#do you know how Awful it feels having to make phone enquiries every single month about my meds because there's always problems

[pochapal]

girl who is not going to be okay (i need to phone the gp to chase up a missing prescription)

[downtonabbeyrevisited]

Series One - Episode Seven

One thing that seasoned Downton viewers will know is that either the plot moves so fast that you get whiplash moving from point to point and have to perform a fair amount of mental gymnastics to recall single lines that were (canonically speaking) made months and sometimes years ago, or it’s so slow that you think you’ve slipped into a coma and are having a strange dream about the coming of electricity. This instalment is a whopping 65 minutes long and  defiantly falls into the former category of episode. Don’t be fooled by the slow start of dusting chandeliers, every single plot point that King Julian has ever thought of is about to be covered in rapid succession whilst the July 1914 stamped ominously at the bottom of the screen indicates that the shit is about to get real. The main topic of conversation in Downton Village is apparently the murder of the Austrian Arch-duke. Who knew that rural Yorkshire with its still broadly illiterate population during this time period was so switched on to international relations? 

William’s mother has (predictably) died and Anna has made an armband which is utterly indistinguishable from his livery in her honour. Another soul unable to appreciate this is Mrs Patmore who is now so blind that it has been brought to the attention of those who dwell upstairs. Mrs Patmore is summoned to the library where she collapses into the nearest available chair after chewing off Robert’s ear and he arranges to send her up to London. I doubt this was quite the reaction he was expecting but there we go. In Beryl’s absence, Mrs Bird comes to hold the fort and test Daisy’s loyalties to provide a bit of light relief in what is, when you think about it, quite a grim episode. 

Despite being slow on the uptake, Daisy soon gets into the swing of launching the Downton scullery equivalent of chemical warfare whilst Mrs Bird makes disparaging comments about the kitchen and staff. But Daisy soon falls foul of a bit of bait and switch and only succeeds in almost giving Thomas’ colon a thorough clean out. 

Whilst Mrs Patmore sits in Moorfields reeling at the fact that cataracts can’t be removed by whatever the 1914 equivalent of homeopathy is, Anna is determined to get to the bottom of why Bates was in prison. Thomas and O’Brien’s written confirmation of Bates’ previous misdeeds have only served to light a fire under her and with a confidence to which I can only aspire, she marches into Greenwich. Or is it Chelsea? My knowledge of barracks isn’t what it used to be despite the fact that I am typing this a stones throw away from one now. My superiors are weeping somewhere. In true British Army fashion, a man with an impressive hat brings out a massive book which he never refers to for any information that he could not hold in his head. He then gives out Mrs Bates Senior’s address 104 years before GDPR kicks in. 

A meeting with Ma Bates confirms that it was Vera who stole the regimental silver rather than John but he took the fall, apparently feeling that he had ruined her life. However I can’t be the only person who is still a little unclear as to why he did go to prison for Vera as there doesn’t seem to be much evidence that he had ruined her life unless I’ve missed something, which is entirely possible. Anna returns to Downton and appeals to Robert to keep Bates on. Because he is a useful character for pivoting plot points around, Robert agrees, and our favourite self-sabotaging valet lives to survive another series. 

Considerably less eager to stay at Downton is Thomas who has a right old time of it this episode, roaring through all of his typical behaviours: smoking in archways, leaving tables with entire plates of food in-front of him to go and perch on a crate and plot with O’Brien, stealing from Carson in an inept manner, having at least two other characters discuss just how awful he is and finally take shots at William. Except this time, they aren’t snide remarks. These are actual shots involving pre-German sniper mangled fists. Having volunteered for the Army medical corps with Dr Clarkson, Thomas is riding high on his way out the door and makes inappropriate marks about a combination of dead mothers and babies. William takes him on and the two roll around a bit on a table then the floor. Carson calls for a halt but doesn’t actually intervene: its up to the Irish Radical to bring about peace. Some irony there one feels. 

But perhaps Carson’s inaction is connected to the emotional upheaval that of course comes with owning a telephone. I should know; mine has been on ‘Do Not Disturb’ for at least a year now. Presumably seeing the phone as an affront to his skills as a butler, there are a fair number amount of him looking perplexed at the new arrival. But with a bit of practice under his belt, he is ready to reluctantly shuffle into the twentieth century. Oh I do love him. 

The coming of the telephone is good news for Gwen through who manages to bag herself an interview out of its installation in the Abbey. However she neglects to say that she was a housemaid on her application form. The manager of the company scoffs at this upon learning she works at Downton “you thought that would put me off!”. Well yes, because less then twenty minutes ago you were bemoaning the fact that you couldn’t find any secretaries with experience which is what you needed. King Julian is now struggling to maintain continuity within an episode never mind between. Lord. 

After 18 years, and presumably a lot of hormonal shifting, Cora is pregnant. Robert sounds incredulous and frankly, we all are. Robert doesn’t understand what’s been done differently to bring about this major shift in plot, but Cora brings him to an abrupt halt before he can pick along any further down that particular line of enquiry and an entire nation, nay the world, exhales. However Foetus C’s appearance on the scene coincides with the departure of Simmons and through a convoluted chain of events, their fates are inextricably linked. O’Brein overhears that a new lady’s maid is required and immediately jumps head first into the wrong end of the stick. But to be fair to her, Violet and Cora seem to only talk about their quest when either Thomas or O’Brien are in earshot which is asking for trouble really. But that does not excuse O’Brien committing infanticide by proxy via the medium of Imperial Leather. With a bar of poor quality soap that breaks alarmingly easily and an off-screen yelp, it’s all over and another massive plot point that has a whole lifecycle within less than an episode. 

Although Foetus C didn’t hang around long, he made quite the impact and along with the influence of Aunt Rosamund manages to unsettle the romance that Matthew and Mary have been carefully cultivating since Episode One. St James Park provides a backdrop for Rosamund, following the tradition of all Aunts worldwide, to winkle out the truth about their nieces and nephew’s love lives. As they glide through London, and pass two men sat on a bench trying to divert the apocalypse, Rosamund plants the seeds of doubt that will eventually blossom into a full blown crisis in about thirty minutes time with the mere suggestion that Mary might have to live in a cottage. 

With the prospect of another male heir on the horizon, Matthew considers moving back to Manchester but not before he can have the first of two emotionally charged conversations under a tree. Matthew witters on about ‘prospects’ whilst Mary looks increasingly desperate. That tree and the accompanying bench have seen an awful lot of drama: people have sobbed under it, plotted beside it and stared artfully into the middle distance beneath its shadow and its only series one. 

But even when it’s clear that Matthew’s inheritance is not in danger, he returns to the tree with Mary to assert the fact that he is leaving Downton for reasons that I can’t entirely fathom but are mainly based around the fact that he doesn’t want to be socially engineered and that he can’t be sure of anything. Wearing the world’s most pointless gloves, Mary covers her face and weeps in what is fast becoming a signature move. The ‘tree’ scenes between her and Matthew have been a real chance for both actors to get their teeth into a bit of decent uninterrupted dialogue. I have loved Michelle Dockery since she stole my twelve year old heart as Susan in Hogfather and she has not failed me yet. 

Carson comes to comforts Mary under the ’tree of emotional conflict’ and in one shot we have captured the charm of Downton. Ahh. Now, back onto the nonsense. 

The garden party is suddenly upon us and with it, the tying up of as many loose ends as possible just incase the series isn’t renewed. Hold onto your hats folks! Mrs Patmore returns in a cracking pair of sunglasses, Clarkson gives Thomas his papers who then promptly resigns, William and Daisy reconcile, Mrs Hughes warns Branson off Sybil whilst Sir Anthony pegs it out of Downton before Edith is allowed any measure of happiness, O’Brein attends to Cora’s every need and then learns that she was never in the firing line anyway, Branson plucks up the courage to answer a telephone, Gwen gets the job and proceeds to hug Branson and Sybil hug in a manner that you would think would be enough to cause a scandal, we learn of Ma Bates’ approval of Anna but Bates is still a stubborn idiot , Mr Moseley wants to crack on with Anna and if you squint a bit Downton Abbey briefly looks like The Villa. Oh and WW1 breaks out.  

Romantic declaration of the moment 

“I’d say he’s keen. Very keen indeed” Well then TeLl HeR JohN! Anna and Bates must be up there for slow-burn romance of the millennia and for my money is a better love story than Mary and Matthew but that could just be my gritty scots and northern heritage rooting for the little guy. 

Expressive eyebrow of the week 

Robert won last episode but nevertheless his face during the menopause chat with the accompanying “please” wins this one. THIS is why Fleabag Season 2 Episode 3 had to happen. 

Wait, what? 

“Is there anything worse than losing one’s maid” Erm…maybe the oncoming death of 17 million people with 11.5% of the British Army told by the upper echelons of society to walk slowly towards the guns? 

“Oy” is Mrs Patmore Jewish? 

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to sit in your presence my lord” That is a surprising amount of respect from someone who only two episodes fed him a chicken that had both been on the floor and nibbled by a cat…. 

“Try not to miss me, it will be good practice” Bates is a lovely man but ultimately he is a masochistic twat. 

“First electricity, now telephones. Sometimes I feel as if I were living in a H.G. Wells novel” Julian really does reserve his best for Maggie. 

“I’m not much good at building my life on shifting sands”  Calm down, Matthew. 

“He had a right to know how his countryman died, in the arms of a slut” Calm down, Edith. 

[namjoonchronicles]

Busy - [EXO] Dr!Chanyeol Au

[A/N] So my doctor-to-be friend came over to take me out to dinner, and he’s been so grateful that he passed his fourth year exam flawlessly, and decided to drain my money by coming over, so this was slightly inspired by him. So pray that he’ll be an orthopedist one day, he’s amazing and kind. And single.

You just got off the phone with your mother and apart from screaming at your little brother to come out of his room, she just complaints how she’s having indigestion, every now and then.

You didn’t have to ask why because she’s will answer that question for you, without even having a second to think about how it will hurt you. “...because you’re not married yet. Your friends are having their honeymoons, having a second baby, getting hitched, being in a relationship…” and then she proceeds to tell you the darndest thing, “What about you.”

You rolled your eyes, pressing your phone closer to your ears as people are glaring at you for  taking a call in the elevator with white coat is on. White coat on means ‘on duty’. But it was lunch break. But then again, you work in a hospital, so… what lunch?

You hissed, “Ma, I will call you later but before we end this call, it was your idea for me to date a doctor and unless people miraculously starts to live forever and never getting sick, there’s no way in life that he’ll ever propose because you know how absent-minded he is.” You hung up without listening to your mothers respond and just then, the elevator dings open to lower ground level where he’s supposed to meet you.

And if you expected him to be waiting charmingly at a table for two, with a  flower and a handsome smile, you were dead wrong, because you had to sit on the only empty table there and wait for him, instead. You started scrolling down your phone out of boredom and scrolls past at least, seventeen wedding pictures of your friends. Surfing the net was a mistake, it hoarded the feeling of disgrace to you and left you wondering, what it is to life. You wanted to run off somewhere but you can’t bear the life without your family, especially your mother. Even though her words can be hurtful and insensitive at times, you’d still miss her because.

She’s your mother.

But only if she understands that dating a doctor doesn’t mean that you’ll get to see him everyday. Your calls goes unanswered, your texts goes unreplied, your bed stays empty for days, and nights could feel very lonely. It’s like dating a stone wall. It’s there, but at the same time, not really there. Sometimes you just wonder if you should just leave, because there’s no reason to stay over here. He doesn’t seem like he need you that much. And you feel like you’d be fine without him.

Fine, everyone thinks it’s glamorous ordeal to be dating a healthcare professional such as a doctor, a very important figure, a glorious smart little punk with a stethoscope around his neck, charismatic and not to mention, free bone alignment massages. And to add to it, he knows about your body more than you do, so that’s a plus. But no.

He walked in an ugly red colour top and bottom in Crocs sandals with a sullen look on his face. His surgical face mask dangling around one ear and he just flopped himself on the chair in front of you. He just got out of a surgery it seems. He rips open his face mask of and sighed into his chair. He ran his fingers through his ruffled hair, pushing the hair back as he frowns making grunting sound. The nurses and medical students around just watching him in awe. And you heard the whispers rather too clearly.

“Isn’t he Dr. Chanyeol, the famous neurosurgeon?” “He just got out of a 12-hour surgery.” “He’s amazing.” “And handsome too.” “Is that the girlfriend?” “I hope not.”

Me too. You thought.

But Chanyeol look up at you, propping one elbow and resting his face in his palm, looking at you as if he had seen heaven in your face. And you can’t help that you’ll melt right back in his palms every time he does that. He looks at you like you’re magic. Like you’re the rainbow after a heavy rain. Like you’re sunshine. The only star in the dark night sky. Like there’s halo around your head.

But you’re just human, so you tend to not smile whenever he does this. After all, is this even a relationship?

“...hi.” He said, flirtatiously, as if he had just met you. “Hi.” You said, coldly, but a smile is already breaking on your lips. You hate that he had that kind of effect on you. “I’m gonna get food, you ordered yours?” Chanyeol stood up and already moving away when you nodded. He had like an hour break before having to ward rounds.

A colleague walked past and touched your shoulder, she beamed a smile. “Hey! The stocks are ready, so come over whenever you can. The box are placed pretty high, so you might want to move the ladders. Quick question,” she pauses, without noticing that Chanyeol had sat there before, “Is the boyfriend tall?”

Without thinking, you answered, “Quite.” “That’s good. So I’ll see you later. At the pharmacy.” She said, and went off.

Chanyeol returned with his lunch. “I can’t finish all of this, so will you help?” He huffs, “No,” you replied, just to get him riled up. The lunch was pretty much decent, considering how the little talks are seeming, laid back and not job related. And if you could summarize, you would say it was average and not ‘above average’, although it could really pass as excellent, only if he doesn’t have to answer calls every five minutes. You find yourself staring at your food most of the time.

“Yes. I remember giving Amlodipine 5mg as daily doses,” he pauses, “...correct, for one month. Sure.” “Hello, Dr. Park speaking. Yes. Uhum. That would be Fucicort cream, to be locally applied and two tubes because it’s a large area.” The second call goes. The third call didn’t come, but you expected it to be soon.

“Sorry, its just I was having a short clinic session before I came, so my writings were a bit terrible so they need to confirm what I wrote.” Chanyeol chuckled awkwardly, setting away his phone, facing down.

“I know,” you bitterly smile, “...I call you sometimes too. Your handwriting is impossible.” You traced your eyes to the side. As a pharmacist, you knew this all too well. “Sometimes you don’t even write the duration, so I don’t know how long the patient should take the medication. And other times, you intended to write left ear only to write on the prescription ‘LA’. Do you know what LA stands for? Locally applied. How do you locally applied on your left ear? It was an ear drop.” You ranted.

Chanyeol kept a stupid smile on his face as if your rants were cute and not serious. But you were all business, and he thinks it’s cute? Does he want to die?

“Maybe I have something else in my mind?” He laid out a stupid excuse. “Get your head in the game, doctor.” You mocked him. “Didn’t it ever come across to you that I might purposely make prescribing error just to have you call me?” Chanyeol arched an eyebrow at you. You looked at him straight in the eye, challenging him, “Then answer my gawd damn phone calls on your private cell when I gawd damn call you.”

His phone vibrates when he opens his mouth to say something in return, “Hold that thought.” He held on finger up and answered the call.

“Don’t tell me to hold my thought, I’ll hold whatever I want to, you’re not the boss of me,” you start speaking to yourself as he was replying to the enquiry by the nurses team. “Just because I’m not saying anything, doesn’t mean everything's okay. I’m tired of a one-sided relationship, and it feels like I’m the only one pulling everything together. And all my friends are getting married, and for some reason that fact had been pressuring my mother to pressure me about getting married. I don’t even know how to relationship, and the guy I’m currently with makes me feel like a freaking photo frame on the wall. Date a doctor, they say. It’ll be fun, they say.” You scoffed. “I feel like dating a tortoise.”

Chanyeol pull his ear away from his phone and grumbled, “Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t mind me. Go back to your pretty team of nurses. This is just a lunch date with an unimportant little midget who feeds on attention and is currently having a mental breakdown because of the uncertainties in life, and is wondering why the hell did she chose to eat fish and chips in broad daylight. Really, doctor, I’m holding my thoughts, just like you told me to. Carry on.” You played with your food and Chanyeol took the obvious hint.

“I’m done with lunch. It’s nice seeing you talking on the phone with your nurses. It was pleasant sight.” You pushed your chair back and sarcastically smile at him. “Liberating, actually.” You added spark to the fuel, making Chanyeol ran his hot tongue on his lower lip before biting them. He didn’t go after you, but it was something you already expected. “I’m a doctor, I save lives.” He grumbled. “Don’t kill yourself trying to save others,” you shake your head, and, “...Don’t start a relationship you can’t keep.” You walked away. Chanyeol dropped his gaze on his untouched food.

You went home to an empty house. As usual.

Around midnight, you heard the front door open and closes and you knew, Chanyeol is home. He hung his white coat, folded on the dining chair, his stethoscope around his neck still. He had on a dark blue fitted dress shirt and black trousers. You pulled the blankets to cover yourself up. He pushed the door gap slightly and said, “We need to talk.” He said, and he called your name once and you’re up. “I was sleeping.” You lied, lazily walking out of the bedroom, down the hall, to the living area, next to the dining table.

“You’re not, because if you did, you won’t be responding.” Chanyeol shot. “Well, I could be.” You darted back. “Well, you’re not because you won’t be standing here if you were.” Chanyeol unhooked his cuffs and undo his wrist watch. He let them sit folded on the empty dining table.

“I need to ask you, what you want from me.” His voice was low. “What do you think I want from you?” You shot back. “You need to be clear, because like you said, I’m absent minded when it comes to this thing.” He added. “I think I’m being clear enough.” You said. He opens his mouth to protest but nothing came out so he spun around with both hands in his hair, and while facing the opposing wall he said, “I love the fucking shit out of you but if you keep doing this I’m going to really go crazy.” He said.

“Well, now we could prove that neurosurgeons do go crazy.” You thoughtlessly say. He glared back at you, “...That’s an amazing thing to say to an actual neurosurgeon.” “I’m glad you noticed.” You challenged his patience.

He looked at you and you darted your eyes at him. And it stayed that way for awhile, until he muttered a barely silent, “Fuck, I’m so turned on right now,” and grabbing your face in his palm, sloppily kissing you on the lips. You slid your hand around his neck in an attempt to bring him closer to you. He responded by pulling you by your waist, squeezing your butt so your middle touches his torso. You two stumble your way to the bedroom, with pieces of cloth coming off every step, his stethoscope left abandoned on the floor and so were your undies.

The session was intense. Out of this world.

He stayed up, even though his eyes were droopy. Enjoying the afterglow, playing your tiny fingers, comparing them to his large pair. “...I’m sorry for what I say when I’m angry.” You confessed.

“I don’t think you were angry. I think the right terminology is umm… sexually frustrated.” He corrected. “I take that back, I’m not sorry. Why do I even think it was a good idea to date a smart ass.” You rolled your eyes, and pull your fingers away from his, to sulk. “No-no, you can’t take back what you said, I won’t allow you.” He takes your hand again, and this time he slips something on your ring finger.

You were astounded. This was something you didn’t expect. It was not even a photographable moment! You were naked in bed, and in the middle of the night.

“Park Chanyeol?” You whispered. “That’s Doctor. Park Chanyeol, to you,” he smiled, fiddling with the ring that’s slightly loose on your ring finger, “...Will you be Mrs. Park Chanyeol? Despite all shit we’ve gone through? Will you still be here, when I’m tired and unappealing as I get older?”

“Only if you do the same.” You blinked, thankfully. “Okay, so we’re engaged now. Now what?” He said.

“I don’t know. How are we going to have babies if we both are busy working in hospital?” You suddenly say. Chanyeol perked an eyebrow. “...We could do that now.”

“No way, I will not take a holiday from my work.” “But I wanna have babies with you.” “What does having babies have got to do with work. Are you going to take care of the babies when they’re out?” “Who’s the workaholic, now…” He starts running his palm down your thighs. “I bet someone’s gonna call you in two minutes.” You smirked.

Chanyeol makes a crying sound, “...Baby, please don’t say that, they’ll c--” Ring ring ring. Well, shit.