play any more, yet still you played. You don’t know how long it’s been, but you play until you can no longer lift up the scroll. You let the violin slip to your side and the bow clatter to the ground. A pair of arms wrap around you to stop you from collapsing. You close your eyes as one final tear makes its way down your face.

Seungmin presses your head into his shoulder. “I forgive you, Y/N, because I love you.”

<four years later>

You look onto the expecting crowd. Your heart’s beating quickly and the violin in your hands feels heavier than usual. Seungmin steps up next to you with his instrument. He adjusts your white skirt, his new golden band glistening under the lights as he does so.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

You smile at the familiar question. “Ready,” you reply.

He smiles back and lifts his Stradivarius under his chin. You do the same and he begins to play three one-eighth C’s followed half one. You feel his music envelop you. You close your eyes, place the tip of your bow on your E-string and let “Wedding March” flow from your soul.

A sense of peace overcomes you. After learning about your father, starting your life over, and losing your fertility, peace seems almost foreign to you, yet you’ve done it. Amidst all the chaos, you’ve finally found your harmony. 

~ ad.gold

Read it from Seungmin’s perspective here.

[ruthoakenshield]

The Lady in the Black Leather (Ch 23)

Catch up here [chapter 22]

Harley, Graham, Phantom, Lawyer

Warning: 18+ readers only! Mentions of rape, torture & abuse. (I do not know who Rich’s lawyer is, I just made this one up.)

You both look up when you hear a knock at the door, and Phantom ‘wuffs’ softly. “Come in!” you call out.

A tall, thin, older woman appears and introduces herself as Janice Rightborough, Attorney at Law. She explains that she is Rich’s lawyer and he asked her to come talk with you since you were unable to come to her office.

You introduce Graham and yourself and then introduce her to Phantom, who had come over to your side of the bed to investigate who this new person was. She lets him sniff her hand and he puts his head in it wanting scratches from her. She chuckles and obliges him for a moment.

She moves over to the chair next to your bed and sits down. She explains everything to you. How the process works, what to expect and what the possible outcomes are for your case. She asks you to give her your account of everything.

You tell her how you met your ex at a party a friend was having. How the two of you hit it off and began dating, then he started to get possessive and violent and how he would use you sexually and you show her the cuts on your legs, and you whisper to her that they go all the way up your leg and are also on your privates. Her eyes get wide and she frowns. You tell her you were afraid to leave him as you had no family and he had cut you off from most of your friends.

You explain about the health issues you started to have while dating him and what your doctor had told you. You show her the ultrasound photos of the uterine fibroids that you had saved to your phone’s photo app. And explained that you had to have a hysterectomy which removed your womb, and ovaries just after Christmas last year and that it took 3 months to recover fully from it.

Janice asked a few questions about the recovery, which you answered, explaining that your ex didn’t want you to have the surgery and that he didn’t believe what the Doctor had said. You told Janice what he had said to you and what he called you and how much it hurt you. You explain that as soon as you had the surgery, he broke up with you and what he said and did at that time.

Phantom can tell you’re getting upset having to remember all of this and recount it. He nuzzles your hand and whines quietly trying to comfort you.

You take a moment and try to calm down.

You explain how you got cleared by your doctor to resume normal activities finally, and how Scarlett took you for a makeover and shopping to try to pull you out of the depression you had fallen into for the three months of your recovery. You explained how you felt, and Janice asked if Scarlett’s attempt helped you to feel better. You nod.

You explain how you met Graham, and then how you all ended up at the same bar that night and how you ended up meeting Richard.

You explain how Scarlett went home with Aiden, leaving you with Richard, thinking he’d take you home. You tell Janice why you didn’t let Richard take you home and told her what had happened in the past when you had allowed a man to do that once before.

Graham and Janice were both surprised and understood your reasoning. You explained how you walked home because you had forgotten your phone at the apartment when you left in a hurry with Scarlett.

You tell her how your ex stalked you off and on over the three months you were recovering, and how the police wouldn’t do anything about it cuz he never tried to physically attack you until that night.

You tell her what happened, and how you ended up staying with Aiden and Scarlett. You explain how Alex and his officers moved your belongings out of the old apartment for you and are storing them someplace secure. Then how you found out that your ex had gotten out of jail and had burned your old apartment to the ground making 3 families lose their homes and possessions because he didn’t realize you had moved out of there.

You tell her about Todd hiring you and how your ex sent someone to find you and how the guy stalked you at work all day, then how he got arrested. You fill her in on how your ex and one of his lackeys came in and shot Todd in the back then dragged him to the open area of the shop. and beat him severely because he refused to tell them where you were hiding out after he realized what was going on.

You tell Janice that if it wasn’t for Graham finding him when he did, Todd might not have survived the attack, but lucky for Todd, Graham found him and got help right away.

You fill Janice in on how your ex and his lackeys all stalked your friends, showing up at their homes / apartments and at the studio where they work currently. You tell her about your ex calling you from his old phone number to threaten you and your friends and how he admitted to starting the fire in your old apartment, and shooting your boss all because you wouldn’t stay away from Richard, like your ex had ordered you to. You explain he wants you back only so he can use you as his sex toy and nothing more.

You sniffle a few times and are close to tears by now. Graham is holding your hand and gives it a supportive, gentle squeeze.

“I never wanted to cause so much mayhem in these wonderful people’s lives. They have been so helpful, patient, supportive, kind and caring towards me. They don’t deserve all this. I feel horrible that people have lost their homes, their belongings, and nearly their lives just because my ex is trying to scare me to go back to him!” you cry. “He is doing this because he knows he can’t do it directly to me, not without obviously violating the restraining order, so he goes after those closest to me, like in Chess.

But I think he didn’t realize that by calling me and threatening me and my friends over the phone like he did, he violated the restraining order.” You tell her, through sniffles.

She hands you the tissue box from off the counter. You let go of Graham’s hand to pull out some tissues to dry your tears.

Phantom is frantically trying to get you to stop crying and is nuzzling your hand and bum leg and is quietly whining. You wince when his nose nudges your bum thigh.

Graham pets him to calm him down and lets you talk with Janice. Phantom is having none of it and is wanting up on the bed with you. You signal him to ‘go’ and he whines and goes to his bed. Graham stands up and grabs the leash. “Come on, boy, let’s go for a walk and let the ladies talk for a bit.” He tells the dog. Phantom gets up and whines, but follows Graham out the door.

Janice comforts you and tells you not to worry. She is already working with the police and needs to know if you want to press charges.

You nod and tell her to throw the book at him. He deserves whatever he gets.

She asks you why you never reported him for all the physical abuse you suffered at his hands. You tell her he wasn’t the only one to give you the scars on your legs. Your two previous boyfriends to him treated you the same way. You explain that all three threatened you if you reported them and you were rarely left alone. He was with you all the time and rarely left you unattended. He as well as the prior two before him all threatened you that if you ever told anyone or reported it that they would kill your family, friends or you.

You were too afraid to report it and no one but your doctor, the nurses who took care of you in the hospital, and Scarlett knew about it until you met Richard. And you told your doc, nurses & Scarlett not to report it for fear of what your Ex might do to you. You tell Janice to talk to the nurse named Ann who works the overnight shift here. She took care of you the last time you were brought in from your ex’s abuse.

Janice quietly asks if Richard knows about all these scars too. You tell her that you let him see them two nights ago when you let him make love to you for the first time. But none of his friends know that you two have done that. You tell her he likes his privacy and doesn’t ‘kiss and tell’. She nods and understands. You let Janice know that Richard doesn’t know all your history with your exes yet. You haven’t told him what all they did to you and how you nearly lost your life from the last ex’s treatment of you.

She asks you how Richard reacted to seeing the scars and learning what you have shared. You tell her he was upset at first, but was quick to reassure you he was not mad at you, but at the ones who hurt you and gave you the scars. You tell her what he said about loving you, your brokenness and all. You tell her how being with him makes you feel protected and safe and like he is mending your broken pieces back together slowly with his love and affection and kindness. You tell her that he treats you like a treasure, like a princess.

She smiles and tells you that you are indeed a lucky woman to find someone so understanding. She asks you a few more questions and then tells you that is all she will be needing for now.

The two of you talk for a bit just to get to know each other better and wait for Graham and Phantom to return.

When they do, Janice looks over to Graham and thanks him for joining you and keeping you company today. He nods and Janice tells you both that you will need to make sure you have Skype up and working on your laptop tomorrow. She tells you what time the Judge will call and to be ready to share with him, what you told her, and to be ready to honestly answer his questions.

You nod and she tells you she will be at the hearing with the judge so they can discuss anything else. She says she will come see you and let you know how things went and what to expect for the next hearing on Monday.

You and Graham both thank her, and she says goodbye and heads out.

“Sorry Phantom got so whiny. He knew ya were upset.” Graham tells you when he comes back in the room.

“I know, Graham. Thanks for taking him out for a walk.” You reply quietly.

Phantom jumps up on the bed and comes and snuggles on your good side. You pet him and tell him he’s a good boy. He gives you the lovesick puppy look that reminds you of the look Richard had on his face the day before. You snap a picture and put it into the app on your phone. You make a photo collage where Rich’s photo you took is on one side and Phantom’s is on the other. You send it to him with a message, “See you DO have the lovesick puppy look nailed! Ha! 😉”

Graham chuckles at the dog’s antics and then looks at you with a little bit of awe on his face. He shakes his head in disbelief and sighs. “Lass, I didn’t realize what all ya had endured with yer exes. I’m terribly sorry ya had to go through all that. Yer a real trooper to have survived it.” He tells you as he pats your hand and holds it gently in his huge mitts.

You sigh, “And that was just with him, you don’t want to know what I had to endure with the two before him.” You tell him with your head down. “Richard is the first ‘nice guy’ I’ve ever dated. No guy has ever treated me the way Richard does.” You say quietly.

Graham looks at you in disbelief. Then shakes his head. “Wow, Lass. You got balls of steel if you had three guys in a row who treated you horribly and you survived and are still the sassy little ray of sparkly sunshine that you are!” he tells you. “If ya don’t mind me askin’ how long were you with those guys before you met us?” He asks curiously. “Some of those scars on yer legs looked pretty old.”

You sigh, “I was with the first guy for 2 years before I was finally able to get away from him. Scarlett’s family helped me escape. My family had moved to here and Scarlett’s family had also moved out here too. Our Dads worked in the same field and were both transferred out here around the same time. I had stayed behind, because of my first ex.

When I had had enough, Scarlett’s parents paid for a one way train ticket. I took the little bit of belongings I had, crammed them into my backpack and messenger bag and fled one night when they left me alone and unsupervised for an hour. I took a cab to the train station and got on the train and came out here. I called the police and told them I was not missing, and that I was fleeing an abusive relationship and to not give any info to anyone looking for me from that area.

The second boyfriend I had, I met at my job. many years later. I was waitressing at Hooter’s and he was a regular that would come in with the linemen who worked on power lines. He was really nice at first and always tipped me well. One day he asked me out and when I said yes, we dated for about a month, then he started getting more and more pushy and wanting sex. He told me he loved me and would be good to me, but the longer we dated, the meaner he got. I was too afraid and embarrassed to report him. We were together for 3 years.

Finally, Scarlett convinced me to leave him and again, helped me to escape and we got apartments in the same building. But she was on the third floor and I was on the 8th.

She and I went to a party one night and I met Ben there, my latest ex. He again, was nice at first, but soon switched and became mean and demanded sex. He was super possessive and would lock me in his ‘dungeon’ in his basement for days and would call me in sick to work so no one would suspect. If I refused to have sex with him, he’d beat me and pitched a huge temper tantrum and would tie me up, torture and rape me.” You explain, with tears running down your cheeks. I didn’t tell Rich about the first two exes. He was already upset enough just hearing about my latest one. And I couldn’t tell him everything that Ben had done to me either! I didn’t want to overwhelm him.” you tell Graham.

He rubs his face in shock at what you’ve revealed to him about your past. “Ya really haven’t had luck with men, have ya lass?” he said quietly.

You shake your head, no.

“How long were ya with the last one?” he asked.

“A year and a half before he dumped me.” You replied.

“Try not to dwell too much on the past, Lass. Ya can’t change it, ya can only learn from it and move forward. You’re better off without that looser. You’ve found a new love and have been doing pretty well with the whole ‘move forward’ part, so let’s focus on that, okay?” he tells you.

You nod.

“I promise ya, lass, Rich would never treat ya like that. If he did, I’d pummel the shit out of him even if I had to fly half way across the world to do so. I’m sure Aiden and Martin would also do so as well!” he tells you.

“Rich has a temper and is often moody, but I believe he would never treat you like that. When he gets moody, just give him his space and don’t say anything till he calms down. He’ll let you know when he has calmed down and is ready to talk. Then talk with him about how you’re feeling and how he is feeling.” Graham tells you and then gives you a hug.

“So now what do we want to do?” he asks you.

You pull out your phone, turn on the ringer, and see it is almost 3pm. You have a message and you open it to see it is from Richard: “Hey, Sweetheart. It’s a long day, but we’re nearing the end. Am eagerly awaiting the final cut of the day, so I can go and see your sweet face and hold you in my arms. <3 <3 <3 Okay, maybe I do nail the puppy dog look… you’re right. Ugh! LOL! See you when I’m done love, Gotta go. Ttyl. Xoxoxo – Rich.”

You grin and show it to Graham, who chuckles. “I can’t believe you got him to admit that! How did you do that?” he asks.

You show him the picture collage you made with Phantom’s and Richard’s pic of their Lovesick Puppy eyes. He grins, “Yup, nails it!” he says, chuckling.

“How about we see if Aiden and Scarlett are done and want to come hang out. Maybe we can find a game to play or something.” You suggest.

Graham grins and nods.

If you wish to be added / deleted from the tag list let me know:

Tagging:  @fizzyxcustard​​​​​​​  @thorinthehottytotty​​​​​ @dumbassunderthemountain​​​​​@deepestfirefun​​​​​​​ @thetherianthropydaily​​​​​​​ @daisy-picking-lady​​​ @spookybunny-blog​​​​​​​ @dabisburntnut​​​​​​​ @emrfangirl​​​​​​​ @midnight-reader-morning-sleeper​​​​ @hilary456​​​  @criminaly-supernatural​​​​​​

[loadingluke]

Hysto update

Hey all, long time no chat. Warning now, this is going to be a long one.

Firstly, I apologise for not being great at updating- I think that just over time I’ve stopped using tumblr to the same level as I do other social media, When I was 14-17 I was on here all the time, but now not so much. I will still use this as a means to document my medical transition, but I often forget about it so apologies if I don’t keep everyone as updated as I used to. Once phallo happens, I’ll be documenting in writing everything that happens, and I’ll definitely share that on here as well as my private facebook group (If you are 18+ and have facebook, feel free to add this account and shoot me a message to be added: https://www.facebook.com/luke.yeet.961). I’m much more active there compared to tumblr because tumblr mobile sucks lol. I’ll also be making more videos after surgery, as you’ll see below I was really screwed around and. being the middle of semester I was struggling to keep my uni work under control, whilst arranging this all and so I did not have time to film or edit any videos. 

Anyway, now that that housekeeping is out the way, let’s have a chat about what’s happened recently. For those of you who did not know, my hysto was confirmed for September 4th, and was going to be done for free in a public hospital on Medicare (Australian public health insurance). I had my pre-op appointment on the 16/8/2018, and when I got there I found out it had been canceled without me knowing or being told. The receptionist was lovely and found out what happened and told me someone was going to see me and that they wouldn’t be long. 2 and a half hours later, I was finally seen and was told that my surgery may need to be delayed due to ‘issues with ethics approval’. 

I don’t really know what these issues were, or if my case has been submitted at all or if I was just forgotten or something. I don’t know why it was ‘potentially delayed’, but I have seen 3 specialists, and I’ve seen the surgeons now 4 times. I really didn’t know what more I could have provided, or if there is anything more I could even do, but I was more annoyed that I was not being told what I need to do to make it better.

I was really upset and stressed about it all- I get that it’s a public hospital and that I’m lucky the service is available. I’m happy to wait hours, I’m happy to work around the date I’m given with no issues. It’s just really frustrating when I’ve been seeing surgeons there at the hospital since 2016, and actively arranging this since November last year SPECIFICALLY so that it wouldn’t end up being rushed like this. The only other option I was given on the public system besides my current September date was in October, 2 weeks before my final exams. I couldn’t do any later as I’m having phalloplasty in February and I won’t be recovered enough in time for that if I have my hysto any later.

I was really frustrated by the lack of communication and how I had no answers. I needed to get time off work, and special consideration from uni and I knew I had to work really hard to arrange it around what is already a really difficult time for me study wise because I knew that I was not able to be picky with dates and times. I was so relieved once I got my date confirmed by the hospital, and I had it all arranged. A week on from my pre-op appointment, I still had no idea if I was having surgery or not as I had no one contact me since my appointment.

At that point, I called the hospital and was given a little more of an explanation. Apparently, my surgery was canceled due to ethics having an issue with my age (I am 22 for context). They had a meeting that day regarding the situation an I can expect a call later. I was told that September is about 95% chance canceled, they MAY be able to swing something if I'm really lucky but it's not looking good. Apparently, this is a hospital-wide issue and I'm not the only case dealing with something like this. I was really upset. I specifically got the ball rolling months in advance to make sure all the ethics was fine, and then in April was told it was all good, so I still have no idea why this happened. 

I then contacted my team at my gender clinic. They tried to work with the surgeons to help me, as well as steps to issue a formal complaint. Afterwards I felt a lot more positive, and I'm so grateful that they are all so supportive and helpful. It meant a lot that they are taking time out of their busy days to assist me. 

Next, I got a call from the surgeon and she didn’t have any luck, and that they won't grant approval by my September surgery date. She arranged for my surgery to be done privately- I just need to check with Bupa when they are open tomorrow that they are happy to approve it (I'm currently in my 12 month waiting period). 

I really hope that I've made it clear that I'm not frustrated at the team at the hospital (bar the communication), more the system. Whoever these ethics people are or what their issues are, they can't just go back on their decision at the 11th hour...THAT'S not ethical. I hope that what follows this is a shift in attitude because trust me, I'm making sure this isn't just swept under the rug. I will say though, I've been jumping through hoops for years to prove that I know what I am doing, and fighting tooth and nail for body autonomy and I have been doing so as long as I've been transitioning (over 6 years now). Honestly, today is my first time actually having my health care practitioners advocating on my behalf and it feels amazing having so much support. The surgeon has done everything she can, and I am so very grateful for her and the work she does for the trans community, as well as everyone at my gender clinic for being so helpful and willing to work with me to fix this awful situation.

After 3 calls to Bupa I was finally sure I’m covered for my surgery. Two people had no idea what was going on, and one person was excellent. He was furious that they weren’t just accepting that my case was ‘psychiatric’ and not a ‘pre exisiting condition’ (2 month vs 12 month waiting period, I’m currently at 8 months). He he said he’d be able to sort it out but the turn around might mean it won’t be sorted by my surgery date. Stressful times. He called back later and let me know that at the moment updating from my current standard hospital care to top level care would remove my waiting times as they’ve had to change the plans around to meet the industry standard. This was not really relevant for me, but it was a neat loophole that meant I didn’t have to worry about running around and getting emergency psych evaluations (again!) because I’m just covered either way. 

My surgeon, Dr. Kent Kuswanto, squeezed me in for a Wednesday morning pre-op appointment last week.  It was a pretty quick chat as he had already obtained all my info from the public hospital, and I'd already had 4 other appointments with gynos/specialists so I was already familiar with the procedure and what was going to be happening. He just went through basic medical stuff, like asking about smoking, medical history etc. It was pretty straightforward. Since I'm covered with Bupa, I'll be having surgery privately on Monday. I've been booked in for 11:30, fasting from 7am the day of surgery, and I'm having a total laparoscopic hysterectomy (with a robot, how exciting!).

Kent is not charging me an out of pocket cost (as I was already on the public system list and my situation was unique, but I don't know if that is the norm), but I will be charged about 200-300 by the anaesthetist, plus potentially some pathology (which will either not amount to much, or will be covered by Bupa anyway). I'll need to pay the hospital my 250 premium for Bupa on admission to the hospital, but besides that, I should be covered for everything else. 

Since stage one phallo is only 5 months away, I'm glad I'm getting this done now. If I knew at the time that this is what would have happened, I definitely would have gone privately in the first place to avoid being messed around, and I would have done it sooner, but c'est la vie ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Kent and his secretary are lovely, an I felt super well looked after. I'll make another post sometime tonight about how I'm preparing etc, but fingers crossed that's all for now until then!

[crimsonlyre]

Vampdoc: 5/19/2018 Prompt

Today’s prompt was provided by @adeptussquid!

Prompt #5: A vampire is learning how to be a doctor in modern times, and must deal with performing surgery.  Hilarity ensues.

As always, don’t hesitate to leave critique in my asks or my notes!

----------------------------------------------------

The bustle of the ER was especially intense today. A gas explosion down the block had resulted in a number of casualties- numbering well into the thirties by the final tally. Doctors and assistants ran about in a blur, medical jargon flying around the space as those patients who were quite a great deal luckier than the others in terms of injury questioned- selfishly- as to when they would be seen. One such particular doctor was a woman by the name of Luna Beauregard- an accomplished surgeon and holder of multiple prestigious rewards.

At least, officially.

The truth of the matter was that Luna Beauregard had died a very long time ago. Then known as Lanette Boudreaux, she had gone through a number of different lives since her official death. Now, one might think it strange that someone like her was employed at a hospital... Much less as a surgeon, considering the nasty case of hemophilia that the condition intends to imply. Luna, as she was calling herself, was a well trained and seasoned vampire. Yes, vampire. The method through which she  subsisted was by hypnotizing the staff in charge of the on-site blood bank, and taking what she needed through those means... Of course, with hypnotism now on the narrative table, it should hopefully be quite easy to guess why she held the position she held.

Supernatural bullshit.

Luna had been an employee of St. John's Memorial Hospital for a touch under two weeks. With no real credentials and no real experience- it was a miracle that she had even lasted this long. With fast talking and fast application of her feminine and supernatural wiles, she was able to scrape by one day at a time... Though a piece of her couldn't help but think that this was- quite possibly- the worst decision that she had ever made in terms of 'work placement', as she had begun to call it. Today was a prime example of how woefully underprepared she was... Seated in her office as the rest of the staff zoomed about the building with urgency, she sat with her feet kicked up on the desk reading through the latest edition of 'Vogue' with a phone and her wallet nearby.

The office, of course, actually belonged to the woman whose place she had taken. The original Luna had indeed been a successful surgeon with a list of accomplishments one hundred miles long, but she could not have accounted for the sudden life change of becoming a vampire's dinner. In her absence, this false Luna had taken her place... Even moved in with the late Beauregard's husband! Of course, with the fact that she had taken this woman's office, titles, and accomplishments? It meant that the very same expectations were placed upon her than had been upon the real thing. Which meant that it should not have surprised her nearly so much when third year surgical intern Renee Wilson slammed her palms down on her desk- having entered without drawing Luna's notice.

"You BITCH!" She exclaimed, her gaze withering as Luna casually looked up from her book.

"Oh, me? A bitch? Darling I save LIVES! What kind of bitch does that, huh? That's right. Not one." The 'doctor' huffed, turning her attention back to her magazine. That is, until a full cup of pencils was thrown directly at her face- falling all over the floor and her lap. There was little more she could do than sit in stunned silence- else risk the possibility of baring her fangs and hissing... So she sat, giving the thousand yard stare to the folded down pages of her magazine as she processed what had just happened.

"Okay. Alright. So you're serious, fine. Why are all you interns so freakin' hormonal? What, did I sleep with you some night and not call you back? D'you wanna' go have hate sex in the elevator or something? This is how that usually goes, right?" If Renee had been red in the face before, now she was practically on the verge of exploding. There was a reason that Luna jumped to that conclusion of course... A great deal of research had gone into her decision to take up this position, and she wasn't about to let it go to waste. Not after everything that poor Meredith Grey had gone through!

"Un fucking believable. Doctor Beauregard, we have a situation in the ER that needs all hands on deck. That includes you. So what the Hell are you doing in this office reading fashion magazines!" Renee reached across the desktop, snatching the magazine from the stunned Luna's hands with a harsh whip of paper before it was handedly discarded into the trash bin beside the door. "Now get out here and pick your interns. You're performing a thoracic aortic dissection repair in OR one in NOW." Renee stormed out of the room without another word, as Luna launched herself out of her chair in a bid to quickly follow after her to ask what she had just said. A thoraxic what? That sounded complicated!

Nervously, Luna tugged at her collar as she made her way out after Renee... Where the hell was OR one again? This was usually the part where the show cut right to the action. She was never told that hospitals were such ridiculous labyrinths! Map... Map map map. The woman's eyes feverishly searched about for some manner of navigational assistance, eventually settling on a large map of the hospital's fire escape routes in the hall. From the looks of it, OR one was all the way on the top floor of the four story hospital... On the farthest side of the bloody building.

Because of course it was.

So she ran. Full tilt, her laniard with name badge swinging to and fro so intensely that it quite literally slapped a passing Nurse right on the bridge of the nose. Luna didn't stop when the woman gasped and clutched at her wound- however... Heedless of the fact that her plastic card had, somehow, ripped open the woman's flesh. It was taking a great deal of restraint to keep her pace measured. After all, she was a creature of the night! AND a certified medical professional! There was a very specific art to running in these situations according to the hospital shows, so she had to honor tradition!

By the time she arrived at the OR, she was plenty able to fake being out of breath; in truth it was likely no small part due to the fact that she was a VERY un-athletic bloodsucker. Un-athletic, and unb-coordinated. She opened the door to the prep room with an impressively stoney face despite her exhaustion, moving to the sinks and beginning to scrub in with surprising efficiency. As she did, one of the doctors assisting entered and spoke with a dreamily warm- yet extremely condescending voice, "Doctor Beauregard... Have you chosen your interns? You aren't planning on going in there without them, are you?" Luna lifted her gaze, affixing him with the withering gaze of a professional actress feigning intense disapproval.

"With all due respect, Doctor... D-doctor. I don't need interns to scrub in on a surgery I know better than my own right hand. If anything, they would only get in the way. A... An uh... A Thoraxic Reduction Distection is textbook. Step by step. If anything I'm insulted that you think so little of me as to suggest I need interns."

Doctor Doctor lifted a brow at her, running a rag over his hands with an 'are you serious?' stare on his face clear as day. But soon enough, and much to Luna's surprise? He chuckled... Shooting her a devilish smirk as those dreamy, dreamy eyes drank her in. "That's the attitude I like... Alright then, Doctor. The stress is getting to you, I can tell... But, we'll get this done." Luna's response came as a haughty huff as she finished scrubbing in, holding her hands out towards him as she innocently tilted her head.

"Gloves?" "Yeah, I'll be your intern for the next fifteen seconds." As he began to slide the surgical gloves over her hands, her own expression twisted into a visage equally as devilish. "If you're my intern, then what do you think about meeting me in the break room in ward C after we save this man's life?" The gloves on, he gave her a roguish wink.

"Save her life, and I'll think about it." Well, these mistakes happen when you don't read your patients charts.

This patient was a woman. That was what the expression on Luna's face said, and it was one that earned a tremendous laugh from the surgeon assisting. A laugh that continued even as she pressed her back to the door, rolling her eyes as she entered the OR without even putting a face mask on. The faux-doctor strode towards the woman on the table, humming all the way there as she finally arrived tableside... Her eyes wandered up to the observation room- where she noticed at least a dozen people sitting in to watch. A quite "Yes" slipped between Luna's lips as she looked back to her patient, and realized quite quickly...

She hadn't a single clue on how to go about cutting a person open for surgical purposes. Sure, she had some knowledge of old world medicine... But leeches weren't going to fix a thoraxic whatever the fuck. Her eyes widened as the other three surgeons filed into the room to assist- watching her expectantly as she acted like a mannequin. One minute passed... Two. Three. Four. Five minutes passed in complete and utter silence, before finally, one of the other surgeons in the room suggested in a biting tone- "Doctor Beauregard! The longer you delay, the further this patient declines! You need to start the procedure now!" With that goading, the vampiress was roused from her stupor.

"Doctor Acula, the longer you scream at me like a little baby, the longer this patient goes without care. God... Shouldn't you be more in awe of me or something? I mean, I'm the Meredith!" Despite the childish nature of the retort, the hypnotic nature of her voice seemed well beyond capable of quelling his well founded scrutiny.  Now that the rude one had been dealt with? It was time to do a Thalatonic Hysterectomy.

Luna would have known what to do, for certain. Yet Lanette was none the wiser. Instinct was something with which a vampiress was exceedingly close... But this time, it was going to betray her. Her right hand grasped a ten blade from the instrument tray beside her, staring at it with a completely deadpan look in her eyes before she decided to begin the procedure—

And made the first cut. Expert work being put in to the incision- and not even a flinch as the blood made itself visible. "Suction." She commanded dryly, placing the ten blade down and picking up a pair of clamps. She shoved these into the incision- forcing it apart in a grotesque sloshing of bone and meat. "Hold it. I'm going to begin the Thoraxaholic Disgenuation." The grip on the clamps was taken by the attending who had spoken against her just earlier- now stoneface calm as she began to work. It was all textbook. Professional as all Hell. At least it would have been, if it was even the proper procedure. At least it wouyld've been if it weren't for one glaring fact.

Everyone in the room, and everyone in the observation room, was staring straight ahead with a dead emptiness in their eyes. Lanette, however, was still staring blankly at the instrument in her hand. She looked between it and the doctors across from her, humming thoughtfully before lifting the scalpel in hand- and jamming it into the patient's chest cavity. "There. Thorakoxic whatever is now done! Uh..." The others would be trapped in that illusion for quite a while. She hadn't had a chance to study the actual procedure- but all that she needed to keep consistent with reality in her little illusion was that the procedure took at least 48 hours. She had glimpsed the board, so it was a simple matter to make it last that long in dreamland.

Speaking of dreamland, her own was over before it even had a chance to begin. That realization became apparent as she let out a harsh sigh and a shake of her head.

"Well uhm... I shouldn't waste this. In the name of professionalism and... Whatever." Vampires had uses for freshly expired individuals, after all. After she snuck out of here and left the name of Luna Beauregard behind, she could use a ghoul to stand in as her assistant for her next undertaking...

The judicial system was full of bullshit, right? She could make a killing as a defense lawyer! Lord save them all.

[surly01]

The Avatar of American Apartheid

The Trump years have revealed new truths about our relatives, neighbors, and friends. Or former friends. They have embraced the Avatar of American Apartheid.

We’ve had to open our eyes to the fact that some with whom we’ve happily shared parts of our lives stand revealed as racist to the core. Just fine with kidnapping and incarceration of immigrant children, forced family separations, and compulsory hysterectomies for some refugee women. OK with cancellation of decades of environmental regulation and climate change denial. OK with the negligent homicide that comprises the administration’s Covid-19 response. Enthused about deploying anonymized companies of military-style shock troops into the streets to “black bag” protesters and gas peaceful demonstrators exercising their First Amendment rights. Fully embracing the author of 20,000-plus lies, the serial sexual assaults, the mind-bending attacks on institutions great and small.

Enough. I am not fine with any of the above, nor am I fine with those who are.

Some reading this might protest, “But I’m not a racist. I have a black friend/co-worker/neighbor, etc.” The election of the first Black President led many believe that we had entered a “post-racial society.” In arguments elsewhere about structural racism in the US, my opponents have cited Obama’s election as proof that race issues were now over.  Would that it were so. Trump’s election has revealed American Apartheid as it really is. Howard Zinn and others have brought the receipts to show American history is a procession of mass murder and colonial appropriation, an uncomfortable truth we remain unwilling to hear. And the resurgence of the hard edge of neo-confederate militia rage and racist taunts from Charlottesville to Michigan highlight the dark stain on America’s soul.

America is as divided as it was in the 1850s, in that tense time of conflict before the Civil War. The windfall of territories gained in the wake of the War with Mexico led to arguments about how those territories would be apportioned between slave states and free states. This led to the Compromise of 1850, a package of bills abolishing slavery in Washington DC, admission to the Union of California as a free state, and enhancement of the Fugitive Slave Act. This last required northern magistrates to act as agents and slavecatchers for southern slave-owners. The Compromise also provided for existing territories to be admitted as “slave” or “free” depending on the inhabitants’ electoral will. This led to “Bleeding Kansas,” those battles waged between roving bands of abolitionists and slaveholders, and where abolitionist John Brown made his bones.  A period of widespread domestic terror.

Much has been made of the rural-urban divide, which is actually the 21st-century code for racism. In a recent National Review column, Rich Lowry observed that Trump is

“the foremost symbol of resistance to the overwhelming woke cultural tide that has swept along the media, academia, corporate America, Hollywood, professional sports, the big foundations, and almost everything in between,” including “the 1619 Project.”

Those who live in Trump country, where the KKK still has a relatively strong established presence, care little for what he does as long as it gives them license to hate liberals. The bigger the outrage, the louder the applause. Thus when Trump said, “he could shoot someone in the middle of Fifth Avenue...,” he was correct. Non-Trump-cult members who wonder “how can they still back Trump after this scandal or the next” fail to understand the underlying motivating factor of his support. It’s “fuck liberals.” Since according minorities their constitutionally-guaranteed rights would require an acknowledgement of America’s actual history of racism, it is vigorously opposed by change-resistant conservatives determined to preserve the prerogatives of white entitlement.

Attempts to have a logical, rational conversation with Trumpists invariably reveals a person who believes their well-being depends upon avoiding things they’d rather not know. Or who will replace evidence with an alternative set of facts, generally created of whole cloth and breathed into life like a golem through repetition in right-wing media.

Consider QAnon, that hatchery of right-wing fucknuttery. Scratch their “Save the Children” marketing disguise and find revealed a narrative similar to that in the most influential anti-Jewish pamphlet of all time, “The Protocols of the Elders of Zion.” This was written by Russian anti-Jewish propagandists around 1902. Central to the mythology was the Blood Libel, which claimed that Jews kidnapped and slaughtered Christian children and drained their blood to mix in the dough for matzos consumed on Jewish holidays.

Consider the current package of accusations:

A secret cabal is taking over the world. They kidnap children, slaughter, and eat them to gain power from their blood. They control high positions in government, banks, international finance, the news media, and the church. They want to disarm the police. They promote homosexuality and pedophilia. They plan to mongrelize the white race so it will lose its essential power.

Thus are “The Protocols” repackaged by QAnon for Americans largely ignorant of history. Some have even suggested that QAnon is a Nazi cult, rebranded. What is appalling is that so many of our neighbors, relatives, and “friends” are so credulous.

As David Pollard has observed,

Trump’s support among white males remains basically unchanged over the past four years. This, not Republicans, is his real base — a clear majority of white males continue to support Trump, and it hasn’t been that long since they were the only people allowed to vote. Whites, and male whites moreso, have voted against every Democratic presidential candidate since the civil rights movement of the 1960s. And let’s be clear — I didn’t say, old white males. Young white males of all voting-age groups remain committed, almost as much as their older counterparts, to support Trump. Their entrance into the voting age cohorts has barely caused a ripple in the plurality of white males supporting Trump. That may surprise you until you consider that a disproportionate number (about half) of young voters are nonwhite (only a quarter of boomers are nonwhite), so looking at the entire youth cohort’s seemingly progressive attitudes obscures the reality that most young whites hew to the same extreme right-wing politics that the majority of old whites subscribe to; there’s just fewer of them.

We’ll leave it for you to consider that it means that a majority of white males of all ages are knowingly prepared to vote again for a blatantly corrupt candidate, a pathological liar, mentally deranged, uninformed, racist, sexist, utterly without principle, and increasingly untethered to reality. One whose “White House Science Office” takes credit for ‘ending’ the pandemic as infections mount to all-time highs.

But after 20,000 lies, who’s left to quibble?

“I love the poorly educated.” Donald J. Trump 

Trump may lose the election, but white American males (and some true-believing females) aren’t going anywhere. They are the product of our systemically racist, sexist, patriarchal culture, born to preserve the prerogatives of white men of property while denying justice to the nonwhite, the native, the immigrant, the female, the “weak.” While they also control the courts, the banks, the legal system, and law enforcement, created in their likeness to support and preserve white male power, they are quick to snap into a well-practiced victim pose whenever challenged.

This past summer, members of the ShutDownDC movement protested at Chad Wolf’s home. They said,

“We know there are no career consequences for these men and women. We know there are no financial consequences for these men and women. We know there are no legal consequences for these men and women. We must make social consequences for these men and women. We must make it uncomfortable for them. We will not be good Germans. We will not be the people who sat by and watched our neighbors commit these atrocities and said nothing because their kids were home.”

The differences between both sides of a culture war are as strong as the conflict between “slave” and “free” in the 1850s, and are likewise framed in moral absolutes. No matter what happens on or after November 3, Trumpism remains with or without Trump. How will we live with its followers?. And whether or not there are “consequences” for their actions, the stink of Trump will never wash away, and what has been seen can’t be unseen. Nor will it be forgotten.

[flabulessandfit-blog]

Cheater, cheater, cake eater

Cakes, cookies, candy and ice cream oh my! As most women in their 30′s these all go directly to the thighs (and stomach too). If you are ready for a wild ride through a weight loss journey follow me and I will take you on one hell of an adventure. I am very new to this and can’t wait to share this journey. So without further ado........here we go!

So, about a month ago I went to the Dr for a checkup and she comes back with “You know you are heart attack and stroke level right?” Well, duh Becky! Like she was telling me something I didn’t already know. 

In 2013, I had a hysterectomy and it left an emptiness in me. Besides the literal missing some parts hole, I felt a need to feel a void. So what did I do? I went to food to fill that so called hole. Over the course of the next few years I gained some new unwanted friends belly, thighs, flabby arms and a whollllllleeee lotta ass! I tried several diets and weight loss plans and failed at every one. But, I really didn’t want it. I wanted to lean on my other friend FOOD! My husband still thought I was beautiful even though I couldn’t stand to look in the mirror and felt like crap 99% of the time so why change it? Why go out of my comfort zone? 

Well, after I heard my Dr say this, I came home, looked at my kids, my house, my husband, my dog and my life. I decided this was my time to change. Did I really want to keep being unhappy with my life or did I want to change it? 

I decided to change it and this time I wanted it. I actually craved it this time. Why not look hot as hell at 31? What was there to lose other than a small child of weight? 

So I called a local gym and J (shortened for his privacy) answered the phone. We talked several minutes about what my issue was and I was straight forward. I am lazy AF! I love food. That’s my problem.

 Then he said something that changed it all. He asked what I look for when I go shopping for clothes. Well something that makes me feel good DUH! Then he said “Think of food like when you go clothes shopping. Do you want to wear it?” Well shit! Now, I can’t buy a cake because all I can picture is wearing it like a new stomach roll! Thanks a lot dude!  

 So I go in the next day and get a membership and personal training sessions with J.Because lets face it, with the comment above he just ruined everything I love.......junk food! 

Here. we. go! Operation “I will no longer die walking to my mailbox” in session!

Now, lets talk about my first session. Holy. Freaking. Hell! HIIT is all I can say! J LOVES him some HIIT and loves watching my soul die doing it. I had sweat in places I didn’t even know could sweat. I am pretty sure my heart stopped 7 times and I walked out with a collapsed lung but I didn’t die! I couldn’t walk for a week (seriously). I walked backwards down my stairs because my quads felt like they were going to shoot out of the front of my legs. Honestly, I wanted to give up! But, I didn’t! I kept going. I was finally tired of giving up. I was tired of the skinny bia inside of me screaming to be seen again. 

Finally, I am not giving up. I am going to do this and I am going to be Flabuless and Fit! I hope you follow my journey and I hope I can help someone on this journey to know that you can do it if you want. You have to find the passion inside you. 

Until next time........Now let’s celebrate the New Year with ca...........carrots, just carrots!

[emmilynestill]

Previously on To Sacrifice the Sun....

Here we are, with the summaries of all 18 chapters plus prologue under the cut.

I hope to have the new chapter (plus the chapter of (Don’t) Let Me Go up in an hour.  Fingers crossed)

Overall story summary:

Felicity Smoak was recruited by ARGUS directly out of MIT and became one of the youngest Field Agents in their history. She was the Tech Guru of one of their most elite teams and her partner, Oliver Queen, was the love of her life. Then a mission went south, with terrible consequences. Felicity turned from field work and Oliver, hiding away in ARGUS’ hidden R&D center, the Cave.

Five years later, a new evil is infiltrating the world, but it’s looking for the same lost Mayan City and the same missing artifact. The one’s that Felicity had made herself the world’s leading expert on. So now she was going to have to face her past, her greatest fears, and her biggest mistakes to find whatever HIVE is after before they do, because if Damian Darhk finds it first, no one on the planet will be safe.

Catch up here:

New readers check this out:

Read under the cut for Chapter summaries and title art:

Previously on…

Prologue:

Five years ago.  

Guatemala

The night before a huge mission, ARGUS Agent Felicity Smoak has a terrible premonition that things are going to go badly.  Their mission is to go to the Temple of the Jaguar in Tikal, find the Obsidian Skull, a powerful Mayan artifact, before Reiter and his Shadowspire troops. It is her job to translate the hieroglyphics and find the skull.

Her “secret” boyfriend, Oliver, arrives and tries to take her mind off the mission, plying her with Guatemalan rum.  Felicity teases him that the team knows all about them and most of them are hooking up with each other anyway. (Ronnie and Caitlin are secretly married.  Lyla and Digg, their CO, are also together.  Only Slade and Sara are not).

They make love and Felicity is overcome with emotion and the feeling that something horrible is going to happen, but can’t bring herself to tell Oliver.  He tells her that after they beat Reiter he wants to move in together and finally go home to see his family (they still believe he and Sara died on the Gambit 5 years prior).  Oliver tells her his fantasies of getting married and having a baseball team of children, a Queen Legacy.  They talk about their future together.

After the mission in Tikal, Felicity wakes up in an ARGUS medical facility in terrible pain.  Her surgeon, Shado, explains to her that much of the team was injured and that Ronnie (one of the eight team members and her best friend’s husband) was killed.  

Shado explains that Felicity was shot in the abdomen.  They had to do a hysterectomy and now she can’t have children.  In shock and in pain, Felicity feels hopeless and doesn’t believe she will ever feel happy again.  

To preserve Oliver’s dream, she decides to sacrifice her happiness for his.  Felicity refuses to talk to him or tell him what happened, believing he will leave ARGUS, go home to Starling, start over, and have his dream life with someone else.

Chapter 1:

The Cave (ARGUS science and Technology center).

Five years later, Felicity is working as a team leader in the secret underground ARGUS Science Center.  After Tikal, she sealed her medical records and refused to speak to anyone from the team except Caitlin, who had lost her husband. Felicity did not tell Caitlin about her injuries until she found out, five months after the mission, that instead of leaving ARGUS and going home as Felicity had wanted (and expected) Oliver to do, he was taking an undercover mission with the Bratva, deep in Russia. Caitlin encouraged Felicity to tell Oliver the truth and she rushed over to stop him from leaving but is too late. Since then, no one has seen or heard from Oliver but his handler.

In present day, Felicity returns to her lab to see, Digg, who she hasn’t seen in years.   He tells her that there is a new threat, Damian Darhk and HIVE, who are searching for Kin Cuudad, the Lost City of the Sun, and a magic artifact, Kin Zil, the Gift, which is rumored to be far more powerful than the Obsidian Skull (the artifact that killed Ronnie).  Digg needs Felicity to come back into the field, because no one knows the Lost City mythology and the Mayan language like Felicity.

Felicity, suffering from PTSD, tries to deflect, saying the city isn’t real, it’s a myth.  Digg tells her they found a Door.  He says they are assembling the old team and Caitlin has already agreed to come.  He leaves and Cait, who is now a part of Felicity’s CAVE team, comes to apologize for not telling her earlier and to ask Felicity to help her face her demons on Yucatan Peninsula.  Feeling she has no choice, Felicity agrees.  

Chapter Two

The airport, the next day

At the airport, Felicity and Caitlin meet Curtis and Cisco, two other members of their CAVE team, who are joining team them for this mission (Curtis replacing Ronnie as Team Engineer and Cisco running comms from base).  Their silly teasing starts to relax Felicity until they start teasing her about seeing her “Gorgeous ex” and she realizes that Oliver, who she believed was still in Russia, would be meeting them in Mexico.  Felicity has a panic attack in the bathroom and Caitlin talks her down, but she still feels that she ruined Oliver’s life with her bad decisions.

ARGUS Safe House, Mayan Rivera

During the flight, Felicity prepares herself to see Oliver again and decides when they arrive at the Beach House/Safe House it would be best to get to over with.  She goes to the beach to find Oliver, only to see him smiling and talking to a very pregnant Lyla.  When Felicity sees him touch her pregnant belly, she panics, again, running away and having another attack.

After calming herself some, Sara finds her and welcomes her warmly, introducing her to Roy, Lyla’s replacement for Special Ops (since she is too pregnant to go on the mission).  Roy worked with Oliver in Russia and recognizes Felicity’s name.  Sara and Roy express their belief that the break up was Oliver’s fault.  Shado and Caitlin interrupt before Felicity can convince them otherwise.  

Surrounded by friends and support, Felicity is feeling better even if they are all pushing her to talk to Oliver. Until they see him and abandon Felicity to her fate.

Chapter Three

ARGUS Safe House, Mayan Rivera

Left alone with Oliver, Felicity freezes.  Oliver takes this badly and offers to leave the team if it would make her more comfortable. This leads to Felicity giving a long, anxious, babbling speech about how she is a train wreck emotionally.  She is devastated to learn that Oliver has blamed himself for the break-up all this time.  When Felicity tries to say it is her, not him, Oliver reveals that he feels responsible for her getting shot since the gun was aimed at him.  Then he walks away.

Later, the entire team gathers in the War Room where they are told they are going to the Mayan City of Palenque to gather clues, before heading into the jungle and to the Door.  Curtis and Cisco reveal their inventions for the trip, including a new bow for Oliver.  Digg tells Oliver if things go south it is his job to protect Felicity.  Felicity is given a photograph of the supposed Door and translates it with her newly enhanced glasses.  For the first time, she believes this may all be real and gets excited, feeling more herself than she has in years.

The next morning, the team of 8 travel to Palenque which has been emptied of tourists.  The old team (Slade, who lost an eye there, Sara, Digg, Cait, Oliver, and Felicity) come face to face with the Mayan world for the first time since Tikal.

Chapter Four

At Palenque, Felicity is searching the Temple of the Sun for clues on how to open the Door to Kin Cuudad, the Lost City, but all she is able to find is a fresco she knows well.  It depicts the founder of Palenque, King Cadmeal, who escaped from the Lost City and is said to be the child of the Daughter of the Sun and the Warrior King, but nothing new.

Curtis and Sara manage to leverage open the stone slab to get into a Chamber at the base of the temple where Felicity has never been in before.  She and Caitlin search there for clues and come up empty handed.  She is about to look in one of the four (uninteresting) tombs when Curtis starts teasing her about Oliver and trying to get her to tell them why they broke up.

This leads to Caitlin telling them how they escaped Tikal, after both Felicity and Sara were unconscious, a story Felicity had never heard before.  Caitlin tells the group the entire story, including Ronnie being killed, Sara being buried in rubble, and the gun being shot at Oliver and Felicity stepping in the way.  Only Oliver and Cait at that point were unharmed and in his rage Oliver was able to capture the skull and smash it against the wall so Digg could shoot and kill Reiter.

After the emotional story, Felicity seeks Oliver out and tells him she is glad she took the bullet because he saved them all and is a hero.  She hugs him and walks away.

Chapter Five  

That evening, Felicity is sitting on the crumbling steps of the Palace staring out at the jungle when Oliver finds her.  They talk about their memories from their time in the Yucatan five years ago, and things are just starting to feel normal, when the talk turns to Russia.  Then Felicity learns Oliver came to bring her to dinner.  Her CAVE team often tease her about forgetting to eat, but she is humiliated that they sent Oliver, until he confesses he volunteered.  

Felicity blurts out that she didn’t want him to go to Russia, that she wanted him to go home to Starling and be happy, which makes things tense again.  She tells him she tried to stop him from going to Russia, but it was too late. Oliver is obviously upset about the information, but tells her he’s glad she told him.  He then asks her to come to camp and have some of his famous five-alarm chili.  Slade and Digg want to “initiate” Roy and Curtis.  Felicity agrees thinking the chili will be her penance, until Oliver confesses he made a special not lethal batch for her and Cait.

Chapter Six:

Back at camp, Felicity confronts Caitlin for sending Oliver to get her and playing matchmaker, until she finds out Oliver really did volunteer.  Cait apologizes for pushing them back together and confesses that she is ready to move on with their CAVE teammate, Barry, and feels guilty about it, but, also, that she wants both Felicity and Oliver to be happy.

At the campfire, Cait is convinced that the nonlethal chili is evidence of Oliver still being in love with Felicity.  The team gangs up on the newbies as they eat the painful chili.  Roy handles it well, knowing what is expected of a Spec Ops, but Curtis freaks out, to everyone’s, especially Slade’s, amusement.  In the end, they confess the joke and Slade shares his flask with the team, Guatemalan Rum that reminds Felicity of her last night with Oliver.

The rest of the team gets drunk and decides to try and play Mayan ball, which gets very competitive very fast. Slade’s team starts to win when he puts Sara on his shoulders.  Curtis falls and twists his ankle and Oliver turns to Felicity and asks her to help him, “Kick Slade’s ass.”

Chapter Seven

Caught up in the moment, Felicity allows Oliver to bring her into the ballgame which involves her sitting on his shoulders and trying to get a ball in a hoop 30 feet off the ground. At first, she’s freaked out, but they work well together and manage to play to a tie.  Roy tackles Sara and Slade, but Slade refuses to forfeit.  The game looks like it will never end when the skies open up and it starts to pour.  

Oliver and Felicity share an emotionally heated (and UST ridden) moment in the rain before Slade calls them to help gather their gear.  Felicity pretends to fall asleep in the tent to avoid Sara’s ribbing and Cait’s questions, trying not to imagine Oliver naked in the next tent over.

Chapter Eight

Felicity wakes up the next morning after a strange dream about King Cadmeal and his wife dancing around tombs, with the intense need to look in the tombs in the chamber under the Temple of the Sun.  No one else is up and Felicity struggles with how to make Curtis’ fancy coffee maker work until Oliver shows up and does it for her.  They have a pleasant breakfast discussing how eggs are eaten in Russia.

The conversation turns to how they slept and Felicity confesses her dream and is pleasantly surprised by how serious Oliver takes it, though he always does.  Oliver offers to take her down into the Temple of the Sun himself and doesn’t seem to find it necessary to wake anyone else.

In the base of the temple, Oliver struggles with opening the tombs by himself, but refuses to admit it. There is nothing exciting in the first two tombs and Felicity starts to think it’s a dead-end.  Talk of her dream leads her to admitting have intuitions and promotions since before Tikal.  Oliver is upset that she didn’t tell him back then.

But then he loses control of one of the huge limestone slabs covering a tomb and it falls to the ground, causing a layer of red clay on the inside surface to crack and reveals an intricate carving underneath.  

Chapter Nine

The Carving reveals symbols of Kin Cuudad as well as having a carving of the Daughter of the Sun and the Warrior King facing each other and making a strange pattern with their fingers. They also seem to be wearing jewelry that Oliver postulates may be the Gift, Kin Zil.  

Oliver confesses a fascination over the Daughter of the Sun and while discussing them Oliver and Felicity almost kiss, but it is interrupted by Felicity having a panic attack.

The spell is broken and they explore the inside of the Tombs.  The hieroglyphs of one of the Tombs reveals it to be Cadmeal, the Daughter of the Sun and the Warrior King’s son, the founder of Palenque.  Another may be his wife and they discover an intricate moonstone carving in her hands.  Her fingers are also splayed like on the carving.

Before they can discover anything else, the emergency comms crackle on and they learn from Digg that they are under attack.

Chapter Ten

While Oliver and Felicity are in the base of the Temple of the Sun discovering what was in the tombs Palenque was invaded by HIVE.  The rest of the team engaged in a gun fight and Digg ordered Oliver to take Felicity and get her to the Door ahead of the team.

They take what they can from the tombs and photograph what they can’t.  Oliver hoists Felicity out of the underground Chamber first and while she is waiting for him she gives into temptation and listens to what is happening with the team, learning back-up is on its way. but Roy is seriously injured. An explosion rocks the temple sending Felicity into a flashback of Tikal.

A kiss from Oliver pulls Felicity out of the flashback.  They zip line to the other side of the park, where he drags her into the jungle. There they find an all terrains motorcycle and take off into the jungle.

Chapter Eleven

On the back of the motorcycle, Felicity struggles o hold on with the rocky terrain, but manages to work the GPS and communicate with the team (while Oliver drives and only has access to what she is saying.)

Ground back-up has arrived at Palenque, but things are not going well for the team and a medievac has not arrived for Roy who is rapidly losing blood.  Cisco and Lyla, from base, reveal that they can not send in air back-up because of an approaching hurricane.  This triggers a panicked meltdown from Caitlin until Felicity talks her down.

Then Damian Darhk announces his presence over the comms, having captured Curtis, Slade, and Sara as they attempted to lead HIVE away from Oliver and Felicity and the rest of the team. Darhk demands the location of Kin Cuudad.

Lyla shuts down the comms, tells Felicity they are erasing all records of the Door’s location from everyone but her and Oliver’s devices, and then cuts them off from ARGUS communication system to protect them from HIVE.  Just as Felicity is about to explain this to Oliver, a black blur jumps in front of them, the bike crashes and the word goes black.

Felicity wakes up to Oliver’s concerned voice and they discover a jaguar jumped out at them.  The crash broke Oliver ARGUS watch and damaged Felicity’s, messing up their GPS.    As she works to fix her watch, she catches sight of their missing jaguar in the tree.

Chapter 12

Stranded in the jungle without access to the team or base, and with broken tech, Oliver and Felicity come face to face with the reason for their motorcycle crash, a giant blue-eyed black jaguar.  Oliver asks for his bow, but Felicity gives him the tranq gun, instinctively not wanting to kill the animal.

Reluctantly Oliver agrees while Felicity works furiously to fix her ARGUS smart watch and get the GPS to the Door back up.  Unfortunately, while rebooting the watch it's makes loud, high pitched noises that startle the cat and it pounces, leading Oliver to have to shot it twice with the tranq gun.  

The confrontation has left Oliver tense and pessimistic, pushing Felicity to take on more of her ‘Sunshine’ roll to giving him more hope.  She is able to get her watch to work on basic settings and tapes it to the handle bars. Then while Oliver checks on their bike, she indulgently watches the jaguar, which she begins to find beautiful and fascinating.

Oliver freaks out a tad when he sees her pet it, but they are soon back onto the bike headed for the Door.

Chapter 13

The remainder of the trip to where Felicity’s broken watch locates the Door is long and, largely, silent, leaving her far too much time to think.  Most of it she spends thinking about Oliver.  She decides she needs to tell him everything as soon as they have a free moment and, for the first time, she starts to think that they might actually have a future together.

Once they reach their destination, they find nothing special and begin to worry the watch is truly broken. The storm in worsening and Oliver is focused on finding shelter.  

And grunting.  And brooding.  And generally being a pessimistic jerk.  

But when Felicity sits to work on her tablet, Oliver notices that she is sitting on a hidden tarp.  Under the canvas, they find the Door, but since they still don’t know how to open it and the hurricane is fast approaching, Oliver leaves in search of shelter, leaving Felicity to examine the Door.

Underground, she finds a carving almost identical to the slab at the Temple of the Sun.  Then she realizes that the sun carving in the center is actually composed of two sets of handprints and her hands fit perfectly. She calls for Oliver, who is irritated by the interruption, but he, reluctantly, agrees to place his hands next to hers in the carving.

The Door shifts and opens, disappearing into the hillside.

Chapter 14

The Door opens to a staircase leading into the ground.  Felicity is ecstatic and disappointed Oliver doesn’t feel the same, but they head down anyway.  At the bottom of the stairs, they find an opulent room filled with magnificent Mayan frescos and carvings, but, unfortunately, not a way out other than the way they came in.  They are able to locate a Door like the first, with handprint sun, but there seems to be a piece missing from the center and when they place their hands in this one nothing happens.  

Oliver leaves to get gather their things while Felicity translates, but she doesn’t expect him to spend the next several hours more out in the storm than in with her.  She has the distinct feeling he is avoiding her. Worried and upset, Felicity heads out to find him.  

She finds him struggling with securing the tarp over the entrance to keep out animals during the storm. Feeling foolish, Felicity insists on helping and they quickly get the job done, barricading themselves inside.

Down in the chamber, Felicity again becomes annoyed when it becomes clear that Oliver isn't going to take off his dripping wet shirt, as any agent would do.   She takes off her shirt and insists he does the same, which reveal his injuries from the crash.  

After caring for their (fairly minor) wounds, Oliver asks Felicity to show him what she found while translating. She shows him how one side of the room depicts the Daughter of the Sun and the other the Warrior King.  They meet in the middle where their lives combine. During a betrothal scene, the Queen gives the Warrior a sun shaped medallion, a shape that appears in each of her panels and they postulate that this may be Kin Zil, the Gift.

After, Felicity tries to begin a conversation about five years ago, but Oliver insists he needs to sleep.

Chapter 15

Almost 24 hours later, things have not gone as Felicity had anticipated.  Despite her trying to bring the subject up, Oliver has slept and groused and grumbled and avoided her, all very uncomfortable in this small room. Now, he was out hunting it the tail-end of the storm in a thinly disguised effort to be away from her and Felicity has had enough.  Her guilt has only extended her patience so far and now she’s pissed.

Sick of being stuck in the chamber alone, Felicity goes out into the rain to freshen up and clean her clothes. Outside, she decides to say ‘frak it’ and take off all her clothes and take a shower in the warm rain.  Oliver returns, dead bird in hand, and flips out. They have words.  He stomps off.

Felicity returns to the chamber, deciding to only wear her dry clothing (her shirt and a pair of panties), and the hell with Oliver.  When he arrives, he’s even more snappish and irritable and finally Felicity confronts him on it.

Oliver breaks and confronts her on her confusing behavior, now and in the past, and how difficult it has been to interpret.  He wonders if she is playing games and if he ever knew her at all.  Felicity fervently denies this, along with ever lying to him. Oliver says that’s a lie because she promised to be with him Forever and Always.  Felicity tells him she promised to LOVE him Forever and Always and not only had she never lied, but she never broke her promise.

Oliver takes a moment to process this, then crushes her to the wall in a searing kiss.

Chapter 16

Oliver and Felicity kiss

And they kiss.  Then they kiss some more.   Lots of kissing.

Felicity reassures Oliver that she did indeed mean that she was still in love with him and had never stopped. Oliver is relieved, but confused. He asks her why she left him and she tells him he couldn’t possibly understand because he is missing an important part of the puzzle.  She promises to tell him what it is but warns it’s a long story.

They untangle themselves and Felicity nervously explains how difficult this is for her.  Oliver asks for her to start at the beginning and she explains that the last night in Tikal she had been genuine in their conversation about building a life together.  Everything changed at the hospital.

Oliver is upset because he was sedated when this happened and angry at himself, but Felicity only agrees to go on if he agrees not to blame himself.  She tells him there were complications from the surgery and he clearly believes she has a chronic health problem.

Felicity finally blurts out that she lacks the requisite parts to make babies.  Oliver is first shocked, then devastated, and she has to fight her own answering defensiveness and anger, realizing that a large part of the reason that she never told him in the first place was her fear that he would eventually leave her over it.

Oliver expressed anger over Felicity keeping this from him and believing that her choice could have possibly lead to his happiness.  He tells her he needs to take a walk and leaves.

Felicity collapses in sobs.

Chapter 17

After Oliver leaves, Felicity is overcome with grief and, feeling abandoned, she cries her heart out, but once she is done and is able to think more coherently, she realizes that Oliver probably did not leave because she is infertile and doesn’t want her anymore, but because he needs to process the enormity of everything she kept from him.

Pulling herself together, Felicity realizes that Oliver left without even the shirt on his back, which is terrifying.  But, since she can do nothing about it, she sits and spends her time fixing his comm link and waiting.

Oliver returns calm and sheepish since he got lost.  They begin to talk and Oliver tells Felicity he is angry with her but not for the reasons she thinks.  He is angry at her for even thinking he cared more about having children than being with her and feels that he had the right to mourn this with her, since if she doesn’t have children he has no intention of having children either.

They cry in each other’s arms and talk about their grief, comparing themselves to John and Lyla and how hard it is and will be watching them have a baby together.  They reaffirm that whatever happens from her on out they plan to do it together and begin to solidify their relationship physically, when Oliver rolls off Felicity and grabs his bow.

HIVE has found them.  

Chapter 18

Ghosts swarm into the chamber and Oliver starts to fire his bow while Felicity acts as his quiver, until the Ghosts get too close and they engage Oliver in hand to hand.  Thankfully, the Ghosts seem intent on capture and are not shooting them.

Felicity decides she has no intention of sitting by and being a spectator in this and grabs a pen dart just as a Ghost grabs her. She acts helpless, which fools the Ghost, but not Oliver.  However, when the Ghost begins to molest her Oliver stops fighting.  It gives Felicity the opportunity needed to use the pen dart to kill (or maybe just put asleep for 48 hours) the man holding her. Together they disable/kill the last three Ghosts.

Oliver expresses his pride at Felicity with numerous kisses, but they both realize that this is no longer the place and Oliver wants them to get out before more HIVE operatives arrive. As Felicity begins to gather essentials she has a strong feeling that they can not leave this place to HIIVE.

It’s too late anyway, because Darhk and another dozen operatives are outside.  They are at a stand-off with none other than their friend the jaguar who has killed as many Ghosts as Oliver.  Darhk uses his magic to force a confrontation with the jaguar and one of his men, but the jaguar out runs the automatic weapon and kills the Ghost.  Darhk tries to use his magic on the Jaguar and it doesn’t work.

At this point Felicity is loving the jaguar and doesn’t want him hurt.  So, when Darhk orders all the Ghosts to open fire on the jaguar Felicity calls out, prompting Oliver to send an explosive Arrow into one of HIVES trucks gas tanks.  

They retreat into the chamber to grab their things and escape before the smoke clears, when Felicity notices the moonstone fallen on the ground.

Oliver, however, noticed that their jaguar friend is now in the chamber as well.

Felicity, moonstone in hand, stills Oliver.  A strange calm and confidence over takes her and she speaks with the jaguar (who does not speak back, btw), realizing that the moonstone is the key to the other Door. The jaguar, who Felicity has now names Kinich Ahau after the Mayan sun god.  Lies down peacefully happy with her deduction.  

Felicity places the stone in the middle of the palm print sun and her hands-on top.  Slightly reluctantly Oliver turns his back on the jaguar, curls himself over Felicity and does the same.

[thisismeblog7491-blog]

Let's talk about being an ally

If you read the title of this post you will see where I am headed with this. If you dont support this community then hop off my page.

Can I just talk about the other side of transgender individuals for a minute. Yes they go through alot for who they where meant to be but no one thinks about their spouses or partners.

My soon to be husband come October of this year is transgender. I have been with him for 13 years come July. I have been there through every stage.

From female for the first half of our relationship (2007) to when he decided he wanted to be a man cause that is all he every felt he was. He started testosterone in December of 2016.

I watched everyday after that first shot, watched him slowly become more manly. From the voice that I had listened to for 9 years go completely deep and so unrecognizable. To watching his body become less lady like.

In the summer month of July 2017 I watched him get his first surgery done. I watched them wheel him back and know when he came out after surgery their would be more more boobs. After surgery he came out looking like who he was aiming for and who he was set out to be. He finally started to look like a man and his confidence soared.

In june of 2019 you had everything legally changed over. All the important legal documents now said your real name and everything connected to you was Male. You smiled so big that day and I knew you where so proud of how far you have come and I was excited to be there for this major milestone. He then had his hysterectomy in 2019 I do believe and we watched him grow more into the man he is aiming for.

Now its 2020 and in September we embark on another step in your journey and head for your bottom surgery consultation. Know I am here supporting you every step as I have been with you through it all.

Come October 2020 we will be husband and wife and as it is looking within our first year of marriage I will be adjusting to you having surgery and us being in two different states till you can come home after surgery. We will be apart for at least a month if not more.

Can I just say us who are partners to transgender individuals, it is the hardest stuff I think I will ever face.?

I know he is nervous and scared as well I mean shoot its major surgery.

Know that once this surgery date is set in stone I will be a wreck. Know that if I snap I dont do it on purpose.

Knowing I cant be there while he is up there because we have a son together and i have to be here for him will be the so hard to know he is in pain and needs me. Wish i could help more but know i will have things handled here.

Keep him in your prayers for this next chapter in his life and making him completely on who he wants to be will be the chapter we need the most prayers.

Pray for him first and foremost for comfort peace and no pain and no stress.

Pray for me cause I am scared to death for him.

Pray for our son as he is still to little to know why daddy will be gone and why he cant wrestle with daddy.

Pray for our marriage since this surgery will happen within the first year of our marriage.

Pray for peace that surpasses all understanding.

Pray for comfort because we both will need it .

Just stand with me and let me write on here how things are.

This will be one of the most challenging yet rewarding chapters of our lives to date.

[enzaime-blog]

The surgery was a miracle for the cervical cancer

New Story has been published on https://enzaime.com/surgery-miracle-cervical-cancer/

The surgery was a miracle for the cervical cancer

In June 2010, at the age of 35, I felt alone in the world. I was recently divorced, my brother was suffering from a terminal brain disease (and died two and a half years later), my father had passed away, and my mother was caring for my grandmother in South Carolina. I accepted a new job as a veterinarian tech at a horse hospital in New Jersey where I didn’t know a soul.

That’s when I began to experience uncontrollable bleeding and pain, which continued for several months. I sought medical attention from local physicians, but after several rounds of testing, no one had an answer. Finally, during a pelvic exam, a gynecologist suspected what could be wrong. I had cervical cancer.

An MRI revealed the mass was two and a half centimeters and had spread from my cervix to my uterus and into the upper part of my vagina. Although I was frightened, I was somewhat relieved to finally have an answer—and a plan of attack. I was referred to Fox Chase Cancer Center in Philadelphia.

In December 2010, I underwent a radical hysterectomywhere I learned the cancer had also spread to my lymph nodes. After recovering from surgery, I was ready for chemotherapy. Because I had no family in the area, I couldn’t drive back and forth to Fox Chase in Philadelphia. Fortunately, Fox Chase had a partner hospital in South Jersey, close to my home. My doctors scheduled my chemotherapy and radiation treatment for Fridays so I could work all week, have my treatment, and recover over the weekend. Dr. Gina Mantia-Smaldone, a gynecologic surgical oncologist at Fox Chase, was able to manage my care.

Exercise is really important to me, so following treatment, I ran as often as I could. It’s not only healthy, but therapeutic. However, within a few months, I started to experience severe swelling in my legs and was diagnosed with lymphedema.

I worked with several lymphedema therapists during the next few years, and although my symptoms could be managed, I was never back to normal. After working with the therapists, the swelling in my leg reduced from 35 percent to 14 percent, with some fluctuation, and I was able to resume my exercise schedule.

Fortunately, I continued working with horses and began to meet new friends. In 2012, I met a fellow horse owner, Nick Gilbert. We had so much in common and quickly fell in love. We both enjoy fishing, boating, skeet shooting, hunting, and, obviously, riding horses. But I continued to suffer from lymphedema.

When my leg blew up, I told Nick he didn’t have to stay because I didn’t want to be a burden to him. But he stuck around, and, eventually, he proposed. In June 2013, Nick and I got married.

Just before the wedding, I was referred to Dr. Sameer Patel, a plastic and reconstructive surgeon at Fox Chase. He had expertise in a new procedure to reduce swelling that results from lymphedema. Dr. Patel was incredible, and I felt completely confident in his care. I figured I had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

The surgery was a miracle. My swelling decreased to a miraculous one percent after surgery. I continue to practice the exercises that Wilma taught me, but I feel closer to normal much of the time.

In February 2015, I was hospitalized with my fifth case of cellulitis since I developed lymphedema. Several weeks after I was discharged, I resumed therapy. During this time, Wilma acquired a new machine to help lymphedema patients reduce the amount of fluid in their bodies.

The machine truly works wonders. I’m so glad the hospital had one because it made such a difference in my body—and has had a positive impact on my quality of life.

By July 2015, I began to see a nutritionist near my home in New Jersey. As a result, I lost more than 20 pounds in a safe and healthy way. I reduced my overall body fat and increased my lean muscle, which has helped control the lymphedema. The overall extra fluid I carry in my leg, hip, groin, and stomach has all decreased since I started changing the way I eat and what I eat. I feel much better. It has definitely changed my life.

As my health improved, Nick and I decided it was time to start a family. We worked with Child and Family Services to foster two young children, with the intent to adopt them to create a permanent family. We brought a nine-year-old girl, Shakonnah, and a two-year-old boy, Michael, into our home in October 2015 and quickly fell in love. And in October 2016, the adoption process was finalized. These kids have been in the system for almost two years now and have had a hard life. They’re great children, and I can’t imagine our life without them now.

We moved to a bigger house in the country to accommodate our growing family, which now includes a dog, chickens, goats, sheep, and an alpaca. We are definitely moving forward with life and loving every minute of it! Life goes much too quickly to just let it pass by these days.

[sending-the-message]

Life and Love Can Both End With a Bang by lifeisstrangemetoo

"I like fucking."

Her dating profile was those three words under a picture of her that could have easily been a mugshot.

Still, she was hot. She couldn't hide that with the lack of makeup, the ratty clothes or the unkempt hair.

Should I send the message? I thought.

On the one hand, all of my life experience, my intellect and my instincts told me to forget about it. There was no way a woman that beautiful had to resort to online dating to get laid. It had to be a trap. On the other hand, I was horny.

So I sent her a message.

Hey, it's John. Let's get naked and do the sweaty ugly dance.

No, I didn't actually send that. When I'm online dating it's usually about the 47th draft that gets sent. But my cat chose that moment to sprint madly across my keyboard, and the message was sent like that. Actually, if I'm quoting the message exactly it was:

Hey, it's John. Let's get naked and do the sweaty ugly dance aserkkjllll

I reminded myself to get Mr. Paws neutered before shutting my laptop in disgust. I promised myself I wouldn't check the site for at least an hour, and left my laptop behind as I strolled to the corner coffee joint. Five minutes later I had the dating site open on my phone. I figured just one quick look wouldn't hurt. I guess that's why I can't quit smoking.

To my surprise I had already received a response from the girl, Marla M.

Hey John, I'm all for sweaty, but let's not shoot for ugly. Just in case we wanna film it.

I couldn't believe she'd messaged me back after what I'd sent her. Everyone knows the secret to online dating is pretending to be less desperate than you actually are.

I stared at my phone trying to think of a clever response when I saw the italics at the bottom of the chat window.

Marla M. is typing.

Her address popped up on the screen followed by a single word.

Busy?

I thought for a moment before I typed my message.

How do you know I'm not a serial killer haha

Marla M. is typing.

How do you know I'm not?

It was a fair point. For all I knew it wasn't even a woman on the other end of my messages. She certainly didn't act like one. The smart thing to do would be to verify it somehow. Then again, I was still horny. I typed my response.

On my way.

When I showed up to the house I knew there was no way I was at the right place. There were at least twenty cars parked in the yard. I triple checked the address. Yep, it was the one she'd sent me.

I sent a message to the dating profile.

We're sorry, but Marla M. is offline right now.

I sighed and got out of the car. If I was about to be murdered at least there'd be plenty of witnesses. I strolled up and knocked on the door. An old woman in a black dress answered.

"Uh, hi." I said. "Is Marla here?"

"Of course she is." The old lady said eyeing me somewhat suspiciously. "Are you a friend of the family?"

"Uh... family?"

"Henry's family."

"Who's Henry?"

The lady swelled up like a big indignant balloon. Thankfully, a voice called out from inside.

"Is that John? Let him in."

The woman narrowed her eyes but she nonetheless stepped out of my way. Everybody in the place was dressed in a suit or a dress, except for me. I was dressed in ripped jeans and a Metallica T-shirt.

There was a somber air in the place. Marla came strolling up to me.

"Wow." I said. "You look a lot better in the flesh."

"Soon you'll be in the flesh." Marla breathed in my ear.

The balloon lady was eyeing me hatefully.

"John, this is Henry's mom." Marla said. "Gertrude, this is my new lover, John."

"Uh, hi, I-"

But the old lady turned around and stormed off in a huff.

"Don't mind her." Marla said. She's been extra bitchy since Henry died.

"Ok, who is Henry?" I said exasperatedly.

"He's the stiff over there in the coffin. Used to be my husband before he got shot in the face."

My stomach dropped.

"Marla...is this a funeral?"

"It was. Now it's a party, lover." Marla bit my earlobe.

"But, I don't...why would you invite a booty call to your husband's funeral?"

"Oh he liked to beat me." Marla said matter-of-factly. "They all pretended they didn't know."

"Oh... that's..."

"It's fine." Marla cut me off, leading me down the hall to a door at the end. "You know I told every single one of these people that he was hitting me and begged for help. Not one of them raised a finger."

"Oh. Did you call the cops?"

"He was a cop." Marla said, pushing the door open. The room was lit by the flickering orange glow of candles, and a king-sized bed covered in rose petals sat in the middle.

"He kept saying he wanted a daughter you know? And when I didn't give him one he let loose on me." She went on.

I got the sense that she'd been desperate to speak her mind for a long time, so I let her ramble.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. You can't get pregnant?"

"I could." Marla said. "But after I found that hidden folder on his hard drive, I realized why he wanted a daughter so bad. And I got a hysterectomy without telling him."

"...oh."

"You can only push a woman so far, Daniel."

"My name's John actually aahhhh"

Marla slid her hands down my pants.

I'll leave out what happened next. I'd like to think that my prowess in bed had suddenly and unexplainably gotten better, but I think it's more likely that Marla was playing up the noises for the crowd outside.

"You know what you look like?" Marla said when we'd finished. "A lost puppy."

I didn't know what that was supposed to mean, so I just said thanks and pulled my pants up.

"I need to check something." Marla said. "Then we can get out of here."

"Uh...okay?"

Marla left and shut the door, and the heavy lock clicked behind her. I suddenly became aware of the fact that the door was locked from the outside, and I was effectively trapped until she got back. I wasn't much for being trapped in a stranger's home and quite frankly Marla seemed a bit unstable. But I was probably just overreacting.

BOOM

The door shook in the frame as the explosion rocked the house.

What the fuck was that? My mind raced through the possibilities.

But then I heard the gunshots and the screams, punctuated by Marla's laughter, and I knew.

I frantically tried the door, but it was a no go. I threw my shoulder against it, but my shoulder gave a lot more than the door did. I ran across the room to break the windows and I saw that there were bars freshly installed on the outside.

BANG

A gunshot sounded right behind me and I turned to see Marla, shotgun in hand kicking the door open, which now had a large hole where the lock used to be.

"Sorry about that." She said. "Lost the key. Ready to go, lover?" She flipped her hair.

"I uh..."

Marla was looking at me expectantly, her eyes were so wide I thought they might pop out of her skull at any moment.

"Okay?" I said weakly, hoping she wouldn't shoot me.

The inside of the house was a carnage of shattered bones and blood, and I tried not to look at it as we made our way outside.

"Ohh nice car." Marla said. "Can I drive it?"

"S-sure?"

I tossed Marla the keys and we climbed in the car.

"Wow that place really went up." Marla said, laughing and lighting up a cigarette. "Do you smoke?" She asked, offering me one.

My mouth opened but I couldn't form words. I silently shook my head no.

"It's just as well." Marla said. "It's terrible for you."

She floored it and we peeled out of the driveway.

"Uh... Marla?" I said.

"Yes John?"

"Where are we going?"

Marla took a drag of her cigarette.

"There's a few people that didn't come to the funeral."

X

[susalh-blog]

Sure, Let’s Talk Health (Pt. 1)

I know that my children don’t understand my health situation.  I know they expect me to feel all better - and wonder why I don’t. The concept of having a chronic disorder/disease is intellectually understandable to them, but I still get questions and comments revolving around “are you better yet?”.  So let’s see if I can color in this paint-by-number topic to the point of providing clarity of subject matter.

I don’t remember a time when I was healthy - actually that’s not true; I remember being a healthish young adult.... but that’s much later and not quite true. I was a healthy baby, it would seem.  I recall neither the reality nor family stories.  Aside from accidentally swallowing a tinker toy when I was about 3, I don’t recall a medical thing happening to me.  

That changed when we moved to St. Louis, when I was around 4.  When I was 5, I had a horrid case of the measles.  I lay in bed in a dark room, for days. My fever crossed 105 degrees, 4 days in a row, and my parents thought that was the end of me.  I was too sick to transport to the hospital, so my pediatrician made a house call, hooking me up to IV’s in my thighs.  (This, by the way, was the start of a terrible needle phobia. You don’t get IV’s, with people holding you down while you thrashed having fever dreams, and not have a resultant phobia.)  I did survive but with my budding permanent teeth “fried” - I would have brownish teeth for the rest of my life. Yes, that is a thing - look it up.

As I said, I did survive, but was far too weak to go to kindergarten, so I was babysat by a lady up the block, while my mother worked on the 1960 National Census.  A couple days into this arrangement, the lady met us at the door highly agitated.  “Don’t come in!  My kids have the mumps!  Get Susan away from here!”

Mama took me home and called the pediatrician who, alarmed, brought us immediately into the office to begin a course of an experimental mumps vaccine.  I can remember the terror of getting this shot after my measles experience!  I shrieked and had to be held down - not once, but 3 times over the course of as many weeks.  Talk about nightmares.

Since I now needed to be carefully watched (for side effects of the shots as well as my weak constitution), Mama bundled me into the back of our Ford Falcon and drove me around while she went house to house conducting her census surveys.  I had a nest in the back seat: Blankets, pillows, books, paper, scissors, crayons and tape.  I was given milk and snacks at almost every stop to build up my strength and weight.  

After that, I have memories of constant sickness, but which I figured was normal childhood.  Beginning around 3rd grade, I was sick (missing school) basically a week of every month.  I had fierce sinus infections and miserable tonsillitis.  I never had my tonsils out because my pediatrician (who had saved my life, so could do no harm in my parents’ eyes) was “nouvelle” and felt that tonsils had to stay in.  I remember the feeling of a tonsil episode starting: A quivering feeling in the back of my throat - as though my throat were dry. So I would swallow and swallow and within an hour or so, the quiver had turned into t localized stab of pain.  Fever would shoot up, and I was down for the count. 

I also remember sickening sinus headaches, which often started at school and left me leaning against the bus windows coming home, letting the cool glass sooth my pain somewhat.  I would sometimes have to sick down on the walk home from the bus stop because I felt so so sick.  At home I went up to bed, using a Vicks inhaler and VapoRub on my face as a remedy.  The Vicks burned mightily, but I stood it, believing that it was literally burning the pain out of me.  As its pain ebbed, I usually fell asleep, and often work with the headache gone, but feeling rather groggy and stunned.  It was a miracle when SinuTabs were invented.  They would keep the pain down to a dull roar, and I could continue through my day.  As an adult, I realized that I LIVED with sinus infections - heavy yellow snot, unable to breathe, low grade fever and all - and never thought anything of it (except the feeling of aggravation that ‘here comes another one’).  It was not until I was an adult, and got my own adult doctor in Charlottesville, that I learned this was an infection, which needed to be dealt with, and which, miraculously! could be tamed with antibiotics!  

What were my parents thinking?  I don’t know.  These two monsters of my childhood, tonsillitis and sinusitis, were ignored. I was told to get dressed and get to school unless I had a fever (which I did a lot of the time as my report cards attest!) and told to get more sleep.  When I was sick, I was put to bed and basically ignored.  I had my own personal bed table for when I was sick.  I read a lot of books and made villages of cardboard on my bed.  As an adolescent, I was allowed to watch TV.  My mama would bring me lunch, usually soup and jello, but left me alone the rest of the time.  I don’t know. Maybe they were more attentive than I remember, but I have no memory of that at all, which really makes me sad.  I’m actually crying while writing this, because I feel so bad for that lonely little sick kid.  

One distinct memory - and I am sorry at both the pathos and the pity this will engender.  I remember one time when I had a stomach flu.  I was expected to get up and go throw up in the connecting bathroom (no trash can for me!). But I had such a high fever, and I was so ill, that all I could manage was to roll to the side of the bed and throw up on the floor and then, basically, pass out, until I needed to vomit the next time.  I can remember calling for my parents, but no one came.  That was in St. Louis in our big house, so maybe they didn’t hear me.  But no one came and I threw up several times.  I don’t recall having that mess cleaned up or what happened next.  

I also remember having fever dreams, where everything swelled to enormous size and I had to find my way out of a world of “balloon creatures”.  I can remember the joy of breaking out in a deep sweat and knowing my fever was breaking.  I can remember the odd, glassy, glowy feeling of stepping back into the real world where everything seemed fresh and shiny!

When our family moved to Washington, D.C., and I was in 5th grade (age 11), I missed my last month of school in St. Louis because I was violently ill with what I thought was tonsillitis, but was something more sinister -scarlet fever, perhaps?  We had to move from our house while I was ill, and my father went on to D.C., while my mother and I stayed in a nearby hotel.  I remember that the linens in that hotel felt awful, and the sofa bed I slept in was uncomfortable.  I recovered enough to go visit school on the last day.  My mother drove me there, and my classmates surprised me with a going away party!  They had little gifts for me, and we had a cake.  They couldn’t come near me for fear that I would pick up another germ. I remember waving to them, 10 feet away or so.  I loved my teachers, Mrs. Wall, for doing that for me.

In Washington, my “worst case ever seen” of measles, was joined by a “worse case ever seen” of chicken pox.  I had them between my toes, in my eyes, everywhere!  My niece and nephew, roughly 4 and 5 years old, also had them.  It was the March after my mother had died, and Dad and Anne had to work, so I babysat all three of us as we lived through the pox, then each developed secondary infections.  I can remember painting pink calamine on ourselves for both fun and relief, and begging my father for a gun like toy and setting up a shooting range in my room for fun.  Weird.  Horrid and weird. Where were the adults?!?

I also got a case of German measles, which seemed like lightweight stuff after the other two.  I never got the mumps: That experimental vaccine worked, it seemed.

In the year after my mother died, I missed school rather a lot with stomach aches.  Frankly, I don’t think that was actually illness; I think that was psychosomatic illness due to depression.  Whatever, I was home and binged on TV, days at a time.  I don’t remember much else about that period.

As I got older, I managed my headaches better and the tonsils seemed to settle down.  In college, I got a horrible earache, which the clinic told me was nothing, but which burst once I got home for Christmas.  Our hometown doctor was furious that they hadn’t dealt with it more actively.  That’s why my right ear has diminished hearing.  

Through my young adult years, I was plagued with hard strong, irregular periods.  At 22, I was told that I might as well get a hysterectomy, since I would never have children.  A second opinion confirmed the first.  Thankfully, I ignored them both. When Peter and I got married, we went to an OB/GYN to get me checked out.  He told us that I looked fine “in there” and go ahead and try for kids - if nothing happened in a couple of years we could talk again.  Little did we all know that I was actually already pregnant.  With twins.  

My pregnancies were dreadful.  I couldn’t keep any food down with the twins, and lost 35 pounds in the first trimester.  I was down to roughly 100 lbs.  When I began throwing up water, I was hospitalized to get things under control.  There, I literally almost died, when I had a severe allergic reaction to compazine, given to me for nausea.  The nurse would not believe me that I couldn’t swallow and was having trouble breathing.  She said I was just over reacting because it was my first pregnancy, but I was having an anaphylactic reaction. Peter wandered in and saw me in dire straits and ran out to the nurses station where they told him to calm down.  He ran downstairs, across the street to the doctor’s office and got him to come in a rush.  Dr. Vogel showed up at a dead run, called for Benedryl, which he administered, then sat with me while I recovered until I slept. He held my hand and kept apologizing.  Apparently he then went straight out and got the nurse fired.  We almost lost me and my beautiful boys that day.

It was also the first in a long, long sequence of allergic reactions to drugs.  Thankfully, we had a friend who was a pharmacologist who helped us negotiate this crooked path.   He gave us a list of warnings, starting with the compazine, which he says I should never have been given since I was allergic to aspiriin.

I regained the weight I had lost, handled a difficult pregnancy (which included PUP - or an allergic reaction to the babies’ placenta), and gave birth to gorgeous Paul and Daniel.  Four years later I gave birth (after a pregnancy that was slightly less hard) to beautiful Mary.  If you look at photos of this era, I was a stick - in fact, a friend said that pregnant, I looked like a cocktail olive on a toothpick.  

Once these years passed, I was slammed with weight gain.  I’ve never really figured this out.  I went from a super skinny mother, who took and taught aerobics, hiked up hills, carried around my kids in backpacks, and cared for a large house, to an overweight Woman of Pain. In graduate school, I ran with a group on Columbia’s indoor track, managing several miles at a time while we talked about our readings.  

But suddenly I could barely get through a day with out several doses of Tylenol for the pain.  I gained an enormous amount of weight, while eating ‘normally’.  By the time we moved to Portland, I was a fat, painful mess, and wondered what on earth had gone wrong.

This takes energy - more later.