#because so far what ive gotten from my doctor is something is wrong but there's no diagnosis and i feeling like time is running out

[itsays]

.

[guilty-pleasures21]

Yooooooooouuuuuuuuuu!!!!!!! You SUCK!

Ahh! I love them so much!!!

0. The slow burn

1. There are too many. TOO MANY!!

Part 1 - the bad day

Part 2 - the injury

Part 3 - the sleepover

Part 4 - the lovesick teenager/the gym

Part 5 - the eyedrops

Warnings: none.

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It had been a few days since she’d last seen him. The nurses had put her on an IV for two days before clearing her to leave. Then she’d taken another day of rest before returning to HQ to check on Miguel: he hadn’t been to visit her once since their last mission. Not a ‘how are you feeling’ or a simple ‘hola, arañita’, not even through text! She bounced into the control room, her footsteps getting even lighter when she saw him standing on the platform by his computer. “Miguel? Are you busy?”

     She webbed up to the platform to stand beside him, but he didn’t look up, refusing to meet her gaze. “Yes.” 

     “Oh,” she said when he didn’t elaborate. He wasn’t ever so brusque with her - not with her. “Um, I’m fine now! The doctors said I was all right.”

More silence. She took a step closer to him, trying to sneak a glance at whatever he was working on. “Can I help?”

     “No.”

Her stomach churned as she wondered if he might be angry. Not at her, maybe, but … She tugged on her chair, dragging it closer to her so she could take a seat beside him. 

“I’ll just-” He sighed loudly, interrupting her. Finally, he turned to her, his eyes narrowed in irritation.

“Can you just … go?” She froze, stunned by the response.

  “W-What?” He turned back to his screens. 

     “I don’t need you messing up my missions anymore,” he told her, his voice flat, emotionless. “Just go fight some lowlife criminals from your dimension or something. Seems to be the only thing you’re actually good at.” Her chest tightened at his response, the tears beginning to build up behind her eyes. How could he say that? 

“How can you say that, Miguel?” He turned to face her, his brows pulled low in a frown. 

     “Because!” He took a step closer to her, his expression thunderous as he towered over her. “You’re incapable and incompetent! You almost got yourself killed on a mission even Pav and Hobie had no trouble with!”

Because she’d saved them! They’d only had no trouble because she was the one who’d defeated Loki, the one who’d saved them all! But the fear was too great for her to speak, seeping into her bones and squeezing around her insides. She curled into herself, backing away from him slowly, meticulously avoiding his gaze. 

     “How could you be so stupid?!” he continued, taking a step forward every time she took one back. “How could you, of all people, be so dumb?!” She stopped, her foot finding empty space when she tried to take another step backwards. 

     “Just … go home to your comics or whatever,” he finished, returning to his computer. “I don’t need you here anymore.” She opened her mouth to try to respond, but then shut it again, too terrified to say anything. What if she spoke and another hurtful insult fell from his lips? She slapped her hand over her mouth as a sob slipped out. Then she turned and ran far away from him. 

     Peter strolled into the room, whistling a tune from one of the cartoons Mayday had started watching recently. It was a cheery tune, one that had gotten stuck in his head and refused to leave. He waved a hand up at Miguel, brooding on the platform as he normally did. “Hey, Miguel! Where’s X? I haven’t seen her in a few days.” 

     Miguel shrugged, not looking at him. “I don’t know. She probably went home or something.” 

     “Hmm,” Peter began, landing on the platform beside him. “I heard she got injured. Is she okay?” His heart squeezed in his chest at the reminder, his breath catching in his throat. He turned to Peter, scowl on his face. 

     “Why don't you go ask her yourself?!” Peter held his hands up in surrender. 

     “Whoa! Hey! What’s wrong, Miguel?” He placed a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder, but Miguel shrugged it off grumpily. “Miguel. What happened? I talked to Pav and Hobie and they said she got injured and that you were freaking out.” Miguel sniffed.

     “I wasn’t … ‘freaking out’,” he mumbled. Peter folded his arms across his chest and tapped his foot on the ground, waiting. Finally, Miguel sighed. “She messed up, okay? She did something … stupid and I … I dismissed her.” 

     “‘Dismissed her’?” Peter echoed. “What does that even mean? And what did she do that was so bad?” Miguel pursed his lips, knowing Peter wasn’t going to like his answer. 

     “She … She almost got herself killed using Scorpion’s venom.” Again, a lump formed in his throat at the thought. “So, I … I told her to leave. I said we didn’t need her anymore.” ‘I’ - ‘I don’t need you anymore’; that’s what he’d said. He winced as Peter began yelling at him. 

     “You what?!” Peter exclaimed, waving his hands in the air in disbelief. “How could you say that to her, Miguel?! You know how much she cares about you - I know how much she cares about you; everyone knows how much she cares about you.” He waited until Miguel turned to face him, the shame shining through his features. Then he sighed. Because he cared about her too. Just as much as she cared about him; that was obvious to everyone as well. He returned his hand to Miguel’s shoulder.

     “Are you mad at her because she made one mistake? For the first time?” He paused to let the words sink in. “Or are you mad because you were scared you might lose her?” 

     He sucked in a breath at the memory of her convulsing in his arms, at the fear he’d felt racing through his veins. The fear he’d let push her away, causing him to lose her anyway. 

     “Go find her, Miguel,” Peter told him. “Apologise. For once in your life.” Miguel narrowed his eyes at that, fixing Peter with an exasperated look. But then he clicked on his watch anyway, opening up a portal to take him to her house.

     He landed in the entryway of her apartment, his head almost brushing the ceiling as he looked around. It was small, but cosy; neat, but welcoming. Just like her. Her head popped up over the sofa and she hopped up quickly when she saw him, scurrying over to the light switch by her bedroom to dim the lights. And it killed him. It killed him that, even after he’d hurt her as much he had, she still found it so easy to care for him. He deactivated his mask and called out to her softly. “¿Arañita?”

     She flinched at the familiar nickname, the one reserved only for the two of them, and it felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice cold water over his head. He clenched his jaw, not caring for the feeling one bit. “What do you want, Miguel?” 

     Her voice was cold, flat, and she refused to meet his gaze as she spoke, her eyes fixed instead on her own feet. He began making his way over to her, each step slow, careful, like he was worried any sudden movements might cause her to bolt. He reached a hand out, wanting to run his fingers through the strands of her hair, to push it out of her face so he could see those almond-shaped eyes and rosy cheeks and soft, curved lips. But again, she pulled away, and again, his heart dropped into his stomach. His fingers twitched, aching to reach out and comfort her. And it terrified him. It terrified him how much he wanted to hold her, to pull her into his arms and keep her safe, always. He ground his teeth together, trying to contain his emotions. 

     “X, I’m sorry,” he began slowly. “For what I said. And how I treated you. I was … I was just scared, that I might … that I might …” He let his words trail off, unable to finish the sentence, the horrible thought that had plagued his mind for the past few days. But she just glared at him, angry now, her eyes red and swollen from how she’d cried earlier. Because of him. Because of what he’d said to her. His heart ached at the sight. 

     “So?!” she exclaimed. “I was scared too! You didn’t see me throwing a tantrum about it!” She frowned at him, waiting for his excuse. But there was no excuse. He’d made a mistake and he needed to apologise. He’d own up and take accountability for his actions, apologising to her over and over and over again until she forgave him. 

     “You’re right,” he agreed. “I’m sorry. I was wrong and … and …”

     “You know what?” She crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze still fixed on him. “I am sick and tired of angry men! I’ve already had to grow up around so many, I’m not going to put myself through that again; not if I can help it. And I can help it now: I’m an adult now. I get to decide who I want to keep and who I don’t.”

     'Do you want to keep me?’. The words hovered on the tip of his tongue. He wouldn’t be able to bear it if she said she didn’t. 

     “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I … It won’t happen again. I promise.” She stood her ground, her expression unconvinced. So he pushed on. 

     “I just-” His voice cracked as the memory came flooding back to him: her, lying in his arms, convulsing as her body tried to rid itself of the venom running through her veins. Her, flopping over, and him not even breathing as he waited, waited for her to wake up, to say something, to do anything. “You were just lying there, arañita! And I … I …” 

     She let her arms fall back to her sides, her features scrunching up in concern. He was having a panic attack, she recognised it. She crept over to him carefully, trying not to startle him, and bent over to try to catch his gaze. His eyes remained fixed on the floor, wild and restless as he re-lived whatever memories were running through his mind right then. She reached up slowly and took his face in her hands, tilting his head towards her. 

     “Miguel? I’m okay. I’m okay.” She brushed her thumbs along his cheeks. “Look at me. What colour is my hair?” He hesitated, trying to bring his attention back to the present, to focus on her standing in front of him, waiting for him to respond. 

     “Brown?” 

     “And my eyes?” 

     He stared into her eyes, his breathing slowing down a little as he studied them. “Dark brown.” 

     “And my tongue?” She stuck her tongue out and wriggled it playfully, trying to retain his attention. He relaxed a little more. 

     “Pink.” She lowered her hands to his, stroking her thumbs across them. 

     “Take your gloves off,” she commanded him gently. He complied and she took hold of his hands, curling her fingers around them. “How does my skin feel?” 

     “Smooth. Cold.” He engulfed her small hands in his large ones, trying to warm her up. She smiled up at him, the curl of her lips beneath her puffy eyes tugging at his heartstrings again. 

     “And my hair? What does it smell like?” She took a step forward, burying her face in his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist. He found his own hands landing on her back, and he ran his fingers gently along her spine as he rested his cheek on the top of her head. 

     “It smells … fruity. Citrus-y?” 

     “I just washed it,” she told him, her voice muffled by his chest. She pulled back to look up at him, her arms still curled loosely around his waist. “Do you want to sit down?” He nodded and she guided him over to the sofa to take a seat. She sank into the cushions beside him, then arranged his arm over the back of the headrest so she could curl up against his side. She reached up, placing two fingers against the side of his neck. 

     “What are you doing?” he asked her, a tinge of amusement clouding his voice. She sat back to look up at him. 

     “Feeling for your pulse.” She grabbed his hand and placed his fingers on her neck, moving the other to rest on his neck. “Is it okay? Is your heart still beating too fast?” He remained silent for a moment, counting out the beats as they pulsed against his fingers. 

     “It’s slowing down now.” 

     “Try to match mine.” She rolled her eyes, smiling at the thought. “Or less, probably.”

His lips twitched at the joke, but he kept his fingers against her neck, measuring the beating of his heart against hers. She ran her fingers along his thigh as she waited, her nails scratching over his skin lightly in a way that kept distracting him from the task at hand. He looked up and studied her carefully, his gaze trailing over her slowly as he reassured himself that she was okay; that she was real and she was safe, her heart pulsing in her chest, the blood rushing through her arteries beneath his fingers. Finally, he dropped his hands back to his lap. “I think it’s all right now.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, then curled back into his side, her body small and soft against his. Eventually, she sat back to look up at him. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

He hesitated, afraid to pose the question. 

     “Can I … Can I stay over? Just for tonight! I just … I just want to make sure you’re okay.” He avoided her gaze as he waited for her answer. Stupid, it was a stupid question. How stupid of him to reveal just how much he truly cared about her, how embarrassing. 

     “Of course!” she replied quickly, not even needing to think twice about it. She glanced around her tiny apartment, thinking. “Do you mind sleeping on the sofa? It’s a pull-out! I just don’t think my bed would be big enough for the both of us.” 

     She understood; she understood exactly what he needed right now - exactly how he was feeling and how to help him feel better. And she made it seem so easy too, as if she didn’t even need to spare a second thought when it came to him. He shifted in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “My bed … should be. If that’s … If you’re comfortable with that.” 

     “Sure.” She shrugged, not seeming bothered in the slightest by the idea of sharing a bed with him. She glanced at his suit. “But do you need to go back first?”

     “Yeah,” he nodded, suddenly feeling back to normal again. “I still have some stuff I need to clear up.” 

     “Okay. I’ll just call my mum first. Then we can go after.” She leaned back against the sofa. “Do you want to have dinner here though? I can order something.”

She was a terrible cook; she’d whined about once before, in the pantry with some of the other Spiders. ‘It’s a curse!’, she’d lamented. ‘Everything I cook turns out both raw and burnt!’. She picked up her phone and began scrolling through it. 

     “What do you want to eat?” he asked.

X tapped her phone against her mouth as she considered. 

     “Roti prata?” Her favourite food - besides the instant noodles he’d tried to ban from HQ to stop her from eating them so often. So he’d made it a regular dish: pizza on Fridays, roti prata on Saturdays. Instant noodles for lunch on Saturdays when she managed to sneak it into the canteen before he caught her too. 

     “Can I get the one with the chicken and the onion already inside of it? The stuffed one.” She tapped on her phone for a bit, then held it out to him, showing him a picture of what he’d asked for. 

     “This one?” He nodded in agreement and she added it to the cart. Then she looked up at him again, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she considered him. 

     “You want one?” she asked him. “Or two …” He sighed, his lips quirking at the ends anyway. 

     “Mierda, arañita. Why do you always think I can eat so much?” She laughed. 

     “Uh, because you’re kind of freakin’ huge?!” She poked his broad chest to illustrate her point. “Where else am I supposed to think all this muscle comes from?” He rolled his eyes, trying not to smile. 

     “One is enough, arañita.” She sank back into her seat and shrugged. 

     “Suit yourself, big guy.” He frowned and poked her in the side, causing her to shriek and pull away immediately - because she was so painfully ticklish. She glared up at him, blowing away a loose curl that had fallen into her eyes.

     “You’re so mean, Miguel.” He scoffed incredulously. 

     “You’re the one calling me big!” And suddenly, it was easy again, easier than it had been in a long time. But just with her - only with her. She trailed her gaze over him, appraising him carefully and biting on her lip in a way that had the blood rushing to his neck. She tapped her phone on her mouth again, giving him a suggestive look. 

     “Are you not?” F*ck. His breath hitched in his throat and he pushed himself out of his seat, putting some distance between them. 

     “I should be back in about two hours.” He re-activated his mask and opened up a portal to take him back to HQ. “Hasta luego, arañita.”

     “Hasta luego, Miguel.” 

     She took in his apartment, her eyes wide with disbelief. It was so big! And so fancy! A penthouse suite with two floors and five bedrooms and three bathrooms and a view of the entire city spread out below. It probably could have fit her place six times over! She tiptoed over to the plush grey sofa in the living room and her feet sank into the fluffy white carpet as she set her pillow down. 

     “This is your house?” X asked him, her tone dripping with disbelief. Miguel grunted in acknowledgement, setting her water bottle down on the kitchen island before turning around to look at her. He leaned back against the island, folding his arms across his chest. 

     “Is there something wrong with it?” X shook her head quickly and turned around, making sure to absorb every part of her surroundings fully. 

     “No!” she reassured him, her expression awestruck as she studied his house. “It’s so big! Are you, like, a rich boy or something?” She turned to look at him, her lips curling in amusement as he gave her a confused look. 

     “A what?” She grinned.

     “A rich boy,” she repeated, gesturing to their surroundings. He turned his eyes away from her, shifting uncomfortably in position. 

     “Uh, yeah. I guess.” She swivelled around, ignoring his discomfort, and began making her way to the balcony. 

     “Ugh!” she groaned, waving her hands around dramatically. “I’m gonna have to marry you now, Miguel, I have absolutely no choice!” 

     He froze, unsure if he’d heard her right. ‘Marry’ him? Was that what she’d said? That she’d have to marry him? ‘Have’ to, like she had absolutely no choice in the matter? 

     “¿Qué?” He looked up, needing to hear her say it again. But she’d disappeared, walking out onto the balcony and leaving him behind. He ran after her. 

     “¡Arañita! ¡¿Qué?!” He rushed over to where she was standing, gripping onto the railing as she gazed out over the city. “What did you just say?” 

     She smiled, admiring the bright lights and the buzz of people still dashing through the streets, even when the moon was already so high in the sky. Miguel leaned over, trying to catch her gaze to get her to repeat what she’d said, still unable to believe that she’d actually said it. She refused to look at him, delighting in the puzzled expression on his face as she teased him. “Wow. This is so beautiful, Miguel.” 

     ¡Mierda, she was driving him mad! That relaxed smile on her face as she rejected his attempts to meet her eyes. He straightened, hardening his features and giving her a serious look. “X. What did you say just now?” 

     “What?” She grinned, finally looking up at him. “When I said I’m gonna have to marry you?” Again, she’d said it again! And so casually too, like it was just a fact of life, something inevitable they’d both have to accept. He gulped and nodded, completely at a loss for words. Her expression softened and she returned her gaze to the city, shuffling closer to him until her arm brushed against his. 

     “It’s okay,” she continued, her voice reassuring. She leaned over, resting her head against his arm. “I think we’ll be okay. Besides …” She pulled back slightly to look up at him again, her lips still curled into that mischievous smile. 

     “No one else is ever going to enjoy your company as much as I do. I won’t let them!” Her brows drew together in anger at the very thought, then her face broke into a grin again as she lowered her head back to his arm. How could she … How could she be so relaxed about this?! He gripped onto the railing, considering her words carefully. Was she really serious? He couldn’t tell. Not with that teasing smile she kept giving him every time she said it. But she kept saying it - why would she keep saying it if she didn’t mean it? If she didn’t want it to be true? He slid his gaze over to her, searching her demeanour for some hint as to what she was thinking, some clue. But she continued laying against his arm, her posture relaxed as she looked out at the landscape below them. Did she want it to be true? Did she … He shook the thought away, not wanting to think about it too hard. But what did it mean; if she wanted it to be true? What did it mean about the way she felt about him? And … what did it mean about the way he felt about her? His eyes drifted over to her again, his brain reminding him that he’d asked to stay the night, just so he could check up on her, just so he could make sure she was okay. She yawned suddenly, saving him from having to think about the situation any longer, and began heading back inside. 

     “Can we watch some TV or something?” she asked him, settling into the sofa. She looked up at him, waiting as he tried to collect his thoughts. 

     “Uh, um, yeah. Sure.” He sank onto the sofa, careful to leave a little space between them, and turned on the TV. “What do you want to watch?” She thought about it, then shrugged. 

     “I dunno. What kind of TV do you guys have?” He handed her the remote, unsure as to what she liked, but regretted his decision immediately when she landed on some trashy reality dating show. 

     “Really?” he asked her incredulously. “This trash?” She grinned and leaned back against the headrest, making herself comfortable. 

     “It’s nice to know it never gets old.” He rolled his eyes, but said nothing as she continued watching, the ache throbbing inside his chest finally easing up at the sight of her, safe and sound beside him again. 

     “What’s your favourite colour?” They’d gone to bed a while back, the two of them laying on their separate ends, their eyes trailing over one another as their hearts pounded with the excitement of sharing a bed together. He thought about it. 

     “Red.” She flashed him a smug smile, one he could easily make out in the dark. 

     “I knew it.” He rolled his eyes at her response. 

     “Why? Because it’s the colour of my suit?” She rearranged her features into a knowing expression.

     “Guys’ favourite colours are almost always red or blue,” she informed him. “You seem more like a red guy than a blue guy though.” 

     “Because I’m angry all the time?” He tried to keep his tone light, neutral, but it gnawed at his heart, how much he’d hurt her because of his fear. He really needed to manage his temper. 

     “No,” she reassured him softly. “You’re not angry all the time. You just seem more like someone who’ll go out and do things instead of sitting back and letting them pass you by. Red.” His lips twitched at her response, amused. Who knew a person’s favourite colour could tell you so much about them? 

     “What’s your favourite colour?”

     “Purple,” she replied immediately. “But that’s because of Barney.” 

     “Barney?” he repeated, confused. 

     “This big purple dinosaur I used to watch as a kid,” she explained. “He was my first crush.” She gave a dreamy smile, knowing he’d be able to make out the expression in the dark. His brows furrowed in disbelief.

     “Your first crush was a big purple dinosaur?” She laughed. 

     “Don’t worry, it gets worse from there. I also like Simba. And then probably Shahrukh Khan.” A brief silence fell over them as he attempted to come up with a response.

     “I have never heard of any of these people.” She chuckled again. 

     “I’ll show you one day,” she assured him. “What’s your favourite animal? And don’t say spider!”

Favourite animal now? What secrets would that reveal about him? 

     “Technically,” he began, his tone matter of fact, “a spider isn’t an animal. It’s an-”

     “Arachnid,” she finished, her voice softening with awe. “So it doesn’t fall into the kingdom Animalia.” A pause. And then she spoke in a dramatic whisper. 

     “I think I’m in love with you, Miguel.” 

     He froze, taken aback by the sudden confession. But did she mean it? Or was she just joking? Was she joking when she’d said it earlier; that she’d wanted to marry him? Or had she meant it then, just as she meant it now? He ground his teeth together, frustrated by her constant teasing. Santo cielo, she was going to drive him mad if she kept carrying on like this! He tried to brush it aside, to match her nonchalance, the casual tone she continued to use on him. 

     “Not the usual response.” She gave him a wicked smile and his stomach flipped over at the sight.

     “What? You wanted me to call you a huge nerd?” He frowned. 

     “Arañita,” he chastised her, his tone warning. She cuddled her pillow tighter, shuffling over to him slightly. 

     “It’s okay,” she told him gently. Then she lowered her voice, leaning into him like she was about to tell him a secret. “I think it’s kind of sexy.”

‘¡Ay, coño, arañita!’ he wanted to yell. ‘Stop messing with my head like that!’ But then she'd just give him that innocent look and ask him ‘like what, Miguel? How am I messing with your head?’ And she'd flash him that devious grin again, the one that made the adrenaline rush through his veins in anticipation of what she might do next - how she might tease him, getting him hot under the collar all while keeping that playful expression on her face. He swallowed, trying to come up with a very unsexy response. 

     “Because you're a huge nerd too?” He winced as it came out a little louder than expected - a little too desperate, he worried. But it didn't matter, because she still outwitted him anyway. 

     “You think I'm sexy?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him and he fought to suppress a groan. He wouldn’t think about it, wouldn’t think about how sexy she really was, her delicious curves making his mouth water with longing every time she stretched herself out. ¡Ay, coño, she was going to be the death of him one day! 

     “Go to sleep, arañita,” he grumbled, pulling the covers tighter over himself. She chuckled, delighted by how easy it was to fluster him. 

     “Good night, Miguel! 

     “Buenas noches, arañita.”

Tags: @leahnicole1219 @heubstr

[rebellum]

Ugh I have therapy Wednesday mornings and every Tuesday night I wanna cancel. Like. What's even the point, just let me rot, okay?

But I still continue in hopes that some day I won't feel like this

[intersex-support]

hi! im sure you get sick of getting this but i need some help as im questioning intersex after many years and lots of research. specifically im question if i have swcah. ive had pots symptoms for as long as i can accurately recall and am close to constantly in some level of adrenal fatigue, im always craving salt and having electrolyte imbalances as well as feeling dehydrayed easily and having awful circulation.

physically, i had a lot of early growth spurts and was one of my tallest classmates, but now as an adult im barely average, about as tall as my dad who is kind of short for his circumstances. ive been growing facial hair since middle school, and now that i identify as some? flavor of trans masc? almost everyone ive met in recent years asks me how long ive been on T, based on my voice and amount of face and body hair. ive never in my life had access to T, i havent started it, and people are genuinely shocked by it.

[possibly tmi trying to be medical]

i also absolutely have clitoromegaly, thats another reason partners as well have asked before if i have been on T, as well even growing up and before i had any concept of what intersex conditions were, i knew there was something off there and i would awkwardly (like a very small child) tell people i *actually* had, um, "both" when i was gendered as a kid, until i got told by my parents to stop because i was wrong.

final thing probably: i had to get a full physical at 11, including genital physical, and there was a point that my mother was pulled aside and whispered something that she never told me no matter how much i asked. ive been growing increasingly worried lately that it was related to an intersex condition in someway, even if not using those terms, but since im no contact i cant ask now. sorry, i know that one is anecdotal, so feel free to ignore it.

i just want to know why i am the way i am

hi! again! i forgot to mention that i started puberty around 10-11 and ive never had a very normal cycle, sometimes it would be almost normal for a few months then i would go months without anything again, and eventually a really short but really intense, painful, heavy cycle after so long of nothing, its always been like this for me. 2/2

Hey anon!

So, I've done some research to answer this question but I am not an expert on salt wasting CAH and def would reccomend checking things with a doctor if possible. It defintely sounds like you have a lot of symptoms of CAH. Having clitoromegaly, growth spurts but now mostly average, having body hair, the irregular periods--all of those things really stand out to me as symptoms of CAH, and also especially the doctor keeping something secret from you, cause that happens to so many intersex kids.

What I'm less certain about is if you could have gone this far into life without being diagnosed with salt wasting CAH. I know that newborn screening for salt wasting CAH started in the 1980s, but I entirely believe it's possible that it could have been missed, or wherever you were born didn't screen you, or something like that. My understanding, however, is that salt wasting CAH is life threatening if not treated and I'm wondering if it is possible that you could have gotten into adulthood without ever going into adrenal crisis. From everything I've read, it seems like salt wasting CAH is usually diagnosed in childhood because people with salt wasting CAH will go into adrenal crisis without treatment. Honestly, the only way I really think that you could have salt wasting CAH is if you had gone into a salt wasting crisis while you were a newborn but it was treated, and it was hidden from you. It sounds like there's a complicated relationship with your mother and already a pattern of hiding some medical info from you, so I suppose it could be possible that it happened but the info is not in your medical records. Have you ever been on hydrocortisone, prednisone, or dexamethasone long term, as well fludrocortisone? I'd say only if you have been on those medicines long term and had salt wasting crises, that you could possible have salt wasting CAH.

However, what I think is more likely is that you have a variation of CAH that is not salt wasing and also not NCAH. My first guess would be that you have simple virilizing CAH, which is still considered "classical CAH" but is without salt wasting crises. With SV CAH, people usually have a less severe aldosterone deficiency. This means that you might still have symptoms like hyponatremia (low sodium), hyperkalemia (high potassium), hypoglycemia, dehydration, and could also maybe even cause your poor circulation. Usually, this doesn't progress to the point of salt wasting crisis and is more mild than swCAH, but is generally more severe than NCAH. Besides sv classical CAH, there are also rare forms of CAH caused by defienciencies in other enzymes, which have a wide variety in presentations of symptoms.

Another thing that I just learned about is CAH X, which is a variation of CAH that's comorbid with EDS. If you also have Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, it might be worth looking into. With CAH X, there's a specific genetic cause that causes EDS, CAH, and most people are also comorbid with POTS.

Also, there is a chance that you could just have more severe symptoms of NCAH. I just read a study that says 1/3 of people with NCAH have a cortisol insufficency. Cortisol insufficency can also cause weakness, fatigue, dizziness, electrolyte imbalance, low sodium--so there may be a chance that you have NCAH and a more severe cortisol insufficency. Anecdotally, a lot of people with NCAH have POTS comorbid (I do as well!) and there really hasn't been a lot of research on NCAH and POTS. It looks like there might be more of a connection between NCAH and adrenal insufficency then previously thought, but there isn't a lot of research done on NCAH. I read another study talking about how a lot of research papers do not specify whether they include NCAH in their numbers of people with CAH.

Basically, I think that it is unlikely that you've made it to adulthood without getting diagnosed with salt wasting CAH, because salt wasting CAH is basically life threatening if untreated. It is more likely that you have classical simple virilization CAH, a rarer subtype of CAH, or NCAH with severe symptoms.

Please feel free to ask if you have any other questions, and good luck!

-Mod E

[whump-a-la-mode]

may i gently request perhabs a continuation to the one with the hero waking up in the hospital with the villain after they fought in a burning building? by no need do u have to ive just been thinking abt it a great deal and very much loved it

Thank you so much for the ask blue fren! I loved that series so so much, and I’m glad to continue it. I hope you like this! I got another request for this one, too.

Thank you too, anon! 🥺🥺🥺

Continued from here. All fluff, this time!

CW//Hospital setting, pill mention, therapy mention

“So, how has your day been?”

The question caught Villain off guard. Of course, it had been spoken in the same tone, the same cadence as the rest of Hero’s ramblings. But, they’d gotten so used to the melodic droning of their words, they’d almost forgotten that this was supposed to be a two-sided conversation.

For a long moment, Villain simply sat. Blinking, as though startled by the sudden flash of a bright light. The visitation room fell into silence, all aside from the ticking of a brightly-painted coo-coo clock upon one wall. It would not be long before it struck its next hour mark.

“My day?” They stammered out.

“Yeah, your day!” Hero replied warmly. Villain couldn’t remember the last time they’d seen the do-gooder without a bright smile on their face. It never did seem to drop. “Come on, I’ve been babbling on about mine for ages. How have you been?”

They should have known how to answer that. Of course they should’ve. After all, it was the same question that Hero had been asking, as though by rote, every day since Villain had been brought into custody. Into recovery.

Yet, still, every time, it startled them. Hero, their foe, their nemesis, their greatest enemy. Hero was asking them how their day was. Beforehand, they would’ve scoffed. Given some witty one-liner, something about how it was good until Hero had shown their ugly mug. But, now, they felt no ounce of hostility.

“It was good.” They eventually spoke.

It hadn’t been a lie, of course. The carpeted hallways, wood-paneled walls, and kindly doctors of the Supervillain Memorial Villainous Recovery Center had treated them well, just as they always did.

Too had the visiting room, with its soft-colored table and comfy chairs, not to mention the wide windows that allowed the slightest warm breeze to catch the room aflutter.

“Good.” Hero repeated with a confirming nod. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm.”

“Food good?”

“Yeah.”

“What was for lunch today?”

“Spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Mmm, one of my favorites. The chefs here are great.”

“Yeah.”

For the first time in what felt like ages, Villain watched Hero frown. It wasn’t an expression of disappointment, nor or frustration. Just a sad, little frown.

“Do you know how long you’ve been here at the Recovery Center for, now?”

Villain tried to think on that. The days tended to get all mixed up in their head. They didn’t have time to come up with their own answer, as Hero supplied it for them:

“It’s been two weeks, now, since you were brought in. That’s a long time.”

“Two weeks?” Had it really been that long?

“Yeah. Two weeks.” Hero’s tone was quieter, now. Softer. More parental than friendly. “Just over two weeks ago, I was chasing you through a burning building. We both almost got killed in there. Now, look at you!

You look so much better. You’re clean, you’ve got fresh clothes on, and you aren’t so much of a skeleton anymore. You look great, but you still seem so sad all the time. Is something wrong?”

Villain... Villain didn’t know.

They didn’t think they were sad all the time. Far from it, in fact. The first of their two weeks at the RC, the Recovery Center, had been spent in medical isolation, spending their days reading books, taking pills, and sleeping away the ache in their lungs. It was at the end of that first week that they’d been given a physical, and been cleared to enter the general population at the center.

Even then, though, like always, Villain had been given a choice. The doctors at the facility never forced them into anything they didn’t want. They were given the option of staying isolated, or, they could join the rest of the recovering villains.

They had decided upon the latter, albeit hesitantly. To be quite honest, they had expected a prison. Expected to be picked on, beaten, thrown around. But, the RC was nothing like that. If anything, it felt more like a hotel. They had their own room, there was a cafeteria serving three meals a day, along with snacks. Some of their old villainous buddies had been shy, at first, but they’d opened up quickly, and cracked some old inside jokes.

Yes, Villain was happy. They were eating well, recovering. Their therapist said that they were doing fantastically, that their mental health was on the up-and-up. Their days were spent comfortably, eating, chatting with friends, and catching up on some nighttime reading before settling into bed.

They were happy.

Yet, they couldn’t help but stare at Hero blankly, as though they were staring right through the do-gooder’s skull.

“No.” They shook their head, at long last. “Everything’s fine. I love it here.”

Hero’s frown deepened as their eyebrows furrowed.

“Is it me, then? I won’t take offense if it is. I understand completely.”

Villain didn’t know the answer to that one, either. Did they dislike Hero? Certainly not. They had made a point of visiting, every single day. And, every day, they would tell their stories, make jokes, ask Villain about how their day had been, how they were finding the place.

So, why was it that they could only stare on like this?

No. They knew the answer to that one. It was the guilt.

Hero had risked their life. Chased them all the way into a burning building, suffered just as much smoke inhalation as their foe. All because Villain had been distrustful. All because they’d been stupid and stubborn. They’d nearly gotten two people killed, all because of that.

And, still, Hero came to visit.

“I never said sorry.” Villain spoke softly. They knew that, if they spoke any louder, their voice would break out into shattered sobs.

“Sorry?” Hero sounded perplexed, before letting out a nervous little laugh. “Sorry for what?”

“For-” Didn’t they know? “For leading you into a burning building? For almost getting you killed?”

Hero quirked a brow. “Oh. I almost forgot about that.”

“You... You forgot?”

“Not forgot, no. I remember it. I just haven’t thought about it in a while.”

“But, but- But you almost died! I was running, and you chased me into the fire! You could’ve been killed!”

Hero shrugged.

“It happens.”

“It... It happens?”

The hero stopped for a moment, before speaking, slowly:

“Have you been nervous around me this whole time because you thought I was... Upset with you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well...” They still seemed utterly perplexed. “I’m not. At all.”

“You’re not? But-”

“I would chase you into that burning building a thousand times over if it meant saving your life.” Hero countered. “I could’ve been killed. But, if I hadn’t intervened, you would’ve been killed. It was worth the risk. And, look! It turned out. We’re both here. And we’re both fine.”

Villain’s eyes widened as the fact dawned on them.

“So, you aren’t mad at me?”

“Not even a little.” Hero sat up in their chair-- they did tend to slouch. “But, I think visiting hours are just about over. What do you have, after this?”

“Group therapy.”

“Sounds fun.” It was spoken with a genuine, lighthearted chuckle. “Here. Share these around.”

Hero shoved a hand in their pocket, taking out a handful of brightly-colored, cherry hard candies. They were pushed across the table.

Villain frowned once more, taking the candies in their palm. Every day, Hero visited, and every day, they brought sweets. Cookies and candies and brownies and fudge. And, every day, they threw them away. They didn’t deserve sweets, not after what they’d done.

“Don’t throw these away this time.” Hero spoke jokingly.

Villain’s gaze shot up.

“You- You know about that?”

“I caught on after the doctors started complaining about perfectly good cookies in the trash. I get it, though. I do.” Hero stood, stretching their arms above their head, causing their shoulders to crack and pop. “But you don’t have to do that, anymore.

You aren’t guilty of anything, Villain. The only judge convicting you is yourself.”

As Hero left the room, Villain looked down at the cherry candies in their hand. Usually, now would be the part where they tossed them, but...

Instead, they popped one in their mouth.

It tasted like forgiveness.

[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

[random-imagines-blog]

Sideways {Andrew Garfield x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 1811 Summary: Andrew gets a call that no one wants to get. Especially from their own child. Warning: Contains hospital, miscarriage and talk of pregnancy.

The best part about your job was that you could do a lot of it online, and could travel with Andrew when he went abroad for his different acting gigs. This was one of the last times that you would be able to go, since it was the Summer and your daughter was going into first grade, and you wanted to keep her in one place to keep her adjusted. Still, he was going to appreciate all that he could get. And every minute that he wasn’t needed on set, he was going to take you and your child together to go and explore. He’d been here in Vancouver before, but you hadn’t, and he was eager to show you what he had learned about on his last trip here. But for now, he was stuck in the studio, getting fitted for one of the ‘special’ outfits that he was going to be wearing for this film.

He was laughing with the wardrobe stylist, joking about something that happened with the director on the first day here. They had pranked him by bringing in a bunch of extras and announcing them as the main cast. The director had sputtered, and not wanting to be rude, had to excuse himself to make ‘script adjustments’. Once he had realized that it was all a prank, he saw the funny side, and all tension and nerves around the team had dissipated. Andrew had been in on it and thought that it was hilarious, especially since he had been dressed as one of the camera-crew. Best acting he had ever done, the director had said to him.

“There’s a call for you, Mr Garfield,” His assistant said, popping up beside him. She was a small, older woman with a very no-nonsense air about her. She hadn’t appreciated the prank, because it meant that she missed out on a few hours of work. “It’s urgent.”

“It is?” Andrew asked, wondering who it could be. You only texted him during work hours, and he’d give you a call at lunch once in a while, otherwise he would wait to tell you about his day once he got home. That way his little girl could listen in and chime in whenever she wanted as well. “Excuse me,” He told the woman who was measuring his shoulders to make an adjustment to the suit. She nodded, and helped him to remove what he had on of the costume, then he changed quickly then finally accepted the phone from his assistant.

“This is Andrew,” He said, just in case it was an urgent professional call. He could hear a commotion coming from the other end of the line. There were men talking, and then a loud siren. Ambulance, not fire truck or police. He knew the difference, having always stayed in hotels in busy cities.

“Daddy?” The six-year-olds voice came through, and Andrew felt his heart sink from his chest down to his knees. He looked at his assistant who looked more solemn than usual. And maybe even a little bit concerned. “Daddy - it’s Mommy.”

“What’s wrong with mommy? Tell me everything - and where are you going?” He took his wallet and keys from his assistant, who had been holding onto them during the fittings.

“Where are we going?” Andrew heard her ask someone, and a man said something in response. “Vancouver General,” The little girl repeated.

“I’ll meet you there, okay? Stay with one of the paramedics until Daddy gets there. I won’t be long.”

-

It took him half an hour to get to the hospital, and that was with light traffic. He cursed the studio for being so far away, but he knew it was just the stress. His daughter wasn’t able to give him much information, just that you had been in the bathroom, crying in pain, and then told the little girl to call 911. They had taught her the emergency number for every country that they stayed in, just in case. It was good that she knew, but he hated that she had to use it.

You had been feeling fine that morning, he recalled. You went to the hotel restaurant for breakfast, had a simple meal of oatmeal and fruits. He was thinking that perhaps you had food poisoning of some sort? He hoped it was something as simple as that, though you wouldn’t have called 911 over something so trivial.

He parked, then ran into the first entrance that he could find. It was emergency, and they gave him directions to the fourth floor. He noticed from the signs around the elevator that it was to ... to a pregnancy floor?

He saw his daughter first, sitting on a bench, reading a book, swinging her legs back and forth since they weren’t reaching the ground. There was a paramedic sitting with her, but not saying anything. Just keeping an eye on her, which Andrew was thankful for. His footsteps brought their attention, and the little girl jumped to her feet. She had been crying, Andrew could tell from the puffiness of her cheeks. She ran towards him, and he leaned down to catch her in a hug. “Daddy! I called just like you taught me to!” She pulled your phone out of her pocket, it looked so massive in her little hands, and she held it up to show you.

He knew the password, there were no secrets between you two. You knew his as well, but neither of you ever went snooping. In fact, this was the first time that he had used it. He saw indeed that your first call of the day was to work, and then 911, and then to him. He turned the phone dark and put it into his own pocket. He scooped up the girl and held her in his arms in a giant bear hug. He looked at the paramedic over her shoulder, took a step towards him and held his hand out. “Thank you so much for staying with her-”

“It’s no problem,” He said, getting to his own feet. “We had to resupply the ambo anyway. And - the doctor said that your wife was stable. I’m sure she’ll be out soon.” He shook Andrew’s hand then excused himself to go back to work, and Andrew sunk down on the recently vacated spot on the bench, still holding his daughter on his lap. There wasn’t much that he could do except for wait for the Doctor, which didn’t take long. The commotion that your daughter made had gotten their attention.

“Hello, Mr. Garfield?” The Doctor said, coming out of the room. She reminded Andrew a lot of his assistant. Same motherly face, same solemn features. Andrew nodded to the affirmative. “Your wife is going to be just fine, though her body had gone through some trauma. She’s going to need to rest, take it easy for a couple of weeks at least.”

“What happened?” He asked, his voice shaky with relief that you were going to be fine. Still, this had seemed to come out of nowhere. And the fact that you were in the pregnancy wing made him nervous.

“Your wife had a miscarriage, Mr. Garfield. She was three months along,” The Doctor’s voice was straight to the point, no emotions at all. She must have to deliver news like this all of the time. “She claims that she didn’t know that she was pregnant, so she is feeling rather fragile. I’d like to keep her for overnight observation, just to be careful.”

Andrew swallowed, but nodded. There wasn’t any other reaction that he felt like he could have. He could only hug his daughter close, thankful that at the very least, he had her. “Can I see her?” He asked the Doctor, who nodded, and motioned towards the open door that she had just come out of. Andrew got back up to his feet, and walked in, still holding his daughter, who was being unusually quiet. He realized as he walked into the room that she had fallen asleep.

You hadn’t, however. You were laying in the hospital bed, hooked up to machines, getting fluids, staring straight ahead of you blankly. Andrew hummed to announce that he was there, and you snapped out of it, your eyes meeting his. They were still filled with tears on your end, while he was still comprehending the news.

“Hey baby,” You said, weakly smiling. Andrew smiled back, and set the little girl down on a chair, where she curled up immediately and continued to sleep away. All that worry and excitement must have exhausted her. He then went to your side, taking hold of both your hands, being careful of the IVs.

“How -” He said, shaking his head. “How did this happen?”

“I don’t know,” You said, blinking away tears. “I didn’t even know I was pregnant. I swear, I wasn’t keeping anything from you. I had my period and no other symptoms. I mean, I thought I gained a little bit of weight but I thought that was just all of the cake,” You somehow managed to laugh though it didn’t sound sincere. “The Doctor says that happens sometimes.”

Andrew would never dream of accusing you of cheating. The two of you stayed in the newlywed stage of your marriage, remaining sexually active. The math added up enough, three months, you two were definitely intimate three months ago.

“How do you feel?” Andrew asked, caressing the top of your hands with his thumbs. “And not just physically.”

You took a deep breath in and then a deep breath out. “I’m devastated,” You admitted, finally admitting your own truth. Tears were fighting to come out and you had stopped the battle, letting them descend freely. “When I heard that I miscarried - I realized... I want that baby. I want to have another one with you and we just lost our chance.”

Andrew felt the same wave of depression overcome him. In an alternate universe, he could just be finding out that he was going to be a father again. He had to be strong for you though. He could let out his emotions when you got home. You were too vulnerable right now.

“We’ll have more chances,” Andrew said, leaning forward and kissed a tear off of your cheek. It tasted salty, it lasting on his lips for a long while. “I’ll gladly give you another baby.”

You chuckled at that, though you were still crying. “You just like the act of making one, mister,” You squeezed his hands. Andrew laughed as well, and nodded.

“Can you blame me?”

[rein-ette]

for @needcake's request, 5 times Engport died and one time they saved each other.

III.

Portugal finds him in the attic. The ceiling of the inn is heavily slanted, and through the drawn curtain hardly any light comes through. The room is musty and damp and smelled of — of rot, of festering wounds, of things falling apart.

England himself is still.

No one had bandaged his wounds, so lying on the bed infested with all manner of pests his body was a rich tapestry of reds and browns and mottled grey. Sickness cradled his spectral figure in its wings, perched on the headboard as it tore into its meal with abandon. For a moment, Portugal thought England was already dead.

Then he coughed, eyelashes fluttering weakly. Gabriel, he mouthed, voice long consumed by the illness — by the war, damn those things — that ravaged his body. Portugal saw the question in his eyes, anyways. Why are you here?

"To take you home," he murmured, brushing his knuckles over one bare cheekbone, rising from his pale skin like the spine of a great beast. "Did you think I could not find you? That I would not come for you?"

England only gazes at him. In the desolate landscape of his face, only his eyes remain a fevered green, too bright. Two jewels, set in clay.

He does not — cannot — protest when Portugal wraps his body in cloth, cradling his frail figure against his chest. Does not protest when Portugal carries him down the stairs, does not protest when he's forced onto the horse and Portugal rests his forehead against his and murmurs. It's not far. Hold on to me.

He does not protest, but oh — oh, how Portugal wishes he had.

England is dead now. Lying on a soft bed, cradled by linen and silk and velvet canopies, he's hidden away like some stolen treasure — an antique sword, a broken childhood doll — stashed in an opulent corner between Lisbon and the sea. This far away from his isles, the sun finally warms his skin, but his eyes are fixed and dark.

Portugal guards his corpse and regrets.

IV.

Tomás was — to say the least — confused.

He began getting a little disoriented when the first Dutch cannon struck their ship, and when the Dutch themselves boarded he was kind of lost — but to be confused in the chaos of battle was normal. Fights with the Dutch were normal. Even losing was pretty normal; their captain may fight like the undead, but the crew was only human, and they had been caught alone without escort.

At least, their captain had fought like the undead, until a tall Dutch sailor put a sword through his belly and a shot in his shoulder. Then he’d really just been dead.

That was when Tomás’ confusion really started. Because after killing their captain, the Dutch soldier had simply waved a hand and left, soldiers straggling behind as they made their way back to their own ship. The cannons fell silent moments later, and Tomás own battered comrades hadn’t tried to pursue. Watching their enemy’s flags disappear into the distance, Tomás had helped drag their barely conscious captain below deck as he pondered over this strange occurrence: in the middle of a war, a Dutch warship had just caught them, trounced them, and simply let them go.

But that had not been all. For just as he was leaving the sick bay, an officer had grabbed him in the hall and rasped, “Tell the navigator to set course for Dover.” Wide-eyed, Tomás had only managed to squeak out an affirmative before he’d been released, leaving him standing there with a bloody cloth with one hand and absolutely no clue why they were about to head into enemy territory after they had, uh, just been utterly destroyed by their enemy.

Still, Tomás had done his job and relayed the message, expecting that to be the end of the madness. He was only a rigger, he reasoned — if he just followed orders surely everything would straighten themselves out with time.

He was wrong. Now, a week later, Tomás still understood nothing. He had orders to find one Sir Kirkland, Lord of Canterbury, but he had no idea if he’s found the right one. When he’d asked the first mate what this Lord Kirkland looked like, the first mate had only shrugged and said, “Never met ‘im. Probably a geezer, since he’s a lord.”

Yet this young man standing in the doorway in front of Tomas, claiming to be Lord Kirkland, could not have been older than twenty.

“Are you or are you not one of Gabriel’s men?” The man demanded impatiently. His Portuguese was heavily accented, but clear.

“Yes. Yes sir.”

“And? What does the bastard want with me?”

“He’s dead, sir. My first mate asked me to come get you. Sir.”

The young man — Lord Kirkland — raised his eyebrows. His gaze seemed to skewer Tomás right through his skull. “Dead.” He repeated. Tomás nodded hesitantly. Lord Kirkland muttered something in his own language under his breath, then rolled his eyes and said, “Fine.” Fine? “Joseph!” He barked to someone in the interior of the manse. “Get this man a horse and ready the carriage. And call the doctor, for god’s sake, Gabriel’s gone and gotten himself killed again.” He whirled around and pinned Tomás with another look. “What’s your name?”

“Tomás Santiago, sir.”

“Thanks for your hard work, Santiago. After we put your captain back together, I’ll tell him to give you a bonus.”

Tomas stared. Put him back together? Bonus? Wasn’t the captain dead?

But this Lord Kirkland guy was still look at him expectantly, so he stuttered out a “Yes, sir” again and thanked him.

A few minutes later, Tomás left on a fine horse more confused than ever.

Notes

Scene 3 is set during the English Civil War (1642–1651). Portugal brings him to the Ribeira Palace, which used to be where the Praça do Comércio is now situated.

Scene 4 is during the Dutch-Portuguese wars. But it’s pretty much crack, so there’s really no need to say more.

[fidothefinch]

maybe it's enough (to know that we were here together)

For Dick & Damian Week 2021, day 2: "He's my son!"

I wrote this over the last two hours. Fair warning, it is not proofread. Title from Kina Grannis's "For Now," for fake-deep reasons.

(More warnings: this story strongly features hospitals and difficulty breathing (and poison). Please take care of yourselves and skip it if it will hurt you, especially because of the last year we've all shared <3)

Nightwing woke up with a gasp like it was the first breath he had taken in a long time. He floundered for a moment, instinctively worried he had just surfaced from Gotham’s harbor (it wouldn’t be the first time), but it only took one hard smack of his wrist to recognize the very solid ground beneath himself.

Panting, he leveraged himself to his side to empty his stomach onto the concrete.

Something was wrong. He tried to check his surroundings, but he was only able to make out grey blobs that may have been buildings and wildly swinging lights.

No, they weren’t swinging. That was just his vision.

He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could just will vertigo away. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to; growing up swinging from a trapeze conditioned him to enjoy the swoop in his stomach. But right now, he was either on a boat or drugged.

Sirens doppler-ed towards and away from him, somewhere down below. Definitely drugged, then.

He lifted one hand to his pounding head and was happy to find his domino was still in place. So were his gloves. But when he checked, he was missing an Escrima stick and a handful of wingdings. He grappled with his memory, trying to pull up some idea of what could have happened. A fight, obviously. But was he in Gotham? Blüdhaven? Somewhere overseas?

He flipped to his back and stared at the sky, still breathing like he had just run a marathon. Drawing in air was like drinking through a silly straw. Above him, the sky was a mottled green-black, the wind rolling the clouds inland. The motion threatened to make him sick again. He considered the merits of rolling to his side, just in case, when his eyes caught the flicker of a familiar shape against the clouds.

The Batsignal.

So, he was in Gotham. Now that he thought about it, that felt right. He could recall riding in earlier on his bike, the wind whipping through his hair, weaving through wild traffic. But traffic had been going the wrong way? Everybody had been leaving the island. . .

He sat up suddenly. “Robin!”

Sitting up was a bad idea. He pushed through his temporary blindness to wobble to his feet, anyway. “Robin!” he called again.

Damian didn’t answer. He was nowhere to be found.

More sirens rang down below him, passing in the same direction the last set had. Dick scrambled to the edge of the roof to watch the ambulance pass. What he found took his breath away. Cars lined both sides of the road, all headed toward the bridge that led off the island. All empty, abandoned. There didn’t seem to be a soul in sight, except the emergency response vehicles speeding down the clear sidewalks.

Everything snapped into focus, and Dick’s memory returned. Somebody had called the Gotham PD with a thirty-minute warning before releasing an aerosolized drug into the sewer system. Nightwing had sped into town as quickly as he could, and Batman teamed him up with Robin to cover the south quarter, and they had gotten separated—where was Damian?

Dick leapt off the building, shooting his grapnel as he fell to swing into a perfect arc to the ground. His bike wasn’t within eyesight, so it was too far. He took off, running after the ambulance.

Toward the hospital.

-

“Sir, you can’t be here.”

Dick had never seen the hospital so busy. Patients were lined up along the walls and hallways, crammed into the rooms like sardines. The staff actually ran between beds, looking haggard and exhausted already. Dick stood out like a sore thumb in his Nightwing gear, but nobody had the time or energy to move him.

Except the head nurse, behind the desk. “You have to leave,” she said. “We don’t have room.”

“Is Robin here?” Dick asked. He had scanned the pinched faces of the patients he passed on the way back into the ER, but nobody was familiar. He was almost thankful; the victims of the poison were sweating profusely and gagged on their own breath.

“I can’t tell you that,” the nurse said.

“I need to know that he’s okay,” he pleaded, leaning into his palms. They had been planted on the desk for stability, but now they were the only thing grounding him in his panic. “Please.”

All of Gotham was supposed to be evacuated, but there were still so many people too slow, too many people without a way off the island. When the threatened poison hit the city, there were too many people left behind. Nightwing had rushed over from Blüdhaven as fast as he could, but by the time he had joined the rest of the Bats it was too late. Half of Gotham was sick. Dying.

And somewhere in the panic, as noxious steam shot from the sewers and spilled from the vents, he had lost Robin.

The nurse studied his face, her lips pursed. “Robin was admitted two hours ago.”

Dick’s knees nearly buckled with relief (it had nothing to do with his legs feeling like jelly). “Where is he?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?” Maybe the words were clipped, but he didn’t have time for this.

“No visitors. Hospital rules.”

“He’s just a kid!”

“Then maybe you should have helped him evacuate,” she said, levelling a glare at him that could melt glass. “Instead of encouraging him to run straight into the line of danger.”

Now Dick growled. “You don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“I think he’s better off here than with you.”

“He’s my son!” Dick slammed his fist on the counter between them, making the nurse jump. He would have time to feel guilty about it later. “If you don’t tell me where he is, I’ll find him myself.”

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, not getting any words out.

“Nightwing!” somebody else called. Dick spun around (too quickly), and another nurse was gesturing quickly behind herself. “I’ll take you to him.”

“Moira—” the head nurse started. But she wasn’t fast enough to catch Dick as he weaved through the maze of gurneys.

The nurse had dark circles under her eyes, and her bun was frayed. “Pediatric wing,” she huffed, already jogging down a wide white hallway. Dick followed, heart racing. “His oxygen was too low. He must have gotten a face-full of the stuff.”

“What does that mean?” Dick asked.

Her face screwed up. “He’s on a ventilator.”

Dick’s heart squeezed in panic at the words. He began to mentally prepare himself for what he would find.

The nurse he was following stopped abruptly, almost making him run into her. She flipped a hand at a set of double doors. “Stairs,” she explained. “You’ll have to go up to the third floor. Room 329.”

Dick didn’t question why she wasn’t coming; she had work to do. He nodded as he pushed through one of the doors. “Thanks.”

By the time he reached the third floor, he could tell that he had been dosed. Maybe not as badly as the other patients there, but three flights of stairs should have been child’s play for him. He arrived to patient hallway sweating and panting too hard, jelly legs making their displeasure felt.

There were doctors and nurses in this wing, too, but they were also scrambling too quickly to give him more than a passing glance. The crammed hallways on this floor were even more disconcerting, because the flushed, moaning faces were those of children.

None of them were the one he was looking for.

He forced himself to slow down, not able to bear the idea of passing Damian’s room and missing him accidentally. When he found room 329, he steeled himself before barreling through the door.

There were two beds crammed inside the small space, made possible only because the beds were child-sized. The smiling clouds painted on the ceiling were a harsh contrast to the dark, noisy machines wound around the beds.

Damian was in one of them.

Dick rushed to his side, sparing barely a glace toward the other child. Damian looked tiny, dwarfed by the size of the gurney and the mouth of the ventilator. His domino was in place, but somebody had flipped the screen over the eyes back, so Dick could see that Damian was asleep. The IV in his elbow connected to several bags, and Dick had no doubt at least one of them was a sedative. They would have to, to put him on the ventilator.

Dick snaked his gloved fingers into Damian’s bare ones and squeezed lightly. Even through the gloves, he could feel the smallest pulse.

He legs threatened to give out beneath him again.

And, well. Then they did.

A passing doctor saw him just as he had sprawled on the floor like a starfish. “Nightwing? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Dick shook his head, gesturing to his chest about the tightness still persisting htere. “Just dizzy.”

The doctor clucked his tongue, reaching out to the chair wedged into the corner. “Think you can get in this chair?”

Dick nodded (a mistake), and with the doctor’s help he was able to slide into the seat. The doctor flit out of the room and returned less than a minute later with a nasal cannula and oxygen tank.

Dick waved it away. “I’m fine.”

The doctor rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh, and I am, too.”

Dick didn’t fight it when she applied it. The steady stream of dry oxygen through his nose was a relief, and his head began to clear again almost immediately. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” the doctor waved.

Dick stopped her on her way out the door again. “Wait.”

She paused, obviously a little irritated at being interrupted.

Dick blushed in apology. “When will he be taken off the ventilator?” he asked, gesturing toward Damian, in the bed.

The doctor only shrugged. “When he’s ready.” And she left, hustling toward her next patient.

Dick pulled his glove off and ran his free hand through Damian’s hair, brushing back the strays. It was still damp with sweat.

However long Damian was asleep, Dick would be there when he woke up.

[marjansmarwani]

for a time you had me scared

3.7k || ao3

An accident on a call leaves TK facing a potentially career-ending injury. He's scared, more scared than he wants to admit and so afraid to hope, but he does have his friends on his side and that counts for a lot. ----- Day 3 of @911lonestarweek: “We’ve got your back, no matter what.” + Hurt/Comfort

A prequel of sorts to @silvarafael’s fic “I’m Not the Same Man I Was in the Spring” because she told me to write it. 

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

It’s just a normal day, at first. 

But that was how things always started, wasn’t it? Whenever something tragic happened there was almost always one thing everyone agreed on: no one saw it coming. That was just the nature of tragedy: things were normal, and then suddenly they weren’t. 

This was no exception. When they pulled up on the scene, when they geared up for the rescue and Captains Strand and Vega doled out instructions, they had no way of knowing how badly it was going to end. It was something they’d have to be reminded of later — that they couldn’t have known, that they weren’t to blame. Would it make any difference? Probably not, but the fact remained. 

They arrived at the scene to get the rundown from the APD responding unit: someone had collapsed on the roof. No one knew who it was or why they were on the roof. All they knew is that a passerby had spotted a limp arm dangling over the edge and had called 911. 

“Okay team,” Owen began after he discussed with the officer, “I want two people up to help with the rescue. Marwani, Strickland that’s you. Captain Vega, if we can get a medic up there it would be helpful, tell us what we’re dealing with.” 

Tommy nodded and threw a glance at TK and Nancy, “You two decide who is going up and grab your gear.” 

The two paramedics studied each other for a moment before Nancy shook her head, “That is all you dude,” she said. “I don’t mind heights, but I’d rather not if I don’t have to.” 

“Your loss,” TK quipped as he gathered the proper equipment, excitement visible. 

“You do realize it’s not normal to be this excited about climbing to the top of a 4 story building, right?” Nancy asked her partner, who ignored her. “It’s a little concerning if I’m being honest, Strand.” 

“You’re just jealous,” TK tossed back with a grin as he shouldered his pack. 

“No, I’m really not.” 

“Children,” Tommy interjected mildly, causing both paramedics to quiet as she rolled her eyes. 

Owen shook his head as he looked to the rest of his crew. “Ryder, get the ladder going and Chavez be ready to grab whatever other equipment they might need. You’ll be the runner.” 

There was a chorus of “copy” as they all set into motion, a flurry of organized chaos on the ground. Paul and Marjan grabbed the rescue basket and met TK at the base of the ladder. 

“I told you not much would change when I switched to medical,” he told them with a grin. “We still get to do some rescues together after all.”

“That’s just because you are too much of an adrenaline junkie to keep your feet on the ground,” Marjan pointed out lightly, receiving a snort in return. 

“Takes one to know one.” 

Paul rolled his eyes as he grabbed the ladder and pulled himself up, “Yes, you’re both very daring. Now hand me that basket so we can get up there and get this guy off the roof.” 

Marjan bumped a shoulder into TK before grabbing the basket in question. He grabbed the other end and together they hoisted it up onto the ladder so Paul could drag it behind him. Marjan assisted from behind with TK bringing up the rear with the medical gear. They reached the top without incident and stepped out onto the roof one by one. TK went immediately to the fallen figure as Paul surveyed the area once he and Marjan had set down the basket. 

“Looks like he was up here repairing something,” Paul noted, gesturing to the tool box by the access door. “Must have gotten locked out or something.” 

“And tripped over something, knocking himself out,” TK added, lifting up a gloved hand with blood on it to show them. “All other vitals are normal, he just knocked himself out. Sir,” he said to the downed figure, “can you hear me?” 

He prodded the man lightly on the shoulder and waited for a response. When he got none he tried again, speaking a little louder as Marjan and Paul got the basket ready for him. After another try TK shook his head, “He is well and truly out,” he announced, “but his pulse and respirations are normal. Guess we just need to get him down.” 

“Way ahead of you dude,” Marjan announced, gesturing towards the fully prepped basket. 

TK nodded and spoke into his radio, “Patient is stable, getting ready to transport him back down, Cap.” 

“Copy that Strand,” came the distorted voice of Tommy through the radio, “we’ll be ready for you here on the ground.” 

TK, who had just finished running the IV line, nodded to Paul and Marjan. “Can you help me move him?” 

They nodded and took up positions at the man’s hip and legs. Once they were ready TK spoke. “Okay,” he instructed, “on 3. 1, 2…” 

The last number was lost as they lifted him up and placed him carefully in the basket, securing the straps tightly around his still form. 

“I’ll go first,” TK told them. “Once I’m on the ladder you can pass the basket down to me.” 

“Well get going then,” Marjan said lightly, “what are you waiting for?” 

TK rolled his eyes and stepped carefully over the edge, swinging his leg back onto the ladder. 

It was a simple maneuver; he had done it more times than he could possibly count over the 7 years of his career. He went through the motions without blinking, not even giving a thought to movements. It was pure muscle memory, and it had never let him down. 

But today was different in a way no one could predict. At the exact same moment the mechanics of the ladder malfunctioned and the lock holding the ladder in place let go, causing the ladder to jerk violently. The sudden motion countered TK’s tenuous balance on the top of the ladder, causing him to slip. If asked later, all three members of the 126 on the roof would say that the single instant seemed to stretch on for several as they all watched in horror. 

TK’s eyes grew wide, which would have been comical, in any other instance. He flailed, trying to readjust his grip on the ladder, to pull himself back to safety. His friends did the same, reaching down and grabbing for him, desperately groping for his arms in hope of stopping his plummet. But they were too slow and there was no stopping him as he flipped over the edge of the ladder and fell to the ground. 

There were shouts all around as the rest of the team and the spectators watched in horror. TK hit the ground with a dull thud, and there was another moment of collective horror before movement erupted. 

“Judd, figure out what went wrong with the ladder and get Paul and Marjan down here with the victim now,” Owen shouted into his radio even as he ran. “Captain Vega!” 

But Tommy was already in step with him, Nancy not far behind. They reached TK’s still form at the same time and while Tommy and Nancy were on their knees beside him in an instant, Owen stopped; frozen with fear as he stared down at the splayed body of his son, hardly daring to breathe. 

There was a tense silence filling the air around them but Owen couldn’t stand it. His son had just...he could be....TK might… 

His head was a jumble of thoughts, each abandoned before they reached the end and the awful possibility. “Tommy,” he asked weakly, aware that his voice was shaking, “is he…” 

“He’s alive,” Tommy confirmed and Owen felt himself sag in relief. But Tommy’s expression was still tense and Owen felt the fear creeping back into his mind. Before he could give voice to any of the fears running through his mind, Tommy leaned forward, tapping TK on the shoulder firmly. 

“TK, can you hear me?” 

There was no response and Owen could feel his dread build. 

“TK,” Tommy said again, “come on, I need you to wake up so I know what we’re dealing with.” 

She tapped him again and after several more long, heart-stopping minutes TK’s eyes opened slowly. “Cap?” he croaked, and Tommy gave him a tight grin. 

“Yeah, kid. Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” 

“Sore,” he answered and Owen had to repress a snort. 

“That’s not surprising,” Tommy answered evenly. “Nancy and I are going to do our checks, we just need to know what you’re feeling, alright? You know the drill.” 

Owen heard footsteps beside him and glanced over to see Judd appear at his side. His face was pale as he looked down at TK before he swallowed and addressed Owen. “Cap, I don’t know what happened. I’m so sorry, I can’t…” he trailed off, voice thick and eyes never leaving TK’s form, barely visible between Tommy and Nancy. 

“Not your fault, Judd,” Owen assured him softly because no matter what the cause turned out to be he knew for a fact that Judd would never have done anything to put any of the crew at risk. Whatever had happened, it was nobody’s fault. 

He stepped closer now, entering TK’s field of vision and giving him a reassuring smile, “Hey kiddo.” 

“Hey dad,” he replied weakly. “You don’t have to look so worried, I’m not in much pain.” 

“You fell 40 feet TK,” he countered, “I’m going to be worried no matter what you say.” 

TK’s rebuttal was interrupted by Nancy calling his attention to her. “TK, can you feel this?” 

TK frowned and turned his head towards her voice, “Feel what?” 

Nancy exchanged a grim look with Tommy as she removed her hand still from TK’s thigh. There was dead silence as the realization dawned on the group. Owen distantly saw Judd turn away, hand over his mouth but he only had eyes for his son, whose eyes were widening in realization. 

“No,” he said softly at first, eyes flicking up to find Owen. “No, this can’t be happening.” 

His voice was growing more frantic and his breathing faster. Owen reached out a hand and placed it on his chest. 

“Breathe, TK,” he told him firmly. “Just breathe. We don’t know anything yet. We need to get you to the hospital and have a doctor take a look.” 

“I can’t feel it, dad,” TK whimpered. “And I can’t move my legs. I don’t even need to be a paramedic to know what that means.”  

“Your dad’s right,” Tommy interrupted bracingly. “All we know is that you can’t feel it at the moment. There are any number of reasons for that, as you know. Once we get some scans we’ll have a better idea of what’s going on, okay? There’s no sense panicking right now.”

To Owen’s relief and surprise, TK nodded and took a deep breath. He even tried to give Nancy a small smile as she fit the c-collar around his neck with trembling hands. She returned it as Tommy called out for someone to bring the backboard. Paul did, Judd on his heels. 

The older firefighter paused beside Owen as Paul set down the backboard and spoke softly to TK. “I had dispatch stand us down,” he informed Owen. “I don’t think anyone’s in the right headspace to do our jobs safely just yet. Not until we know more.”

Owen nodded, “Thank you, Judd.”

 It should have been his call, he should have handled it. But he was glad Judd did because not for one single moment had any thought past the fact that TK couldn’t move his legs enter his mind. Judd simply nodded and looked back at TK, expression grim. Owen could hear the storm inside his head but he had just watched his son fall 40 feet and there was room in his own head for little else just yet. He had no comforting words to offer because, unlike so many other times, he wasn’t sure it would be alright. 

“Captain Strand.” 

Tommy’s voice pulled him back to reality. He looked at her to find her watching him carefully, “We have two patients to transport so we won’t have any room for you to ride with, unless you want to ride up front.” 

Owen shook his head, “I don’t want to get in the way. We’ll be right behind you.” 

She nodded and gestured for Paul to help her lift the backboard and bring it to the ambulance where Nancy was already getting the other patient - who was awake and aware now - settled. It was only another moment before Nancy walked around to the front and the ambulance pulled away, leaving a stunned fire crew in its wake. 

Owen swallowed and glanced around at his remaining crew, all in various stages of shock as they looked in the direction the ambulance had disappeared. 

“He’s going to be okay,” Mateo said tentatively, voice clear and loud against the tense silence. “Right?” 

He glanced at Marjan, who was standing beside him but all she could do was shake her head and wipe angrily at the tears that had escaped her eyes. Paul clapped a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it and Owen’s eyes sought Judd once more. He was leaning against the side of the ladder truck, eyes closed as his lips moved in silent prayer. 

Owen closed his own eyes and took a deep breath. He couldn’t get the image of TK falling out of his head, or the look of horror on his son’s face when he realized just what might be wrong. He knew his team needed reassurance and normally, he’d be more than happy to provide it. A few glib words in the face of adversity was kind of his thing, after all. 

But this was a fear he didn’t know how to soften, so he stayed quiet. 

“Let’s get everything wrapped up,” he said instead, eventually. “We have somewhere we need to be.” 

---------

The ride in the ambulance passed in a blur. He could hear Tommy talking to him and he knew he should answer; he owed his captain that, at least, but he was stuck. He was too busy spiraling at the thought of what was to come, of what it might all mean. Of what he stood to lose. 

He was a paramedic, he knew exactly how bad of a situation this was. And at the moment his was so bad he didn’t even need to be a paramedic to know. He couldn’t move his legs, he had no sensation from the waist down: just about anyone could tell you what that meant. There was a word in his head that he was trying to avoid but he couldn’t avoid the implications of it: you needed working legs to work for the fire department. 

He knew it was foolish, that he should be grateful to be alive (he had fallen 4 stories, after all) but he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that if the worst was true he wasn’t sure what meaning his life would have any more. 

Eventually, the ambulance came to a stop and he was wheeled away for exams and tests. He did his best to return Nancy and Tommy’s well-wishes, but he knew it was a lackluster attempt at best. From there it was non-stop motion: an endless stream of noise and voices saying terms that he knew should mean something but it all filtered into his head as white noise that got lost in the fog of his panic. He was poked and prodded, asked questions he endeavored to answer, and put through a bevy of scans. It seemed like an eternity before he was finally wheeled into a room and joined by his father. 

It’s a relief to not be alone, but he can tell that his dad is feeling the same panic he is and doing a very bad job at hiding it. His smile is glass that is liable to shatter at the slightest sound as he runs a hand through TK’s hair, “How are you feeling son?” 

“Still not in any pain,” he assured his dad, but they both know that’s not even half the story. 

His dad nods though and reaches down to squeeze his arm. “No matter what happens TK,” he starts, “I’m going to be here for you, okay?” 

His dad is peering at him intensely and there is so much TK wants to say to that, so many doubts rooted in his own fear that he has. So many things he doesn’t want to say because he knows each and every one of them would shatter his father’s delicate composure and he can’t handle that right now. 

He is almost relieved to see a doctor enter the room and prevent any retort he could have possibly given until he remembers that the news the doctor has could upend his entire life. He feels his dad’s hand tighten on his arm and he looks at the doctor expectantly. 

The doctor steps further into the room and starts speaking without having to be asked and explains: there had been no obvious signs of anything broken or damaged, but all the muscles and tendons surrounding his spine were inflamed, likely from the serious bruising that came with falling nearly 40 feet. It was likely that the swelling was what was restricting his movements and that once it went down his mobility would return, probably. 

The doctor seemed hopeful but TK wasn’t quite ready to buy it. He didn’t want to get his hopes up only to have them dashed when the worst turned out to be true. 

But he saw the look of hope on his dad’s face and couldn’t bring himself to dim it. So he plastered on a smile and nodded, thanking the doctor. 

The doctor left him alone with his father who gave him a genuine smile and squeezed his arm tightly, “That’s good news!” he exclaimed and TK forced a smile. 

“Yeah, yeah it is.” 

And it was, objectively. Nothing broken means there is still a chance. But the not knowing was what got him and he hated the uncertainty. He doesn’t want to hang his hopes on a chance; experience has shown him those chances are often not strong enough to hold the weight. 

“The rest of the team is here,” his dad asked, looking down at him intently. “Do you want to see them or do you want me to tell them you need some rest?”

“No, they can come in,” TK replied and his dad smiled before squeezing his arm again. “This is good,” he reminded him, and TK managed one more smile before his dad steps out of the room. 

He allows himself a moment to breathe before his friends arrive. They don’t need to be worrying about him too, they all have enough to worry about in their own lives. He just needs to keep up a brave face. So he plasters on a smile as they file in, offering a half-hearted wave as they approach, “Hey guys.” 

Marjan is the first to approach, coming to a stop at the side of his bed and studying him. She looks him up and down before looking at him with furrowed eyebrows, “Don’t you ever do that again. I think you took three years off of my life, Strand. How are you feeling?” 

“Fine.” 

He was met with four unimpressed stares so he sighed and rephrased, “Not great, but I’m not in any pain and the doctors say that it’s likely only temporary. So fine, really.” 

Paul did not look like he believed him for a moment. “You know, no matter what happens, we’ve got your back man, no matter what.”

“I know that,” TK assured him because he did. If there was one thing in all of this he was certain of, it was that his friends had his back, no matter what. There were so many questions flying through his head, but that was not one of them. 

“I’m so sorry kid,” Judd said softly and TK looked up to him with a start. “This is my fault. I was operating the aerial, whatever happened, that’s on me.” 

“No, it’s not Judd.” 

The older man looked like he wanted to argue so TK repeated himself, “It’s not your fault. If something happened with the ladder, that’s not on you. You would have never done something to hurt me or any of us. Whatever happened is not on you and I don’t blame you.”

Judd met his eyes and TK smiled at him, the first genuine smile he had given since it happened. He may be scared out of his mind and he may be much more worried than he was letting on, but this was not Judd or anyone else’s fault, and he needed them to know that. “Okay?” he asked, and relaxed when Judd nodded. 

“How long until you know for sure?” Mateo chimed in, voice small and voicing the question TK himself had been pushing to the back of his mind: how much longer until they ran out of waiting and he had to face the inevitable. 

“I don’t know Probie,” he answered honestly, trying not to wince at the visible shift in the mood of the room. “Hopefully soon.” 

The question brought him back to the fear he had been grappling with and he tried his best to not let it show on his face. Thankfully Paul, ever observant, seemed to pick up on it. 

“C’mon guys,” he told them, “I already called Carlos and he’s on his way. We should get out of here and let them have their moment.” 

There were murmurs of agreements and jokes and TK could almost muster a real smile again. “Do you think you can manage to drag my dad home?” he asked. “He doesn’t need to be stuck here waiting. He can do that just as well from home, from a real bed.” 

“I think we can manage it,” Marjan assured him, pulling him into a soft hug, “that’s what family’s for, after all.” 

His smile grew at that and as they filtered out after more hugs and well wishes, he allowed himself a moment to feel optimistic. He’s determined to keep up the brave face for now and for as long as he can so they don’t need to worry about him, and while he has his doubts and secret fears, no matter what happened he would have his friends with him, after all.

[phantomrose96]

Twisting Fate

(A what-if idea I had. adjusted the canon timeline a little)

...

From Recovery Girl’s perspective, Sir Nighteye was a horizon.

Lying stiff in his hospital bed, with the setting sun creeping lower at his right, Nighteye’s whole body became ridges of shadows. His face was gaunter, paler at the precipice of death. Caverns hid his eyes, and every sharp angle of his frame threw swaths of shadow, magnified larger, over the left wall of his room. Machines like snakes clawed into his midsection, all cold metallic tubes replacing the functions of organs that had been shredded through. Recovery Girl sat on a stool to his left, shaded in this darkness, smelling on the heat of the radiator the familiar smell of death.

“I have… a theory…” Nighteye’s words were hardly even whispers. They were stow-away nuances on the raspy rattle of his breath. “…and it will bother me if I die without ever having resolved it.”

“What’s your theory?” Recovery Girl asked. She was too used to this, being the receptacle for the last thoughts, wonders, worries, and dreams of dying heroes.

“Izuku Midoriya… He may--…it is possible—he may have a quirk.”

“A quirk, as in one beside One For All, I assume.”

“Not One For All. Beyond that. His own quirk. I have a theory…”

“Izuku Midoriya was diagnosed quirkless. Does this affect your theory?”

Silence rattled around them. Nighteye’s chest rose and fell faintly. “As in… the vestigial joint in the smallest toe, and no observable quirk of his own?”

“Yes, he matches those criteria,” Recovery Girl confirmed.

Sir Nighteye said nothing in immediate response. He laid in silence to catch his breath, and let the room fall back under the sedation of his blipping heart monitor.

“The correlation… of the additional toe joint to quirklessness is about 99%. It is possible for Midoriya to still have a quirk.”

“That is true.” The lamp in the corner clicked on, softly yellow, blanketing the room as the creeping darkness of nighttime set in. “We don’t know how many cases of quirklessness are false positives. What is it that makes you think Midoriya has a quirk?”

Nighteye let out a rattling breath. “By my own nature, and the nature of my quirk… I take pride in having evidence for my claims. I’d like to investigate this before I tell you. …The doctors estimate they can keep me alive like this for three days, at most. Do you think that’s accurate?”

“Three and a half, now that I’ve healed you some,” Recovery Girl answered.

“That’s enough. There’s someone I’d like you to fetch for me.”

“All Might.”

“No,” Nighteye answered with the faintest shake of his head. “Shota Aizawa. He should be in this same hospital. Please bring him to me.”

…

Aizawa and Nighteye spoke only briefly, with an agreement to help, and a message to pass along. Two messages, more precisely.

Aizawa got himself released from the hospital by 6am the next morning, having not slept, and having pulled some strings with the night nurses who knew him well to expedite the process. By 7am, he was back at the U.A. dorms, the very atmosphere asleep this early on a Saturday morning.

Only two students were awake: Momo Yaoyorozu, reading comfortably on the common area couch with a blanket swaddled around her, and Tenya Iida, preparing enough toast in the kitchen to cover breakfast for the entire class.

It was Iida who Aizawa flagged, and pulled aside, and passed the message along to: There was a dying pro hero whom Iida had never met asking for his presence. Aizawa had no further details on what the man wanted, or why, and he knew Nighteye well enough to assume that neither he nor Iida would ever be informed.

The lack of information agitated Iida. His arms jittered, and he pressed for information on why, and what had happened, and what his presence would mean to Nighteye. Aizawa could only shrug and ask if the withholding of that information affected Iida’s answer. Iida paused to consider this only briefly. And then he agreed, of course, because any self-respecting hero-in-training would do everything in his power to satisfy the dying wish of a citizen.

…

When Sunday set in, Aizawa did not go prowling through the dorm areas until the early afternoon, because the other message he had to pass along was for Katsuki Bakugou, and Bakugou’s whole morning was booked solid with provisional license training.

When Aizawa found Bakugou, the boy was freshly showered and sporting a litany of new scrapes and bandages, thumbs jamming aggressively into one of the dorm’s three console controllers for the shared GameStation. From the neighboring couch, Kirishima yelled at Bakugou to not mess us the toggles, to which Bakugou fired off several choice, colorful words back.

Aizawa didn’t bother scolding him. He only pulled Bakugou aside, and gave him the same message as Iida: Pro Hero Nighteye wanted to see him.

Bakugou sneered at this. He knew the name as Deku’s work-study boss, and knew it more potently now that the recent news story broke, and Nighteye’s name made it to the local stations as a hero in critical condition after a daring rescue.

Bakugou asserted this had nothing to do with him. That none of this was his problem. That he owed nothing to a man he’d never met and shouldn’t be expected to bow to his whim. Aizawa said nothing in response. He let the silence linger, and let Bakugou fester in the echo of his own words. Bakugou cracked the silence with a growl of frustration, and a crackle of his palms, and a spat declaration of “fine”.

Aizawa thanked him for his cooperation, and asked if now would be a bad time to follow him to Nighteye’s hospital.

…

By the third day of his hospice stay, Nighteye had become more machine than man. He fostered little presence. His only motion came from the respirator breathing for him. His harsh angles and stark shadows had decayed, softened, sank with him into his very-little-at-all-ness into the bed.

Recovery Girl sat beside him once more. In theory she had come to change bandages and administer healing, but at the sight of the man, she knew even that much was not worthwhile. It was only Nighteye’s comfort that mattered now. She set up an IV drip to ease his breathing and pain, but it would not heal him. At best, it would offer him just a wisp of his voice back.

“Have you resolved your theory about Izuku Midoriya’s quirk?” she asked simply. It was another skill she’d fostered in her professional life – to ask the leading questions of dying people, who in death seemed so strangely prone to avoiding any direct answers.

To her surprise, Nighteye smiled.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Would you like to tell me?”

“Yes. You are the only person right now I trust with this information. I need to pass it along, and I have no one else in mind.”

“And once you’ve told me, should I tell Midoriya too?”

“I don’t know. I trust you to figure that out, if it’s right or not.”

“What’s Midoriya’s quirk?”

Nighteye said nothing at first. He stared at the ceiling, as it seemed he possessed little of the necessary strength to look elsewhere.

“During the fight against Overhaul… I saw Midoriya die. I saw it with my Foresight,” he said, not answering the direct question, which did little to surprise Recovery Girl. “My Foresight has never been wrong. Sometimes, purely in denial, I’ve convinced myself it could, theoretically, be wrong, if only to not feel so hopeless about the futures I’ve seen. But 35 years without a single incorrect prediction is… a devastatingly consistent precedent to contend with.”

“I know this about you. Midoriya was the first to change that future?”

“It was… Chisaki’s future… that I was looking at. I saw him kill Midoriya. I saw him escape. So it was Chisaki’s future that changed. And I suspected, the more I thought about it, that Midoriya may have done it.”

“What do you think his quirk is?”

“I… have more context… I want to explain myself. I asked Shota Aizawa to bring me two U.A. students.”

“Iida and Bakugou. Shota told me.”

“Iida, because, if my hunch was correct, he would be affected too. And he was. My hunch was correct.”

“What was your hunch?”

“When I used my Foresight on him, I saw something I’ve never seen before… All futures I’ve seen are linear. A movie to play out. Singular, immutable, and certain. What I saw in Iida was more like… tree branches twisting around a trunk. One which was strong, and bold, and most clear ahead of him. Like what I usually see. It was a bright and happy future. A future he’s earned. One to be proud of.”

“I’m glad. Tenya Iida is a kind boy.”

“But the small futures… I’ve never seen them before. All gnarled and withered, twisting in and out…. Most of those were empty. I see this when someone is soon to die, but… these looked as though Iida had already died. Several times over. Other small twisted ones… he was still alive, but not a hero, not a U.A. graduate, too heavily incapacitated. No use of his arms. Limited use of his legs.”

“And what does this tell you?”

Nighteye offered just wheezes, catching his breath.

“With… with Bakugou. It was similar but... Bakugou had many more gnarled branches than Iida. Some empty… Others where, it seemed he had never even gotten into U.A. Others as the League of Villains’ hostage. Others in jail. They were not uniform. Some were faint, so I could hardly detect them. Some were so far removed from our reality, as if they’d forked over a decade ago. …Do not worry, his main future is bright.”

“I know All Might has a lot of hope for that boy.” Recovery Girl pushed off her stool. She went and cracked the hospital window open, so that the fresh air may do something for the sweat coalescing on Nighteye’s brow.

“Izuku Midoriya… I know many things about him. Gathering intel is a specialty of mine. And I know he has been lucky in unfathomable ways. Bakugou, that boy, he saved from the League of Villains. Iida, he saved from Stain, just barely, as I understand it. Midoriya’s own acceptance into U.A. was improbable at best. His rescue of a boy named Kota should have been his end, but it wasn’t. He was involved in a fight against the serial killer Moon Fish. He was Shigaraki’s hostage briefly. He played the main role in orchestrating Bakugou’s rescue from the League of Villains. And now, under me, he defeated Chisaki, in a fight which should, with certainty, have cost him his life.”

“There’s no need to remind me of all these. I was the one who healed that boy every time. I know he’s reckless.”

“This is beyond reckless. This is the resume of a boy who should have died many times over. …And I think, maybe, he has.”

To this, Recovery Girl gave no immediate response. Only a deep inhale, nasally, a held breath, an exhale.

“Midoriya may have died already. My Foresight wasn’t wrong, but it was posthumously corrected. It is in the strange nature of Izuku Midoriya that when the people around him should die… they don’t. Midoriya always saves them. And if my Foresight is to be believed, he does not always succeed on the first try. Those gnarled branches into Iida and Bakugou’s futures were fates in which Midoriya had not intervened. Or had failed to intervene successfully. They were fates he was able to twist off the main path, and correct under his own power of will. And that would be a quirk nigh undetectable. How would you document or observe it? The ability to undo the outcomes that ended in disaster. It’s powerful. Unfathomably powerful, if I’m correct about this. Stronger than One for All could ever be. I wonder, if I were to look at Midoriya’s future, how many twisted fates might I see?”

Recovery Girl let her eyes shift to the window, contemplating the skyline, contemplating all the near-lethal encounters Izuku Midoriya had fought through. She tried to process this possibility, and found herself failing to take it in all at once. “Do you intend to look?”

“No,” Nighteye said, and it was with finality. “I won’t make it to tomorrow. And there’s someone else whose future I need to see today.”

“If it’s All Might, I would be able to--.”

“No. It’s not All Might’s.”

To this, Recovery Girl startled. Her eyes shifted to Night Eye, who wore the smallest of smiles, his eyes squinted shut.

“After what you saw six years ago… you don’t want to see if that fate has changed?”

“All Might and I have parted ways. I am choosing to entrust his safety to Izuku Midoriya now. I am choosing to trust that that boy has saved him from that future that’s weighed me down for all these years. I am choosing… to pass the torch onto him. All Might has chosen Izuku Midoriya, and I am at peace with it… No, more than that, I accept that. I am content with that. I am happy with that.”

Recovery Girl nodded, but trepidation stiffened her movements. “…Then who is the last person you want to see?”

…

With the light fading around him, Nighteye wondered if this was the first time he’s seen Mirio cry.

The boy was endlessly bright, endlessly shining, a beacon and a pillar and someone who Nighteye was proud to call his pupil. He felt only the slightest knocking pangs of guilt in his chest for the fact that he’d only connected with Mirio as a vessel for One For All. But Mirio had proven himself well above and beyond all Nighteye’s paltry expectations. He didn’t need One For All to be strong.

The true guilt Nighteye felt was in the knowledge that it was his own fault that Mirio was crying now.

Thick opalescent tears swam in his eyes and cracked his voice. Red blotched along his cheeks and sweat clung to his brow. It was a sad sight to see, the raw and wet keens of Mirio’s voice. It was sad. Nighteye wanted nothing more than to see Mirio smile once more.

So he set a gentle palm to Mirio’s cheek, and he apologized, and he blinked his final activation of his quirk into existence.

Mirio’s future was a grand tree. Like Iida’s, like Bakugou’s, it was threaded with splintered branches. Some empty and shriveled and dead. Some dismal and bleak, twirling up like vines. Nighteye didn’t pay mind to those. He focused only on the trunk. That bright and shining pillar surging forward.

It was a future where Mirio was smiling.

A hero. In costume. Beloved and strong and willing. With a smile that alone could save a million people.

Nighteye trusted Midoriya to cultivate that fate for Mirio.

And that was enough.

So Nighteye told Mirio as much. He deserved to know this as Nighteye did. A fine hero. Finer than anyone else. He’d smile again, Nighteye was sure of it.

The light crept to dark edges around Nighteye’s vision, petering out, swimming to a coldness and a darkness and a nothingness. But it was one he could take comfort in. He focused only on the image of Mirio’s smile as the heart rate monitors ticked to nothing, and the breath vanished from his lungs, and the future set before him ran through its final swath of film.

[burnedbyshoto]

@infinity2639 essay was really well made, it points out a lot of very true and concerning things, you should take a look at it.

for background, I wrote this chubby shouto just as a way to practice. it was done with the intentions of only being read by forty people at maximum honestly and it did pretty well for something I wrote in less than an hour, except I had one particular nasty comment from @infinity2639. now I won’t always say that comments are nasty, but they held no restraint in telling me that I was in the wrong for writing something like that - which of course they’re entitled to their opinion, but seeing that they were the only person to have this opinion i sought out how to improve on my writing because they spoke of how simple it was to fix. they then wrote a 21 paged “essay” which held no actual commentary on how to avoid writing such things, but instead ripped into every sentence and every word and chose to explain how it affected them. since it was a very me, me, me essay, I figured it was best to ignore it because I learned absolutely nothing from it other than the lengths people go to. so... consider this my response, and don’t come back asking for more details because I will not give any more.

so aside from the fact that the essay was written entirely on the basis that this one person decided to continue to read something that obviously triggered them instead of simply clicking off and realizing that this fic was not for them, let’s address these true and concerning things that they “pointed out.”

first and foremost this was a drabble, it was written on my phone and due to the nature of the content I went as far as to ask many people on how I dealt with the issues involving self image when you consider yourself to be fat/chubby/obese. I knew the dangers of what i was writing because yes, i’m not “qualified” enough to write on it from readers perspective, but I figured that maybe I could handle it from shouto’s. I got only positive reviews and feedback so I figured it was okay to move on.

this essay of theirs was obviously very, very personal - to the point where I will go as far as deeming it as being gatekeeping (this was supposed to be an essay on how to properly write on the topic of being self-fatphobic & writing healthy relationship dynamics, not a rant on how much they hated me). this was their opinion and in no way shape or form will I put them down for feeling this way. however, I will say if it made you uncomfortable yet you continued to read, it is not my fault nor shall you pin it on me.

you control your exposure to the content you come across.

the fact of the matter is that infinity and their supporting team of people are those i’m clearly having issues with right now, so it does little to make me believe that this is an actual issue and not boiled over emotions surrounding the ordeal on outside, uninvolved drama. i will admit that those own defensive emotions of mine are unwarranted because if you feel so strongly about my one work it doesn’t matter where you’ve aligned yourself, so i do apologize for initially not liking you - but seeing what you wrote and who you ranted to in those screenshots, i guess i wasn’t far fetched in my initial stance on you. the biggest thing again is that you decided to read something on chubby!shouto, you decided to continue to read through a fic that so very made you uncomfortable to the point that you were having panic attacks, you decided to finish it. I didn’t make you, I didn’t force you. when fics make you uncomfortable, click out of it. it is not my job as a writer to display only honey sweet intentions and if you’re expecting that, unfollow me.

moreover, i’m not an expert on this entire psychological thing - and I will admit that the only intelligence I have on it relies on things ive read, content i’ve watched, and my own personal feelings. obviously it wasn’t the best, I never have ever claimed to be someone who perpetuates only the cleanest and healthiest things even if I try to be well informed on the things I write because yes, while I don’t think you should learn from fiction, I understand that there are some people who do and I try to keep those in mind. the only thing I was trying to do was come at the fatphobic standpoint from a different angle. personally, if I say i’m fat, I don’t want people telling me that i’m not because I know the truth if I am or not. to me, fat has always been equated to being ugly/uglier. of course social norms today are evolving, but being fat is only deemed attractive if you are one curvy bitch, and I know for a fact that is not seen in every single person, so I tried a new approach. at the end of the day my opinion still is that being fat doesn’t make you ugly, and if that’s still an issue for you, are we really sure that i’m the fatphobic person here??? cuz it sounds like maybe it might actually be internalized in you.

but... it’s just.... concerning to me that the only people with your issues regarding my chubby!shouto post is basically you and only you. in the time it was posted I have gotten only positive reviews and anons. plentiful of anons and accounts have thanked me for my portrayal of the topic of being fat (after all, I was not discussing or debating the issues and technicalities of being fat, chubby, or obese) and going so far as telling me that your essay was complete bullshit, which I felt no reason to answer because still after all this time I keep my haters feelings in mind.

and i’m actually not a med student :( sorry that you esteem me so high that you believe that at 20 years old i’m already in medical school - so no, I don’t know the ins and outs of all of these things and i’m sure old doctors probably will fatshame and be much more fatphobic then I ever will be because again topics of being fat were different back then & fat itself isn’t universally applicable per person per case because everybody and person is different. people who have bmi’s far greater than mine are healthier and more fit than I am which is what matters at the end of the day. fat does not equate to health and beauty after all.

now the issues with the abusive relationship tendencies I guess you can pin that on me and my inability to elaborate my thoughts and intentions. verbally attacking was meant to be teasing but it didn’t sound correct/I couldn’t remember the word for teasing when I wrote it. i’m not always entirely articulate and I do fumble with my words and phrasings - as does anyone who writes for fun and not for a job - and if it hit you that deeply, i’m back to my square one thought!!!!!

stop reading things that make you uncomfortable :) it’s really not that hard at all, I promise.

[oboevallis]

who is he pt 2

i have a lot of prompts and second parts i need to get out, so don’t think ive forgot about them. thanks for all the support and i hope everyone’s doing well and staying safe!!

“Mommy?” Scout asked as he hoisted himself up on the kitchen islands chair. “Can I play softball?”

“That’s gonna be a no.” Amelia answered as she was cutting up carrots to put into his lunch box.

“Come on why?”

“It’s dangerous, I don’t want you cracking your head open.”

“How about soccer?”

“Still dangerous but a bit better.” Amelia anxiously closed the tabs on the Tupperware. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“So that’s a never?”

“I promise we will talk about this, but we’re going to be late if we don’t get a move on.” The neurosurgeon threw her sons lunch box into his book bag and zipped it up handing it to him, ushering him out the door.

______________________________________

“Oh hey, Meredith. I have a question for you how did you accept that Ellis wanted to play soccer? Scouts been asking to play a sport and soccer seems the most moderate.” Amelia addressed her sister as she walked into the lounge.

“Link’s here.” Meredith ripped off the bandaid. “He’s doing a surgery with Koracick, Koracick wanted the best.”

“He could’ve called anyone else.” Amelia sighed, stressfully running a hand through her hair. “How could Tom do this, he’s my best friend.”

“It’s really sad that man is your best friend.”

“Shut up Meredith.” Amelia went over to her cubby taking her scrubs off.

“What are you doing?”

“I can’t stay here if he’s here.” Amelia sighed digging through her bag for her causal clothes. “Who the hell does Koracick think he is inviting him here? He could’ve called Torres she’s good.” She aggressively pulled her pants up when her breath hitched when the door opened revealing Link and Tom. She was frozen in place before she realized she had no shirt on, and quickly scrambled to throw it on.

“It’s nice to see you Dr Shepherd.” Link charmingly smiled.

“Likewise Dr Lincoln.” Amelia quickly said before exiting the attendings lounge.

“Amelia!” A voice called behind her.

“Can I help you?” She asked turning around, struggling to contain eye contact with the man.

“How are you?”

“Oh I’m dandy, how about yourself?”

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m assuming the kid with you at the baseball game is your son, he’s a cute kid.”

“I’m aware.” The neurosurgeon said before quickly turning around to get away from the man.

“Can we get a cup of coffee?” He called as she continued to walk.

“No thanks!” She called back.

______________________________________

“Would you mind taking my kids back to your place? My sitter fell through and their in my office.” Meredith approached her sister who was leaning over the nurses station engrossed in a chart.

“Yeah sure, I was just about to get Scout from daycare.”

“Your a life safer.” Meredith patted her sisters shoulder before quickly leaving. She first stopped off at Merediths office to collect Bailey and Ellis, as Zola was already old enough to be at the house alone. The then trio walked down to daycare.

“I’ll be right back.” She told the children who refused to step into the daycare now that they were big kids.

“Link!” Bailey smiled when he spotted the man.

“Bailey.” Link hesitantly walked over, he didn’t know how Amelia or Meredith would react if they found out about this. “How are you doing?”

“Yeah I’m doing well, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

“Yeah, it’s been awhile.” The man played with the skin around his nail, a habit he picked up from his former girlfriend.

“The Mariners are doing great this season, you think they’re gonna make it to the World Series?”

“I hope so. They’re on a roll so far.”

“Have you seen the new marvel movie?” He missed the man who was like an uncle to him. They were very close, while his relationship with his aunt had lasted.

“I haven’t gotten to yet, the Mariner players are breaking bones left and right.” Link chuckled, these last couple of years he had committed everything to the team.

“Scout what happened to your eye?” Ellis asked, she had been pretty uninterested in the conversation so she didn’t mind breaking it up.

“At recess I was playing soccer and fell and the ball was right next to my head and someone kicked my head instead of the ball.”

“Well that’s definitely a penalty.” Ellis joked.

“We have to go guys.” Amelia tried to stay as civil as possible, but was pissed Link was talking to the kids. She knew Bailey missed him, but thought he had more sense than to start up a conversation with him. She ushered the kids along, before Link stopped her.

“Wait.”

“What?” She snapped turning around, she hadn’t meant to, she was upset about the school not telling her that Scout got hurt, that her son got hurt in the first place, and now that Link was here.

“Can we please talk?”

“I’d rather not.”

________________________________________

“Mom?”

“Yes sweetheart?” Amelia carefully placed an ice pack on his eye causing him to wince.

“Why was the baseball doctor at the hospital today?”

“Dr Tom needed his help.”

“How did Bailey and Ellis know him?”

“Well he used to work at the hospital, it’s kinda like how you know Dr Tom, Dr Winston, Dr Carina, it’s just like that.”

“He seemed pretty cool.” Amelia simply hummed in response, she prayed he wouldn’t make the connection that he was his father. “Was he your friend?”

“Yeah, kinda. Now we’ve gotta get you to bed.”

“Auntie Mer isn’t here yet, so are we sleeping here tonight?”

“Yeah, we’re here for the night.”

______________________________________

The neurosurgeon tiredly sighed as she collapsed into the couch. It was easier to put Meredith’s kids to bed now they were older, but her son hated sleeping in places that weren’t his own bed, and it was always a fight to put him to sleep. She assumed Zola was still up though, now that she was a teenager Meredith was lax on her sleep schedule. A knock at the door chasing her to groan. It was close to 11 at night, she assumed it was Maggie and she forgot her key and has three jugs of milk because she had a fight with Winston.

“What are you doing here?” She groaned as she opened the door revealing Link.

“I wanted to talk.”

“About?”

“About life, us.”

“There is no us.”

“Only because you made it that way.”

“Yeah, whatever Link.”

“Come on, I messed up. But you could’ve told me he was mine.”

“Who said he was yours?”

“Well you named him Scout, and Meredith told me.”

“Did she?” Amelia rolled her eyes, pissed at her sister. “Anyway it wouldn’t have mattered, you’d only be there for Scout and not me.”

“Amelia how could you be that selfish?”

“How was I being selfish?”

“You’ve been keeping him from me, and Meredith says he’s been asking.”

“I don’t know why Meredith is telling you anything.”

“Please Amelia, we both screwed up. But it wouldn’t have mattered if he was mine or not I would’ve loved him and you.”

“Sure didn’t seem like that.”

“I haven’t stopped loving you, I haven’t felt the things you made me feel with anyone else. Your the only person I’ve truly loved.”

“Seems really convenient to saying this now that you know he’s your kid.” Amelia walked back inside and shut the door. “Bye Link.” She let a couple of tears run down her cheek before she sucked them up, and walked upstairs to check on the kids. Zola was in her former room engrossed on her phone, Bailey in his attic room with Scout on the floor, and Ellis in Maggie’s former room.

“Amelia are you here?” She heard a voice from downstairs and saw Maggie.

“What are you doing here?” She whispered while cautiously walking down the stairs.

“Meredith got pulled into another surgery so I offered to come by, so you and Scout can sleep in your own beds.”

“Mer just didn’t want to see me because she knew I’d kill her.” Amelia crossed her arms, giving Maggie her mom look.

“She really does feel bad.”

“No she doesn’t. She always thought it was wrong I didn’t tell Link.”

“Yeah, she really thinks she’s right.”

“Of course she does she’s Mer, she does no wrong.” Maggie chuckled at the accuracy. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

“I don’t know. I know Scout wants to know his dad, and Link wants a chance to be a dad. But I also know all you want is for your kid to be loved and you’ve done a great job with him, and you just want to protect him.” Amelia embraced her sister in a hug, before reluctantly letting go.

“I don’t know what to do. Link came by today, and he called me selfish. Do you think I’m being selfish?”

“I think your trying to protect your kid.”

“I just want him to be loved.”

“I know, and he is. He has a village of people, no matter what you decide.”

________________________________________

Amelia heavily sighed, it’d been a week since Link had showed up on Merediths doorstep. It had been all she was able to think about. She patted her phone across her palm, debating whether or not she should call him.

“What’s for dinner?”

“I’m not sure, what do you want?” She patted the spot on the couch next to her.

“Pizza?” The small boy suggested.

“We had pizza the other night. What about chicken and rice?”

“Just don’t burn the chicken.” Scout smiled while he said it. Amelia playfully rolled her eyes as she stood up.

“Why don’t you help, to insure that doesn’t happen?” After the pair had dinner, she helped her son get ready for bed. Leaving her alone once he fell asleep, and contemplating whether or not she should call her former boyfriend. She impulsively clicked the call button, and immediately regretted it but it was too late.

“Amelia?”

“Hey, Link. I-I umm, Scout has been asking about his dad. And I know I’ve hurt you, but maybe we can arrange something?”

“Of course I’d really appreciate that.”

“Okay, umm how do you want to do this?”

“I think we should both be there first off, and what does he like to do?”

“He loves the outdoors, he really enjoys when we go hiking or to the zoo.”

“Okay, how about Mt Rainer?”

“Sounds like we would be stuck with each other on a mountain for a whole day. Why don’t we just go to the zoo?”

“Sounds good. Friday?”

“Friday.”

“I’m sorry I called you selfish. I didn’t mean it.”Amelia abruptly hung up her phone.

[schnitzelbutterfingers]

The Forgotten One (Ethan Ramsey x F!MC)- CHAPTER 3

a/n: first, i wanna wish everyone a happy thanksgiving from my family to yours! please take the time to thank everyone you are so grateful to have in your life, especially god, for letting us live and for all the blessings he gives us. do not take anyone for granted.

next, so sorry for the holdup!! finally, chapter 3 is here! we’ll see what abby feels about the attack, her and ethan conversing, and a surprise ending. read, like, and let me know your reviews! forgive me if there are any spelling mistakes or grammar errors. let me know if you wanna be added to my taglist and as always, enjoy (ɔ◔‿◔)ɔ ♥

summary:  Louise Ramsey, the mother of the famous, brilliant diagnostician Ethan Ramsey, is back into his life. However, Louise holds many secrets, dangerous secrets, that could harm him, Dr. Abigail ‘Abby’ Chacko (my MC), and the very few lives he actually cares about. It is up to Ethan, Abby, and their friends to save each other from what is about to come.

pairing(s): dr. ethan ramsey x f!mc (dr. abigail ‘abby’ chacko) || dr. sebastian chacko x dolores hudson (YES YOU READ THAT RIGHT)

warning(s): angst, and then it’s pure fluff, and then a surprise ending (you’re gonna die die dieeee :)))

word count: 4289

catch up here :)

______________________________________________________________

Abby’s POV

When she wakes up it is with a headache, a throat ache and side pain. When she looks more closely at her nose, she sees an oxygen tube through them. When she looks more closely at her surroundings, she realizes she is in a hospital bed.

Lying down. Wearing a sky blue hospital gown. With an IV through her accessory cephalic vein. 

Jumping Jehoshaphat, what happened this time?

Abby spent many times in the hospital during her childhood. Most of them were due to the number of cuts and bruises she got from her father, in which some of them were very serious injuries. One time she was admitted to the hospital because...

No, Abby. Don’t relive through that phase. It’ll wound you more.

There are many types of pain. Many of her pains were physical, but some of her pains were emotional. By far, she can tell the emotional pain is the hardest to get over with.

Sure, she has been cut with a knife, raped by many of her father’s friends, and whipped with a belt. To her it was normal, and she had gotten used to it. To others, the pain is insufferable. 

Heartbreak hurts. Too much. It can rip people from the inside out, and change them. For better or worse.

Her father caused her many heartbreaks. In return, she studies, skipped five grades, graduated from high school when she was 13, and graduated from Hopkins when she was 21. Some might say she took it too far, but she knows it was just what she needed.

What she needed to prove to her father that pain doesn’t break her. 

What she needed to prove to her horrid patients that she is not dumb.

What she needed to prove to the whole world that she is not as young and innocent as everyone thinks she is.

Death, betrayal, and pain were her three companions, with some delectation in between. She cherished those jocund moments.

And she thanked God. Seb. Jazmin. Ethan. Herself. For all the hard work. 

But what happened right now? Why is she in this bed? 

It feels as if she has fallen into a cactus, her heart being punctured by tiny pins and needles. It’s starting at the bottom of her stomach, and it’s slowly growing. 

The anxiety.

The depression.

It feels like some kind of vaccination, where the shot doesn’t really hurt but the aftermath feels disastrous, cataclysmic. It’s leaving her breathless, as if she is running away from a ghost from her past. It is leaving a certain kind of exhaustion on her.

It’s heartbreak. But why? Why does she feel heartbreak? What could have possibly gone wrong-

Everything. Everything is going wrong. Bingo. She knows what is happening. But she can’t even speak the name out loud. It’s petrifying her. Really well.

 Louise Ramsey. 

Ethan’s mother who claimed to come for him and Alan.

Louise Ramsey.

The one who tricked them, including her.

Louise Ramsey. 

The one who stabbed her. The one who she trusted. 

The one who she believed had a change of heart didn’t have a change of heart at all.

She fooled everyone. She’s a liar. She is manipulative. She is every dark sin written across this universe. She is the next generation of Sat-

Wait. Wait a long moment.

Oh no. Oh no no no no no.

How is Abby supposed to tell this to Ethan of all people? How is she supposed to let him know his own mother tried to harm her? 

But she had to.

Moisture is falling from the tip of her index finger, even if the bed sheets feel cool. Sweat is dripping from her forehead, even if the hospital room is air conditioned. An imaginary shock travels through her body. The sharpness of the pain is unequivocal and indisputable that it sends shockwaves through her bloodstream. If it wasn’t for the bed, she would have crumpled to the floor.

She is currently holding the bed frame with a white-knuckled grip.

The young doctor scratched her arm nervously, mindful of the IV, as she let that horrifying memory fly through her.

Louise stabs her in the side, blood spilling to Abby’s legs and on the floor. She couldn’t say anything, words failing to come our of her mouth, every second making it harder to breather. She starts to lose consciousness, hearing the sounds of the patients in the room screaming for security.

Louise whispers into her ear, “The game has begun.” 

The last thing she sees is Louise running towards the exit and nurses coming towards Abby, before her world evades into darkness. 

That’s what happened. That’s why she’s in the hospital bed, feeling like crap.

That’s why she feels heartbreak, of all the emotions she can feel. She has heard of brother cheating on brother and father cheating on his wife. But a mother disowning her own husband and son, but then comes back only for her to clown them? 

That goes all the way back to Rebekah and Jacob in the Old Testament of the Bible, if you ask me.

She is back to the question on how she is supposed to tell Ethan. 

Does he know? If he knows, how does he feel? Does he feel depressed?

She sure hopes not.

When something happens to Abby, he always blamed on himself. Whether it was his fault or not. She reminisces on when Ethan apologized and was filled guilt when he found out about the trial.

Or when he came back from the Amazon. He didn’t really apologize for that, but the regret and remorse lurking beneath his eyes was the only thing she needed to know. To know that he was feeling guilt. Dismay. Lamentation.

Or when he opened up his bottled-up feelings concerning his mother. He said that he wasn’t planning on ‘dragging’ her into his mess. 

Or when she was in that decontamination room. She remembers his words clearly, words that were etched into her heart.

I wished I hadn’t asked you to stay away.

Or now.

If he knows. 

She knows what will happen if Ethan blames himself for this. He will be a different person. He will start becoming cold-hearted to people he cares about. He will push her away. Again.

Because he tends to believe that it is all his fault that accidents happen to the people he cherishes the most. He thinks that he is a curse. A malediction. An imprecation. She remembers the night when they connected for the first time. What he said.

This is The Ethan Ramsey. The man who can save anyone except the people he gives a damn about. Not Dolores. Not Naveen. And not you.

She was torn by what he said. Not because he said he couldn’t save her, but because he couldn’t love himself. 

The young doctor hopes he already knows what happened. Who stabbed her. She couldn’t even bear the thought of seeing his face crumble. The man who was stoic. The man who every one recognized as an imbecile. The man who every single doctor is head-over-heels in love with.

Ethan told her to tell him everything. Everything that makes her angry. Everything that makes her sad. Everything that makes her happy. 

If he doesn’t know what happened, she will tell him. She promised him that.

*Flashback*

It's normal for Abby to have a panic attack. Keeping her inhaler with her was vital for her to go through the day. Especially this week.

It’s been one week after the incident. That incident. That incident that took two innocent lives. Danny and Bobby. It’s all her fault. 

If Danny was alive, him and Sienna would’ve been a couple, loving each other. Now, she sees a Sienna whose eyes are haunted. Grave. Not filled with any giddy or joy. She doesn’t see her smile anymore, the once blushed cheeks with her beautiful grin that shows off her dimples, gone. Lost. Thrown away.

If Bobby was alive, he could’ve bought his daughter the new car. It was what he always wanted to do. Instead of enjoying his time with his daughter in her brand new car, he’s under the cold earth. 

Rafael is now going under therapy, but he also feels less confident from Rafael the paramedic. She misses the way he smiles. He does smile now, but there is no joy beneath his eyes.

And for Abby, she is not okay. She wishes she died. But she knows she couldn’t. There are people rooting for her. Her brother. Her mother. Her friends. Ethan. Ethan.

When she was informed that the gas in her body was maitotoxin and there was no cure, she accepted her fate and was ready to die. She glanced at Ethan, and his expression wasn’t betraying anything. But the eyes held more feelings than ever. They were pleading. They said, “Please don’t give up.”

She then realized that if they can find a cure within one day, she’ll try and survive. If not for me, then for Ethan and all the people I love, she thought.

Abby starts passing through that hallway. That one hallway. That one hallway that changed her life. No, that one room. And then, she passes through that room.

It’s clean, all the seals, the beds inside with new blankets and pillows. But she can’t see any of that. She can only see her, Rafael, Danny, and Bobby in that room. She sees Bobby dying. She sees Danny being taken away. She sees Rafael and herself being unable to breathe. 

Suddenly she runs away. She can’t take it anymore. You stupid, why would you even come back to the hospital when you’re not ready yet? she scolds herself. Because of Farley. Damn it.

Abby is flooded by her own thoughts when she accidentally runs into someone. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I-”

Only to know that someone is the one. 

She hears his baritone voice calling out to her, finding comfort and solace in it. 

“Abby? What’s wrong? Are you alright?” Ethan wipes something off her cheeks, and she realized that she was crying the whole time. She was so lost in her emotions that she didn’t a single drop falling down to her right cheek. 

“I-” The young doctor tries to speak but couldn’t. She can’t breathe.

“Rookie!” Ethan quickly drags her to the nearest supply closet. He asks her where her inhaler is. 

“Left... pocket...”

He hastily grabs and places it into her mouth. 

“Deep breaths, rookie. Deep breaths.”

She does as she is asked and takes deep breaths. After a few long moments, her breathing level starts to go normal. 

“Rookie, you weren’t ready for your first day back, were you?”

Abby starts to argue. “Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you panic attack right now seems to prove otherwise.”

She sighs. He’s right. She wasn’t even ready to set foot into the hospital. The only reason she did was because of Farley’s rash, and she thought it was life threatening.

Ethan sighs, breaking her from her thoughts.

“Go home, Abby, you’ve had a long day.”

Abby is about to snipe back when he stops her by raising his hand.

“On second thought, I’ll take you to my house. We’re gonna take a day off.”

“But Ethan, we both have patients-”

“Who will be taken care of by the other doctors in this hospital. If you think I’ll be leaving you anytime soon, you’re wrong.”

Hearing his words makes Abby feel lighthearted. She is stubborn just like him, but he’ll always be there for her.

After getting a confirmation and a wink from Naveen, they are in the car. It’s 1:00 P.M., and Abby sees couples sitting on the chairs in the outside booths of a restaurant, smiling, one couple holding hands. She dreams of these moments with Ethan, but their relationship is still uncertain.

The car stops at a red light, and she turns around to look at Ethan, who is lost in thought.

“Ethan, are you alright?” she asks him, concerned.

The mature doctor cracks a dry smile towards her. “I should be asking you that.”

“Ethan...”

“Abby... are you having suicidal thoughts?”

Abby was astounded by his question.

“Ethan! Why would you think that?”

“I’m just asking. If you ever feel that, come talk to me immediately. I can’t...”

It hit her on what Ethan was thinking about. He doesn’t want her to leave. As much as the question made her a little frustrated, she couldn’t help but think about what he was feeling throughout the whole ordeal n the decontamination room.

Abby takes a deep breath. “Ethan, I’m not suicidal. I never have been. I was just uncomfortable, that’s all.”

Ethan looks at her deeply into her eyes. She can literally feel him searching for any lies at her statement, his body relaxing when he didn’t find any. 

When he stops the car, she realizes that they’re here. Before Abby can take off her seatbelt, Ethan’s hand on hers stops her from doing anything. She looks up with a questioning expression.

Ethan speaks in a very stern but concerned way. “If you ever have anything irritating or frustrating you-” he kisses her on the forehead.

“Anything that brings you pain-” He kisses her on the nose, making her scrunch it.

“Anything at all, that makes you want to cry out-” He kisses her on both cheeks. 

“You come and tell me. Promise me” He finally kisses her on the lips.

As the final words come out from Ethan’s lips, she wonders about how she is so lucky to have him. Tears were burning in the back of her eyes, but this time, they were tears of gratefulness. To Ethan. For being her best friend. She cracks a smile.

“I promise.”

*Back to present*

“Hello? Ma’am? Doctor?” she is interrupted from her thoughts by a male nurse. When she checks his tag, his name is Caspian Chapman, and he has a light British accent. She hasn’t seen him before. Abby suddenly feels embarrassed. Who knows how many times, he called her like that.

“Hi, I am so sorry,” she says shyly. “I was lost in thought. Were you speaking to me this whole time?”

Caspian gives her a wide smile. “Nope! I just came in! My name is Caspian, and I will be your nurse! I am new here so...” he trails off.

The young resident laughs, despite the pain on her left side. “Haha, don’t worry! I’m not one of those Karens! Now tell me, how long will I be staying here?”

“From the stab wound you received, you will probably be admitted here for a week.”

Abby inwardly groans, wanting to just go home. Of course this would happen. Even if she’s disappointed by the news, she knows that it is vital for her to recover.

“So, did the stab wound affect my liver or...” she winces at her left side.

Caspian sighs. “You are correct. They brought you to surgery quickly, or who knows what would have happened.”

“Wait, how did you know I’m a doctor?” 

Caspian smiles again. “Are you kidding me? You are Dr. Ethan Ramsey’s protege and in the diagnostics team! Not only that, you helped him save Dr. Naveen Banerji! You are also popular on Instagram. Anyone would kill to be in a spot and reputation like you.”

Her cheeks grow red. 

“I suppose so...” she trails off. 

The new male nurse speaks. “Anyways, I should let Dr. Ramsey, Dr. Banerji, and your family know that you are awake! They will be at relief.”

Wait, what? Ethan is here? Naveen is here? My family is here? They must’ve found out the harsh truth. 

As Caspian turns to leave, Abby stops him. The nurse turns around.

“Yes? Is something the matter?”

“I just wanted to know if they knew who stabbed me.”

Caspian grimaces. “Yes, they are well aware. Do you not wish to speak to them?”

Oh no. Ethan knows. What will she do? Should she call in her family first? No Abby, he'll think that I’m mad at him! She inwardly slaps herself.

Okay, Abby, deep breaths.  She took a deep breath, held it for three seconds, and exhaled. 

“Can you do me a favor and call in Eth- Dr. Ramsey first?”

“I will,” he replies back.

______________________________________________________________

Ethan’s POV

He is terrified. Terrified to go and see her. Terrified to talk to her. But he has to. He has to let her know he loves her. He has to let her know that he can’t live without her. He feels a hand on his shoulder. Seb.

“Ethan, buddy, remember what I said. Tell her you love her. Make yourself happy. Make her happy. And she will never blame you for anything that happened. She’s a very reasonable girl.”

He looks into Seb’s eyes, and sees that there is something he didn’t tell him. Some kind of sadness, but there is happiness mixed in. He will find out later.

The older doctor turns around and sees the support written in their faces. Seb. Jazmin. Naveen. They are smiling broadly.

Naveen claps him on his back. “Now go get your woman, Ethan.”

Ethan smiles back. “Thank you, guys.”

He took a deep breath and opened the doors.

There she is. Abby. At once, she turned her head around, and at once,  dusky brown met ocean blue. She looks tired, her body a little weak, but she still gives him a wide smile that sends his heart swooping forward. Oh, he has it bad. 

“Ethan. Hey.” Abby welcomes him and pats at a seat on her bed. He, however, was hesitant to do so.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you...”

She rolls her eyes. “Ethan, I was stabbed, not hit by a truck. Now, be a good boy and sit on the bed.”

He does as he is asked, sitting on the edge, eyes never leaving hers. “How do you feel?”

“My side’s kinda sore, but I’ll survive... How are you?” she asks hesitantly.

“W-What do you mean?” he stutters. Ethan Ramsey never stutters.

“...I know who the perpetrator is, Ethan.” So she does know.

Before Ethan can say anything, Abby replies. “I know you are blaming yourself for what your mother did. But I will say it again and again until it gets through that smart head of yours. It’s not your fault, do you hear me?”

His eyes are shining with tears, his heart all the way up to his throat.

“Abby... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He blinks, and a droplet fails to stay in his eyes, escaping from the confinement.

The young resident suddenly sits up, wincing a little at the abrupt movement. Her eyes are full of alarm.  “Ethan, c'mere.”

And he does. He hugs her tight, mindful of her side, his nose nuzzling his neck. Abby wraps her arms around him and strokes his hair. The motion gives him a sense of peace. His eyes drop a few more tears. I will tell her.

“Abby, I love you.” She tenses. Before she says anything, he cuts her off. 

“No, Abby, please listen to me. I’ve loved you since the first day you’ve stepped foot into this hospital. I love how you’re always a colossal pain in my ass. I love how your eyes sparkle every time you hear good news. I love how your dimples pop up when you smile. I love how you bite your lip when you think about something. I love everything about you. Your courage. Your admiration. Your passion. I love you body. I love you face. And i now know, that I never want to let you go again.”

When Ethan pulls back and cups her face, he can see the tears glistening, failing to hold still and dropping down onto her cheeks. She half-sobs and half-laughs.

“Ethan, I love you, too.” And that is all he needs to hear.

He kisses her cold lips gently and pulls back, finding his sense of relief. She, in return, kisses his forehead. He promises to himself one thing: he’ll never let her go again.

______________________________________________________________

Seb’s POV

Seeing them crying of happiness makes him smile, his heart feeling elevated with joy. They deserve this joy. They both’ve been through a lot lately, and confessing their love for each other was their first step towards recovery.

“Psst! Seb!” Amma. Behind her is Naveen.

“How is it going there?”

The surgeon smiles triumphantly. “Our plan worked.”

Quiet cheers came out of their mouths. 

“Finally!” Naveen sighs. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for months. Ethan’s too damn stubborn for his own good.”

Seb laughs quietly. “That he is.”

Amma scratches his wool sweater. He just realized the feeling of itch on his skin because of the wool. And he can’t wait to take it off. But they won’t be leaving Abby’s room for the next two days. Not him, at least.

“Will it be alright if we go in and interrupt them?” Amma asks hesitantly. “I have an urge to hug my daughter after the incident.’

“I am sure that will be alright.”

Amma knocks the door. After hearing an acknowledgment, all three of them walked in. 

“Hi Ethan, is it alright if I hug my daughter? I do not mean to waste any of your-”

Ethan looks at her incredulously. “Why would you ask me if you want to hug your own daughter? I don’t mind at all.”

The famous doctor looks at Seb with a questioning look, who shrugs.

Mother rushes forward and hugs Abby carefully, sobbing as she kisses al of her face. The resident sighs.

“Amma, look at me.” Abby forces Jazmin’s face to her. “I. Am. Fine.”

“Sorry, Ladoo, your mother was just very worried when we got the call. I won’t try to cry, alright?”

The Chacko smiles easily. “now that’s what I wanted to hear from you. My Amma is strong.”

Abby sighs and looks at Seb and Naveen, smiling cheerily. “Who’s next in line for cuddles?”

Seb comes forward, finally at ease when he kisses her forehead gently. He hugs her as tight as he can, the injury preventing him for hugging her more. 

“Please, for the love of Pete, please never scare us like that again.”

She laughs lightly and cuddles closer to him. “I’ll try not to.”

Seb looks up and sees Ethan with a light smile on his face. He finally feels light, free.

He then hears Jazmin’s stomach grumble lightly. Abby laughs hearing this. “Why did you guys not eat? All of you need to get food. Now.”

“I’m not gonna leave you this time around,” he replies. 

Seb’s sister groans. “I knew you would say that.”

The surgeon has an idea. “How about I get all of us some burgers from a nearby restaurant? Since I doubt Ethan’s gonna like what he gets from the cafeteria.”

The famous attending shrugs and then grins easily. “You know me so well.”

“Only for you.”

Abby is on a strict water diet for two days, so he considers buying a cup of chocolate pudding for her. As he leaves the room, he sees Naveen hugging Abby, which brought some emotions to the Chacko. Naveen is like the father he never had before.

Seb is really joyous and filled with triumph at the love confessions between Abby and Ethan. He only wishes it could happen to him.

But it can’t. Because he lost the love of his life last year. Due to a seizure. While she was giving birth. All of their promises. All of their hopes and dreams. Gone. Forever 

I miss her... I miss her a lot.

Suddenly, he hears a whistle. A familiar whistle. It sounds like her. 

When she was alive, they used to whistle a lot. it was a form of their communication. The whistle that heard now was a way of saying, “Turn around.”

No, Seb, he thinks. You’re just letting yourself get too emotional. Stop hallucinating.

But then he hears it again. And it’s behind him. A little far away from him. 

He’s afraid to turn around. He can’t move. 

He forces himself to turn around, like the whistle had told him to.

And then he sees her. He sees her. He actually sees her.

No way, it can’t be... Suddenly, Seb speaks.

“...Dolores? Is that really you?”

She smiles. That smile. He missed that damn smile. Her face and hands are covered with small bruises.

And she talks. “Yeah, Seb. It’s me. Dolores Hudson. I’m alive. I really am.”

______________________________________________________________

Mystery Man’s POV

I give Louise some cash that she was looking forward to. 

“Great, thanks!” she says with a smile.

“Anything for my wife,” I reply, with an emphasis on the word ‘wife’.

She rolls her eyes. “Ugh, don’t call me that. I married you to destroy them, not to love you. Now where’s that manicure you promised?”

Louise is annoying as hell. Sometimes I wonder how her former husband Alan dealt with her. What a man, I think. 

She gives me a mischievous grin. “Now give me a kiss.”

I groan, and I quickly give her a kiss, not wanting it to last for long.

Then, I feel a vibration in my pocket. It’s my phone. I pick it up.

It’s one of my guards. And I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I bark him an order. Blood rushes through my veins, and for the first time in a long time, I feel fear.

I hang up the phone and look at Louise, whose eyes held confusion. I decide to answer her questioning glance.

“Missing captive alert. Dolores Hudson has escaped.”

______________________________________________________________

a/n 2: hope you liked that ending!

a/n 3: i know dolores died of a seizure while under an emergency c-section, but in this au, i refuse to believe so :)

tags:@missmiimiie​ @aylamwrites @starrystarrytrouble​ @udishaman​ @caseyvalentineramsey​ @queencarb​ @choicesstan1​ @newcolonies​ @arcticrivers​ @angela8756 @takemyopenheart​ @rookie-ramsey​ @ohchoices​ @ohvamsey @ohramsey @natureblooms24​ @drariellevalentine​ @maurine07​ @lucy-268 @thanialis

@openheartfanfics

@choicesficwriterscreations

[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.” 

[hey-hamlet]

BNHA FIC PROMPTS

A collection of all of the fic ideas from that ask game, as of now. I’ll throw in new ones if i get any and when I remember. Feel free to use any of them, I’d love a link if you did!

with hands to the sky, I beg (what will save us?)

Izuku is a god who asks to be reborn as a human to try and help. He is warned he can’t return to being a god and will join the mortal realm, ever reincarnated. He agrees.

Izuku is a child with faint memories of a life he never lived, who knows too much about the world but not enough about the people around him. He’s not listed as having a quirk but he’s never gotten sick, never been hurt. He scares the other children and the adults don’t like his precocious nature. Inko loves her little miracle.

 My Soul is Like a Supernova

Things happen around Izuku. Always have. Everything from earthquakes and villain attacks to miraculous healing and lottery wins. He’s always attracted big events like this - as if even the universe can see how important he is and it warps itself around him.

He sees this as perfectly normal. 1A is begining to notice a stressful pattern.

This one regret of mine

Character study of Inko and how she deeply regrets so many things she’s done in her life, from her husband, to giving up on her carrier, to telling Izuku he couldn’t be a hero and then letting him keep going to UA.

But no matter what she’d never regret her son.

Of souls and lost causes

A good ol’ Izuku sees dead people AU, focused more on his younger years when he’d wander around the city helping as many spirits as he could, only to return home at the end of the day exhausted and dirty to an increasingly worried mother who believed the doctor when he said seeing ghosts as a quirk would be impossible.

my life.your choice

Underground heroics AU (i dont think ive ever posted that au huh): Izuku is the well-known son of japan’s immortal emperor, All for One. Born quirkless, he’s been emotionally abused but violently protected his whole life by his father, his mother killed before his eyes for trying to take him away. He’s never been able to make a choice for himself save for his bodyguard - his childhood friend, Bakugo Katsuki.

Katsuki made a pledge to protect him when they were in kindergarten and he’ll be damned if he breaks it now. And if it takes the two of them joining the resistance, meeting a vigilante by the name of All Might thought long dead and Izuku receiving a near-mythical quirk? Well, that just makes it more exciting, doesn’t it?

I forgot that you existed

Izuku gets hit with a quirk that not only makes people forget him, it prevents them from seeing him as well - all but erasing him from reality for everyone he knows. He can still interact with things but all it manages to do is just UA shut down under fear of villain infiltration. They find Izuku 18 hours later when the quirk wears off - a motion tracking gun trained on his forehead.

certain uncertainties

No one can predict the quirks trapped in One for All or when they’ll show up. Anthology fic of Izuku discovering each of them, some being rather helpful, and at least one piece of merch being sent into a low orbit.

Sometimes goodbye is a second chance

Set in the same universe I wrote console reset in; during the two heroes movie: they never defeat Nine and he slaughters the whole island and his class, leaving Izuku till last. He comes back at the start of their first day on the island and doggedly makes friends with every islander he can because while it hurt seeming them die, it hurt even more knowing he’d never even learnt most of their names.

They win this time the first time they meet him, even if it’s a marathon fight of 8 hours with him and Bakugo doggedly wearing him down. No one dies. Izuku thinks it’s worth dying as many times as he has to to keep the people he loves smiling.

The immortality of the heroic spirit

One of the quirks in One for All is determination: if you have something you desperately want to do, you can’t die - no matter how much blood you lose or home many pieces your body is crushed into - you’ll just heal back to where you were before you died. All Might and Aizawa find this out to horrifying effect during a brutal villain fight they are stuck watching on the news with the rest of a terrified UA.

In hindsight this makes a lot of sense to Izuku. Aizawa wants to scream. All Might has coughed up more blood than is probably healthy and all of 1A bruised hands from where they were clutching each other’s when it got too tense.

Shine on you invincible legacy

Izuku becomes a top 10 hero before hes even out of high school, hitting No.2 the second he graduates and taking No.1 from Hawks literally the next time the ranking is counted. 1A will not stop throwing him parties each time he moves up in the ranking, even if in 3rd year it was every other week. All Might comes to ever one of them.

Shake the Dirt from Your Shoes

Izuku will be a hero and no one will stop him - an AU a fair bit like the beginning of canon except Izuku fights back, remains unending optimistic and maybe engages in a light bit of technically legal vigilantism, accidentally befriending a vast array of heroes and a student or two.

To his horror, they recognise him out of costume as soon as he speaks to them, resulting in a very eventful first day at UA.

do you feel with a heart of steel

Original Sin AU, young Izuku finding feeling emotions difficult and not knowing why. He finds a dying animal on the way home and sits with it, patting it until it passes away. He doesn’t think he feels anything, but his cheeks feel wet.

all you want is milk and honey

Villains have been trying to use Izuku his entire life, much to his annoyance and confusion (I wonder who in his family might make him known to villains? hm). He’s gotten very good at being intimidating, even as a child.

When he gets kidnapped with Bakugo on a primary school field trip he decides to hell with it and breaks out all the stops. Turns out villains don’t tend to want a 10-year-old who can describe in great detail how they would hang you with your own intestines.

Bakugo decides that fuck Izuku being quirkless, he’s kind of amazing.

Even the stars

Izuku dies young and no one but the stars cry for him. They bring him back, but his body is cold and he has a nova burning where his heart should be. A four-year-old who has known death and walked among the stars is a terrifying thing. His skin has a shimmer to it, his eyes look like planets with no visible pupil, and he knows far too much.

The stars still speak to him, and they see everything.

bitter dreams and optimistic nightmares

Bakugo and Izuku grow up good friends, until Izuku is taken by villains age 9.

Bakugo’s determined to be a hero to save Izuku, even if it hurts to be at UA without him.

Izuku hates hurting people but he’s determined to make the most of his horrible situation by leaking information to heroes whenever he can. He’s given to All for One to serve as a lab hand to the doctor when All for One finds out this rag tag outpost of his had been hiding a valuable resource.

They meet at the USJ.

Mind Games for Two Shinsou and Izuku are both gen ed students in the same class, but with Shinsou stubbornly refusing to make friends and Izuku being the vice president they are almost strangers. UA has a no quirkless students policy and Shinsou has accidentally discovered that he student in his class with an analysis quirk, doesn’t, actually, have one. Izuku is aware Shinsou knows. They both want to get into the hero course but are under the impression there is only one spot.

It’s tense.

The Melody Stuck in My Soul

Izuku has an empathy/emotional control quirk that hears other’s emotions like music. He uses this both to read people, to defend himself, and, because hes Izuku, to ramp up his adrenaline/motivation/anger to kick ass. He and Bakugo are friends because baby Bakugo was lowkey impressed Izuku managed to weaponize his tears.

Advantage of the musical element: it gives him something concrete to latch on to and change, and it was very easy to work out which emotions were which. Also he has his own theme song, even if he’s the only one who can hear it.

Disadvantage: He cant turn it off. The stronger the emotion the ‘louder’ the music (it doesn’t cover up natural sounds because its not technically there, you get me?)

Error 404, childhood not found

A Hero’s Son AU, snapshot’s of Izuku’s childhood with No.1 Hero All for One as his abusive father.

Age 4 when his quirk never comes in and All for One abandons all pretences of loving him. Age 6 when he realises his son is intelligent and has a use as a lab assistant for the doctor. Age 8 when Bakugo first realises something is wrong. Age 9 when his father is almost killed by the No.1 villain All Might. Age 9 when he’s made to work in the labs with the doctor.

Age 14 when he meets All Might. Age 15 when he makes it into UA.

Darkness Growing (The Light Ever Smaller)

Villains take over Japan after the current arc, leaving all heroes and students that don’t switch sides on the run. 1A is instantly separated with a few of them  being killed, most of the living students with Aizawa and Izuku and Bakugo by themselves, both too stubborn to leave the other.

Aizawa is desperately trying to get to Izuku and Bakugo in an attempt to keep them safe, while the two of them are avoiding Aizawa to keep the rest of their class safe(er), all while avoiding the villains, turncoat heroes and police out to get them. Public support is spotty at best with anyone found ‘harboring a criminal’ given the same punishment as the hero.

Lost soul of last hope

The first wielder has been Izuku’s imaginary friend since he can remember. He’s not very imaginary.

Featuring Izuku with the world’s strangest older brother, Inko coming to the realisation her son can see a ghost, but only one ghost and no one will believe them, Izuku’s quirk being listed as Inko’s because the first wielder can help him fake it, and Izuku wondering why first looks so much like that picture of his father on his mother’s bedside table.

The kids the system failed

100% The 1A run aways au with 1A, Aizawa and Mic being runaways kids of various ages that band together to stay alive and maybe do a little vigilante work on the side.

Izuku has All for One and uses it like you’d expect a traumatised kid to - cautiously at first but when he gets the hang of it there are suddenly no more criminals with quirks in their area, and it looks suspiciously like Uraraka can fly.

Just a second to soon? For the Fic thing?

Aizawa struggles and gets knocked out just before Shigaraki lunges at Tsuyu. She and Izuku are left horribly injured by his quirk with massive facial scarring, and in Tsuyu’s case, the loss of an eye.

Daze

An illusion/fear quirk makes his teachers look like villains and convinces him he’s in danger. They try and stop him without hurting him but it’s difficult considering Izuku is convinced he’s protecting his friends, considering he can only see them broken and bloodied with villains he thought were locked away loaming over them.

Even as Aizawa cuts out his quirk Izuku still tries to shield his friends, snarling ferally.

Morning Glories and Forget-me-nots

A memory quirk of unknown duration hits Izuku, leaving him remembering none of his life. 1A starts to fall apart without one of their pillar’s.

hopeless but not broken

The Long Con au where Izuku asks All Might if he could be a hero without a quirk - he’s really asking if he can stop pretending to be a villain, if he’s worth anything without the quirks he’s been given, if he’s worth something as himself rather than the limited use he can provide. He doesn’t know how to say all of that, so he just asks if he could be a hero.

All Might says no. And Izuku basically decides right then that the only way he’ll ever be able to help people is by being a mole for the heroes like he’s been since he was 10 - that he isn’t worth anything because he’s quirkless and to be considered just as valuable as the people around him are he needs to give his life and more.

He shows up to the bar crying because of All Might and Shigaraki moves his murder plot forward a few months.

Sunflowers and Summer Gardens

All Might starts a garden on campus and 1A like to help. He uses it as a nice place to chill and as physical therapy. He likes to give the different classes bunches of flowers when they sprout.

For Dos and For Donts

Izuku runs into some of his old bullies when out with some of his friends. Uraraka, Iida, Todoroki, Shinsou and Asui intimidate the fuck out of them, and Izuku realises hes not scared of them any more. Then they get frozen yoghurt!

your mistakes, my unbecoming

Aizawa assigns a project on quirk related issues, Izuku ends up with quirkless discrimination, Aizawa assumes his discomfort is just him being upset he doesn’t get to talk about quirks. He doesn’t realise his mistake until he finds Izuku dissociating on the roof.

one and one into the vast

Original Sin AU, All for One and Izuku seeing the vestiges together. One for All sees his brother for the first time and Izuku learns a lot about the voice in his head.

All for One has a mini-crisis about his not son learning he’s a horrific villain, especially considering he has the power to cast his soul out at any time, killing him at will. Izuku doesn’t kill him. He admits its probably not right of him to let AfO remain considering the things he’s done, but All for One is a part of him now and it would be like killing a friend.

All for One quietly decides to hold off on the villainy until all of 1A is dead, for Izuku’s sake.

between the stars of our souls

Izuku and All Might are old gods who keep getting reborn into human forms with their memories regained when they turn 4. Normally finding each other takes a while, and their last reincarnation they never found each other, so this time he resolves to make himself as easy to find as possible, all while saving as many people as he can.

Izuku, aged 4, memories fresh in his head, makes it his mission to get into contact with the man he knows is his father/mentor’s reincarnation. All Might’s agency was not expecting a 4 year old to repeatedly try breaking in to their office, and they especially weren’t expecting him to be so good at it.

you really should have thought this through

Different (and ill-advised) attempts at special moves or team up combo moves. Featuring:

Izuku managing to break Kirishima’s nose.

Uraraka sending Bakugo so high he broke the sound barrier coming back down to earth.

Kaminari and Shouto managing to electrify ice.

Izuku, Todoroki and Bakugo levelling a whole suburb (at least it was condemned???)

I'll Break Anything You Give Me

Different times Izuku desperately tried to repair his relationship with Izuku over the years and the one time Bakugo fully grasps how much he fucked up and reaches out his hand to try to fix it for the first time. Probably includes a lot of screaming, Bakugo learning how to say sorry, a field trip and them having a conversation on Aldera’s roof.

Sinking

One for All kind of possesses Izuku during a quiet night at the dorms. One for All, made of 8 people, 7 of which are dead and had their last experiences in life be rather painful and violent, breaks down, Izuku alone not enough to drown them out. They lash out at anyone who tries to touch them, their quirks tearing Izuku’s body apart.

All Might’s vestige reaches out a hand to Izuku to keep his mind from being torn apart as 1A set about both trying to protect Izuku and get Aizawa who was off campus on patrol.

Feat. Bakugo and All Might being the only people with any idea about what’s going on and getting more and more stressed each second that passes. Iida, Uraraka and Todoroki being good heroes and even better friends. Blood King deciding he’s never watching 1A for Aizawa again, and Aizawa deciding he’s never leaving 1A alone ever again.

A Long Way From Home

Shirakumo wakes up in Kurogiri’s body in Tartarus with only shadowed memories of his time as a villain. He’s scared and alone and he just wants to see his friends again, even if he’s scared they hate him because at least that’s something he knows.

Too Far Gone

The other side AU, it comes out Izuku is a villain with (knockoff) All for One and he has a showdown with Mirio. He and Izuku trained together under All Might and Mirio tries to plead with him but Izuku has to basically tell him to go to hell to not ruin his placet as crown prince of the underworld.

Of course, he’s not only doing this to save people, he’s also doing it with All Might’s blessing - taking over from All Might himself serving as a villain after he killed All for One to prevent a power vacuum.

Doesn’t mean that his friends in 1A know that.

Snowy hills and sunlit peaks

Probably an AU about All Might being a mountain spirit with a little shrine that Izuku is the only one who visits - Izuku gets in trouble and All Might manifests himself, saves him, and tells everyone to keep their hands off his human son.

Wilting

Izuku gets sick and he tries to hide it because he’s scared its something serious but he just gets worse and worse. His friends are the ones who eventually step in and comfort him.

I’d probably write two endings with one being a bad end and the other a good end.

My wish came true without me realising 

Izuku wakes up one morning, comes downstairs and just starts crying. Everyone panics and he reassures them they are happy tears and that he's just glad to be here. They all call him sappy and give him a hug. Later in the day he and Bakugo chat and Izuku reveals he never even expected to live this long, let alone become a hero. Bakugo grumbles that he’s too stubborn to die, and not to get too cocky. Izuku promises he wont.