#that this time i am in pain but refuse to go to the emergency department

[starfire-s]

you know you’re getting old when you get private health insurance as a way to get some minor surgery but also as a way to save on your tax… this is adulthood

[bonesandpoemsandflowers]

I want to write a post about how I hate that you have to dress up to go to the doctor to be treated like a person, but because this is the internet I know how this goes ("well ACTUALLY, you don't! dress how you want! it doesn't matter!") and it is tedious.

Also very America centric but hey. remember that I live in an affluent part of a conservative state.

There is no nice way to say this. If you dress kind of alt-y, be that alternative fashion or subculture or gender identity or sexuality, most of those markers don't set off the bigotry you might assume.

it's that the professional class thinks that you're poor. And if the doctor thinks you're poor--HAHAHA, healthcare?!?! you think you get healthcare, PEASANT?! you don't!

A long time ago I was 23 and very obviously dying and the ER would not take me. A more adult-y adult in my life sighed, took out all my piercings, fished a button up out of her trunk. she put my glasses back on my face even though my head hurt and my vision swirled so bad I could barely see. she took off my rainbow wristbands and my skull rings. she hid my cool bi girl haircut under a hat. my ataxia ridden ass had to be button upped in that shirt by my beloved (my fingers didn't work) and half carried back to the ER. I might have been bridal carried back to the ER. I don't really remember.

this whole process took maybe 20 minutes.

but then! guess who looked like a respectable college student?! guess who got admitted into the ER because she has having OBVIOUS STROKE SYMPTOMS?

I spent two weeks in the neuro ICU. I had emergency brain surgery.

I want you to understand: I was just a little too punk and maybe a teensy bit maybe gay to live. A little bit too probably poor. They would not even admit me to the ER before my lil parking lot make over.

When I say my symptoms were obvious, I mean they were OBVIOUS. cross eyed, couldn't walk--worst fuckin' headache of my entire life, as you'd guess.

and just.

it was bad.

so anyway. I'm salty.

And the problem is that this is one of those liminal spaces, walk between worlds thing. I know that it's the poverty markers because I am always looking unlike the thing I was raised as. My father is a retired ambassador--this does me no good. It does my stepsister much good. My beloved's family is well monied and he refuses to accept a cent from them, so the house we live in is more modest than the one his sister lives in.

Our friends are mostly people we met either in undergrad or during that age and of a certain SES. Which we also are--mostly--which we look like we are, because we are, except for how we're also not because there's something about the upbringing that you never lose, something in how you talk no matter how good your code switching is.

That is: if I "dress up" to go to the doctor, I am treated like an affluent person. I am treated kindly and respectfully, offered prescription drugs with no suspicion, referred to other departments for testing, and verily, my complaints are valid.

(rx drugs including painkillers! including my ADHD meds! including a variety of ADHD meds, where if you don't look like a respectable upper middle class or above person, the pharmacist treats you like a criminal!)

If I do not dress up to go to the doctor--and I mean if I roll in wearing my batman tee and some jeans; I don't even mean dressing like the slutty goth tramp I love to pretend to be--I do not get referrals or prescriptions. Everything is assumed to be my fault, if it's acknowledged to exist at all. Ear infection? Nope. You're making up. Stroke symptoms? It's all the drugs you obviously did. Crippling ovarian pain? You're just trying to scam us for more drugs. Oh you're allergic to morphine? Liar. You're just trying to scam some GOOD drugs.

[here I projectile vomit over the poor nurse who put an IV with a morphine derivative in my arm like 30 seconds ago]

[my body may or may not also break out into hives]

and it's just so tedious and it's such dystopian garbage. it's absurd and obscene and actually evil that we have such marvelous medical care that's so fucking IMPOSSIBLE for most people to access while it would still do them some good.

Mine is the guilt of the shapeshifter. If I play the game, it works. I have the ability to play the game--up to a point.

(But I am playing, and it is not natural. I don't have the right done hair, the right mani-pedi upkept nails, the tailored to fit wardrobe, the luxury by default shoes. that hasn't been my life for a long time and it was never my life as an adult so I don't know how to do it habitually. It's ridiculously resource intensive and even if I do my best there's only a certain threshold of respectability I can hit. There's so much of it that I just don't understand.)

(I want you to understand that I am not even particularly good at this game, and it has layers.)

What about everyone who can't play the game? Who are also frankly lied to, continuously, that the game doesn't exist? What about them? What about my fucking friends, actually? What about literally everybody else? Why do they have to be treated like shit and then literally fucking die if something goes wrong?

But at the end of the day, also, what can I do? I put on the pale pink high neckline dress. I put on the modest shoes. I use the correct type of voice, the right accent, so rigid in my mouth I can't slip into my mother tongue when I hear the custodians talking as they go down the hall. I go get my knee looked at. I explain I do Important Athletic Sports at [Brand Name Bougie Ass Gym]. I get the x-rays and the painkillers instead of a lecture on my weight or my activity choices. I have a lovely and pleasant experience. I am treated like a human being.

A grand and lovely time until I make it back to my car and collapse in a heap, exhausted and angry because this is all such BULLSHIT.

(what about my brother, halfway across this big country, who can't play the game?)

And so many people still think the game doesn't exist.

I don't know, you guys. I dunno. I don't know what my point is. I am sorry it is like this. I don't know what to do about it. It should not be like this. I don't use the word lightly but I do think it is actually really fucking evil that it's like this.

[justrook]

I am a paramedic and this is a great little article. I am gonna add some info to it that I commonly give people who are Of A Certain Age (which is now also me!).

Lots of people, men and women alike, do not have classic heart attack symptoms. I have seen silent heart attacks in both men and women over the years. One guy walked in to our station one evening because his wife made him do it. He only described feeling a little funny. But on the cardiac monitor he was having a massive heart attack and we treated him, rushed him to the ER asap and he had an emergency quadruple bypass that night. I’ve seen similar cases with women as well. I have only seen classic heart attack symptoms in a handful of people. These days people live longer and have some additional health issues that are more prevalent like diabetes that have changed how a heart attack presents. Nausea & vomiting, abdominal or back pain, unusual fatigue, shortness of breath, heavy feeling in the chest….

Anyway. So if you’re in the US and you think something is wrong with your heart please utilize 911. Fire departments generally speaking have paramedics with cardiac monitoring capabilities and will come to your house. They are often the closest provider. Your taxes are already paying for us to provide first response EMS services to you. If they are not able to an EMS ambulance crew is. Tell the dispatcher you think you might be having a heart attack so they do not send a BLS crew to your house, you want an ALS crew with paramedics on board because they can put you in a cardiac monitor in you living room to see what is going on.

Medics have access to a lot of stuff to help you in the case of heart troubles. We have way more than oxygen. Nurses don’t even get what we do half the time. We are in a way mobile cardiac and airway specialists. We have the ability to do complex ECH monitoring and analysis in the field and a whole host of different drugs and options to provide you with the absolute best outcome that we can from the time we walk in your door to the time you hit the ER doors.

You have the right to refuse transport to the hospital by ambulance. You always have this right except in very rare circumstances. You are taking the risks for your health and the consequences on yourself when you do so just realize that just because I’m standing in your house with all my stuff and my gurney and whatnot does not mean you have to go with me to the ER.

#medic stuff #time is heart muscle #EMS

A nurse has heart attack and describes what she felt like when having one

I am an ER nurse and this is the best description of this event that I have ever heard. 

 FEMALE HEART ATTACKS 

 I was aware that female heart attacks are different, but this is description is so incredibly visceral that I feel like I have an entire new understanding of what it feels like to be living the symptoms on the inside. Women rarely have the same dramatic symptoms that men have… you know, the sudden stabbing pain in the chest, the cold sweat, grabbing the chest & dropping to the floor the we see in movies. Here is the story of one woman’s experience with a heart attack: 

 "I had a heart attack at about 10:30 PM with NO prior exertion, NO prior emotional trauma that one would suspect might have brought it on. I was sitting all snugly & warm on a cold evening, with my purring cat in my lap, reading an interesting story my friend had sent me, and actually thinking, ‘A-A-h, this is the life, all cozy and warm in my soft, cushy Lazy Boy with my feet propped up. A moment later, I felt that awful sensation of indigestion, when you’ve been in a hurry and grabbed a bite of sandwich and washed it down with a dash of water, and that hurried bite seems to feel like you’ve swallowed a golf ball going down the esophagus in slow motion and it is most uncomfortable. You realize you shouldn’t have gulped it down so fast and needed to chew it more thoroughly and this time drink a glass of water to hasten its progress down to the stomach. This was my initial sensation–the only trouble was that I hadn’t taken a bite of anything since about 5:00 p.m. 

After it seemed to subside, the next sensation was like little squeezing motions that seemed to be racing up my SPINE (hind-sight, it was probably my aorta spasms), gaining speed as they continued racing up and under my sternum (breast bone, where one presses rhythmically when administering CPR). This fascinating process continued on into my throat and branched out into both jaws. ‘AHA!! NOW I stopped puzzling about what was happening – we all have read and/or heard about pain in the jaws being one of the signals of an MI happening, haven’t we? I said aloud to myself and the cat, Dear God, I think I’m having a heart attack! I lowered the foot rest dumping the cat from my lap, started to take a step and fell on the floor instead. I thought to myself, If this is a heart attack, I shouldn’t be walking into the next room where the phone is or anywhere else… but, on the other hand, if I don’t, nobody will know that I need help, and if I wait any longer I may not be able to get up in a moment. 

I pulled myself up with the arms of the chair, walked slowly into the next room and dialed the Paramedics… I told her I thought I was having a heart attack due to the pressure building under the sternum and radiating into my jaws. I didn’t feel hysterical or afraid, just stating the facts. She said she was sending the Paramedics over immediately, asked if the front door was near to me, and if so, to un-bolt the door and then lie down on the floor where they could see me when they came in. I unlocked the door and then laid down on the floor as instructed and lost consciousness, as I don’t remember the medics coming in, their examination, lifting me onto a gurney or getting me into their ambulance, or hearing the call they made to St. Jude ER on the way, but I did briefly awaken when we arrived and saw that the radiologist was already there in his surgical blues and cap, helping the medics pull my stretcher out of the ambulance. He was bending over me asking questions (probably something like ‘Have you taken any medications?’) but I couldn’t make my mind interpret what he was saying, or form an answer, and nodded off again, not waking up until the Cardiologist and partner had already threaded the teeny angiogram balloon up my femoral artery into the aorta and into my heart where they installed 2 side by side stints to hold open my right coronary artery. 

I know it sounds like all my thinking and actions at home must have taken at least 20-30 minutes before calling the paramedics, but actually it took perhaps 4-5 minutes before the call, and both the fire station and St Jude are only minutes away from my home, and my Cardiologist was already to go to the OR in his scrubs and get going on restarting my heart (which had stopped somewhere between my arrival and the procedure) and installing the stents. Why have I written all of this to you with so much detail? Because I want all of you who are so important in my life to know what I learned first hand. 

1. Be aware that something very different is happening in your body, not the usual men’s symptoms but inexplicable things happening (until my sternum and jaws got into the act). It is said that many more women than men die of their first (and last) MI because they didn’t know they were having one and commonly mistake it as indigestion, take some Maalox or other anti-heartburn preparation and go to bed, hoping they’ll feel better in the morning when they wake up… which doesn’t happen. My female friends, your symptoms might not be exactly like mine, so I advise you to call the Paramedics if ANYTHING is unpleasantly happening that you’ve not felt before. It is better to have a ‘false alarm’ visitation than to risk your life guessing what it might be! 2. Note that I said ‘Call the Paramedics.’ And if you can take an aspirin. Ladies, TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE! Do NOT try to drive yourself to the ER - you are a hazard to others on the road. Do NOT have your panicked husband who will be speeding and looking anxiously at what’s happening with you instead of the road. Do NOT call your doctor – he doesn’t know where you live and if it’s at night you won’t reach him anyway, and if it’s daytime, his assistants (or answering service) will tell you to call the Paramedics. He doesn’t carry the equipment in his car that you need to be saved! The Paramedics do, principally OXYGEN that you need ASAP. Your Dr. will be notified later. 3. Don’t assume it couldn’t be a heart attack because you have a normal cholesterol count. Research has discovered that a cholesterol elevated reading is rarely the cause of an MI (unless it’s unbelievably high and/or accompanied by high blood pressure). MIs are usually caused by long-term stress and inflammation in the body, which dumps all sorts of deadly hormones into your system to sludge things up in there. Pain in the jaw can wake you from a sound sleep. Let’s be careful and be aware. The more we know the better chance we could survive to tell the tale.“

Reblog, repost, Facebook, tweet, pin, email, morse code, fucking carrier pigeon this to save a life! I wish I knew who the author was. I’m definitely not the OP, actually think it might be an old chain email or even letter from back in the day. The version I saw floating around Facebook ended with “my cardiologist says mail this to 10 friends, maybe you’ll save one!” And knew this was way too interesting not to pass on.

[findinginga]

I Am Known For My Patience…

...but I just wanted to scream...

I have worked for decades as a health care provider. Much of that work has been in acute care situations. As a result, one develops ways to cope with the tragedies, suffering and inhumanity which may present over the course of any given emergency department shift. True, there is also satisfaction to be realized, derived from an intervention which saves a life or improves the pain and suffering a patient may be enduring. One may face a steady stream to a torrent of problems and mini-mysteries which need to be solved. Our training as clinicians reinforces the need to approach each patient - each set of problems in such a manner as to avoid preconception. Following a single thread as a possible cause or solution may cost a limb or a life. As a part of the oath that is sworn when accepting the role of clinician we affirm: "I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug". In addition, "I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm."

Certainly my visit to St. Petersburg was not intended to be a clinical adventure. I made the trip to share some time with a person to whom I was attracted and for whom my feelings had grown stronger. It was also undeniable that with the growing collection of experiences with Inga, I began to appreciate that she was struggling with issues that she could not identify nor did she even appreciate. I embarked on both the physical and emotional journey to Russia attempting to manage my anger and hurt to stay true to the concept that I had a special obligation. My hope was to return home with the clarity and insights I required to solve the many open mysteries and contradictions presented by Inga.

...going to the extreme on Monday and Tuesday...

Days four and five of my visit undermined my typical calm, collected demeanor. As it was evident to me that Inga's focus was entertaining Eva, I set about to locate an activity that the three of us might enjoy. While having breakfast and coffee at the hotel early Monday, I searched for family-oriented events. There were few options but one which stood out was a science-oriented performance targeted to children. The performance was scheduled for 1:00 pm and I eagerly communicated the news to Inga who seemed pleased at this option. I provided her the information and asked Inga to inform me when she was departing the home of Nikita. The plan was to meet at the entrance of the venue.

It was about 15 minutes past Noon that Monday and I still had not received a message regarding their departure. I consulted Google maps for directions from the hotel to the theater/performance hall. It was too far to walk and the route was quite circuitous. I thought it best to hire a car for the trip and as it was growing late, I went to the hotel lobby to seek the assistance of the doorman in securing a car. Many minutes passed before the arrival of my driver. As I was enroute, I received a text from Inga informing me that they already arrived at the venue. She provided no message to inform me of their departure. I was still about 10 minutes away when Inga texted that she had purchased tickets and they were going inside. The driver deposited me on the street opposite the theater. I was desperately looking for the building while scanning the street for possibilities. Google maps was leading me in circles. I texted Inga for assistance and, after several minutes, she and Eva emerged from a building. Inga was visibly annoyed over me interrupting them and forcing them to leave. I offered that we go inside to see the rest of the performance but Inga angrily refused accusing me of deliberately disappointing Eva.

Inga spent the following hour brooding as we walked aimlessly through the surrounding neighborhoods while Eva expressed her boredom. After a stop at Kentucky Fried Chicken for Eva, Inga decided that we visit a shopping mall with a play center for children. This became our destination for the few hours remaining in my visit with them on Monday - The Angry Birds Activity Park in the PRISMA mall. (I should note that the few photos I have to post with this blog entry were taken before Inga forbade me from taking any photos of her.)

As it was nearing 6:00 pm, Inga reminded me of her obligation to provide dinner so; after a short walk away from the mall, Inga phoned for a car. I had no clear idea of my location and was forced to call for my own transportation feeling every bit the "ugly American" tourist. We parted with me receiving a kiss on the cheek.

...entertaining Eva is what matters...

Tuesday proved to be no better of a day. We agreed to meet at the base of the Alexander Column. Once again, Inga and Eva arrived at about 1:00 pm, when the plan had been Noon. I arrived on time after a walk from the hotel and was forced to wait in the cold for their arrival. There had been talk of a tour of the Winter Palace but by the time of Inga's arrival, there were no remaining tickets. We stood in the Palace Square discussing options when costumed actors/models appeared to sell their services for digital photos, to which I agreed.

A short walk from the square along Ulitsa Bol'shaya Morskaya brought us to Smile Park, an indoor amusement center. Eva was quite happy with the interactive exhibits and the ability to run about with other children. I have to admit, I was a little jealous as the operators created a nice collection of kid-friendly attractions.

The inevitable clash...

After a few hours we were getting ready to depart when a face painting booth caught the interest of Eva. During the time the artist was attending to Eva, Inga and I stood together watching. I felt it was an appropriate time to ask Inga if there would be an opportunity for the two of us to have a conversation about what was next for our relationship, if there was even a relationship to discuss. Immediately Inga developed defensive body language by crossing her arms and turning her body away from me. She verbally responded by telling me that it was not the right time. My reply to her was that it did not appear that it would ever be the right time. In that moment I had an overwhelming desire to get my coat, walk back to the hotel and simply leave. I was angry and hurt and the futility of my efforts crystallized in that moment. I resisted that impulse but found it necessary to walk away for a few moments to collect my thoughts.

We departed Smile City (okay, I was not smiling and would not be) and walked along Nevsky Avenue browsing the shops. We arrived at Admiraltevskiy Prospekt where I once again asked Inga if we would ever have a serious conversation and talk about the two of us. While I knew that the possibility of a romantic relationship with Inga had long passed, I wanted her to verbalize her intentions and explain her actions. Her temper flared and she attempted to put me on the defensive by stating that she could not be seriously interested in a man who would not take care of a woman. When I pressed her on this point, she stated that it was difficult for her to get Eva ready every day, to travel from the home of Nikita to the city center and to pay for transportation. According to Inga, a Russian man would take care of her. She went on to state that the reason she had not kissed me (romantically) was because of this.

...no good deed, even an attempted good deed...

There was no point in arguing this issue with Inga by reminding her that I had originally planned for Eva and she to have their own hotel room to avoid the difficulties to which Inga was referring. Being a father who went through his own period of child rearing and all the challenges associated with travel, I wanted to relieve Inga of those worries. But she rejected my offer and made her own plans, for her own reasons. Now, with the snow falling on the crowded boulevard, I simply had nothing else to say. Inga was again deflecting and further discussion would not result in her revealing anything more.

We agreed to stop for something to eat and Inga was desiring coffee. We located Petrov-Vodkin, a very nice restaurant located a short distance from our spontaneous confrontation. We dined, mostly in silence with the exception of a series of questions from Eva designed to gain attention of Inga. A family seated near us included two younger children and Eva became quite upset that her newly decorated face was not attracting their attention. At least Inga found the coffee to her liking, if one were looking for a silver lining. I paid the check and we emerged once again on Admiraltevskiy to walk back along Nevsky Avenue. Upon reaching the bridge spanning the Moyka River, we stopped and Inga called for a car to take her to Nikita's home. While we waited, Inga purchased two cups or mulled wine, one for each of us. Inga placed a delivery order from a restaurant near the home of her brother as it was growing too late for her to deal with dinner. She suggested that we visit the Hermitage Museum in the morning, to which I agreed.

As before, on the arrival of her transportation, she delivered a kiss on my cheek and disappeared inside. I was once again left to make my way back to the hotel alone. The walk allowed me time to think. There seemed to be no reason to meet her on Wednesday. I could visit the museum on my own and it would likely be more satisfying.

Upon my arrival at the hotel, I texted her that she need not bother to make the trip.

[handimommablog]

I feel like now is a good time, or at least as good as one can get, to explain why I’m here. Why I feel so jaded and so unjustly in this chair. I’ve contemplated telling this from the VERY beginning (like 15 years ago) or I can start from now, and bring you on the journey of how I discovered I was disabled. I choose to start from now, so I hope you’ve gotten comfy and have a moment, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride. Believe me, I lived it. It sounds like a bad lifetime movie, but I promise you, it’s not. And that’s the part I seem to struggle with the most.

I was taking a bath, after my kids and bonus kids had been put to bed for the night, I wasn’t feeling well, my hips were killing me, it hurt to move, but I had assumed it was either the oncoming period or the stress I was under with the kids and finances. Then I see my stomach move, I knew I wasn’t pregnant and certainly not far enough to have that kind of movement. I yell for my fiancé, show him, and ask him to take a video, because it honestly felt surreal. It felt like an alien was inside my body, I never felt that way, not even when I was pregnant with my children. We got me out of the tub, and called a friend, who convinced me despite my hesitation and loathing for calling my doctors office, to call. I was banking on her saying it was nothing, I was wrong. Off to the local trauma center’s emergency department I go, with a doctors call ahead. Everything in my gut told me not to go, but I was in so much pain and I felt so sick, I decided to ignore my intuitions warning, and trudge ahead anyways.

We get there, and check in, we look around, and it’s going to be a long wait. We settle into a pair of seats, and wait. I get into triage, and I’m explaining what my doctor suspects and what I’m feeling, I’m brought from that triage to another, where they begin to pull blood and get an IV into my arm. Then things start to go fast, faster than I’ve ever seen them go in an ED, especially this one. I’m sent to the top of the line, ahead of several others in the ED, and brought back to a bed. Everything you would expect and should expect to happen in a ED is happening. Nurses are trying to get me situated in a bed, the resident comes over does an assessment and even he is weirded out by the stomach movement, to a point he performs an ultrasound, himself. He throws his hands up and says nothings wrong, and goes to report to his attending. The attending comes over, and she’s really concerned with my symptoms, and starts doing a neurological exam. She begins poking at my spine during this, until she hits this point where I black out. After I black out, I remember her mentioning an MRI, and agreeing (remember this, it’s important), I don’t remember anything else, until I begin waking up in a strange room, inside of something. I try to make sense of it, but I can’t place where I am. Then I’m moving, being pulled out of the place I was in and I feel a warm sensation like I’m going to pee. I sit straight up and I’m panicking, asking where am I, how did I get here, why am I in a CT scan, the doctor ordered an MRI. The next thing I feel is the hands of someone forcing my body back down, I then feel the impact, the feeling of my head going too far back, like there was nothing there to catch it. I’m screaming, thinking i’m going to be raped or something, (yay life long trauma) because I still don’t realize where I am still or who these people are. Then I begin screaming for my fiancé, who’s already trying to get into the room because apparently from the moment they began forcing me down, I was screaming. Those fight or flight instincts are strong my friend, strong. I’m finally transferred onto the stretcher that I was apparently rolled in on, and put into the hall way. Doctors start crowding me and demanding I need to go back into the thing I now realize is a CT scan. I refuse and a security guard forces them away from me, and instructs whoever was at the top of the stretcher to get me the hell away from these people. The same security guard refuses to leave the bay i’m assigned to and is actively throwing doctors out of it and nurses. He gets me calmed down with the help of my fiancé, and then informed the doctors to cut the shit and act appropriately before going back to wherever he came form. Next a nurse comes over and rips my IV out of my arm, not even taping it. Then comes the doctor who’s demanding I trust him and do whatever he says. I refuse and state I want to be discharged immediately, and that I’m going to be contacting the administrator to file a report against him. My fiancé, the saint that he is, refuses to allow me to leave until I get the discharge papers handed to me. I get them, and I wish I didn’t get them, but I did. And I look down and I see I’m pregnant, that they knew I was pregnant, and even referenced putting me in a CT scan despite knowing this. I see red, and I tell the doctor he won’t be hearing from an administrator, hell be hearing from an attorney. I hop down, and begin to walk away. I get halfway down the hall before I realize my leg I thought was just asleep, wasn’t moving, it was dragging behind me, while three nurses pointed and laughed. It was the last time I’d ever walk again, and I didn’t even know it.

From there, my fiancé and his mother insisted I go to another ED as soon as possible. I finally oblige after a hell of a lot of coaching and encouragement.

We get the kids settled into bed that same night, and we preset them. We tell them we’re going to go to the doctors that night, and that they might not see us in the morning. That their grandmother is watching them and then their aunt and uncle will pick them up if we’re not home by dinner tomorrow. They’re sad but excited to see their family, so they head to bed and they’re set. We get ready to go and my Fiancé starts trying to help me walk towards the door, I remember saying I couldn’t see anything, and I remember saying my head felt like it was going to explode. The next thing I know I’m in the back of an ambulance, headed to a different hospital. I become more lucid and the EMT asks me some questions about what’s going on. He looked at me and said “I don’t believe what you’re telling me, it’s crazy. No hospital would do that.” As soon as we arrive at the hospital, the EMT goes about telling the nurse I’m crazy and a liar. Thank goodness my Fiancé was nearby and was able to hand the same nurse the EMT was badgering, the paperwork from the prior hospital. The nurse immediately comes back to me, and apologizes, then moves me into a different room. From there, the doctor comes in and explains, that he believes everything that happened, and he agrees the sudden neurological symptoms, such as difficulty seeing and being unable to walk without passing out, are serious issues. Despite this, his hospital doesn’t have a neurologist on staff, and the best he could do was offer a virtual consult with one, from their sister hospital. If the neurologist agrees with his assessment, they would transport me over to there for further testing. Then the doctor said something I wasn’t expecting. That he felt the virtual assessment would be pointless, because it requires the patient to be capable of following a series of voice prompts, which he already determined I couldn’t do. We asked if we could discharge AMA and go over to the hospital he was referencing, as I would be transferred there anyways. He agreed it would be best, but that he needed us to understand the dangers associated with that. We agreed, and followed through with his plan.

I want to stop and take a moment to note, that hospital was probably the most helpful, as they didn’t even try to say they could handle whatever it was that was happening. They agreed what was happening to me was abnormal and emergent, validating us off the bat for the first and perhaps only time I can recall. They explain that they don’t have neurologist on staff, and that the best they can do is a virtual consult, and that given my condition it would do nothing but hurt and upset me more. That is a hospital that deserves the clout other larger hospitals in the area receive. And if I ever get a chance to reinvent the health care system as a whole, the doctors and staff I encountered at this hospital, are ones I want to work with.

We arrive at the other hospital, and frankly it seems to be better than anything we experienced so far. The ED waiting area was clean and nearly empty. The Triage area is clean and the nurse is understanding and attentive. I remember being brought back to the bay I was assigned to. I don’t remember much else. I remember the doctor examining me and it hurt so bad I blacked out again. I remember vaguely them attempting to put me into an MRI and panicking, and then nothing, until nearly two days later, when I wake up and notice I’m in a room on a different floor of the hospital. My fiancé quickly recapped what had gone on, but I frankly to this day don’t remember what happened leading up to waking up on the neurological floor. I remember talking to him about having not peed for a while, and being concerned that I hadn’t peed. He immediately set about getting that fixed. I remember a commode being brought into the room, and him helping me get transferred. I remember them being astonished that I had that much urine in me. That probably should have been my first sign, but I guess hindsight is 20/20.

We went to bed, or at least my Fiancé did. I woke up, about 7 hours later and rang for the nurse. You see, I have a background in direct care, so I knew if I wasn’t able to feel my bladder, I needed to do something called time voiding, which is basically timing yourself to use the bladder at evenly spaced intervals, so that urine doesn’t build in your bladder, stretching it or worse, causing it to burst. I tell the nursing assistant who came in, I needed to urinate and needed helping getting to the commode to do so. She shot back a nasty comment about waking my fiancé to help. I explained he hadn’t slept in days, and that I would rather not wake him. I then asked if she could please help me get onto the commode and off of it a second time. She said she’d be right back. She never came back other than to continually turn my call bell off. I eventually peed the bed in my sleep that night. When I woke up I told my fiancé what had happened. He immediately informed nursing staff and so did I. He had to beg for new sheets to be brought to me, and for a new gown. He then had to beg for help to get both me changed and the bed changed, as he didn’t know what to do or how to do it. The finally helped get me and my bed changed, and stated the nurse I had the previous night wouldn’t be assigned to me.

From there the neurologists came in, and told us they were going to be doing an MRI but that they couldn’t use anesthesia, as I was pregnant. And that most of what needed to be done to find out what’s happening, isn’t something you can be pregnant for. We explain that at this point, my health comes before anything else. We have four kids, all who need their mom, and that they and I are the priority, not an unborn child at this time. Then one of the members of the neurological team becomes upset that I would say such a thing. I ignored it, and reiterated my stance and that it’s my right to choose, and that we had already been looking at fostering, so it wasn’t a decision made lightly, but rather one that we weighed heavily and consulted others about before making the decision to abort. We then are told by the neurologist that if that is the case, they would be able to move forward. We were fine with that, and assumed it was done. Then the same doctor came back in after my fiancé left to grab food, to attempt to “inform” me of my other options in regards to my pregnancy. I quickly and very sternly asked her to please keep her opinions to herself, and asked her to leave. I had to call my Fiancé to get her out of my room, and to stop trying to guilt me for our decision. She was removed from my case, however it wasn’t the last time she’d pop up in this story.

The MRI went well, it was hard to finagle, but it went well. The anesthesiologist made sure he was the last person I saw going in, and the first one I saw waking up. I was moved back to my room, and the rest of the evening was relatively uneventful, until I needed to use the commode again in the middle of the night. I woke up, hit the call bell, and then the same nurse appeared, smiling ear to ear. I said I needed to be toileted, she simply said “ok” and walked over to me, took my call bell and put it out of reach, then took my glasses from my side table, and walked away. I tried to wake my fiancé up, but he was dead to the world. Finally sleeping in a recliner and getting the sleep I needed him to get, to be able to help. I resigned myself to what had occurred, and went to bed. I woke up him, and told him I needed to pee, and what had happened. The nursing staff insisted the woman wasn’t in my room the night prior. When I pointed out the call bell being put somewhere I couldn’t reach and my glasses being MIA they didn’t say anything, just that the nurse wasn’t in my room. We later received confirmation she was in my room, because she was still assigned the night prior to my roommate. I became so overwhelmed by this, I started to have an anxiety attack, and I began asking for my anxiety meds. I’m informed by the nurse, that there were no orders for my anxiety medication. It was then that we realized I hadn’t even been given them, since admission. In fact the only thing they had given me were lidocaine patches and a few sporadic doses of gabbapentin. I began demanding to know why my medications hadn’t been ordered correctly or even put into the system correctly. My fiancé asserted he was told they did do that, and that clearly the physicians had mislead us into believing they were in the system and ordered. Then the issues really started.

From that moment on, I was labeled as a drug addict in that hospital. A drug addict, with no prior history asserting this, other than demanding the doctors do their jobs and get me the medication my psychiatrist had prescribed for my PTSD and Anxiety. I even tried to explain to them that by being properly medicated, I would probably be easier to deal with to begin with, because I would be able to use my coping skills to keep my fight or flight at bay. They decided they knew better, and that I was simply seeking my medication. The medication that is not habit forming or addictive, or even a controlled substance. A blood pressure medication that regulates the panic of the fight or flight associated with PTSD, and the perscription version of freaking Benadryl, and my need for both of them, do not equate to an addiction. How can a group of physicians, who arguably had to go through 10 years of schooling at least, be that uninformed about addiction? Another question I hope to learn the answer to one day and prevent from happening.

That night was possibly the worst of them all. They refused my lidocaine patches and gabbapentin that night, and then the same nursing assistant was assigned again to the room I was in. When I again paged for toileting, she choose to remove the commode from my room and place it in the bathroom, where I couldn’t get to it, even if I tried, because she also took my wheelchair. I went to bed completely defeated and beaten down. I promised myself in that moment, that I was going to change the way people with PTSD and related illnesses are treated in hospitals. I didn’t know how, I didn’t know when. I just knew I was going to do it. I had no clue what was coming next, nor did I realize it would be the fuel to my fire.

The next morning I’m again met with a team of doctors, most of which seemed to have planted their feet in agreement with the resident who told them I was a junky seeking medication, because each time we would bring up needing my PTSD meds, they would dismiss it. They informed me they still had no clue what was happening, and that they would have me meet with PT to get me set up with a wheelchair of my own, and help make other referrals in regards to my discharge from the hospital. They stated I needed to have a follow up MRI in 6 months, and that they wouldn’t be doing any further studies. I met with several other providers that day, all seeming to tell the same tale. I was fine with that, I called my primary physician, who began coordinating with the hospital in anticipation of my discharge and setting up outpatient appointments. My primary informed me that they would discharge me after the appointment with PT at 3:30, and that she made an appointment for me to follow up with her the next day. She informed me bad weather was coming and that we should probably try to leave either very early the next day or that night, so that we could get there on time and safely. We then told the nursing staff at the hospital what was happening, to make sure they were aware of the situation. They informed the resident, who came in furious we were planning to leave. We made our stance clear and made it clear we were acting based on the information both their department gave us and the advice of my physician. We went to go eat something, and made sure we were back by 3:30. We waited and waited until 4 rolled around, we called for the nurse to inform her that we needed to really get headed back soon and that we were concerned that PT was late. We were then told by the nurse the resident told PT they could come tomorrow or whenever, instead of the original plan of them coming at 3:30 that his attending agreed to with my primary physician. I was furious. I stated we were leaving regardless as I was tired of being labeled by him and that it was absolutely inappprpriate what was happening. I continued to assert this, as did my fiancé. My fiancé after this ordeal decided he needed a break and was going to start getting stuff in the car while we waited for my paperwork. Then the same resident came back in, and tried to again convince me I was an addict and that there was nothing wrong with me. I demanded he leave the room, several times, he continued to refuse until I called my Fiancé for back up and to get security. He then finally leaves. He comes back in after my fiancé is back and is handing me paperwork to discharge me. I specifically ask if my pain medication had been sent to the pharmacy, and he says yes. I state I want proof of that before signing anything. I don’t know why I said that, I think it was intuition honestly. He finally obliges, goes to the computer to do just that, and comes back saying the best he could do was send in acetaminophen and lidocaine patches. I was relieved and said that will work, thanks so much! He stands there shocked for a few minutes, as Britten begins moving me from the bed to the wheelchair. He remains there is total disbelief, until we leave.

We go down to the pharmacy at the hospital, and even the pharmacist is shocked that’s all I was discharged with, and offered to call up. We politely oblige and say that it’s plenty and that we were trying to just make it back to my doctor tomorrow, which was a 4 hour drive.

It’s a rough trip back to a hotel room to gather the kiddos who have been living it up with their aunt and uncle the last few days, and settle in for what would be a long night.

We make it without incident back to my doctors office, they get me a wheelchair and other medical equipment such as a shower chair, a commode and adult diapers. They also referred me for physical therapy, occupational therapy, speech therapy, nursing services and home health aids. Things started to normalize, but we still had no clue what was happening, just that it was. From there began the mission to help me walk again, we had no clue what that truly meant or what we would find from that.

Within a few days, my condition began to deteriorate rapidly, we called upon the other parents in our childrens lives and asked them to help. That was possibly the worst idea we had, but we will get to that in another blog post.

As my condition began to worsen, we decided to try going back to the third hospital we went to, despite their terrible treatment, they at least seemed to have some answers. I could go into detail explaining the further medical abuse and maltreatment I received, but that’s again a story for another day. The important part here is that they again did nothing and the complete lack of care continued with the nursing staff similarly to the prior stay. We decided to leave and head to another hospital, one that was internationally accredited for rare neurological disorders, and frankly medical mysteries.

We did find some answers there, and the treatment wasn’t horrible, it wasn’t great, but it reminded me of the stories American’s often tell of the European health system. They ultimately decided I did have a neurological conditional, they weren’t sure which one, but they suspected something called functional neurological disorder, which lead them to suspecting I had irritable bowl syndrome and Fibromyalgia.

It was at this hospital that they located my prior medical records, showing at the ripe age of 16, over 15 years ago, a neurologist saw something on an MRI I had, due to sudden onset of seizures and other neurological symptoms that my egg donor said were fake and being caused by a variety of mental health issues I later would find out I never had. The thing that hospital discovered, may indicate I have Fibromyalgia and that I have had it for a long time. I was then informed the only reason I didn’t receive care or further testing, was because my egg donor stated she was taking me for a second opinion. That second opinion, was actually a psych hospital. I never received further diagnostic testing or any treatment by a neurologist, I didn’t even know I needed more testing, because my egg donor made sure doctors never spoke in front of me. She convinced them of this because she claimed my mental health impeded my ability to understand what they’re saying and it could cause me to use that information to manipulate others.

That discovery made me both laugh and cry, because unbeknownst to my egg donor, who I’ve been estranged from for almost a year I had been fighting with my psychiatrist for months, refusing to accept the diagnosis that my mother convinced me were true (borderline personality disorder, schizophrenia, acute psychosis and many more) were inaccurate and wrong. I went through 5 psychiatric and forensics evaluations, all indicating I had Major Depressive Disorder, Severe Anxiety and Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, none of the above issues, that my mother convinced me I had. It was the moment of realization for me, that not only had I been emotionally abused (which I had already come to terms with) and used as a medication dispenser for my mother (another realization I had already come to terms with) but medically neglected and abused as well.

From this hospital stay, I began to heal, and process and understand what was going on, that I wasn’t “crazy”, my symptoms I had, ever since a car accident at 16 years old, were real. I wasn’t crazy.

I started to make appointments, to get other things situated, such as an eye apppointment, so that maybe if my vision couldn’t be totally corrected, we could get something to at least make me feel semi normal vision wise and lower my anxiety about not being able to see.

We had no clue that appointment would take me from being a medical mystery to being diagnosed with something.

The optometrist listened carefully to what happened leading into my vision change, and he quickly tested the ability to focus in my eyes, and my actual vision. When completed he announced with absolute certainty, I have a TBI, and I needed to see a neruological optometrist, who would be able to confirm the diagnosis, and hopefully get some of the things started that we needed to get in place. I expressed my concern for his certainty, and he explained the inability of my eyes to focus, was the 2nd most common symptom for people with reoccurring TBI’s that had been undiagnosed or misdiagnosed.

We couldn’t believe it, it made sense. It explain everything, and it even explained why I was so quick to anger suddenly and had no patience, something that is unusual for me. I have always had the patience of a saint, or so I’m told. I had two disabled children, and raised them full time as a single mom until my fiancé came into the picture, and we blended our families. I was active in my community, my home was spotless, I worked over 70 hours a week, did laundry, housework and meals for a family of 6, while my fiancé worked long hours and was hardly home to help. Then I had a medical issue in August, which resulted in me being overdosed with pain medication while admitted to the hospital, another possible TBI, then we had covid in October, my personality changed after we had covid. I was no longer the same person I had been, I was miserable, angry and quick to lose my temper. I couldn’t keep up with the housework, the kids, work, nothing. By January I was often confused by simple tasks and couldn’t complete anything from start to finish, I was in increasing pain, struggling to walk. Then I was slammed down on a table by medical staff and had my neck hyper extended and having impact on the back on my head, another TBI. Then everything got worse and worse and worse. Still today, it seems I have more bad days than good while we navigate this, but we now have answers and treatment options. The light started to shine in my life again. I treasure the moments of authenticity, when I’m lucid and seem like my old self, but then I’m slapped with the harsh reality, that I’m not myself. I can’t walk, I can barely communicate, I can’t get to the toilet or prevent myself from soiling my pants. I can’t sleep with my fiancé, not sexually or even physically.

From there I get angry, so angry. I’m so angry because if I hadn’t gone to an eye doctor, I likely wouldn’t have any more information about what’s happening and I wouldn’t have the treatment options before me that I currently do. Then I get angry again, because why would my “mother” do this? Why? Why? Then it hits me, she did this, because she too is sick, but in a different way. You see, she’s also an addict, she’s also mentally ill. She enjoys having a sick child, she enjoys having other peoples sympathy. She is mentally unwell. And because of that, I suffered horrible acts of child abuse, that I couldn’t begin to explain. It leaves me with this distrust of my own body. This distrust makes me prefer that she’s right, I’m crazy instead of being abused. I would rather that, because you know what? If I was just crazy, they could lock me away and medicate me, I wouldn’t have to face the trauma I’ve endured and heal it. I wouldn’t have to try to break generational cruises, and I wouldn’t feel the need to speak out and change things, which gives her the ability to speak out as well, meaning I’ll undoubtedly have to come face to face with my abuser again. Something I would happily give my arm or hell even a kidney to not have to do. I never want to see the face of the woman responsible for stripping me of all my dignity, ever again.

I struggle with the ability to grasp my situation, I want to say just that. I flip between believing what several medical professionals have told me, which is that I’m a victim of serious childhood abuse and neglect, which literally changed the trajectory of my life. I want to say this one more time, mostly for me to be reminded as I write this entry, that my mother has verbally and physically abused me, used me as a source for multiple controlled substances, and then, choose to ignore the warning signs of a TBI in a 16 years old simply becaue it wasn’t going to keep her drug supply up. Can you say Munchausen Syndrome,”Mother”?

So believe me, when I tell you, I question every second of this, I question if I’m certifiably nuts and a liar and then I question how stupid could I be to have believed her? Why didn’t I see the signs when the 5th psychologist refuted all my prior diagnosis and replaced them with anxiety, depression and complex post traumatic stress disorder? Why didn’t I see what she was doing sooner? Why didn’t I cut her off sooner? Why didn’t I continue to assert I was ill medically, not mentally? The unfortunate answer to that question is, because I was sick and scared and trusted my mother to do what was best for me, just as so many abuse children do.

I don’t know what’s going to come of this all, but I do hope, it brings change to the world of medicine. I hope it puts the power into a 16 year olds hands to speak to their provider directly and ask questions. I hope it puts into place harsher penalties for abusers, of any form. I hope I find healing and feel better able to speak the truth of what I’ve experienced, and how much it’s truly effected every aspect of my life. My relationships, my children, my career, my home everything was effected by her one choice to not follow through with medical care.

I just want a change.

With love & light

Life as a HandiMom

A handicapped moms journey in motherhood

[eisukevint]

Always You

Eisuke Ichinomiya

This one’s for you @leoamber66 - i should be ashamed of myself for taking this long but here we are! your graduation and your birthday gift. and a massive thank you to @cupidocherie for major help bec idek where i would be without her😭😭 anyways enjoyyy, i love you <3

»»»»

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

“You mean when you tripped and almost fell in front of everyone on your first day in elementary school?”

“No! oh my god, I told you to forget that!”

“Pftt, how can anyone ever forget that? I’m sure soryu and luke remember too”

“I hope they don’t haha, but really, we’ve come so far” Yuki commented, reminiscing about one certain day.

Eisuke’s POV

“So children, today a new student will be joining us. This is Yuki Freya. I hope all of you will be nice to her and welcome her warmly!” The teacher, Miss Hale as she introduced herself, addressed the class.

“Yuki, you’re going to sit with Eisuke. Please raise your hand so she can know where you are, Eisuke!” Miss Hale announced.

The clumsy girl, Yuki, made her way over to me earning several stares from both girls and boys present in the classroom.

“Hi, i’m Yuki!” She enthusiastically said extending her hand towards me.

I shook her hand, “Eisuke”

“Nice to meet you!” She said and then turned towards the teacher as she started her lesson, not giving me a chance to reply.

At least her smile is cute.

»»»»

Yuki didn’t follow me around like the other girls in my class did. Instead, she became friends with Luke and Soryu who happened to be my best friends. They seemed to like her a lot. Now that was rare.

It was P.E. and the teacher partnered me with Yuki despite the other girls begging him to partner them up with me. I didn’t complain considering she wasn’t annoying like the others.

“Are you ready?” She asked me tying up her left leg with my right one, preparing for the three legged race. Why is this even a thing? Couldn’t we just race like normal people?

“Of course I am” Eisuke Ichinomiya is always ready.

It didn’t take long for me to come off my high horse when Yuki couldn’t keep up with my fast pace and fell down, twisting her ankle.

Yuki groaned in pain and tried to get up but failed. The P.E. teacher came forth and asked me to carry her on my back to the infirmary as a punishment which was just across the field.

“But it’s not my fault that she fell!” I retorted back despite knowing it was partly my fault she fell since I was moving too fast for her.

“She was your partner Ichinomiya, it’s your responsibility.”

“Fine” I said when I realised there was no getting out if it. With that, i asked her to get on my back and carried her to the infirmary.

As the nurse tended to her injury, she turned towards me with that same cute smile “Thank you, Eisuke”

I instantly felt a stab of guilt.

“Hmph, I didn’t do it for you” I didn’t notice the blush that crept on my cheeks but I did notice the way my heart flipped. Just as she was about to say something, Soryu and Luke came looking for her.

“Are you alright?” Luke asked to which she replied with a grin and swinging her leg back and forth.

“Never better!”

Seriously how can someone be so cute.

»»»»

high school

The murderous intent was evident in my eyes as I gazed at Yuki laughing at something the principal’s cockroach son said.

In the beginning, Frank tried to befriend me but I felt something was off and eventually it became very clear to me that he only wanted me to be a handy tool in his pocket ready for emergencies, so I shook him off pretty quickly. Somehow, Frank’s always lingering around me. He’s always loved to single me out whenever I express disinterest in something, in hopes that others would join in. Instead, the girls that fawn over me often tell him to shut up and then they’re confronted by his fangirls and in the end, it’s just a massive cat fight.

He’s nothing but trouble. As the principal’s son, he’s quite popular, almost as popular as me, and he can pretty much get away with anything. Luckily for him, he’s very sly. Hiding behind his minions, he’s never once flat out done anything. Good with underhanded remarks, letting other people take all of the blame, coercing them into doing what he wants. His little groupies pay no heed to any of this, all because he’s handsome. But there’s a large group of people who don’t like him, but nobody has ever said anything straight to his face, thanks to his feared status.

There were rumours earlier this year that on Valentine’s Day, Frank asked Yuki out but she told him that she wanted to focus on school. I’m surprised Frank didn’t get angry at her and punch a wall or something. That sounds like something he would usually do. While I’m proud of Yuki for turning him down, part of me hopes that what she said was just a lie she made up so she could just get away from him. But now, Frank and Yuki are partners on this project, I’m convinced this teacher is trying to set those two up. Soryu, who was partnered with this over-zealous girl looked as if he would smash either his own head or the girl’s if she didn’t stop with her chattering. I’ve been paired up with Luke, unfortunately I’ve been neglecting our work because keeping an eye on Yuki has become too much of a priority. I hate how he gets too close to her, the way he continues to flirt with her and the smug look that’s plastered on his face when he realises that I’m watching. All Luke can do is sigh and shake his head at me.

“I’d gladly switch with Yuki if I didn’t have to put up with him, Eisuke...”

“Hey watch out, you’ll hurt yourself!” Yuki yells, pushing him away before she yelps in pain, drawing her hand back.

For a split second, it’s like I can only see red. I march right up to their desk, in close proximity to the two only to see a red mark across Yuki’s hand. It looks painful. If Frank hadn’t been so careless then Yuki wouldn’t have gotten hurt. What were you thinking!? Why do you need to care so much about everyone else!?

“Oops, I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

“No, I’ll take her.”, I sternly tell Frank. Yuki insists it’s not too big of a deal and that she’s fine.

“Hmph, alright. I’ll make it up to you another way then, Yuki.”

“You don’t need to. Stay away from my girl.” I felt Yuki tense up beside me the moment those words left my mouth. Thinking nothing of it, I took her dainty uninjured hand in my right one and pulled her along with me towards the infirmary. Yuki, being the obedient and polite girl she was followed without a hint of refusal.

Upon our arrival to the medical department of the school, the nurse immediately treated Yuki’s injury. As I gazed at the familiar scene before my eyes, a certain memory played in my head.

“What’s with you and infirmaries?” Were the words that came out of my mouth the very second the school nurse disappeared, probably went back to her office.

She whipped her head towards me, a tiny smile adorning her graceful features. Adorable giggles escaped from her mouth indicating that Yuki too was reminiscing about that particular day.

“You’re too amiable for your own good.” I chuckled, moving to sit into the chair where the nurse was not long ago and grabbing her hand with the nasty burn on it.

“How dare he ruin your precious soft skin like this” Placing a gentle kiss on the back of her hand, I held onto it as I stared deep into her gorgeous blue eyes.

“Is it true you rejected him?” She stared back, cocking her head a little bit to her left at the question, confusion etched on her face.

“On Valentine’s Day, I heard he confessed to you but you turned him down, saying you wanted to focus on your studies. Is that true?” Her face lit up upon remembrance but an almost gloomy expression took over right after.

“Ah...yes, now that you mention it” I squeezed her hand a little tighter but not tight to enough to hurt her as I waited for her to continue.

“That’s only half true though..”

What?

“I also told him I like someone else.”

Oh.

I immediately loosened my grip on her hand.

So that’s why. Heh, what were you even thinking Ichinomiya?

Yuki glanced over to me, fidgeting in her seat with nervousness.

“Won’t you ask who it is?” This time, she grabbed my hand and lightly tug on it preventing me from standing up, causing her to hiss in pain.

“Does it even matter?” I sighed, patting her hand lightly with that flicker of hope in my heart slowly diminishing. As I was about to get on my feet a second time, she said those words which haltered my every movement, completely catching me off guard. Words i’ve wanted to hear for the longest time now from a certain girl I adored more than anything.

“It’s you, Eisuke.”

Good Lord.

“It’s always been you.”

Will I survive if my heart continues to beat this fast every time i’m around her? I’ll have to ask Luke later.

“Eisuke?” Yuki peered at my astounded face snapping me out of my daze. When I look back at her, I thought I could resist just pulling her into my arms and claiming her as mine but boy, was I wrong. I immediately grabbed her chin and captured her silky lips in a somewhat soft and gentle kiss. Laying every emotion bare into our first kiss, Yuki loosely wrapped her arms around my shoulders as she kissed me back with equal passion. We parted and just sat there basking in the pleasure of being in each other’s arms until I decided to break the comfortable silence since a significant amount of time had passed and we needed to go back to the lab.

“You’re mine and I won’t allow you to leave me.” She hummed in response and with a little peck on her lips, I pulled her up with me and exited the infirmary.

Our fingers intertwined perfectly as we walked back to the class feeling oddly at peace - mind, body and soul.

»»»»

“And Soryu teased us so much when we went back to class! But no one was surprised, I mean we were kind of inseparable...” Yuki said bashfully, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. The diamond of her engagement ring caught the light of the setting sun.

“It’s because they knew you were mine.” Professing my undying love for her, I place a fierce kiss on her lips imagining a bright future with my one and only,

“Always have been and always will be.”

•••

[the-last-kenobi]

How about “Disowned by Family” for bad things happen bingo?

Hello! 🤍 Thanks for the request for @badthingshappenbingo

Ooh, the angst potential is through the roof. Tried to choose the focus based off of what I remember you writing and reading on ao3 (or maybe I just went hmmmm evil)

“Good job, Obi-Wan!” a woman cried, her voice warm with joy. “Very well done!”

Obi-Wan found himself grinning even as he launched himself from one difficult landing into another gravity-defying leap, sweat dripping from his skin.

“Don’t coddle him,” laughed a male’s voice, but he sounded fond. “Keep at it, Padawan, retain your focus.”

Obi-Wan did not waste breath on a reply, whirling through the air, springing from one part of the training room to the other, swinging from posts and tumbling under moving obstacles, listening to the cues the Force gave him when he concentrated.

At last he landed on the mat in the center of the room, and the droids and obstacles ceased their moving, and the fifteen-year-old Jedi dropped to his knees, gasping for breath but triumphant.

“That was beautifully done, Obi-Wan!” Tahl cried, ignoring Qui-Gon’s protests. She rushed toward the boy and clasped his shoulders in congratulations. “I haven’t seen a junior Padawan that skilled in Ataru since your Master.”

“You’re too kind to both of us,” Qui-Gon shook his head as he joined them, standing tall above his kneeling friend and apprentice. Then he smiled. “But she’s not wrong — that was beautifully done, my Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan laughed and bowed his head, happy to be humble before them.

A strange gift, for a Jedi — to have two people so very like parents.

~

Obi-Wan kept his head low, terrified to look upwards, terrified of what he would see, what he would feel.

There was a heavily wrapped split over one leg, stained with grime and blood. More red liquid was slowly seeping from beneath its edges, gleaming wetly. Shadows lapped at his feet like predators playing with their food before the eating. The Darkness was closing in. But he knew this was mere fanciful thought, and not an actual omen, that his fears were outpacing his reality.

Which was already cast in shadow.

The flickering lights were caused by the flames burning in front of him, and the flames were burning Tahl. Who was dead.

Because of him. The cast around his leg, barely holding up after a day of running, days in hyperspace, and then three days in the Temple, hiding in his room and speaking to nobody, which concealed beneath it an injury that had delayed him and his Master.

And Tahl had died, and now she burned.

Obi-Wan kept his eyes low. He did not deserve to say goodbye, he could not bear to see.

Slowly the flames died, and the shadows consumed. The other Jedi watching departed in silence, murmuring only soft benedictions and farewells.

Obi-Wan kept his eyes on his feet.

Something shifted in the shadows, and from the other side of the empty pyre emerged a familiar figure. Qui-Gon walked quietly around the place where his love had burned and crossed to his Padawan.

A large hand settled on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“Listen to me,” Qui-Gon said in a low voice. “By my word and by the expectation of the Council, I am obligated to see you to Knighthood.”

Obi-Wan watched as tears blurred the boot tips he had been staring at for so long. Blackness swam in front of his eyes.

“But I no longer care,” Qui-Gon said. There was no wrath in his voice, no hissing, no venom. He simply spoke. “I will seek the Council out at dawn and you will be formally repudiated for negligence that cost the life of another Jedi.”

Obi-Wan’s tears escaped his eyes. They trembled for a moment against his lashes before they fell, striking the stones with a soft noise.

Qui-Gon sighed. “I told you that you were not capable of living the life of a Jedi, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Your persistence cost the life of a better.”

And then he walked away.

And Obi-Wan was alone.

~

“Good job, Anakin!” Obi-Wan cried, clapping his hands sharply. At his signal, the young Padawan stopped his kata demonstration and turned to grin at him, bowing with bravado.

Even after two years of training, Anakin managed to surprise him daily.

The first surprise had been when Anakin, all of nine, had announced to the Council that Qui-Gon Jinn had requested before his death that Obi-Wan Kenobi, trained to Knighthood by Mace Windu, would step in if Anakin should ever need a teacher. While Obi-Wan was still reeling, blindsided and drowning in memories of disgrace and ashes, Anakin had also presented another surprise: he had attached himself to Obi-Wan’s leg and refused to let go. Almost literally, mostly metaphorically.

They bonded immediately.

“Come here, Padawan,” he called.

Anakin came running, his braid flapping against his cheek, still beaming. “I told you I could do it! I told you so, Master!”

“So you did,” Obi-Wan agreed, and he reached out as the boy slid to a stop before him and tugged gently on the blonde braid. Anakin growled in mock rage and leaned away. “But, my very young Padawan, I also told you not to attempt it. I’m grateful for your skill because it proves that you’re strong and capable, but also because it saved you from injury. If you had truly not been ready, you could have been seriously hurt.”

Anakin barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “But I knew I could do it, and I just proved it!”

Obi-Wan sighed, his hand moving from the braid to Anakin’s shoulder, squeezing slightly as he tried to make his impudent, mischievous student focus on him for a moment. “And you disobeyed me to do so. So now you have a victory slightly tainted by that. And what if the next time I command you not to do something, you do it anyways and it goes badly wrong? You overreach, or circumstances intervene, and you’re hurt? In the field that could very often be the case, which is why I need to know that you’re accustomed to obeying. I can’t trust you on the field if I can’t trust you at home.”

Anakin’s face sank into lines of bitterness and shame, his head ducked low. Anger heated his cheeks.

Obi-Wan stopped himself, taking a slow breath.

“I’m sorry, Anakin,” he said quietly, and he squeezed Anakin’s shoulder a little tighter, rubbing the edge of his thumb up and down as if to soothe the boy. “Forgive your Master, he likes to hear himself talk.”

“Hey, that’s true,” Anakin chuckled, but he still didn’t raise his head.

Obi-Wan laughed quietly. “Yes. And while I made some very good points, things I want you to think about as we approach our first mission— there’s one more thing I want you to remember from this.”

Anakin’s shoulders slumped. “…Yes, Master?”

“You did extremely well today,” Obi-Wan reminded him. “And I am proud of you for working so hard and believing in your capabilities.”

Anakin’s head jerked up, and a beam spread slowly across his young face again. “Thanks,” he said a little shyly. “I’m grateful for your teachings, Obi-Wan. There’s no one I trust more than you.”

~

Dooku was a traitor and had escaped capture, war had been declared, over a hundred Jedi were dead, Obi-Wan’s leg was so injured that he was stuck in a cast and splint for two weeks, and Anakin… Anakin had lost most of his arm.

Obi-Wan could think of few moments in his life that had frightened him more than lying helpless on the floor while his student payed for his reckless behavior with a limb.

Now he sat here by Anakin’s bed, waiting for him to wake up to his new mech arm and hand.

Obi-Wan had no idea how to guide the boy through this.

He stared at his hands in his lap for awhile, and then at the bandaged leg, the stupid bandaged leg. This wound, it had stopped him from getting to Anakin in time.

He would never forgive himself—

“Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flew to the bed, where Anakin was blinking at him in a daze, his hair in disarray and an expression of pinched pain on his still youthful face.

“Anakin,” he gasped, and sat upright, his leg throbbing as he moved. He grabbed his Padawan’s remaining flesh hand with his. Hoping to transfer some of his warmth. To ease the terrible chill.

“You… you’re here.”

“Yes.”

“Did you bother,” Anakin said, his voice a dry rasp, “to ask yourself if I wanted you here?”

Obi-Wan went very still. “I… I’m sorry. I thought you might want company. I can go.”

“Company, yeah,” Anakin replied. “But not you.”

Obi-Wan stopped halfway through standing up. He clung to the arm of the fragile chair, his bad leg trembling beneath his weight. “Is there… if there’s something we need to discuss…”

“You’re a liar,” Anakin said flatly.

Obi-Wan reeled.

“You’re a fake,” Anakin continued. “You pretend to care about me, pretend to be my friend, pretend to be the perfect Jedi. But someone who was a good teacher and a good friend would never have ignored my visions.”

“Anakin, what—” Obi-Wan asked, and could not tell if the strain of tears was caused by the pain in his leg or the explosion of anguish in his chest.

“I told you I dreamed of my mother!” Anakin shouted. “You let her die!”

“I don’t — you said dreams, you never said — Anakin, I’m sorry, I would never have—”

“And then you couldn’t even hold off Dooku,” Anakin spat, “and you made us abandon Padmé in the sand! She could have been killed, but you only cared about the chase. Nothing ever matters to you but the mission!”

“Anakin, no,” Obi-Wan said, and it was a sob this time. He felt disoriented, blindsided.

Last time, he had been expecting it, but now—

“I want you out of this room,” Anakin said, still helplessly slumped against his pillow but so full of betrayal and rage that he seemed about to spring from the bed and throttle his Master. “And when I recover enough to get out of this bed, I’m going to the Council to petition for Knighthood or for another Master to finish my training.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered. “I’m sorry. Please.”

But Anakin was shaking his head. “You’re broken. You shouldn’t have been a Padawan, and never a Knight, and absolutely not a Master. Do you understand me?” The apprentice was breathing heavily, his eyes still glazed with drugs and grief. “You leave here and figure out some other place to be. You don’t belong here.”

Anakin glared at him until Obi-Wan had backed out of the room, leaning hard on the chair he was dragging.

As soon as the door slid shut, Obi-Wan collapsed against a wall, his forehead pressed against the cold metal, his hand still clenched around the chair.

And Obi-Wan was alone.

fin.

[detectivereyes]

Even If You Stumble A Step, You’re Still Moving Forward

Summary: TK and Carlos move into their new home post-finale and TK doesn't exactly make the best first impression on their new neighbors...

Notes: this was like a fever dream i had a few months ago and then i stopped writing but decided to revive it last night so... here we are. also title creds (and emotional support creds) to jillian @marjansmarwani​ because this fic wouldn’t exist without her. and also s/o to brit @moviegeek03​ for being extra supportive of yet another fic where [spoiler] tk falls down the stairs again :/

read on ao3

TK shuffles through the maze of boxes stacked several feet high throughout their new home. The scene shouldn’t surprise him considering it was only a few months ago he was moving his own boxes into their old home. However it feels different knowing that most of this stuff isn’t actually theirs.

Well, it is theirs now he figures. But the fact remains that most of the stuff filling the space was either given to them by various members of the extended 126 family, or was recently purchased by TK or Carlos on one of their many trips to Bed Bath and Beyond. 

They had taken their time searching for a new place to live. Owen had made it clear that they were both welcome to stay with him (and Mateo) for as long as they needed, but TK had known it was time.

So when a townhome popped up on Zillow that met all their criteria, they wasted no time booking an appointment with the realtor. They both had instantly fallen in love with the open floor plan and deck out back. Plus they knew the extra bedrooms upstairs may come in handy someday.

While they knew the vertical layout of the home itself wasn’t the best, having more stairs than either of them were used to, it checked every other box and was right in their price range so they had wasted no time signing the lease.

A few days had passed since settlement and now most of their days were spent trying to unpack and make this new house into a home. It would never replace the one they had lost, but it had been exciting to build this new home together.

Though on this particular day, TK found himself alone in trying to get settled in since Carlos had a shift. With the 126 still out of commission, possibly forever, and the department not having any openings for paramedics, most of the unpacking was left for TK.

After getting a good chunk of the living room done, he checks the time and decides to go out and see if the mail has come yet. Not that he’s expecting anything with their address still being so new, and not getting much physical mail anyway to begin with. But it still provided a good excuse to take a break.

TK opens the front door and starts to make his way down the set of stairs leading down. 

He makes it about halfway before his attention is caught by one of his new next door neighbors, Mr. Martin- if he remembers correctly, exiting at the same time. Mr. Martin gives a friendly wave and TK goes to return the gesture.

Except, he’s not paying attention when he takes the next step, and he misses, his heel just barely hitting the edge of the step before he starts to go down. He tumbles until he comes to a hard stop at the bottom, with most of his weight coming down on his right knee, sending shooting pains up and down his leg.

The rest of his body is sore, and by the time his ears stop ringing, he can just barely make out a new female voice asking “Sir, are you okay?”

He opens his eyes, which he had not even realized he had squeezed shut at some point, to see his neighbor, Mrs. Bailey- his brain supplies, from across the street making her way over to check on him, worried lines painting across her forehead.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m fine,” he grimaces while pushing himself up to a seated position. He tries to hide the blush forming on his cheeks. Not the best way to make a good first impression on his neighbors.

“Are you sure, son? We can call for help if you need it. Someone you know, or 9-1-1?” Mr. Martin joins in the conversation.

“No!” TK interjects too quickly, startling both neighbors. He panics for a moment when the weight of the predicament settles in. He meets the gaze of both figures still staring at him, clearly concerned and waiting for him to say something. “I mean, I’m a paramedic. I’m fine. Or I will be fine. Thank you,” he flashes them both a quick smile before pushing himself up off the ground, ignoring the sharp pains that radiate from his knee when he tries to put any weight on it.

Getting back up the stairs is no easy feat, and he doesn’t have to turn around to know that both Mr. Martin and Mrs. Bailey are still watching him, concerned. Fortunately, they don’t know him well enough to try and follow or help. He’s not sure he would feel comfortable enough receiving help from some strangers. Half the time he doesn’t even feel comfortable receiving help from the people he does know.

He leans heavily on the railing, refusing to turn around out of fear of further mortification. Once he’s inside the home, he collapses right inside the hall, unable to go any further since his knee decided to stop cooperating.

A few tears pool in his eyes, and he’s unsure if that’s due to the pain or embarrassment. Not knowing what else to do, he takes out his phone and shoots a quick text to Carlos.

TK: we have to move

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for the three dots to pop up before being replaced by Carlos’ response.

Carlos: ???

TK sighs and rubs his face, trying to figure out the best way to explain the situation.

TK: i feel down the stairs out front and all the neighbors saw

Carlos: Holy shit, are you okay??

He lets out a puff of air at that.

TK: you mean besides my bruised ego?

TK: no, i hurt my knee but i’m fine. that’s not the issue here.

Carlos: Okay, I’ll be home in an hour and you can let me be the judge of that. If I see any swelling, we’re going to the doctor.”

He rolls his eyes at Carlos’ worry. At worst, it’s a bad sprain, nothing that can’t be fixed with some icing and wrapping. But there are other things they need to worry about.

TK: you’re missing the point, carlos. the entire neighborhood thinks i’m an idiot. we can’t live here anymore.

TK knows he’s being dramatic, but the more he thinks about it, the more embarrassed he gets. The idea that these are people he’s going to have to continue to face everyday for the foreseeable future. And that now all they’ll be able to think about when they do see him. Now he’ll just be known as the guy who can’t walk down stairs.

Carlos: Relax, TK. I’ll be home soon.

TK: you mean our temporary place of residence which we will soon be moving out of

He doesn’t get a response after that. 

His mind continues to spiral while he waits for Carlos to arrive. He knows the other man is likely climbing the walls trying to leave his shift early but it would still be awhile before he could be allowed to leave.

Left alone with his thoughts, his mind keeps playing out the series of events that happened minutes ago. He can't help but beat himself up over embarrassing himself like that. Ironically enough, it’s not even the first time he’s fallen down stairs, having taken a tumble down the stairs in Carlos’ place a few months back. And of course he would manage to injure himself that time, and this time as well.

He should at least try to get up so he can find an ice pack to lessen the swelling. Sitting on the floor up against the wall can’t be doing his knee any favors. Yet he can’t bring himself to move, instead resting his head back against the wall and sighing.

TK pulls out his phone again, cycling through the apps until he hears the tell-tale keys jingling in the already unlocked door.

As soon as Carlos steps through the door, he nearly trips over TK in the doorway. “Woah, hey! TK, are you okay?” he crouches down to TK’s level.

TK shrugs. Now that he’s face to face with Carlos, he can’t help but feel suffocated by another person judging him, even if Carlos’ worry comes from a place of concern.

“Can I take a look at your knee?”

TK nods, allowing Carlos to gently inspect his swollen joint. He winces as Carlos traces his hand around his kneecap.

“This doesn’t look good, babe. I think we need to go to the hospital.”

“No, it’s fine,” he quickly shakes his head. The worried look in Carlos’ eyes only makes his heart ache, and he can only try to find ways to make it go away. “Just help me up and we can ice it. It will look better once the swelling goes down a bit.”

Carlos gives him a look that screams I don’t believe you but sighs. “Fine, but if it doesn’t…”

“I know, I know. You’ll drag my ass to the emergency room,” TK gives him a reassuring smile.

Carlos returns the smile, and extends a hand to help TK up. TK accepts, and allows Carlos to take on most of his weight once he’s standing. They slowly make their way over to the living room, with Carlos softly depositing TK onto the sofa. He then disappears into the kitchen before returning with an ice pack in hand.

“Thanks,” TK smiles, trying to mask the wince as Carlos places the pack onto his knee.

“Do you want to watch an episode of The Office?” Carlos asks, picking up the remote and settling in the spot next to TK.

TK shrugs, knowing that Carlos is just trying to appeal to him by offering to put on his favorite show. The other man doesn’t even like the show that much, often finding the humor dry and tasteless, but TK thinks he just doesn’t get it.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

There it is.

“I just can’t believe I did that in front of our new neighbors. They probably think I’m an idiot.”

“I’m sure no one thinks you’re an idiot, TK,” Carlos gently reassures him.

“Yeah all the neighbors saw me make an idiot of myself,” TK sighs exasperatedly. “God, how am I supposed to face these people everyday now?”

“Hate to break it to you babe, but this is not a valid reason for us to move.”

“I know,” he sighs again.

“Besides,” Carlos continues. “If your track record has proven anything, it’s that this won’t be the last medical emergency at our new home. It’s good that the neighbors are getting used to it now.”

TK gives him a pointed look.

“I’m pretty sure this is the second time you’ve fallen down the stairs since we’ve started dating,” Carlos says with a light chuckle.

“Whatever,” TK scoffs. “At least the other time it wasn’t in front of total strangers.”

Carlos softens. “That’s true. But I’m sure the neighbors just care about you. I don’t think this is that big of a deal, TK.”

“You weren’t there though. It was mortifying.”

“What did they say, exactly?”

TK nervously looks down. “They asked if I was okay. And if I needed any help.”

Carlos raises his eyebrow, waiting to see if TK continues. 

“They offered to call for help but I said no and went back inside.”

“See? They just care about you TK. I haven’t really talked to anyone yet but they seem like nice people.”

“I guess,” TK shrugs.

“I know, you’re still embarrassed. But if nothing else, they’ll probably forget about it by the next time we see them.”

“You don’t think I’ll be known as the ‘clumsy neighbor who can’t walk down stairs’?”

“Maybe the ‘cute clumsy neighbor that can’t walk down stairs,’” Carlos says with a smirk. “But we could always change that.”

TK cocks his head to the side. 

“You think our new neighbors might enjoy some peach scones when we go over and have a proper introduction?”

“You really plan to charm our new neighbors with your baking?” 

“You think it will work?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then yes, I do,” Carlos grins proudly. He then leans over and gently removes the ice pack from TK’s knee, grimacing at what he sees. “This still looks pretty swollen, babe. I think we need to go to the hospital.”

TK gives him a pained smile. “You sure I can’t talk my way out of this?”

“Nope,” Carlos says, popping the p. He stands up before extending his hand to help TK do the same.

TK accepts, shifting his weight and leaning into Carlos once he’s fully upright. 

“You know, I think you may have a paramedic blindspot when it comes to your own health.”

TK lets out a light laugh. “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

A week later, Carlos softly knocks on the door of Mrs. Bailey’s home across the street with one hand and a plate of peach scones in the other. TK had offered to hold the scones but when they went over to Mr. Martin's home earlier in the day, it was quickly discovered it was too difficult for him to manage getting up the stairs and holding the plate.

So he settles for letting Carlos do most of the work while he awkwardly limps up the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing to keep some pressure off his knee.

After their quick trip to the emergency room, it had been determined that TK’s initial assessment was right and it was just a bad sprain. He was given a brace to help reduce the pain and a pair of crutches, which (much to Carlos’ dismay) he abandoned after only two days, citing that they only made it harder to get around their home which he can now say for certain has too many damn stairs.

A problem which seems to follow him as he also has to get up the stairs to greet his neighbors.

“Maybe we should have moved to a neighborhood of single level homes,” he states with a wince as he joins Carlos at the front door.

Carlos snorts. “We can take it into consideration if we ever have to move again.”

“God, please don’t say that. I don’t want to think about moving ever again.”

“Good,” Carlos gives him a soft smile. “Because I’m planning on staying here for the long run.”

“Me too,” TK returns the smile just as Mrs. Bailey opens the door.

“What a lovely surprise!” she exclaims taking in the sight of the two men. 

“Hello ma’am,” Carlos says with a polite smile.

“We brought you some scones,” TK adds, gesturing to the plate in Carlos’ hands.

“Oh how thoughtful of you. Please come in. How are you doing?” she asks, turning to TK. “I’ve been worried.”

He exchanges a look with Carlos, the other man's face clearly saying I told you she cares, before turning back to Mrs. Bailey.

“I’m fine, ma’am. Thank you for asking. It’s just a bad sprain. But I do appreciate your concern, especially the other week.”

“Oh, of course dear,” she says with a warm smile. “Now, you boys aren’t going to make me eat these scones all by myself are you?”

They both let out a light chuckle and exchange another glance before following their new neighbor, and friend inside.

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

The rescue mission could not commence until a weapon was secured. While a variety of props were scattered across a blanket, none contained an edge that would be useful in battle. Slipping out of the crocheted shawl draped around your shoulders, a pout established onto your features. How could you save the pretty owl without a sword?

“Y/n? What are you looking for?” The middle-aged woman exhaled the question, internally pondering why she bothered inquiring when the answer would likely dissatisfy her. After working on numerous projects together she was well acquainted with your peculiar personality and occasional thrust for blood.

“Sayoko-san, do you have anything that could potentially be used as a weapon?” The absence of humour in your voice confirmed her suspicions. Narrowing her eyebrows at you in disappointment, three lines etched into her forehead.

“What are you plotting now?” The job was advertised as a basic photoshoot one that could be completed within one hour if the models cooperated. Yet, it was fifteen passed seven and one of her models was absent and the other was likely conspiring to commit a crime. Fantastic.

“You know how this goes. The less you know, the safer you will be.” Artificial seriousness dripped from your words as a hand was sent to your chest. It was no surprise that the theatrical performance earned you an eyeroll from the older woman.  

“Y/n.” It was time to evoke her secret power. Sayoko positioned her hands on either side of her hips with her lips pursed. The mother-stance is what you nicknamed it. The intense stare emanating from the woman chipped at your resolve to conceal the details.

“I am twenty-four years old, that will not work on me.” Your mascara heavy eyelids squinted at the brunette challenging her authority for about a whole three seconds. But with her stare increasing in fervour, your defeat was inevitable. “Okay. Fine. It will work on me. Please give me something! I need to go fight off some birds that are harassing my owl.”

“Birds?” It was obvious that birds was a code-name for something else. She assumed the birds in this case were women, Bokuto was not only a handsome fellow, but a well-known volleyball player. She could very well see the childish male easily be caught by the hooks cast by lustful women. “Take the tent’s rod and go. But might I suggest taking off the ring before you do. It’s far too pretty to be destroyed in a fight.” Her eyes travelled to the rock attached to your finger with a smile gracing her features.

“You are magnificent!” Excitement sparkled in your y/e/c irises once you located the rod she was gesturing towards. The tent-rod, why didn’t you think of that? After placing the ring into the small pocket of your purse, you retrieved the pole then tapped it against your open palm. “Perfect.”

Sayoko blew out a gentle laugh at the sight, shaking her head loosely.

How could someone so beautiful be so damn deadly?

**

Bokuto has never been one to shy away from attention, rather he thrived off it. During games, the affections thrown by the crowd is what generally motivated him to play his best. Catching a glimpse of the stands, whether he saw one of his friends or a fan in a jersey, provided him with a rare pleasure he could not find elsewhere.

But the difference now, was that he was being caged in by supposed fans who were disrespecting his personal space. Despite the unwelcomed touches, he did not attempt to flee, afraid he may injure one of them in the process. A pained smile was forced against his mouth as he searched for any indication of his rescuer. Let it be known that when he caught sight of you emerging from the crowd with a metal rod in hand, relief melted away the discomfort tingling against his skin.

“What do we have here? Kou, my baby, sorry for taking so long. It took a little longer to dispose of the other bodies, but it seems like my work is not done.” The fluttering of your eyelashes was accompanied by a lazy grin, one that called attention to the scarlet painted across your lips. The same colour was smeared on the weapon within your grasp. You may have added some lipstick to it for additional flair.

The women surrounding the Ace blinked at you strangely, their eyes focusing on the weapon as your words slowly registered. With each step you took forward, they intuitively proceeded away from him, desperate to maintain a safe distance from who they presumed was the unhinged girlfriend. Bokuto sucked in his bottom lip, forcing the laughter to remain inside his mouth. 

But one birdie did not seem to buy your performance, refusing to move any further.

“You’re just bluffing.” She taunted, crossing her arms over her chest as if that would signify strength.

“Oh, would you like to increase my body count for the day? I already have two in the trunk, but I think there’s room for one more.” The rod was extended in her direction, as if you were challenging her to a duel. Bokuto could barely contain himself at this point, you were acting like a character from a cheesy Arthurian film. But it worked, the girl’s arrogance was quickly shattered. Retreating a few paces, she mumbled psycho-bitch under her breath then broke into a sprint. With the other headless chickens following suit, a hand was brought to your lips to blow them a kiss goodbye.

“Now come on, little owl.” A bright smile was flashed at the male, who mirrored the expression with a touch more of enthusiasm.

“Y/n you are terrifying, and I love you for it.” He was finally allowed to dismiss the string of chuckles that were pushing to depart for the last few minutes.

“Aww. Well, I would do anything for my little owl baby.” Capturing his cheek with your index finger and thumb, you tugged on the skin playfully. “But we really need to go, before Sayoko-san kills us.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Let’s do it again, shall we - beautiful but deadly

Masterlist - Previous - Next

A/N: sorry if this part sucks??? 😅

Taglist: @idiot-juice-enthusiast @vicassa @iloveanime691 @bringmelily @newfriendjen @hikarichannn @anime-simp @tsukkismamagucci @laughingismorefun @astronomyturtle @shegrewupwithoutafather @hyskoa1998 @deephumandragonperson @pretty-setter-bois @raenebalgaire @sugawarabby @justanotherfangirl2 @keijisworld @90s-belladonna @momoinot @sempiternal-amour @cherryblosom111 @yqshirov @haikyuufairy @volleybloop @bloody-bella @sadkaashistan @seikamuzu @namyari @toaster-stick @shakiraisawesome @coconut-dreamz @roseestuosity @prcttylittlcthing @uzumakioden @tiooo

[embeanwrites]

Variables

Nines x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: Logically, I know that this timeline is hella rushed, but this is a one shot so let’s roll with it

An RK900 unit is able to preconstruct thousands of possibilities and be able to select the one that is the most probable or the most likely to succeed. It was a feature that provided much use to any unit working for the police department. 

Nines prided himself on this ability and he made sure everyone knew it. Going as far as to call Connor out when he made the slightest mistake. 

But when it came to her? 

She was too unpredictable. 

Nines could look at hundreds of ways that something may play out, but the moment she became a variable Nines had no way of knowing what was going to happen. 

Especially in a scenario with them, an armed suspect with a happy trigger finger, and back up too far away. 

Nines knew the suspect was going to shoot. It’s why he had positioned himself in front of her. His parts could be replaced with no noticeable change, but he should’ve known he could not predict what she would do when she noticed the suspect was going to shoot. 

As always, she caught him and the suspect off guard. The moment the suspect realized who he shot, he ran. Nines knew he should’ve ran after the suspect, it took them months to finally corner him and losing him now would indefinitely set the case back. 

But it didn’t matter. 

“You’re an idiot, stay still.” Nines hissed at her. He had quickly maneuvered her so her head was on his lap and he was pressing his Cyberlife jacket to the gunshot wound. Nines could tell that the bullet had clipped her left lung. Emergency services were two minutes away, it would be tight but Nines knew if he acted fast enough she would survive this. 

Nines kept his eyes trained on his hands as he pressed down on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. 

“Nines-”

“Don’t talk! An ambulance is a minute and forty seconds away.” He narrowed his eyes, his jacket and hands were both stained red at this point, she was losing a lot of blood and fast. Nines continued to track the ambulance, hoping it got here quick enough. He took a moment to message Connor, asking him to meet him at the hospital. 

“Nines,” She tried again. Nines was going to tell her not to talk again, but he felt her hand on top of his, her hand felt weak and clammy. “Are you okay?” Nines’ head jerked as he looked at her face. She was pale from the blood loss and her lips were blue. She was going into hypovolemic shock. 

“Am I okay?” He responded slowly, as she gave him a weak smile. “What were you thinking? My parts can be replaced, my consciousness can be uploaded and moved to another body.” He watched her release a sigh and close her eyes for a moment, causing Nines to panic. 

“I’m sorry.” She murmured, opening her eyes again. Nines was numbly aware that she was trying to comfort him as she laid here bleeding out. 

“Just hang on, the ambulance will be here in less than thirty seconds.” She opened her mouth to tell him something, but he cut her off before she could start. “Save your strength, you can tell me later.” He reminded her, hoping he was right. 

Nines stood in the waiting room, next to where Connor was sitting. Connor had tried to get Nines to sit down next to him, but Nines felt he didn’t deserve to sit down. He had failed her, he allowed his partner to get hurt and he knew that she may not be able to come back from this. 

“She’s strong and you’ve said it yourself, she’s always defying the odds.” Connor reminded Nines softly. This was the fifth time Connor had said something like that to Nines since arriving at the hospital. Nines didn’t bother responding to Connor, knowing that they were in a stalemate about the situation. Connor saw what she did was brave, Nines saw it as idiotic and a mistake. 

Nines kept his eyes trained on the door, she had been in surgery for three hours and despite Connor’s convincing the nurses refused to give the two any updates, since they weren’t family, but since they worked for the police department they would be allowed back in her room if she made it out of surgery. 

If

Nines wanted to turn himself into Cyberlife, have them take him apart to try to figure out why he couldn’t preconstruct accurate scenarios when it came to her. If he had taken her into account maybe he could have pushed her back, kept her from taking the shot. He failed at apprehending the suspect and protecting his partner. He should be scrapped for parts. 

Nines looked over at Connor, who was fidgeting with his coin. It was clear by the other androids LED that he was nervous too. 

“Detectives?” Both androids looked up to see a nurse holding a chart. She looked nervous as the two stood and towered over her. “The surgery went fine with no complications. She’ll be sedated for a while, but you can come back to the room now.” 

The two wordlessly followed the nurse back to the room. Nines froze once they were in the room as Connor walked past him and sat in a chair next to her bed. 

She looked smaller, her personality was always able to fill up a room and as she laid there motionless in bed, Nines felt as if his thirium pump had stopped working. He ran a scan and came up with no reason he should feel this way.  

“Nines, do you want to sit down?” Connor asked softly, snapping Nines out of his thoughts. 

“No, I have a better vantage from here, if someone tries-” Connor stood up and walked over to Nines, putting both hands on his shoulders.

“Nines, go sit next to her. No one is going to attack either of you in this room. I understand that you’re scared-”

“-I am not-”

“But Nines she needs you.” Connor spoke over him. Nines looked at Connor, frustrated with his accusation of being scared. Why would he be scared? Sure she was injured, but the nurse said there were no complications and she'd probably wake up within the next couple days. Why would she need him to begin with? It was because of him that she was shot, he wasn’t quick enough. She should hate him for letting her get hurt. 

Nines was brought out of his thoughts when Connor dropped his hands down. Connor sighed, even though he didn’t need to. 

“Just go sit down, be here when she wakes up. I’m going to go to the station and cover for you.” Before Nines could argue, Connor was gone. Slowly, Nines walked over and sat where Connor was. He rested his hands on his lap and watched her. He listened to the sounds of the room, the beeping from the heart rate monitor, the ventilator making sure she was breathing, and the nurses quietly walking around the hospital. He felt a strange feeling of wishing he could hear her laugh right now. 

Nines looked at her face closely, playing back the scene over and over again. There were hundreds of ways he could have easily prevented this, but in the end he did nothing. He even called her an idiot for protecting him and now he may not get a chance to properly thank her. Nines decided instead of torturing himself any longer he would enter stasis. 

Nines felt something touch his hand as he exited out of stasis mode. He blinked and saw her looking at him. She was turned on her side and facing him, she had a small smile and her hand was resting on top of his. 

“You stayed?” She croaked out. Nines nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She nervously looked at him and shuffled to the other side of the bed, for a moment Nines feared that she did in fact hate him and would want him to leave. 

But she gently patted the empty spot next to her. Nines stared at her hand for a moment. 

“You need to rest and you’ll be able to-”

“Nines, please.” She whispered, interrupting him. Realizing she wouldn’t take no as an answer, Nines got up and laid stiffly down next to her, trying his best not to touch her. By the reflection on the wall Nines could tell his LED was spinning yellow, flashing red for a second when he felt her move so her head was on his chest. He moved his arm to behind her head to better accommodate the position. “I was scared I wasn’t going to see you again.” She whispered, Nines peered down at her, she had shut her eyes. 

She needs you

Connor’s words echoed in his mind, slowly he moved his arms to rest on the small of her back, keeping his touch feather light. He watched her face for any indication that she wanted him to remove his hand, but she didn’t react. 

“I owe you an apology and a thank you. While I think it was foolish for you to take that shot for me, I appreciate the fact you were willing to risk yourself for me.” He whispered, gently moving his thumb in circles, something he had felt her do absentmindedly when she touched him. He heard her hum softly. 

“I’ll always risk myself for you.” She murmured, snuggling closer. He saw her grimace for a second from pain but she quickly recovered, clearly comfortable in her current position. 

“But-”

“It would be just as hard for me seeing you bleeding out.” Nines felt her hand grip his shirt tightly. Even though he didn’t need to, he sighed deeply. 

“Alright.” He whispered, she moved her head to look up at him, she had a sleepy look in her eyes. 

“Nines, I have to tell you something...I-I’m in love with you.” She whispered, Nines could feel her heart rate accelerate and felt her fidgeting with his shirt. “And I know that you may not feel the same way and that’s fine I just was so worried I wouldn’t be able to tell you and I just needed you to know because-” Nines gently shushed her and pulled her back down so she was laying on top of him, he felt her shake for a moment. 

“I’m not sure about my feelings for you, but I know I enjoy being around you and I was...scared you weren’t going to wake up and the last thing I would’ve done is call you an idiot...may I try something?” He asked and she nodded. Nines maneuvered himself so they were pressed nose to nose, he took a beat watching her eyes. Her pupils were dilated and she was holding her breath. Slowly, Nines pressed his lips gently to hers. The kiss was chaste, neither of them moved. Nines pulled away after a few seconds and looked at her, she kept her eyes closed and had a smile on her face. Nines brushed some of her hair out of her face, causing her smile to grow. 

“Nines, I don't want to pressure you into anything.” She whispered, Nines smiled even though she wasn’t looking at him.

“You’re not, but you need rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

[amataclysm]

I have such perplexingly mixed feelings about hospitals.

In theory, a hospital or clinic is meant to be a place that you go when you are hurt, in order for somebody to heal you. In theory, it seems a place like that ought to be soothing, or comforting, or safe to some degree. Kind. Simple.

In reality, it’s actually such an incredible gamble on whether the medical professionals are going to make a problem better or worse. And the experience overall is certainly not a kind one. At least in my experience[s].

When I was a child with broken bones, the hospital staff WERE kind to me. They were very gentle in tone, even when they had to be rough in physical practice. They gave me a soft stuffed toy to squeeze and gently assured me that it would be over quickly when they had to pull my pins out without anaesthesia. They separated me from my abuser, ushering the person out of my room on the grounds that “This will be difficult to watch,” while then making it clear to me that they actually understood that this person was unkind to me, and they may not be able to do much about them for me without any proof, but they could at least offer me some temporary respite from them in the procedure and recovery rooms.

As I got older, I found that the kind way I remembered being treated in medical facilities apparently had an expiration date.

Now, after a lifetime of various afflictions and near-unending physical misery {...that medical professionals continually refuse to acknowledge and treat until something becomes imminently life-threatening}, my pain tolerance is very high. I will go into the emergency department calmly complaining of a suspicion that a large cyst is impeding my circulation somewhere, or a suspicion that I have lost too much blood again and perhaps need an emergency infusion of some kind before my heart stops due to low potassium levels {as it has nearly done multiple times in the past} or some similar deficiency, or a suspicion that I have broken or dislocated another bone, or that I am simply in so much pain that I am struggling not to faint again for whatever reason, and I am met with everything but kindness and patience. I am, almost invariably, met with rudeness, callousness, and skepticism, sometimes even outright being angrily accused of drug-seeking and wasting the staff’s valuable time...until my lab work comes back, and everyone suddenly panics at the realization that perhaps I actually do have a bit of a medical emergency here.

And even the realization that I was never lying, that I was more than justified in seeking urgent medical attention that I might very well have died without, does not necessarily cause anyone to speak more kindly or treat me less roughly. In fact, it is often outright emphasized to me that it must be my own fault that I am in bad shape, due to my weight. {I am not overweight, mind you - I have indeed heard all about how being visibly heavier will get everything from broken bones to cancer blamed on “Just needing to lose some weight,” it is positively horrific - I am severely underweight.} I am accused of anorexia. I have even been involuntarily committed to a psych ward, on the grounds of being a “suicide/self-harm risk” due to the incorrect diagnosis of anorexia nervosa. It is written prominently in my medical records that I starve myself intentionally and lie about it in order to continue doing it. I have not been able to get this incorrect information amended. In actuality, I have a genetic illness, on top of chronic severe abdominal pain due to various conditions {constantly causing things like recurring ulcers/lesions, kidney stones, and cysts}, on top of limited mobility due to this pain simply making it a monumental chore to acquire groceries, that eating anything {and keeping it down} is extraordinarily difficult and hideously painful.

No testing for my oddball genetic condition {that is in several family members’ medical records, that I can produce} is ever done, and I am never believed about my levels of pain and nausea. I have had several doctors quite bluntly refuse to perform any further tests on me, because “I should be ashamed of wasting the staff’s time like this” by “making myself sick intentionally.” The attitude is, nearly universally, “I will keep you alive because that is my job, but that is it. I will verbally berate and admonish you heavily the entire time, because I believe you are a drug-seeker, and/or an attention-seeker.”

I am a respite-seeker. I come to you with various pains and ailments and expect you to ease them somehow, because I can no longer handle it myself! Fixing that is indeed your job! Am I being too quiet, too polite, and that is why you are so comfortable pushing me around? I seem “too content” to be in emergency care? That is called trust, and it is amazing that I have not completely lost it for you damn quacks yet.

[misssophiachase]

All You Never Say - Pt 2

Hey! I’m so glad you all liked the first part (thanks to the anon who prompted me), you can read it HERE on Tumblr or follow it on AO3 HERE for future updates. Shout out to @sekretny13 because I totally did that shirtless Klaus thing we discussed. 

Synopsis: One wedding and a confused maid of honour and best man with years of pent up feelings and unresolved tension.

Dr Grayson and Mrs Miranda Pierce and Mr Mikael and Mrs Esther Mikaelson cordially invite you to a garden party

To celebrate the upcoming nuptials of their children 

Dr Katherine Pierce and the Right Honourable Elijah Mikaelson 

At The River House on June twentieth, twenty twenty one at 1700h in Ely Cambridgeshire

Dress: Cocktail

All I'll never know is if you want me oh

3 days before the nuptials - Ely River House, Cambridgeshire - 6:53pm

“You’re the bride, the least you could have done was revoked his plus one,” Rebekah muttered.

“He’s also the best man and brother of the groom,” Katherine shot back tersely then remembered where she was and sent a dazzling smile in the direction of her soon-to-be Aunt Penelope. “Trust me, if I could have uninvited the she-wolf I would have.”

“How can someone that pretty be so ugly in the personality department?” Bonnie asked. “She knows my name but has taken to calling me Belinda anyway.” 

Caroline could relate given her new name was apparently Carly.

“She told me my wedding festivities were folksy and quaint,” Kat growled. “I have a mind to stick my folksy wedding up her…”

“Unfortunately, my brother has the worst taste in women but I suppose that isn’t anything new but this time he isn’t the only one interested.”

“Yes, I noticed your parents fawning all over her,” Bonnie noted. “I’m imagining it’s more about her being the heir to an oil fortune rather than the person herself.”

“You’ve got that right,” Rebekah replied. “Although, they seem to be the only ones. Usually Nik just gets bored with them and moves on and this one seems to be staying around much longer than expected which is so strange.”

Caroline was standing near enough to hear her friend’s conversation but far away so she wasn’t tempted to comment on his date. She had no intention of ever letting her friends know the annoying feelings she harboured for Klaus. 

The parents of the bride had insisted upon hosting the welcome party as a thank you to the Mikaelsons for hosting the reception. Esther, of course, had seen to it that even though the celebration wasn’t being held in their name she still made sure her signature touches were on display, much to the chagrin of Miranda Pierce. 

They’d chosen the Ely River House for the occasion. A beautiful and contemporary venue on the water that showcased the best the town had to offer, including the cathedral they were to be married in as part of the backdrop. 

Caroline, ever the dutiful maid of honour,  had been busily working alongside Miranda to help make this event perfect. She knew how overrun the Pierce family had felt by the Mikaelsons during the planning stages and wanted to help them make this cocktail party the best it could be. 

Obviously her motives weren’t completely selfless and helping out meant she didn’t need to focus on him. 

With her. 

She looked beautiful in a red, strapless gown but given her profession there were no surprises there. Caroline then made the mistake of glancing over and noticing how his hand teased the small of her back as they laughed and chatted with family. It was familiar and affectionate. She looked away but it was too late because it hurt.   

“Refill?’ She asked Rebekah, taking her glass before she could even respond. Weaving her way through the guests Caroline decided she needed a time-out and the sooner the better. 

Given the weather most of the party goers were outside and so the staff were handing out drinks on trays. The bar inside was empty at the moment and Caroline decided to put herself to good use by replenishing Rebekah’s drink.

She made her way behind the bar and found a bottle of champagne deciding that she could open it herself. I mean how hard could it be? 

Difficult as she found out. Why did it always seem so effortless when they did it on TV and in movies? However this one wasn’t going to budge, that much she knew. She tried again, pulling as hard as she could.

“Don’t shoot!” She looked up into his familiar, blue eyes. Why did he have to look so good in an open collar shirt and jacket?

“Funny,” she shot back. 

“Need my help with anything, love?” 

“Well, not with playing poker obviously.”

“Ouch, way to punch a guy where it hurts,” he groaned, pretending to be in pain. 

“Well, that oversized and overinflated ego of yours could do with some wounding, Mikaelson. I’m just upset it has taken me so long to finally land that perfect blow.” 

He didn’t respond immediately, just gazed at her, his expression a mixture of curiosity and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on.  

“Well, how kind of you. So, given all of your generous humility, how about I give you a hand? Don’t want to knock anyone’s eyes out, do we sweetheart?” 

She noticed his eyes blazing now, was that anger or something else entirely? Caroline decided it was best not to wonder. 

“Or you could leave in case such an impending disaster were to befall you?” He looked at her, clearly unmoved. “You know I’m not some damsel in distress that needs your assistance, I am perfectly capable of opening this bottle myself,” she huffed, feeling her composure slipping away. 

Bastard.

“By all means,” he smiled, taking a seat on the nearest barstool and watching her in anticipation.

“You can’t just sit there and watch me.”

“Oh no? Last time I checked this was a free country and I have every right to sit anywhere I want. As the lawyer in the room, I’m sure you can back me up on that argument.”

“You are so…”

“Handsome, charming and brilliant?”

“I was going to say arrogant, childish and smug,” she bit back. “And, as the lawyer in the room, if this cork does happen to hit you I’ll testify that you refused to leave the scene after considerable warning on my part.”

“I’ll take those chances,” he smirked, taking her by surprise and fluidly moving behind the bar. “And I’ll even offer my assistance, if not just so these people can drink sometime this century.”

What she wasn’t expecting was for him to slip in behind her, his hands connecting with hers and running them enticingly up and down the chilled, champagne bottle. She shivered involuntarily hoping he hadn’t felt it in the process. 

“What exactly do you think you’re doing, Mikaelson?” She asked, trying to contain the unwanted tremble in her voice. 

“Exactly what I said. Helping,” he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of her ear as his hands covered hers. “Now, what you need to do is place your thumb right here and caress the cork gently until you feel it disengage.”

Why did she automatically think of untoward things when he uttered the words ‘caress’ and ‘disengage’? 

It didn’t help that her back was moulding perfectly against his toned chest either and there was something else she could feel.

Was that? 

Was he?

Before she could wonder anymore, the cork popped, flying across the room and sending a huge spray of bubbling liquid shooting out all over the bar. Caroline jumped in surprise, accidentally turning the bottle around and drenching them in the process. 

Before too long they were both in fits of laughter unable to control it. He wound his arms around her waist attempting to rub the excess champagne on her while she squirmed in his warm grasp attempting to get away. 

Well, sort of. If Caroline was being honest it felt good. 

Too good. 

Their laughter died down, almost as if they realised just how intimate their proximity and position was. After over a decade of knowing each other they’d never been this close, well except for that night two years earlier.  

“I’m just glad I never asked you two to be waiters today,” a voice interrupted. Caroline turned her head, noticing Miranda Pierce staring at them both amusingly with her hands folded across her chest. Caroline moved away, albeit reluctantly. “How about you two clean yourselves up and get back to the party, speeches will be in fifteen minutes.”

She was gone before either could reply. Then it hit her. 

“Speeches in fifteen minutes? I can’t make a speech looking like this,” she squeaked, looking down at her champagne soaked dress which was fast becoming a see through garment. “Why the hell did I decide that wearing white was a good idea? Should have gone with red or something.”

It slipped out before she could stop it. Why did she have to mention the exact colour Hayley was wearing? The last thing she wanted was to seem jealous or insecure over his girlfriend. 

“I much prefer the white,” he murmured. Caroline not sure if he was just being kind or it was something to do with its new, transparent features but given the way his eyes were trained on hers and not the dress she wasn’t quite sure. “As for the speech, you’re Caroline Elizabeth Forbes, you’ve got this.”

He remembered her middle name? Yes, they’d known each other a while but it seemed like something Klaus Mikaelson wouldn’t do. Or so she’d thought. 

“I look more like the maid of dishonour who’s been bathing in half of the liquor tab,” she hissed. “I can’t go out there like this.”

“Yes, you can,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders. It had an immediate calming effect, something she wasn’t accustomed to. “Go to the bathroom, use the hand dryer. I’ll send in Bonnie because, well we all know she’s the most practical in an emergency, and I’ll try out my best man jokes during my speech. I’ve always had this dream of becoming a stand-up comedian.”

“Who are you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, love,” he teased, curving those crimson lips into an enticing smile. “Now, go on.”

She did leave, but all Caroline wanted to do was turn around to see if he was still watching. 

She was in big trouble and not because of her dress and that impending speech.

2 days before the nuptials - Kensington-Foster Atelier, Ely Cambridgeshire - 10:29am

“Tails are so uncomfortable and so last season, brother,” Kol complained, inspecting himself in the large mirror. 

The groomsmen were having their final fitting before the big day. Klaus had long since blocked out Kol’s incessant whining and was distractedly playing with the hemming pins on the nearby table.

He thought being home would make him feel more comfortable and at ease but it was just the opposite. Klaus hadn’t planned on a surprise champagne incident followed by the maid of honour firmly ensconced in his embrace. If he had his way, he’d have never let her go. 

Klaus told himself that after the poker match he’d keep his distance from Caroline. She’d been stirring up feelings this week that he’d worked hard for years to contain. He had no intention of letting one night from two years ago betray his feelings. 

Also, as disingenuous as it might sound, Klaus had a girlfriend and would not betray her either.  Although, it didn’t help that Hayley was wearing on his last nerve. Ever since she’d arrived nothing seemed to be quite good enough. Given these were his family and friends that didn’t sit well with Klaus.  

“Last time I checked tails never go out of style, especially when the dress code is white tie,” Elijah responded tartly, breaking Klaus from his thoughts. 

“I do look devilishly handsome, so I suppose it will do the job.”

“Trying to impress anyone in particular or just planning to pester the entire female guest list?” Enzo asked. 

“Well, usually at these things a groomsman can rely on picking up a bridesmaid or two but I seem to have lucked out in that department.”

“I hope so given one is your own sister,” he chuckled. 

“I’ll let you have her,” he smiled deviously. Klaus looked over noticing just how pink his best friend’s face had turned at that unexpected comment. 

“How very kind of you, but you know Beks and I are more about the fighting than the loving.” Enzo replied dismissively, finally finding his words. Klaus couldn’t help but think just how delusional his future brother-in-law was but he figured he’d get it eventually. They both would. “I suppose there’s always Bonnie for you then, Kol,” he pressed on, clearly an attempt to get some form of payback. 

This time it was Kol’s turn to blush.

“To be honest, I always thought you two would find your way back together,” Elijah said straightening his tie, making them all look at him curiously. “What? I have opinions, is that so difficult to believe?”

“You’re a politician, so when it comes to the affairs of state, no,” Klaus offered bluntly. “But why does it sound like you’re channeling Katherine Pierce right now?”

“I do have a mind of my own.”

“Sure you do,” the three responded in unison then broke into laughter. 

“You’re all hilarious.”   

“Anyway, Bonnie and I are ancient history,” Kol explained after a few minutes, almost as if he’d been thinking about it all that time. “I suppose maybe sweet Caroline might...”

“Over my dead body,” Klaus blurted out. Three sets of brown eyes clapped on him. This wasn’t how Klaus saw things going in his head. So much for being discreet and containing his feelings. 

“Bloody finally,” Enzo grinned. “We’ve only been waiting for that confession since boarding school.” 

They were? Klaus couldn’t recall what he’d done during that time given he and Caroline barely got along, fought incessantly and he’d also dated half the girls in her class. Was there something between them back then he’d been too ignorant to see? Given his current feelings, maybe so. 

“Yes, you always were rather transparent when it came to Caroline, Niklaus,” Elijah agreed. 

“I was not,” he shot back childishly, thinking denial would have been a much better counter attack. Clearly he wasn’t in his right mind. 

“Even Kol knew about it and we all know what that means, Nik,” Enzo offered.  

“If that is your way of insulting me then you need to try harder,” he growled. “While this confession has been a long time coming is everyone forgetting that Niklaus has a girlfriend? You know brunette, beautiful but extremely bossy?”

“I’ve not admitted anything,” Klaus baulked, feeling increasingly guilty. “And even if I had, Kol is right.”

“Finally someone gives me the credit I deserve,” he joked. “But if you’re experiencing a dilemma we could swap, even if yours is a bit on the high maintenance side.”

“I didn’t realise Caroline was yours to swap, Kol,” he murmured, again regretting that choice of response. Then he added what he probably should have said first. “And that’s no way to speak about Hayley, I mean she is bossy but…”

“Mother and father love her because all they can see are oil fields and dollar signs in their future,” Kol mused. “If anything that would be a sign to end things immediately.”

“Mother and father like Katherine,” Elijah commented, clearly perplexed. “And I wouldn’t dream of ending anything.”

“Chill, Elijah,” Kol answered. “You two have found the perfect balance but Niklaus here doesn’t like his girlfriend anywhere near as much as you love your fiance.”

“Why is Kol suddenly the expert on love and relationships, have we entered the twilight zone?” Enzo asked, humming the theme tune for added effect. 

“Laugh all you like, Lorenzo, but you know I’m right.” 

Klaus hated to admit it but his brother had a point, not that he’d tell anyone that. But what was he supposed to do? Caroline hadn’t given him any reason to think she liked him the same way. 

Later that night, Mikaelson Manor - Ely, Cambridgeshire - 11:59pm

“This is not happening, this is so not happening,” Caroline said, repeating it like a mantra and hoping that somehow it would calm her and solve her most pressing issue. 

She’d ventured into the manor’s vast gardens on a mission. Yes, it was pitch black and her torch was barely doing its job. It was also midnight and she was seriously rethinking her attire of shorts and a tank top, even if it was summer. 

Caroline decided to blame her unpreparedness on Kol and the story he’d told after dinner about their ancestor Sir Henry Stirling who apparently lost his head for treason and walked the grounds in search of it every night.  

It wouldn’t be so scary if she were tucked up in bed in her room but here she was trying to find something extremely important in the grand scheme of the wedding and marriage as a whole which she’d stupidly lost earlier in the afternoon. 

Some Maid of Honour she was. 

She’d been too busy thinking about a certain guy who decided to tease her then rub up against her and then distract the crowd with jokes so she could make herself speech-ready. To say she was confused was an understatement.

He also had a girlfriend so that added to the mess. 

The girls had picnicked on the grounds that afternoon. The sun was shining brightly and they’d decided to forget the wedding plans for once and just enjoy themselves. It wasn’t difficult given their beautiful surroundings and the abundance of wine. Caroline couldn’t believe this was her best friend’s life and would be lying if she wasn’t slightly jealous. 

Of the four of them, Caroline was the only one who was truly unattached. If you asked Rebekah and Bonnie they were too but everyone knew that they would end up with Enzo and Kol, as they should. They were meant for each other and it was only a matter of time in her opinion. 

But she was the odd one out and in Caroline’s mind she always had been. She liked being different but at the same time it had its drawbacks. Weeks like this only amplified it. 

She heard a noise behind her, like a rustling in the bushes. Caroline pointed her torch at the noise hoping Sir Henry wasn’t going to take her head as a substitute. “I don’t have your head, sir, I promise.”

Okay, not the most suave thing she could have said at that moment. 

“I can’t believe you of all people would believe Kol,” the voice was unexpected but familiar. In fact it caused some of the chills she’d been experiencing to defrost. She moved her torch to the left catching him in the light. 

And what a sight it was.

Klaus Mikaelson. 

Shirtless. 

Caroline felt the torch wavering in her hand and only just managed to maintain control before it dropped to the ground. Clearly she wasn’t the only one poorly dressed for the occasion. 

“What are you doing here?” She hissed. 

“I believe I should be asking the same question of you, love,” he murmured, the sleep in his voice evident. “I heard noise outside my window and saw the torch light so came out to investigate.”

“Naked?” Okay, it came out before she could stop it. At least he couldn’t see her blush in the dark. 

“Yes, because I would definitely waste all my time throwing on clothes if I saw someone attempting to break into my house,” he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Although, you seemed to have underdressed for the occasion too if my eyes aren’t deceiving me.”

“No need to be so snarky, Mikaelson.” Caroline decided not to address her outfit as it would just complicate the situation. 

“Says the girl who woke me up,” he shot back. “Please tell me there is a perfectly reasonable reason for you to be skulking around the property at this time of night?”

“I’m not skulking.” Okay maybe she was skulking but it was all for a good cause. His prolonged silence was telling her he was impatient for an explanation. “Fine, I might have lost the wedding ring and I’m trying to find it before anyone else notices.”

“Please tell me I can put this in my speech.”

“That’s seriously your take back from this whole scenario? Your maturity astounds me. Just shut up and help me find it you idiot.”

“Not until you tell me how exactly this happened in the first place, love. You have my full attention.”

A/N Stay tuned for the midnight wedding ring search, the rehearsal dinner and so much more.

[bumbleberrysky]

alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 03

pairing: gabriel x reader genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs) wc: 3.7k rating: sfw warnings: none really

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It’s something you’re destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you’d thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you’re suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you’d been brought here in the first place? Maybe…

Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.

prev. || next

“Well, whatever it says, we’re gonna have to wait until Cas and Dean get back before we can decipher it.”

You huff, sparing a glance to the angel huddled in the corner, resting his head against the drawers beside his bed. It’s been a few days since you’d first come back and you wish you could say you’ve had all sorts of good progress with Gabriel, but the truth is that you haven’t. He has receded so far into himself that a part of you is actually worried the archangel you knew is gone completely.

“I’m a bit worried,” you admit quietly to Sam after a moment. He turns his gaze to you and you hold it. “He’s… he’s worse than I thought.”

And, put bluntly, you’d thought he was bad.

Sam doesn’t say anything, merely releases your gaze and turns to survey the room once more; the walls are plastered in a scrambled mess of what you can only guess is enochian. You’re not sure when Gabriel had the chance to do it, but you know that earlier you’d visited him to offer him a portion of his grace back and he’d refused, so you’d left and when you returned some time later the walls were like this.

“Did Dean say when they were going to be getting back?” you ask, wringing your hands.

“He didn’t respond to my text, so I can only assume he’s driving.” Sam huffed a laugh. “Cas forgot to charge his phone again so I can’t reach him either.”

You purse your lips, trying not to smile. Of course, it is the little things that Castiel forgets. Like that wireless technology needs charging, that Beyonce is too well known to be used as a cover name, and those straws that don’t always come with fast food drinks.

You’re about to speak when the faint sound of metal hitting metal echoes through the bunker, heavy footsteps on steel stairs following suit.

“Well, I guess that saves us asking,” you say, patting Sam on the arm as you move past. The two of you depart Gabriel’s room, sparing him one last concerned glance before you close the door behind you.

“I’m home! And I brought food!”

Yeah, that’s definitely Dean. You just hope Castiel came in with him so he can see his brother and read the scribble on the walls.

x     x

 The scribble, as Castiel informed you, is a thrilling account of Gabriel’s Story, so to speak. What happened to him after his so-called ‘death’, and you tuned out for a fair amount of it (mostly during the detailed recount of time spent with porn-stars in Monte Carlo) but heard the important bits, like how he was traded in to Asmodeus and what the Prince of Hell then proceeded to do to him for the years following.

It saddened you, despite it being largely something you already suspected if not knew.

After listening to Castiel read the enochian on the walls, you’d had to leave. Uncharacteristic of you, and Dean had given you an odd look as you passed him in the hallway, but you couldn’t spend another minute in there. You felt bile rising to the back of your throat.

You really don’t have an explanation for why you’re reacting so strongly, so viscerally, to everything that has to do with Gabriel. Like you’d affirmed earlier, you only really met and interacted with him a handful of times! You aren’t close with him, haven’t known him extensively—

So why do you have this gaping pit of loss and grief in your stomach, like you’ve lost a limb?

It doesn’t make sense, and you’re not sure if you can make it make sense, honestly. You’d like to be able to put it on the backburner too, but every time you try it just creeps its way back to the forefront of your mind. In a bid to distract yourself, you hole yourself up in your room for the rest of the day, marathoning whatever dumb show is on TV. If you’re lucky, the entertainment channel might have old reruns of Neighbours. That never fails to make you laugh with its exaggerated soapy drama.

To your disappointment, the only thing playing in a marathon fashion is Family Guy, and with a sigh you bundle up in your covers and resign yourself to the afternoon. Well, if you wanted to numb your brain then this result isn’t so bad after all.

You spend the rest of the afternoon in your room, and pass out at some indiscernible hour. When you wake next, it’s a ridiculously early hour of the next morning and the TV is still running. You have a cramp in your neck from your odd sleeping position, and you rub it with a scowl as you emerge from the blankets and turn off the TV. You slept way too long, and there’s no way you can get back to sleep now.

Begrudgingly, you slip from your bed and into a standing position, relishing in the stretch you feel as you lengthen your tight, tense limbs. The floor is cold against your feet but you’re too lazy to search for the slippers that came with your room and instead just go on your way. Destination: kitchen.

You feel like a ghost, wandering the silent halls of the bunker. Dean is most definitely passed out by this point, and Sam… well he’s probably asleep, but you wouldn’t bet on it. That psychopath could also be out jogging. You’re so zoned out that you don’t even realise you’ve reached the kitchen until you stub your toe on the doorframe.

“FUCK!” you curse, managing to restrain yourself from howling like a lunatic just barely, at the last second. You double over, heaving in a big breath. Of course it had to be the little toe—

“y/n? Are you alright?”

The low, gravelly tone that brushes your ears is familiar and always welcome. You stick your thumb up so Castiel doesn’t worry while you grasp your bearings. When you find your voice, you follow up the gesture with a squeaky, “Fine! Peachy.”

“I would remind you that I can tell when you are lying, but I don’t think you aimed to be very believable.”

You straighten, throwing Castiel a bright smile despite the pain still throbbing in your foot. You should have looked for the slippers—this is your hubris catching you slipping.

“Sorry Cas, I shouldn’t be sarcastic. I’m fine, but I think one of these days I’m gonna break my toe for real on that stupid doorframe.”

Unfortunately, this isn’t your first run-in with the doorway. If anyone asked, you would tell them that the design of the hallway is atrocious and that door is not where it’s meant to be. Well, it’s not where you expect it to be every time you come to the kitchen, and is clearly an obvious design flaw.

The angel lets out a soft noise of understanding, lips twitching in the ghost of a smile. “Perhaps. You don’t seem to have very good luck with doorframes.”

“Nope, I definitely do not,” you respond, shaking your foot out before moving over to the fridge and checking to see if Dean bought strawberries. A noise of delight escapes you as you find what you’re looking for, several punnets stacked in the back corner. Ah, and they say old dogs can’t learn new tricks—Dean is a very good learner with the proper motivation!

(Pavlov would be proud of you.)

Castiel has a smile on his face as he watches you remove one of the punnets, hopping up onto the bench facing him and flicking the plastic open. He approaches, movements fluid and calm, and for a few moments you sit in comfortable silence. He is the first to break it.

“y/n… are you alright?” At his repeated question you give him a confused look, and he hurries to elaborate. “I mean… with everything. With Gabriel. I noticed how you left, yesterday.”

Ah. Well, you knew that you hadn’t been subtle, but you hadn’t been sure whether anyone was going to question you on it. You munch on a berry as you think, gaze flicking to the side. You wouldn’t dream of telling Sam or Dean about the odd sensations you’d been feeling, despite the fact they knew how you’d reacted to the news of Gabriel’s death, but Castiel… you felt comfortable confiding this in him.

“Well… yes, and no.” You drop the top of the strawberry into the lid of the punnet and reach for another. “To be honest, I don’t really understand what is going on with me. It’s like… super overactive empathy. It just hurts, to see him that way. And it makes me sad, knowing what he went through. Painfully so.”

Castiel nods, light eyes on you as he listens attentively and with care. You chew through another two berries before continuing. “Hearing it straight from him—well, as straight from him as it could be, I suppose—it just got to be a bit much for me. I had to leave. It just… made me feel a bit sick, is all.”

The look on the angel’s face is pensive, and it’s as though you can see his mind whirring a mile a minute behind the sky of his eyes. “I see,” he murmurs, gaze flicking to the side as he thinks. “Well, you are a very kind soul, so I am not surprised by your empathy. Though, if it is affecting you so strongly…”

He pauses, eyes finding your own again. “If you feel ill again, come find me. I’ll help as much as I can.”

You smile at him, every moment as sincere as you’ve ever been. “Thanks, Cas. I really appreciate it.”

x     x

Sam must have done or said something to Gabriel while you were locked up in your room, because there seemed to be a sudden change in his progress.

For the better, you think. Well, you hope.

He was a little less withdrawn, a little less manic and fidgety. He still doesn’t really speak, and doesn’t react well to loud noises or sudden movements, but Sam told you he had spoken last night.

To correct him about calling the Monte Carlo porn-stars ‘hookers’, of course. You’d wanted to slam your head into the tile wall when you’d heard that.

The day passed quickly after your encounter with Castiel, and you spent it cleaning and polishing your weapons—you don’t want to go down as that one stupid hunter whose greatest folly was improper upkeep of her arsenal. Only when you’d polished your machete to a gleaming shine did you admit that it was likely time for a break. You thought it had only been a few hours, so when you wandered out and found that it was actually almost dinner time, you’d been pretty surprised.

Sam had run into you in the hallway and filled you in, and afterwards had insisted on accompanying you to the kitchen. It seems you spend a lot of your time there, now you think about it.

The large, industrial-feeling space is where you find yourself now, making a lazy stir-fry from pre-packaged vegetables and beef. You’d tasked Sam with cooking the rice since he’d insisted on lingering for conversation, and since you trust that he’s more capable than his brother you don’t bother checking on his progress.

“Castiel was worried when he first saw Gabriel, but after seeing the writing he’s happy because it means the Gabriel we know is still in there, somewhere.” Sam updates you from your side, sniffing and peering into the wok before you in mild interest. “That smells good. You sharing?”

“Maybe,” you answer him, giving him a sly look. “Depends… you got any of that guilt-free ice cream hiding in the freezer?”

Sam peers around to make sure his brother isn’t listening before nodding, “Back corner, behind the frozen berries. We got a deal?”

“Pleasure doing business with you, young Winchester,” you answer with a shake of his hand, putting on an accent for his benefit. He snorts, moving away to grab two bowls—good timing, you have to note, since the stir-fry is almost done. “Kind of sad you still have to hide it from Dean, though.”

“Are you kidding? He has a nose like a bloodhound for sweets,” Sam says, coming back with porcelain in tow. “Did I ever tell you about the time he found an industrial-size bag of Hershey’s kisses I bought? I hid it in the vents in the dustiest corner of the library, and he still found it. That was meant to last me months and he tore through it in a week.”

You blink, mildly impressed. You knew he had a sweet tooth but you didn’t know it was that bad. “Dude, get your brother some therapy.”

Sam snorts, muttering something about how it would be easier to herd cats and juggle at the same time. You’re distracted for the moment by an errant thought that filters across your mind at the mention of chocolates.

Gabriel, in his time spent as a trickster, developed quite the soft spot for them… could it…?

You stir the food before you once more before taking the wok off the heat, moving it to the wooden chopping board on the bench; Sam takes initiative and turns off the stove behind you, something you’re thankful for.

You’ll have to test your theory after dinner.

x     x

The chocolates and candies you’d left for Gabriel after you’d had your dinner are, to your delight, gone the next time you see him.

You’d placed them on a tray for him outside the room and knocked, letting him know you had left him something. Of course, after that no matter how much you wished to stay you forced yourself to be on your merry way so he could retrieve them in peace. The rest of the night had been spent arguing with Dean about the proper name a werewolf-vampire hybrid should be called—not because you have an important opinion on the matter, of course, but because Dean gets very fired up about the subject and it’s very funny to behold.

Back to the point, when you’d returned on your trip past Gabriel’s room this morning (on your way to the kitchen, as anyone would expect), the tray had been placed neatly to the side with the wrappers twisted into the shape of a big, shiny bow. Kind of impressive, especially since you have no idea how he got them to stay stuck together like that.

It made you happy, though, that he’d eaten them. Angels don’t need to eat, of course, but he’d seemed to develop a taste for them ever since adopting the mask of Loki so you thought it might help make him feel a little more like himself.

You try not to think about it too much because it actually makes you a bit embarrassed— why are you so invested? You don’t quite want to know.

Currently, you’re settled in the library with your legs crossed and a tome on celestial beings in your lap. By your side is a plate of celery and a jar of peanut butter, and Dean, who is seated at the oak table with Castiel across from him, is giving you periodic looks of disgust and twisted curiosity. He’d started off attempting to read up on some monster—you suspected it was Werepires, after last night’s argument—while Sam popped off to the store for groceries, since Mary and Jack were meant to be returning tonight. The keyword to note here is attempting; each crunch of celery between your teeth yanks his gaze from the book to you and you can tell its wearing on him. Castiel says nothing, having discovered candy crush on his phone earlier, and merely glances between the two of you every now and then with a faint look of amusement.

“Alright,” He finally breaks after your third stick of celery, giving it a look like it personally offends him. “How can you eat that? Just use a spoon if you like peanut butter so much.”

“What the fuck, ew,” you comment, chomping loudly before dipping the stick into the jar for another coating. “I hate peanut butter.”

“You’re sitting there practically eating it out of the jar!”

“I get cravings sometimes, Dean!” you throw back, somewhat defensively. “It’s like when people eat vegemite—no one likes it, but you get cravings for it, you know?”

“What—ew, no, I don’t know!” Dean’s face has now crumpled into a complete look of disgust at the mention of that particular spread, and he shudders as he regards you. “Every time you leave I almost forget what a freak you are, and then you come back and I’m reminded all over again.”

The way he says it has no bite whatsoever, and you flash him a grin. You don’t realise Castiel has even been paying attention until he speaks, the humour lacing his deadpan tone the only give-away that he’s teasing.

“That wasn’t very nice, Dean. You eat some weird things for a human yourself—like that greasy, fried dessert from the stall in the food festival we drove through.”

Dean at first looks like he wants to argue, but at Castiel’s example a flush of green instead washes over his features. “Ugh, god that was gross. Don’t ever let me buy before I try at a food market again, Cas.”

Castiel snorts softly, turning back to his phone, “You have my word.”

Dean seems to have forgotten he was shaming you for your celery topping, his attention now directed back to the book before him. His face is still kind of pale and you assume he is now adequately distracted enough for you to continue eating in peace. After consuming the rest of the celery in your hold, you go to turn back to your own book. It isn’t meant to be, though, because in the next second the familiar sound of the heavy metal bunker door creaking open splits the air and Sam’s bright voice follows after.

“We’re back! We brought fried chicken.”

You slam the lid back on the peanut butter, putting it on the plate with the celery and launching to your feet in record time, the book unfortunate collateral. It’s like you’re possessed as you zoom into the kitchen, stomach alive and stirring at the mention of chicken despite the fact you’d already been eating.

Upon entry to the kitchen, you’re faced with two new people you have yet to be introduced to—considering you’re familiar with most of Sam and Dean’s other contacts by this point in your friendship, you presume that these two must be Jack and Mary, the Nephilim and the Winchester brother’s resurrected mother, respectively.

“Hello!” you greet, darting forward to help Sam with the food. He gives you a look that tells you he knows exactly why you’d come to help and gives you the bag full of groceries instead of the one with chicken, just to spite you. Your face falls into a pout but your voice is still cheery as you continue, “I’m y/n, I hunt with Dean off and on.”

Both of their faces light in recognition, and you realise that your reputation has preceded you. Exactly which reputation depends on which brother mentioned you—you imagine Dean would have had some very interesting comments to add.

“Hello,” the woman, Mary, speaks, and you’re taken aback by how soft-spoken she seems in contrast with the badass aura and get-up she’s got going on. You’re a little surprised to see her, considering she’s the same age as you presume she would have been when Sam was a baby. “I’m Mary, I’m sure you’ve heard about me. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and… thank you for looking after my boys over the years.”

You beam a grin and it must come across as a very shit-eating one because you hear Dean groan from the next room over as he ambles to join the crowd in the kitchen.

“Don’t encourage her,” he says gruffly as he enters the kitchen, hugging his mother and ruffling Jack’s hair before following his nose to the bag with the chicken in it. “She’ll never let it go.”

“I’m Jack!” Your attention is torn from the previous interaction and redirected to the youthful blonde man next to Mary, grinning at you brightly. “I’ve heard so much about you—it’s nice to finally meet you!”

“Oh, you’ve heard about me?” you can’t help yourself from asking, and you hear Dean’s groan echo behind you. “All good things, I hope.”

It’s a little unfair of you to be fishing in the Jack pond for little tidbits you can use to bully Dean later, considering he’s literally barely a year old and doesn’t really know better to keep his mouth shut, but it is what it is. The question left you out of habit more than anything.

“Oh, definitely,” Jack answers, going to help Mary the second he sees her struggle with a bag from the corner of his eyes, “Well, mostly. Dean—”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Dean interrupted loudly and pointedly, not-so-subtly holding his finger to his mouth to tell Jack to shut it. “Dinner time! Everyone into the library, we have a lot to catch up on.”

Begrudgingly you let it go and follow his directions. He has a point; there is definitely a lot of informing to be done, especially regarding the archangel in the room down the hall.

You take a seat and wait for your meal to be served. The night passes quickly from that point on, the brothers cracking out some beer and Dean snickering when you turn your nose up at it (bad experience, better not to remember it). You get to know Mary Winchester and Jack Kline a little better, and now with all of your heads put together you hope you can come up with a solution to the issues around Gabriel and his recovery.

Well, that and you’re going to see if you can get some good material out of Mary to tease the brothers with. When in Rome, after all!

prev. || next.

[goodwriterwithbadhabits]

The Study of Hearts

Master List

Warnings: Hospital talk, minor swearing

~~

“Hey Y/n, what’s been up with you today, doc?” You spare a quick glance over at the nurse who’d come up beside you, glancing away from the patient’s chart for only a second before returning to it. 

“Nothing’s up with me, I’ve just got a lot of patients today.” She scoffs instantly. You should have known better than to try and lie to Nurse Choi. She had been your head nurse during your internship, and your residency, she knew almost everything about you, and you were a fool to assume she wouldn’t notice your sudden drop in mood. 

“Don’t tell me that. We’ve had a fuller ward than this and you’ve never snapped at someone. That resident you scolded is still crying in the nurses station.” You feel a twinge of guilt at her words. The resident hadn’t really done anything wrong, but offered up the wrong medicine when you asked the group a question regarding a patient. You may have laid into them for longer than necessary about checking charts and allergies before handing out meds. “And this morning you actually shouted at the guy who took your parking spot. This isn’t like you.” You’re thankful the patient you’re currently looking at is asleep, recovering from a surgery that just ended. “So tell me what has the calmest, most level-headed doctor in the cardiology department so wound up.” You sigh deeply, setting the chart back into the sleeve at the end of his bed. 

“My boyfriend.” 

“The idol you swear you’re dating.” She huffs, somehow not believing you. You roll your eyes, deciding not to continue and simply walk away. No one ever believed you when it came to your boyfriend of nearly 4 years, and he wasn’t helping his own case either. “I just can’t believe an idol would date you, I’m sorry Y/n.” You spin back to the older woman, rising to your full height. You were sick and tired of people looking down on you for who you were dating as if they had any clue what was happening. 

“It’s Doctor L/n, Nurse Choi. You may refer to me on personal terms when we are outside of this hospital, but seeing as you refuse to respect my personal life, you are no longer privy to it.” She blinks up at you in confusion before nodding. You can almost feel the shock she emits.

“Yes, Doctor.” 

“Room 1134, Patient Kim Seungkwan needs to be prepped for anesthesia. Dr. Song will be here in an hour.” 

“Yes, Doctor.” She bows to you before turning away. 

“And Nurse Choi.” 

“Yes,Doctor?” There’s a hopeful gleam in her eyes when you call for her again. 

“Tell that resident to stop crying, if he can’t handle being reprimanded there is no place for him in a medical field.” Her shoulders slump again, but you can’t bring yourself to feel guilty. 

“Yes, Doctor L/n.” With one last curt nod to her you spin on your heels, stalking down the halls to your office. 

You’ve barely gotten the chance to start your computer before someone is knocking on your office door. 

“Who is it?” You ask, annoyance clear in your voice. 

“Someone told me you’re having a bad day.” The voice of the young Chairman has you standing immediately as he walks in. 

“Chairman Yoon, forgive me, I didn’t know it was you.” You bow, but he simply waves it off. 

“Come on, Y/n, it’s just us. What have I told you about bowing to me.” 

“Sorry Myungsoo, someone could have been behind you.” You chuckle dryly at your friend. “What do you want? I’m in the middle of something.” He holds up a small lunch box, waving it slightly. 

“I brought ice cream, but if you’re too busy I’m sure someone else will help me eat it.” 

“I’m never too busy for ice cream.” You relent, holding out your hands for the box. “And I guess your company too.” He takes the seat across from you, watching for a moment as you dig in. 

“So tell me, how come you’ve been such a bitch today?” His comment makes you choke slightly. 

“Yah, Myungsoo, what the hell?” 

“Come on, Nurse Choi’s upset, you yelled at a resident so bad he had to go home early.”

“He’s a crybaby.” You huff. 

“That’s besides the point. What’s eating at you?” You sigh, stabbing your spoon into your ice cream and setting it on your desk. 

“Mark.” 

“Huh, you’d think Mark eating you would make you happier.” His joke has your cheeks flushing instantly and you throw your napkin at him. 

“Yah! That’s not what I meant.” 

“What about Mark? I heard their tour ended a few days ago.” You clench your teeth slightly, recalling exactly what’s got you so pissed off.

“They got home last night, at least BamBam says they did, only Mark didn’t text, call, anything. I only found out they got back in when BamBam posted a selca.” “So you’re mad because he didn’t come see you?” 

“I’m mad because I’m fucking sick of it!” You explode, slamming your hand on the desk, making him jump. “He refuses to tell anyone we’ve been dating for almost 4 years, so everyone thinks I’m some delusional fangirl. He refuses to talk about the possibility of moving in together, we never go out when he’s in the country, and when he’s on tour I barely get a text once a week. He’s never met my friends or my parents and it kinda feels like he doesn’t even want to be in a relationship with me.” You finish your rant with a huff, raking your fingers through your hair. “He’s been managing to piss me off without even talking to me.” 

“Sugar, I don’t think you’re mad, I think you’re hurt.” He begins, setting his own treat down, “Anger is a secondary emotion.” 

“I know that, I did take psychology.” You grumble. 

“So what’s really making you so upset?” You cross your arms on the desk, hiding your face in them. 

“What if he doesn’t want to be with me any more? What if he just sees me as a burden these days and is trying to make me break up with him, so he doesn’t feel bad?” Myungsoo sighs, reaching out to rub your arm soothingly. 

“I think if you’re questioning the relationship, you should either talk to him, or break it off.” 

“I know, I’m just not sure if I’m ready for that. I really love him, you know?” 

“Chairman Yoon, we have a meeting sir.” A voice announces, knocking on the door. 

“You should go, thanks for the ice cream, and letting me vent.” 

“No problem, sugar, you should call him.” 

“I will.” The moment the door shuts behind him you pull your phone out of your bag, and pull up his contact. He doesn’t pick up, but you aren’t shocked. “Hey Mark, I heard you got in last night, I hope you’re doing alright. Look, I uh, I didn’t call for no reason. I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think it’s going to work out between us. There’s just so much missing between us, like,” You scoff lightly, “Like love. So yeah, I uh, think we should break up.” You look up to the ceiling, blinking back tears. “I get off at 11 tonight, if you want to call me back then. I doubt you will though, you never seem to want to talk to me any other time. Either way, I have Thursday off, you can come get anything you left at my apartment then. Bye.” You hang up quickly, before shutting your phone off and tossing it in your bag. You felt like sobbing, just finally crying and letting it all out, but you knew you couldn’t, you had patients to help, and they were the priority. 

Of course, by the time 10:45 rolled around, you were dead on your feet, your brain hurt and you were about 2 seconds from cracking open the emergency wine you kept in the fridge in your office. 

“Sir, I may not be a pulmonologist, but I can tell you that smoking combined with not exercising are a major factor in why your heart is damaged.” You insist, trying not to roll your eyes at the man as he scoffs. 

“I don’t think you’re qualified to talk to me about this.” 

“Sir, I’m-”

“Doctor L/n to Emergency Care, paging Doctor L/n to Emergency Care.” 

“Mother-” You cut yourself off with a huff, “Sir, while you are in my care, it is my duty to offer you medical advice. You need to cut back on the cigarettes or quit entirely. While you’re in this hospital you are not welcome to smoke unless outside in a designated area, with a nurse present. Good night.” You bow, quickly exiting the room before you lose your cool and punch him. 

“Doctor L/n, you’re needed in-”

“I heard,” You interrupt the resident who ran up to you. “What’s going on?” 

“It’s a patient. He was attacked by a mob. He seems alright but he refuses to leave without seeing you.” The kid explains, holding the elevator door for you.

“Is he having trouble breathing? Shortness of breath, chest pain?” 

“No, I haven’t seen his chart yet, but as far as I’m aware he only has a few cuts and bruises, if there are any internal injuries, it would likely be contusions on his ribs or-”

“Spleen, why on earth am I being called?” You’re racking your brain for some kind of answer when the elevator door opens. 

“Ah doctor, you’re here.” The head of the ER sighs, meeting you only a few steps away from the lift, “Good. This way.” She begins leading you down one of the quieter halls.  

“Jangmi, tell me you have some grasp as to why someone needs a cardiologist here right now.” You bite at the inside of your lip, completely lost as to why someone might need you. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n, he’s insistent and he’s mentioned you by name several times. Besides I’d rather his company continued to send their idols here.” 

“Company?” You ask, just as she opens the door. “Who-” “Oh thank god, the good doctor is here, now will you stop being a baby?” A familiar voice asks, and your heart leaps into your throat as you round the privacy curtain. There, sitting on the bed, looking pitiful in the hospital clothes, was Mark Tuan. You have to bite back tears as you pick up his chart. He had several bruises already forming on the skin you could see, and a split in his lip. 

“Mark Tuan what the hell happened to you?” Blood pressure, normal. Pupillary response, normal. No signs of concussion or brain trauma. 

“Some sasaengs started fighting as we were trying to leave, Mark got caught in the middle.” Jackson explains, toying with the IV stand. “Hey what does this button do, Y/n.” 

“Don’t touch it, Jackson.” Your response is instant and almost habitual, having had to slap his hand away from your tools plenty of times. 

“I’m sorry, Doctor L/n, do you know these men? Personally?” Jangmi asks, noticing the way JB lingers at your shoulder and Jackson immediately stops toying with things. 

“You could say that.” You muse, “Your vitals seem fine, though your heart rate has gone up slightly.” You can’t help the cheeky smile that dances onto your face. No, you broke up with him. You set his chart back down, grabbing his chin softly to turn his face towards the light. “You’ll have a few bruises, but nothing your make up artist can’t cover.” 

“Y/n-”

“So you have any trouble breathing? Shortness of breath, chest pain, headaches?” You ignore his plea of your name in favor of the heart monitor next to him. 

“No I’m fine.” 

“Then why did you beg a cardiologist to come see you?” You snap, turning on him. “If you wanted to finally talk to me, you could have waited fifteen minutes. Instead you’ve wasted the time of not one, but two doctors, at least one of our residents and several members of the nursing staff. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“What do I have to say? What about you? You broke up with me over a voicemail.” He shouted back, and you watch from the corner of your eye as everyone in the room takes a step back from the two of you. 

“Well if you ever pick up your damn phone when I call, I could have broken up with you like that.” Your voice is somehow level, despite how hurt and angry you are. 

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day.” Well, fuck, okay that was on you. “I didn’t want to run into you like this, but I figured ‘fuck it, you work here anyway’ might as well see you.” 

“So instead of waiting to be discharged and coming up to my department you worry me sick by begging me to see you like this? Do you know how scary it is to be paged down here? I was terrified someone’s heart had stopped beating, or I was going to need to perform an emergency surgery and I found you sitting here, beaten up instead.” The dam breaks, and the first tears begin streaming down your face. “The second I heard JB’s voice I was terrified I was about to have to save your life. After everything I told you about my work, about my fears of finding you on my table one day, how dare you use that against me.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Mark jumps up, pulling you into a tight hug as you cry into his shoulder. 

“You’re the worst.” 

“I know. I know I’ve been shitty. I should be taking you out and showing you off and I haven’t been. I’ve been so scared that Aghase might reject you, I never realized I was the one doing the rejecting. Please give me a second chance.” 

“Promise me you’ll change?”

“For you, in a heartbeat.” 

“Um, Dr. L/n.” Jangmi’s voice has you pulling away from Mark, wiping your eyes on the cuffs of your sleeve.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Seo.” You laugh, trying to calm down. “I’ll handle his discharge paperwork.” 

“Of course, Doctor.” She chuckles softly, offering you all a bow before exiting the room. 

“You really broke up with him over voicemail?” JB asks, clearly trying not to laugh.

“I was upset.” You defend. “I also yelled at several people and told one of my closest friend’s to go fuck herself.” 

“Well, I’m declining your break up attempt, you didn’t tell me directly, so it doesn’t count.” Mark decides, pressing a kiss to your cheek as you walk out of the room. Nurse Choi is standing immediately outside the door, discharge paperwork in hand. 

“Oh, Nurse Choi, I thought you were up in Cardiology still?” You greet. 

“Dr. Seo asked me to deliver this personally.” Her eyes are wide as she sees Mark’s arm around your waist and the other boys just behind you. “It seems I owe you an apology, Dr. L/n.” 

“Yes you do. I’ll take those.” She sets the clipboard into your outstretched hand with a bow, moving to walk away. You saw the slump in her shoulders as she walked away, and the guilt crept into your chest. “Before you go,” Your call has her turning back to face you. “Noon, Saturday, come have lunch with me? Please Jisoo?” The smile that erupts on her face is enough to make you feel better. 

“Of course, Y/n, see you then.” 

[drlauralwalsh]

You and Your Grieving Parts

Do you ever think about your...parts?  No, not those parts, you mischievous little spark plug!  I mean inside your mind - the parts that get weird ideas, warn against danger, are mean to you, and tell you to engage in late-night food rituals.  That last part might just be me.  Seriously though, I’ve been doing some research into the parts of my mind. The idea that our minds have “parts” is not a new idea. Like right now, a part of me wants to keep writing to you and another part just wants to nap. Oh the drama inside! There is one theory that explains this and it has intrigued me since grad school: Internal Family Systems.

INTERNAL FAMILY SYSTEMS (IFS) THEORY

The IFS theory believes that the mind is made up of a number of sub-personalities or parts, each with their own set of beliefs, opinions, and responses, and that interact with each other.  At the core is the Self, which has the ability to lead the parts but isn’t always up to the task.  No single part is bad but like an orchestra, the parts can be in harmony or honk cacophonously like a flock of agitated geese.

Along with the core Self, IFS sorts the other parts into categories by function: Managers, Firefighters, and Exiles.  Managers and Firefighters protect you from feeling the pain of the Exile parts.  They have the same goals but use different strategies.  Managers constrict and hold you back while Firefighters automatically react and let it rip.

MANAGERS

Manager parts proactively run the day to day operations of the system and are considered the most “acceptable” parts because they say very adult things and sound most like the core Self.  They maintain balance within you through control.  Managers parts are perfectionist, judgmental, self critical or people pleasing.  They want to prevent humiliation and abandonment by keeping you busy, criticizing what you do, worrying, sabotaging connections, and generally being a control freak.  They strongly believe in self sufficiency and are generally relentless, exacting, chastising and sometimes, anxious and depressed.  They’re really good at giving you a false sense of security by telling you it’s doing it so you’ll look good to others.  A typical Manager thought is, “You really should stop bothering people with your sob story.”

FIREFIGHTERS

Firefighters are your first responders.  They automatically fly out the door to rescue you when something hits too close to home.  They extinguish the fire of pain by smothering or creating a diversion.  They attack “enemies” and get defensive in an effort to control or suffocate emotions.  These are the parts that have anger issues, spending too much money, drink too much or use drugs, get obsessive or suicidal, self harm, or dissociate.  They like to eat too much. binge watch TV and endlessly play video games for hours.  They don’t give a crap about the goody-goody manager parts.  Those weenies don’t know what it’s like to charge heroically into danger.  Firefighters are really good at distracting you from upsetting, painful or overwhelming feelings.  A typical Firefighter part thinks it’s better to rage than to show vulnerability - even in the privacy of your own head.

EXILES

As a psychologist, I get to see other people’s Exile parts more than the average person.  I’ve developed such a knack for it that the Managers and Firefighters appear almost transparent.  When I’m interacting with someone who’s leading with one of those parts, I can see through to the Exile it’s protecting.  Just wish I could more reliably turn that super power on myself!  Exiles are the younger parts that hold pain from the past.  You compartmentalize and isolate them from the rest of the system for their safety and stability in the system.  Because of their vulnerability, they also seem kind of dangerous.  They’re the parts of you that are scared of being abandoned, get intimidated, experienced trauma, and feel a lot of shame.  This is where the Big Four live - not good enough, too much, if you really knew me, and everyone leaves.

Exiles are desperate to tell their story but Managers pessimistically believe your pain is a burden to others. Firefighters flat out refuse to put you in danger of being hurt again.  If a sad, little kid part of you revealed a disgusting longing for an authority figure’s approval during a job interview, a Firefighter part might change the subject while a Manager sabotages the rest of the meeting.  Neo-exiles are the parts we hide within close relationships.  Imagine a romantic partner or friend that gives you attention when you’re doing something nice but ignores your bids for reassurance.  You’ll shut down the needy part of you to maintain the relationship. The message from that person you tell yourself is that only your good parts are acceptable.  

THE CORE SELF

So far, we’ve been describing the orchestra - or if you’d prefer, the various departments of your business or the governmental branches of your personal nation.  Let’s switch to the head of it all - the conductor, the CEO, the President, YOU.  In the center of all of this is your core Self.  It’s a beautiful place to be.  It doesn’t need work because it’s already perfect.  It spontaneously emerges when the air is clear and all is safe.  It is the natural essence of who you are and is sheltered from damage or destruction by function of your parts.  

You know you’re in your grounded center when you feel authentically chill.  Some theories describe the Self by the 8 C’s:

Confident

Courageous

Creative

Clarity

Compassion

Calm

Curious

Connected

I know I’m in that place when nothing said or done can move me off my square.  For instance, I am confident about my intelligence.  If some bozo tried to lecture me about how I’m really a dummy, I might get a little irritated but he’s not going to shake my confidence.  Now if the same bozo flicked some booger comment about something more vulnerable, that might temporarily knock me off-center.  Note: my own managers and firefighters have censored me from revealing said vulnerability for my own protection.

WORST CASE SCENARIO

Your personal configuration and manifestation of parts was constructed to deal with your worst case scenario to date.  Since we have different histories and experiences, each set of parts is like a fingerprint of the individual.  While I’m currently working hard to lead with my core Self, recent events (i.e. the death of my wife) have thrown the system into a reorg process.  All previous worst case scenarios were blown out of the water and my mind’s company is frantically looking for new hires in two main departments.  I thought I’d give you a peek into the frenetic remodeling of my inner Self as the parts run around with their pants on fire.

Exile: [Can’t speak and just cries endlessly into the void.]

Firefighter: “Oh shit!  Their wedding song started playing overhead at the grocery store!”

Manager: “It’s fine.  Everything is fine. Close your ears, stop being a baby and don’t think about it.”

Exile: “But I can’t stop thinking!” [Stops responding as snot clogs up nose.]

Firefighter: “Leave the store!  Leave your groceries where you are!”

Exile: [Blows nose, hides in deserted health food aisle.]

Manager: “Someone could have seen you out there.  Now go check out and remember to smile at the clerk.”

Firefighter: “I think it’s a great time to call it a day and watch more episodes of Designing Women.”

These parts are obviously clueless as to what to do with this newly emerged and devastatingly sad grief Exile.  She’s a little girl part of me that either pitifully weeps or gets hulk-smash rageful.  She isn’t a new part; she’s come out of semi-retirement to hold my overwhelming grief.  She believes that everyone will leave her and she’s left on her own to figure everything out.   She thinks things like, “Why don’t people notice how sad I am???” She doesn’t know a Firefighter distracts her from feeling with a stupid magic trick while a Manager runs around pulling the curtains around her so no one sees.  All the parts are trying to help but the animals are loose at the circus.  Though the Exile doesn’t know it, she’s waiting for my core Self to step in and corral the monkeys.  My Self knows what to do if I can only find and access it.  Stepping from the shadows, my centered Self brings a soothing presence that stops the commotion and quiets the protectors.  Here’s an example:

Manager: “You should shower and do a little cleaning.  This place is a mess!”

Firefighter: “Honestly, I think eating a little cookie butter will make things better.”

Exile: “[Sobbing] Things are never going to get better!  I don’t want them to get better!”

Firefighter: “I know!  Let’s listen to Rage Against the Machine really loud in the kitchen!”

Manager: “Fine, don’t shower even though you stink.  Don’t change clothes either.  It’s not like anyone sees you anyway.”

Firefighter: “Uhhh, isn’t that friend coming over tonight?”

Manager: “Oh yeah!  He’ll certainly notice those dishes that have been in the sink for 3 days.  Just sayin’...”

Exile: “Oh no!  [Hangs head in shame] People will find out how horribly disgusting I am because I haven’t run the dishwasher or broken down and recycled the Amazon boxes.”

Firefighter: “Just throw everything in the backyard!!!”

Manager: “Stack up all the piles neatly so it looks like you wanted them there on purpose.”

SELF: “Alright, let’s think about this.  What if you broke down the boxes right now, put them outside, rinse the dishes, and filled the dishwasher all while listening to Rage Against the Machine?”

Manager: “That’s not enough but okay, fine.”

Firefighter: “Great ideas as always.  I’m going to rest up for the next emergency.”

Exile: “Thank you for listening to me.  I feel a little better and I think we can do this.”

SELF: “Great. Afterwards, everyone can take a break and zone out in front of the TV.  Now put on that music and let’s get to work.”

WHO’S IN CHARGE?

As long as there’s no one in charge, your mind is a confusing and chaotic miasma of competing needs.  Ideally, the Self steps up and takes over negotiation between the parts and directs the next steps.  However, sometimes a part fills in the leadership role.  You know you’re leading with a Manager when you feel buttoned up, intellectually sharp and emotionally numbed out.  Leading with a Firefighter part feels like a continual state of irritability and agitation and keeps you ‘at the ready’ to react to danger.  Exiles are rarely in charge because they’re really bad at it.  They collapse the system and insist on activities like staying in bed all day.

WORKING WITH YOUR SYSTEM

As with most life problems, the first step is awareness. You’ve got to get to know your parts - their personalities, beliefs, and functions - before trying to intervene in their conflicts. Like I said before, there are no bad parts - just competing beliefs and strategies. A given part feels strongly that it’s right, sees it how it really is and knows the truth. Every thought or feeling originating from a part is trying to help you out, even if it doesn’t seem that way. The part of me that says no one wants to be around me is actually trying to protect me from rejection and abandonment. Unchallenged, that part will keep me from connecting to supportive people.

OBSERVING AND IDENTIFYING PARTS

It may be difficult to put your finger on and capture a particular part.  When you’re ready, there’s a few ways to access them.  Start by being curious and non-judgmental.  Think of your centered self as just a researcher interested in data collection.  Reassure yourself that nothing has to change as you’re presently in observation mode.  

Take your emotional temperature by asking yourself how you feel right now.  Ask to see what emotions are already present and how or where your body feels with that emotion.  Observe those messages that are on repeat in your mind.  Alternatively, you can access an upsetting memory from the past and examine it.  Ask yourself, what exactly was upsetting about what happened?  Did you feel afraid, sad, anxious, angry or something else?  How did you react and what did you do?  Did you rage, freeze, numb, avoid, or try to smooth it over?  These questions will reveal clues to what was exiled and what managers and/or firefighters protected you.  If at any time your brain says, “I don’t know,” consider that another protector part and explore accordingly.

STAYING CENTERED

Once you’ve got a handful of observations, pick out one voice and interview it.  More than likely, you’ll be talking to a protector - probably a manager.  Getting it talking by asking what it believes and it’s job in the system.  Ask how old it is and what it looks like.  A voice that says. “This isn’t fair,” may believe you get dumped on more than most and thinks the job is to  protest on your behalf.  It may show up as a finger wagging old man who suggests that something must be wrong with you because this keeps happening.  What’s protective about this voice?  What kind of Exile is it defending?  Be gentle with digging down to the Exiled little kid part underneath.  Kids are delicate and need protecting.  If you find yourself continuing to have strong emotions or becoming reactive, you’ve likely run into another manager or firefighter.  Interview and explore this part before moving deeper.  We can’t access, validate and utilize the burdened exiles without honoring how the system set itself up to protect us.

Once you’re working with a particular part, another angle is to check back in with your calm and centered Self.  What do you understand about the part?  What do you think is going on?  Can you find empathy and appreciation for the part?  Even our nastiest parts work really hard on our behalf.  A critical voice is mean but its heart is in the right place.  An obsessive or addictive part is trying to soothe the system in the best and only ways it knows so far.

TRUSTING RELATIONSHIPS

Getting to know your parts is the process of creating trusting relationships between them and the Self.  This is the next step in the process of converting your protectors and split-off exiles into your allies.  Think about how trust is built with other people: consistent interactions, listening to and honoring what’s said, believing their words are important - even when you don’t understand.  That’s exactly how we build rapport with the different parts of ourselves.  It may be scary or unpleasant to get close to your inner critic or the tightly-wound explosive rage but it’s a vital step.  Like a good CEO or President, once your core Self begins to get everyone on board, it’s easier to know what to do when life throws you the next curveball.

I’ve got a story for you from back when my wife was still alive.  I left to go grocery shopping but stopped in at the craft store to shop for just myself.   This nagging little voice kept popping up but I successfully shoved it back down at the craft store.   Entering the grocery store a short time later, I could no longer ignore a little girl voice on repeat: “She’s going to be mad at you!” Sighing, I got centered and engaged it.  Here’s how the conversation went:

Little Girl: “She’s going to be mad at you!”

SELF: “Okay, well, we can handle that.  Why will she be mad at me?”

Little Girl: “Because you took too much time at the craft store.”

SELF: “Why is that a big deal to you?  What are you feeling?”

Little Girl: “I’m worried she’ll be mad and call you selfish because you took time for yourself.”

SELF: “Okay, well if that happens, I’ll take care of it.  You don’t have to explain it to her.  I don’t think she’ll actually be mad but if she is, I’ll be in charge.  How does that sound?”

Little Girl: “I’m still worried but I’ll try it your way.”

SELF: “Great. Thank you for trusting me. No matter what, it will be okay.”

This is the actual transcription of me engaging with a worried part.  For the record, it’s not grounded in current reality.  Naturally, Patty would be concerned if I hadn’t returned from shopping if it had been a few hours but she wouldn’t be mad.  I already had a relationship with this part - the Little Girl.  She’s about 5 or 6 and feels too small and powerless to change things in the world.  She’s used to being  dismissed and pulls at my sleeve to warn me about all the monsters lurking in the shadows.  She’s protected by another part - my rebellious teenager.  If I’m not gentle with the Little Girl, the Rebel leaps to her defense and commandeer the entire system.  The Rebel says things like, “Oh no, you fucking didn’t just do that!  I’ll show you!” and promptly turns off all inhibition and motivation and steers us back to the craft store to buy $100 worth of crap.  I’ve learned my lesson - listen to and trust the Little Girl, or else it’ll cost me.

YOUR PARTS IN GRIEF

I’m still getting to know and lead the parts of me as they grieve.  As with outside life, my internal life was thrown into disarray after Patty died.  I had all the parts nicely organized, productive, and had good working relationships with all.  Death took my puny little shoebox diorama on the inside of my mind and… shook it up really hard.   I was so proud of my hand painted little figurines, all precisely glued in their rightful places.  A manager most assuredly came up with that idea.  Now, there’s a part of me that just wants to toss the whole thing and another part that’s picking up each piece, crying over its brokenness.  

All I can do is be patient with myself for now as I sort through the pieces in the shoebox.  I tried throwing it out but it just reappeared.  I’m working on getting the lay of the land.  I’m doing my best to accept and soothe the broken parts - even as they overreact, judge me for not keeping things cleaner, numb out with cookie butter, and cry at the grocery store.  We are trudging down the road right now but when I get to know everyone again, I’ll call a meeting and figure out what’s next.

[anotheronechicagobog]

Bulletproofness and Playing God Jay Halstead x reader

written by: @anotheronechicagobog​

requested by @confusedpimp​, I hope you like it!

warnings: swearing, addiction, Hannah Asher is NOT porprayed well in this you have been warned, malpractice, emergency c-section complications, involves Chicago Med episode ‘Do No Harm’, police being idiots and assholes, warrants served incorrectly, drugs, drug dealers, bad neighbourhood created by systematic oppression and gentrification, Will is a prick with issues, and canon compliant violence

A/N: I am very sympathetic and supportive of people who have addictions because not only are there a tone of genetic factors that weigh in on it, but environmental factors that most people have very little to no control over. That being said, I am strongly against people with addictions working in healthcare, first responding, and/or law enforcement who spend most of their time with vulnerable people who don’t have much of a choice about whether to trust them or not. If someone works in an area where they have someone’s life in their hands they cannot be addicted to a substance that will control their ability to make judgements, affect how/their ability to work, and function as a whole.

In the past eight months, a warrant has been served to your apartment twenty-one times. You haven’t done anything wrong, the name on the warrants was always for your upstairs neighbour, did this make being woken up and the fucking crack of dawn and being interrogated (sometimes arrested) any easier? Not even a fucking bit. So you weren’t surprised when at 3:28 am, your door was busted open (again), heard shouts of “Chicago PD!” (again), and heard your house being “cleared” (again). You groaned and sat up, holding your hands up. Your bedroom door was thrown open with a bang. “I am unarmed, Marcus Evans lives in the apartment upstairs, and I have no association to him.” In the blandest voice possible, you recited the statement the legal aid at your university wrote you. “Uh... Sorry? Hey, Sarg, I think I’ve figured out why there were so many unsuccessful warrants on this place.” The blonde man was still pointing a gun at your head, but more members of his unit came to surround him.   

“Can I put my hands down now? I have documents that prove I am innocent, that the warrant was served to the wrong address, again, and that the only connection I have to Marcus Evans is that he is my annoying upstairs neighbour.”

They all sheepishly looked at you. The Latina woman spoke up, “the apartment is clear of anything even remotely illegal. Well, aside from the power lines attached to her box outside that show that her neighbours have been stealing power and internet from her.”

‘Sarg’, an older man with silver hair with a surprised look on his face nodded. “Alright, put ‘em down and get us the papers.”

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

Despite all the evidence that the warrant wasn’t meant for you, they still insisted on taking you down to the station. You refused since they couldn’t arrest you and had no grounds to hold you on, and Sergeant Voight did not like that. “I’m too tired to give a shit about what you want. I have three jobs, student loans, and university to deal with. The only things of value in my apartment are my crappy laptop and internet access. The only time I am ever here is to sleep. You already disturbed what little sleep I was able to get, and I have work in... Forty-five minutes. Just great. Please leave, and can one of you, for the love of all things holy put a note in the system that this is NOT Marcus Evans’ apartment?!” Everyone flinched at your outburst, all looking both sympathetic and annoyed except for Detective Halstead, he just looked very sad for you. “Of course,” he said as he handed you a business card, “if you could call me when you have time, we have some pretty important questions.” Sargent Voight shot him a look, one that clearly said ‘what the fuck are you doing? That’s not your call.’ “Okay. Now seriously, please leave.” Irritated and muttering under their breath, barring Halstead who gave you a smirk and a wink, they all left stepping over the splinters of the door you replaced three weeks before.

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

The next day after entering your sparsely decorated apartment, dropping dead on your bed/couch, you heard the distinctive sounds of a door being broken down, followed by the police announcing themselves, and an apartment being searched... Above yours. They finally got the right apartment! Despite the ache in your muscles and bones, you jumped up and cheered. Complete and utter elation surrounded you and your soul. A few minutes into your dancing and celebrating there was a knock on the door. Smiling brighter than you had in years you answered the door. “Good morning detective!”

“Well, good morning to you too, Ms. Y/L/N. You’re in a much better mood.”

“To be fair, you guys busted into my apartment at three in the morning, again, and I just heard everything that happened upstairs, you guys finally got the right apartment!”

“Hey, we never served more than one warrant here.”

“Your unit only served one, but your brothers in blue served twenty-one. Destroying property, unlawful arrest, causing severe anxiety, and just general harassment for eight months. The only reason I didn’t move was because I couldn’t afford to. I’m just happy it’s over now, I’ll never have a  Marcus Evans warrant served at my apartment again!” Halstead looked happy when you opened the door and your conversation began, but when you finally took a breath you noticed how guilty he looked. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, looking like he was in physical pain, before he nodded at you and walked away, leaving you feeling incredibly confused.

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

Two days later you returned from two ten-hour shifts to Jay Halstead in front of your door. “Detective?”

“Please, call me Jay.”

“Alright, Jay, what are you doing here? Is everything okay with Marcus’s arrest?”

“Oh yeah, everything’s fine with that. I came here because of this.” He handed you a large manilla envelope. “What’s this?”

“Compensation. For everything that happened over the last eight months. And apartment listings in better neighbourhoods. Seriously, you need to get out of here, it’s way too dangerous.”

“Thanks for the advice, and the compensation, I’ll think about it. But it just might not be doable for me.”

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

You couldn’t afford to move, something that irked Jay to no end. So he came around often. Dropping by with coffee and Irish breakfasts. Sharing his Netflix password and watching B99 together. Driving you home from work or university when it was late. The days grew shorter, and your hours of work grew longer. Jay worried. About you. About the number of hours you worked. About how much university work you had. About your health, how much (or little, really) you slept and ate, how you didn’t see the doctor as often you should (ironic considering you were in med school), and about how you never took time to relax, always jumping from one task to the next. 

You slumped against the passenger seat of Jay’s truck, exhausted after working for thirty hours straight, ten at each of your jobs. “Okay, seriously, you can’t keep living like this. I have a spare room, I can get you a civilian job at my precinct. You are wearing yourself to the bone. Please, Y/N.”

“I get my residency assignment tomorrow. I quit today.”

“You did?”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“All three.”

“And you’ll move out of your apartment?”

“Nope.” Popping the ‘p’. Jay sighed and shook his head, before looking at your half-asleep form. “I’ll take you to the shithole you call a home.”

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TWO YEARS LATER

Jumping up and down you waited for Jay to open the door. The envelopes sitting on his coffee table glaring at you. You flopped onto his couch (that didn’t also double as a bed) and huffed impatiently. Fidgeting.

The door opened and you jumped up, startling your best friend. His cop/ranger instincts taking over. He stiffly dropped his jacket and yanked out his gun before aiming it for your head. Panic coursed through you, tightening your chest. Reflexively you put up your hands, not able to control the words that bubbled out of your throat. “I’m bulletproof... But please don’t shoot me.” Jay lowered his gun, laughing. “‘Bulletproof’? Really?”

“Hey, I panicked, shut up.”

“What’re you doing here, anyway? I thought you were taking another shift?”

“I was, but then Sarah’s plans fell through so she decided to take her shift back, plus I got my fellowship applications back!”

“Where did you get accepted?!”

“I don’t know I was waiting for you to get back to open them!”

“Well I’m here now, so open them!” 

“Okay, okay, here we go; Honolulu general, accepted, Seattle Grace, no, but they had a bomb blow up there recently so I’m not heartbroken, Chicago med, yes, and Miami Dade Memorial, yes. Okay 3/4, that’s great! What do you think?”

“Well I’m biased, so Chicago Med, but it would be fun to visit you in Hawaii.” 

“Hawaii is so expensive though, I’d probably have to have a part-time job to make rent.”

“In a decent apartment this time.”

“Two part-time jobs, then. So Hawaii is out, now Miami... It is hot there, beaches, the ocean, the food, but Miami Dade Memorial isn’t very prominent in the research department and the crime rate is awful in the part I’d need to live and work in. I mean I know isn’t a whole lot better but... It would feel a bit like moving from bad to worse, especially on my budget.”

“So that leaves Chicago...”

“It does, but I think I need to find a new place that’s closer to Med and filled with less dug dealers.”

“Please tell me this was a subtle way of asking if you can move in with me.”

“It wasn’t, but now that you bring it up, would that be okay?”

“YES! Oh thank fuck, you’re finally moving out of that rat’s nest! C’mon, let’s go get your stuff now!”

“But Jay I just paid this month’s rent-“

“Let’s gooooooooooo!”

——————————————————————————————————-

FOUR MONTHS LATER

Because your apartment was in such a “great location” (in the same building as three drug dealers) your landlord was willing to give half of your rent back. It had only taken you twenty-something minutes to pack your things and leave. Now you were starting your surgical OB/GYN fellowship, excited to not be working multiple jobs at once for the first time since you were twelve. While Jay’s brother, Will, worked at Med as well he worked in the ED while you worked in the gynecology unit and you were thankful you only had to work together for consults or in an all hands on deck situation because he could be a fucking prick. When you first met him years ago he spent two hours quizzing your medical knowledge, and he got annoyed when you got everything right and he couldn’t correct you. So when you got a consult from him your first week there, you were apprehensive. “Hey Y/N, treatment room four.”

“Thanks, Maggie.” You pushed back the curtain and were met with the sight of a pregnant woman clearly in immense pain and a frustrating ginger. “Dr. Asher is her OB but we can’t find her anywhere. She was on-call but I, and a couple of nurses, and her secretary have been blowing up her phone and we’ve got nothing back. This is her patient Sienna. She’s in a lot of pain but is refusing painkillers, you’ve been working with her a lot lately-“ You snorted. His facial expression hardened. “Just come out and say it Y/L/N.”

“First of all it’s doctor Y/L/N, second of all, I haven’t been ‘working’ with her, I’ve been taking care of ‘her’ patients because she’s almost never at work. She just cancels the appointments short notice and since these women are kind of on a timeline their appointments get reassigned to other doctors. She’s listed as their doctor on all the forms but she’s never even met half of them. Sienna is the only patient that Dr. Asher has seen more than once.” 

“Don’t talk about her like that, you don’t know-“

“That she’s an addict? The entire OB floor knows we just don’t have enough proof to do anything about it. And don’t get me wrong, I know that there’s a lot of genetic components to addiction and I would be sympathetic if she wasn’t responsible for multiple lives at a time on a daily basis.” You turned on your heel and entered the room, done with Will Halstead and his bullshit. “Hi Sienna, my name is Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, and I’ll be filling in for Dr. Asher, I understand that you don’t want any drugs and while that’s fine, if your condition gets bad enough we may have to intervene but we’ll do everything we can for you and your baby, okay?”

“Where’s Dr. Asher? I need her here, she understands!”

“Okay, we’re still trying to find her okay?”

—————————————————————————————————

“So I heard that you and my brother locked horns today.”

“Your brother is a prick.”

“I know that he is, I’m just wondering what happened this time.”

“He’s doing this weird ethical-puppy love-guilt trippy-Romeo and Juliet level of doomed-unnecessary drama-thing going on and it’s completely affecting how he treats his patients. We already had one loose cannon we couldn’t disarm, now we have another. It’s come to the point that I’m genuinely worried about the patients that come into Med, and I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m sorry, I wish there was something I could do.”

“Just try not to antagonize Will, okay? He’s more on edge and that makes him erratic, I would really appreciate it if you wouldn’t make it worse.”

“Okay. I’ll leave him alone.”

“Thank you. I’m starving, what should we do for dinner?”

“Vietnamese is on the way.”

“Have I told you how amazing you are today?”

“Yes, but I would love to hear it again.”

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Dr. Asher’s medical negligence had finally caught up with her, and for once Will wasn’t even remotely involved. He and Asher were having one of their silent spats again when Asher dropped the ball, or baby rather, during an emergency c-section of a patient she misdiagnosed and mistreated because she was in need of a fix. The only reason the mother didn’t hemorrhage and baby didn’t crack his skull was because of your observations and quick reflexes. The baby was healthy and mom was recovering and you were fuming. After scrubbing out you approached the, understandably distressed, father and told him that on your best medical opinion he and his wife should file a malpractice suit for missing an easy and obvious diagnosis, screwing up a routine surgery, and almost killing his son seconds after he was born.

You met with him, his lawyer and Asher two days later in a conference room with Goodwin and Peter the Stressed Out Lawyer. You accused her of having an addiction. The father requested a drug test. Goodwin glared, you glared back. If she didn’t want it handled like this then she should have dealt with it months ago when you brought it up your second week at Med. She tried to approach you in the hall, condescension on the tip of her tongue when you levelled her with a glare so fierce it rivalled that of Godzilla. “You do not get to scold me like I am a child. I told you when I first got here that she has a problem. That she is a danger to everyone who comes into her care. That she is a danger to other doctors. That she is a liability. Do not bitch to me when I told a husband and father who almost his wife and son to her recklessness to sue. To get angry and fight back. Do not take that petty, catty, condescending tone with me because I went around you. You have absolutely no ground to stand on. Because. You. Were. Wrong.”

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You were surprised you had a job to come back to the next day. So was a very pissed off and ‘heartbroken’ Will Halstead. He kept running around to your colleagues, badmouthing you, trying to get them to join in and turn on you, but that didn’t happen. They not only agreed with you but rallied around you. Doctors are not gods. They do not get to ignore a patient’s wishes or act like they don’t have restrictions and limitations. It came to the point that Will told Jay he didn’t approve of you and that he had to dump you... Despite the fact that you weren’t dating.

Jay had rolled his eyes and pushed Will out of the apartment before giving you a hug and made you pancakes for dinner. “I’m sorry that I messed up your relationship with Will.”

“Don’t be. We’re brothers, we fight from time to time, and sometimes those fights are bigger than others and that’s okay. Will, well Halsteads in general, are pretty good at torpedoing any and all romantic relationships.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“My parents only got married cause my mom got knocked up and fought non-stop, Will was and still is in love with Natalie but he was too controlling, secretive, and refused to tell her about Burke, and me... Lindsay and I were on a break before we left because my Vegas wife refused to divorce me and I didn’t tell her I had even been to Vegas.”

“Okay, so maybe it’s a little true, but it’s not because you’re bad people or  Even just saying ‘yes there’s something going on but I don’t feel ready to talk about it with you’ would go a long way. Cause all you Halstead guys say is that you’re fine but you never are and if you lie to yourself you lie to your partner.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. And tell Will when his head is surgically removed from Asher’s ass. You’ve seen that he follows her around like a puppy, right?”

“Yup, everyone on the OB floor has been talking about it nonstop since he started his whatever it was with Asher.”

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EIGHT MONTHS LATER

Because of the suit, the hospital conducted an internal investigation in relation to Dr. Asher that pretty much everyone could confirm. Erratic behaviour and attendance, leaving other doctors to tend to her patients while keeping her name on the case files, and horrifying evidence of being high while working. Granted that had only happened twice and she literally just sat in her office staring at paperwork the whole time. Still, she was fired, the suit was settled, and Asher lost her license. You had destroyed her career and while there was a part of you that felt guilty, you knew that in the end she did the right thing. She refused help and kept carrying on in a way that would have been detrimental to more patients if other doctors hadn’t stepped in. Will still wasn’t talking to you and had started avoiding Jay recently because you two started dating.

Barring the tension from all the Will stuff, your relationship was doing well. You had great dates (both out and at the apartment), were radiating happiness together, and Jay was taking your words about communication to heart. Not once has the phrase ‘I’m fine’ dripped off of his lips. If he didn’t want to tell you something or was more comfortable talking about it with his therapist or Upton before you he’d let you know. Most times he would just talk about what was bothering him, even if it was only bullet points sometimes you both felt relieved that functional relationships were actually possible. 

You were on a date with Jay at your favourite Jamaican restaurant when you ran into Hannah Asher. She did not look pleased to see you and quite honestly you could have lived the rest of your life happily if you never had to see her again. After a few seconds of glaring at you and your boyfriend, an annoying ginger put his arm around her. “Hi Will. How are you?”

“My girlfriend and I are doing well Jacob.”

“Really Will? You’re using my whole name because my-”

“Okay, you know what? Let’s go our separate ways. It looked like you guys were just leaving, and we’re probably confusing our poor hostess. So let’s both just walk away.”

“You ruined my life.”

“Asher-”

“You took everything from me!”

“Do you have any idea how many patients you almost killed in your time at Med? Because I do, and it’s a triple-digit number. You shouldn’t have been practicing in your condition and you know it. So you need to drop the victim act and walk away.” You saw her face contort into complete and utter rage, then everything is hazy. There were lights, bright red ones, and screaming, you were pretty sure Jay was there, and there was... Copper? Why did your mouth feel like it was full of liquid pennies? There was gurgling, was there a baby? Were they okay? You tried to speak, get up, look around, but you were too tired. You were begging yourself to move, to do something, but it felt like your bones turned into melting iron.

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You didn’t remember waking up, or falling asleep for that matter, you were just looking at the glass door and suddenly it came into focus. You didn’t even know how you got to the ED, what happened at the restaurant. Dr. Choi entered your room apprehensively. “Y/L/N? How are you feeling?”

“Like I was mauled by a tiger.”

“That’s... Actually pretty close to what happened, honey.”

“Jay?”

“Hey, I’m right here. So, what’s the prognosis Choi?”

“Multiple contusions on the right side of the abdomen, lower back and around your neck, multiple lacerations all over your abdomen, forearms, and two on your head. Your liver was also perforated, we couldn’t stop the bleeding so we had to remove half of it, which you know means it’ll take a couple of months to grow back and you won’t be able to drink for around a year. We’re going to need to monitor you and run some tests, so you’re gonna be here for a few days.”

“Well I should hope so. What? Why are you two looking at me like I have eight heads? I could’ve died.”

“... You actually want to stay in the hospital and be cared for by your colleagues?”

“I trust you, besides I’ll only make things worse if I check myself out AMA, doesn’t matter how good of a doctor I am. It’ll be hard and I’m not going to enjoy it, but I have to stay here and get treated regardless so I might as well be as positive as I can about it.”

“You are officially my favourite patient.”

“And I love you even more.”

“Thanks guys, I appreciate it.”

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“What happened Jay? I don’t remember anything after telling her to walk away.”

“She went berserk. Attacked you. I tried to pull her off but Will lost his mind, telling me not to hurt her. I managed to toss him after a couple of seconds but I was too late. She’d already slashed you up and stabbed you twice. I grabbed her but she managed to get a bunch of kicks in while I was hauling her away from you all while screaming that she was going to kill you. I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect you. She’s sitting in a cell at the 21st right now with Platt breathing down her neck. We also did a drug test on her, she was high as all hell.”

“Please don’t feel bad Jay, I know that you reacted as fast and did as much as you could. And I know that Will did what he could to stop you. How is Will by the way?”

“He’s in the cell next to hers. He assaulted a police officer and was an accomplice in assault. Voight’s been asking if I want to drop the charges against him because he’s my brother. And I just don’t know, I wanted to talk to you first.”

“I don’t want to charge him. And I don’t want you to press charges either, but I won’t stop you if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t want him to go to jail, I want him to go to therapy. He needs it.”

“I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, but he really does. And I think you need to be the one to bring it up with him. We can do some research, too, and find psychiatrists that have their own practices so that it’s not connected to the hospital at all.”

“That sounds like a great idea, but I think you mean I do the research cause you are supposed to be resting and not doing any physically or mentally strenuous tasks.”

“Fine, fine. Just give Will a hug from me when you see him.”

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ONE YEAR LATER

The day of the trial had finally arrived and you were pissed off about it. The date of the trial was the same day as your due date. The defence had done everything they could to delay the trial, and when they finally settled on the worst possible day three weeks ago, you’d tried to have it delayed again because you didn’t want to give birth in a courtroom. The defence had convinced the judge to deny it, so here you were, sitting in a sweltering room that smelled like old wood and seventies carpet for five hours beside your husband behind the district attorney doing your best not to glare at the judge. “It’s going to be okay, honey, she won’t get away with anything, it’s cut and dry. The only real thing to do is to determine her sentence.” Jay kissed your forehead and placed his hand on top of yours on your protruding stomach. You winced. “She just kicked again, Jay.”

“That’s seven minutes apart.”

“I’m in labour, we need to go.” Jay nodded to your lawyer who motioned to the judge for permission to speak. “Your honour, my client is in labour, may we adjourn so that she and her husband can go to the hospital?”

“Objection your honour!”

“Ms. Asher, do not interrupt the prosecution. I’ve heard and seen more than enough evidence. Ms. Asher, you are hereby sentenced to twenty-five years in prison for aggravated assault and attempted murder. The court now is adjourned. Oh, and Dr. Y/L/N and detective Halstead? Congratulations.”