#i don’t have time to make appointments or anything yo !!! i keep getting intense pains on my day off oughfhgg im so mad

[mieltelecheycrema]

day off keeps getting wasted by headache im so sad

[prettywordsyouleft]

To Be Continued - Part 5

Summary: As an author, you had created Brian Kang for your current trilogy series to represent the ultimate man that everyone would love, along with Charli Evers - your female protagonist. What you hadn’t expected was for him to find a way out of the story and begin shaping up your world instead

Pairing: Brian Kang x female writer (ft. Park Sungjin)

Genre: writer au / romance / fantasy

Warnings: fictional characters coming to life / a bit of angst here and there / Sungjin as a cop (or does that only affect me?) >_>

Word count: 2174

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | Epilogue

Somehow you had fallen asleep.

You didn’t quite remember when or how, but when you fluttered your eyes open, the sun was casting a warm light across your body. You felt entirely content, and as you stretched out your arms, you found no niggling thoughts or remnants of your cold.

Had it all been a dream?

Searching around yourself for any obvious signs, you slowly rose to your feet, scooting them into your slippers and wrapped your robe around yourself. Padding down to the kitchen calling out Binks’ name, you stopped when you realised your cat was already preoccupied.

With Brian.

You didn’t know what shocked you more. That it hadn’t been a dream after all, or that your cat – who normally went into hiding at the first sign of a male entering your home – was allowing Brian to scratch under his chin affectionately. The loud purr only indicated Binks’ absolute delight by the gesture, and you scoffed loudly, giving both men the notice of your arrival.

“Seems like you’ve made yourself at home,” you pointed out as you rounded the pair to head for the jug to brew some coffee. You blinked when Brian handed you an already prepared mug, still warm to the touch.

He smiled gently. “I was going to make you breakfast but you’ve beaten me to it.”

“You don’t have to make me anything,” you mentioned, a light cough rising in the back of your throat at the thoughtful offer.

You strangely felt wary of relying on Brian already. After his help from not letting you fall face-first to the ground last night, you were a little shaken up by how easily you wanted to enjoy your time around him. If you allowed your mind to wander, the idea of having breakfast together would become your new favourite thing.

You hoped to god he wouldn’t go into any domestic chores in front of you or it would be incredibly hard to rein in your desires.

Staring at the man, you eventually smiled. “Do you feel okay?”

“Fine. Why?”

“Maybe I should take you to see a doctor? Get you checked out, you know, make sure you’re really here,” you murmured and Brian’s concern soon erased, a smirk adorning his perfectly shaped lips. Ah, if you truly had created this specimen, you had done the best work of your life.

Brian was breathtaking. Perhaps you needed to go get your heart checked out too with how fast it started to beat.

“I’ll go if you want me to.”

“You will?”

Brian nodded as he continued to pet Binks. The feline seemed more than appreciative of your new house guest, winding himself back and forth against Brian’s outstretched hand. Finally, Brian glanced up at you, his eyes bright with joy.

You almost dropped the cup in your hand then. Grappling for it, and thanking yourself silently for draining the coffee before such a moment could occur, you laughed lightly. “Ha. So clumsy!”

“So I can tell. Are you normally like this, or is it just in my presence?”

“Are you generally this straight-forward?” you shot back and Brian cocked his head to the side, knowing full well that you should too know the answer to this question. “Right. Of course. It’s one of your charms.”

“Am I charming you, Miss Writer?”

“Okay! Time for me to get dressed and book you a doctor’s appointment. Maybe a joint one. I’ll need to uh, just check my own sanity out whilst I’m there.”

“Are general practitioners able to do all that in one visit?” Brian teased and you huffed at him before dashing down the hallway, closing your bedroom door behind you and raising your hand to your chest to capture your beating heart.

You willed it to slow down but it seemed out of your control.

“Just like the world and characters I’ve created,” you whispered, glancing at your door and biting at the bottom of your lip as a million thoughts raced through your head.

You were surprisingly relieved that your doctor could see Brian as well. You had half-wondered on your drive over to the clinic if he was simply your imagination. You had often heard about writers having muses that seemingly became like imaginary friends to them over the years. Since you considered yourself a newbie author, you were certain it would take many more years before your muse stepped out from one of your novels like that.

And you certainly hadn’t expected Brian to become this real, if he were your muse.

So to hear Doctor Pritchard greet Brian and see her shake his hand – a little too long for your liking, admittedly – did ease some of your concerns about your well-being.

And solidified Brian’s existence further.

“So you want to get your friend here a general check-up?” the doctor enquired, and you nodded your head eagerly.

“Check him all over. Make sure he’s as perfect as I made – as nature created him to be,” you said with a little laugh, Brian’s lips curling up at your almost mishap.

“Well, I’m sure from what I see, there will be no problems along the way,” the doctor expressed, again concerning you with how her eyes lingered. Realising her unprofessional conduct suddenly, she cleared her throat and began her examination.

You realised you should have waited outside for this. It was all very straight-forward in the beginning. She checked his vision and hearing before looking into the back of this throat. And then she suggested he unbutton his shirt a little so she could listen to his heart. Brian didn’t hesitate, fingers nimbly popping open a few buttons. Even you heard the way the doctor gulped before putting the stethoscope into her ears and placed the other end upon his chest.

Brian shot you a small inquisitive look then, and you darted your gaze to the heavens, wondering why you were testing yourself like this. Keeping them there for the remainder of the examination, you waited for the results to garner your attention.

“Well Brian, aside from the old scars I noticed on your body, you’re in fine form. A wonderful state of health. We’ll need to get a blood test from you but other than that, I’m signing you off as perfect.”

“Really doctor, thank you,” Brian mentioned, oozing his charms so effortlessly. He seemed satisfied by the stumped look upon both yours and the doctor’s faces and got up to follow the nurse who had come in to take him off to get his bloods taken.

And then Doctor Pritchard leaned over her desk towards you. “Where did you find him?!”

“Long story,” you mentioned, realising just how ironic that statement was. Rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly, you then mirrored her action and leaned forward towards her. “So he’s fine?”

“More than fine.”

“I mean, as a person.”

Doctor Pritchard nodded. “He’s healthy, Y/N. You, however, look rough.”

“I had a cold. He helped me get over it.”

“I bet he did,” she mentioned with a sly smile and you gasped at her reaction. She grinned back at you. “What? I struggled! Next time you plan on bringing someone as gorgeous as Brian into my office, warn me first! I didn’t go to medical school for all those years to find myself drooling over a patient. It’s so unprofessional of me!”

“Imagine my surprise when I first--” You stopped, smiling at the doctor who seemed to understand despite not telling her the full story. You weren’t sure how to explain Brian’s existence to anyone yet.

“If you don’t snap him up as your own, Y/N, you’re a fool.”

“Oh, believe me, he’s mine. He’s definitely mine,” you told her, taking the script she had given you to help combat your low immunity before heading for the door.

You didn’t know what you were going to do with Brian now.

“Do you want to go back anytime soon?” you asked Brian later that evening, the man marvelling the crook of his elbow where the nurse had taken blood from him. Leaning closer, you winced when you saw the small bruise rising upon his skin. “That looks painful.”

“She seemed to struggle, much like the doctor did.”

“Does it please you, having so many people fawn over you like this?”

Brian shook his head, though there was a small smile that played upon his lips as he did so. You rolled your eyes in response, and Brian chuckled. “In my world, everyone’s looking at Charli or Devon as beautiful and handsome. Not me.”

“Devon is your rival, so of course he’s seen as successful. Whilst the reader is meant to find you more amazing, just as Charli does.”

“Like you do too.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll admit it. You’re handsome. I made you that way because-”

“Because?” Brian asked, scooting in closer. You stopped breathing, or at least, it felt like you weren’t getting enough air with the way he was intensely awaiting your answer.

Blinking rapidly, you looked back at the TV you had aimlessly turned on. You didn’t watch TV all that often, far too engrossed in the worlds you created.

Yet, you hoped right now it could save you from having to answer him.

“Miss Writer,” Brian prompted, and you groaned.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What should I call you then?” he almost purred, and you leapt up from the couch, heading over to the kitchen to find something to do. You cursed under your breath when Brian followed you, reaching out for the breakfast dishes he had cleaned earlier to put away.

“Just call me by my name.”

“Y/N,” he said, and you hissed, shaking your head. Brian laughed. “What, that is your name!”

“But it feels too… intimate the way you said it.”

“How I said it?” he repeated and you nodded once, not daring to look in his direction. The air around you felt smug, however, and you knew he was pleased again.

The sheer amount of validation you were given him as a person would have been building him up easily. You knew it was one of his insecurities and without realising it, you were paying enough attention to him, much like Charli had begun to do so too.

You wondered if Brian was blurring lines within his own mind now about what you meant to him.

“Why are you here?” you asked softly and Brian’s humour softened, his dark eyes searching yours momentarily.

“I wanted to find out more about you.”

“But why? When you have Charli to concern yourself with?”

“You’re more interesting to me than her,” he whispered, blinking a couple of times when he realised what he had said. Trying to brush it off with a smile, Brian reached out for a bowl but your hand grabbed onto his wrist and stopped him from putting it away.

“Why?”

“You have a lot of questions about me today, Miss Writer.”

“I’m trying to understand how the man I created as my biggest self-indulgence for a character is somehow standing before me right now. I need to figure out how to accept or deny you in my world for my own sanity. I created you because you were missing from my world and now you’re here I…”

Brian placed down the bowl again and turned to face you, seeking out your lowered gaze. Hooking a finger under your chin to lift it back up to him, he smiled gently. “Now I’m here?”

“I’m worried I won’t want you to go.”

“Well, I don’t plan on going anywhere soon,” he told you firmly, nodding to emphasise it also. “I want to stay here in this world with you.”

“How is it possible though?” you breathed, and Brian shook his head.

“I’m not sure, but can’t we just focus on the fact that you see me and I see you, and this is what we both want?”

“You want to see me?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said you’re more interesting to me.”

You got caught in the moment. Brian’s thumb gently caressed your chin as he held your gaze fondly, searching for his own reason to like you. However, you were long gone. You had created Brian, poured so much love and attention into him that having him stare like this at you made you disregard everything.

Much as last night, you were uncaring of where he came from, or who he was meant to be with. Right now, you wanted to be the only person he ever looked at like this again. He made you feel special, as if you were carved out of the same stone of life and meant to be for one another.

You couldn’t tell who moved in first, whether it was you or Brian, but the angle he now held your jaw at was much closer to his face, ready for his lips to make an impact.

And just as you were certain that he was about to kiss you, the front doorbell rang.

_________________

Part 6

All rights reserved © prettywordsyouleft

[DAY6 Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [Request Guidelines]

[rina-writes]

Sharing

Summary:  Grayson sees Ethan’s girlfriend, Y/N, out with another man, but when he tells Ethan, he learns that his twin’s relationship isn’t what meets the eye.

Warnings: Mentions of sex, a little angsty

“Ay yo, E!” Grayson yelled from the kitchen.  He glanced at Ryan who looked at him helplessly.  “Maybe you should go.” Grayson said in a softer voice to Ryan.  “I think I want to tell him alone.”

“Yeah,” Ryan nodded sadly.  “Yeah that makes sense.  Let me know, okay?”

He claps Grayson on the back before going out the side door.  Grayson took a deep breath as he held the edge of the kitchen table so tightly that his knuckles turned white.  He heard Ethan coming and he took a sharp breath.  God, he needed his inhaler. This was the hardest thing he was going to have to do in awhile and he felt his throat closing up as a response.

“You alright, Gray?” Ethan asked, running over to his brother.  “Do you need your inhaler? You’re wheezing.”

Grayson nodded and Ethan ran to their (currently shared) room to retrieve his twin’s inhaler.  He handed it to Grayson and watched as the life seemed to flow through him again. 

“For a second, you were so pale we actually looked like twins again.” Ethan joked.

“God,” Grayson shook his head sputtering a laugh.  “Now, all I need is playing Fortnite for 12 hours straight every day in order to be as pasty as Casper over here.”

Grayson smirked and Ethan returned it.

“So,” Ethan jumped up on one of the chairs by the counter.  “What’s up?”

“Yeah...” Grayson’s voice trailed off for a moment.  His chest was contracting again and he clutched his inhaler.  This time, he knew it wasn’t asthma, it was fear.  He had seen Ethan hurt before and he didn’t want to see it again.  While Grayson knew it wasn’t his fault, he still felt guilty for causing his brother pain.

“Bro...” Ethan met Grayson’s matching hazel eyes with his own.  “You’re scaring me, what’s up?”

“I saw Y/N today...” Grayson said, his heart clenching when a smile immediately tugged at Ethan’s lips at the sound of your name.

“Yeah?” Ethan smirked.  “She didn’t leave here too long ago. Surprised you didn’t ask why I am up so early.”

“Ethan, it’s 11am.” Grayson glared.  “That’s not early.”

“Early for me.” Ethan winked.  “Well if that’s all, I’m going to make some breakfast...”

Ethan hopped off the stool and walked toward the cupboard to pull out a cutting board.

“She was with a guy, Ethan.” Grayson said, making Ethan freeze.  Ethan didn’t turn around and Grayson sighed as he continued speaking. His hands outstretched as he gestured while he spoke. “They were holding hands and kissing and stuff.  I’m pretty sure they’re together.  Ryan was with me and I’m sure it was her.”

“Xander?” Ethan said, his voice cracking a bit.  He cleared his throat and went back to preparing his avocado toast.  He was in the process of pulling out a knife to cut the avocado.

“What?” Grayson asked, coming around the kitchen table to stand closer to Ethan. 

“Was it Xander?” Ethan asked, his voice returning to it’s normal, casual pitch.

“How would I know?” Grayson asked.  “I didn’t go up and interview the guy.”

“Tall, slim guy with dark hair and hipster glasses?” Ethan asked, gesturing on his body as he described Xander’s features.  “Looks like he should be the keyboardist of a boy band?”

“Yeah, kinda...I guess?” Grayson shook his head.  “Wait you know this guy?”

“Uh huh...” Ethan said, trying to make it sound like a normal experience.  “I mean it sounds like it was a date so it had to be him.  She only goes out with him.  That’s Y/N’s husband after all.

Grayson took two pumps of his inhaler as he gripped the counter for balance.  “Her WHAT?” Grayson yelled.

“Inside voice, Gray.” Ethan admonished his brother as he scooped out the avocado.

Grayson wasn’t sure to be angry or depressed at how Ethan continued to make his breakfast as if this was a completely normal conversation.

“You’re the other man?” Grayson asked.

“Eh, not exactly.” Ethan danced his head from side to side. “Xander and I know of each other’s existence.  They are kinda in an open relationship.”

“Kinda?” Grayson asked. “Isn’t that usually pretty explicit?”

“Well, Xander isn’t interested in dating anyone.  You see, they were high school sweethearts.” Ethan explained. “They were each other’s first.  They waited for marriage and everything.  Turns out, Xander wasn’t a huge fan of sex, but Y/N was.  At first, it was fine.  They didn’t want kids and Y/N bought a bunch of toys and whatnot to play with herself. After long discussions about their needs, Xander told her that she should find a sexual partner who would do all the sexual stuff that he wasn’t into. Y/N felt guilty about it so she promised to only keep it about sex.”

“And how do you get involved?” Grayson asked.  “You met her like three months ago.”

“Yeah, well once I broke up with---”

“The one who shall not be named.” Grayson chimed in.

“Right,” Ethan smiled softly.  “I was at a low point.  I didn’t want to do the relationship thing for awhile, so I decided the hook up thing would be good.  However, Tinder was too risky. Setting up an account is easy.  We can use our real pics and everyone thinks you’re fake.  But, once they show up and they realize it’s you, it’s all over. So, I chose a site made for people who want to lay low and keep it casual.”

“Basically a cheating husband site.” Grayson nodded.  “So, you’re the f-ck boy now.”

“My story...no more cut ins.” Ethan reminded Grayson to which Grayson put both his hands up in defense.  “So, anyway, I saw Y/N’s story on the site.  She was so innocent looking.  She was wearing a little lavender baby doll and she looked nervous as she tried to look sexy.  You could see Xander’s freaking shadow in the picture.  She was a little older than us and I dunno, it just felt right.  So, I invited her over. It was easy. She didn’t even recognize me from YouTube. We just have sex appointments.”

Grayson narrowed his eyes. “Ethan...I’m your brother.  Your twin brother...”  

“You are...” Ethan confirmed, sarcastically.

“I know that it’s not just about sex.” Grayson shook his head.  “She doesn’t know because she’s only slept with two people in her life.  She doesn’t know that making someone breakfast in bed...” 

Grayson gestured at the dirty plates in the sink, “...sending them flowers and expensive lingerie on the SHARED account with your twin, and lighting up when you hear their name, isn’t a sex thing.  What Y/N doesn’t know is that two people she’s had sex with in her life, are both in love with her.”

For the first time since the conversation started, Ethan’s process of making toast halted.  

“I don’t love her.” Ethan said, his voice deep and dark.  “I can’t love her.”

“Those are different things, E.” Grayson said, his voice getting soft.  He reached over to touch Ethan, but Ethan shoved him away.

“I promised Xander. I promised Y/N.” Ethan’s voice cracked.  “I wouldn’t make things complicated for them.”

“You’re human, E.” Grayson said, reaching out to hug his brother, this time his hug accepted.  “Despite what people say, it’s hard to be balls deep in someone and not care about them.”

“She such a good f-ck too, Gray.” Ethan groaned into his brother’s shoulder. “She learns so quickly and is eager to please.  She’s also sensitive as hell and...”

“No more details, thanks.” Grayson said, breaking the hug with an eye roll.

Ethan pulled away to reveal misty eyes.  “It’s only been three months. I think...I think I can forget this crush.”

“Not with your sex appointments!” Grayson argued, making air quotes around “sex appointments”.  “You have to get out now before you’re in too deep.”

Ethan scoffed. “I think it’s too late for that. It’s fine I can share.”

“Once again! I’m you’re twin brother, I know you can’t share.” Grayson rolled his eyes at Ethan.

“Yes, I can!” Ethan argued. “You’re literally bigger than me because I share too much.  Can’t I get the bigger share for once in my life and mess around with a beautiful girl with no strings attached?”

A silence enveloped them as Grayson met Ethan’s eyes intensely.

“Do you really think that’s the bigger share?” Grayson asked.

“No,” Ethan shook his head, taking his toast out of the toaster and smearing avocado on it. “But, that’s what I’ve always told myself. Why should anything change now?”

What could Grayson say to that? Nothing, so they sat there in silence while Ethan made his avocado toast and Grayson made a protein shake.  The silence was eventually filled with nonsense conversation, anything to pretend that their conversation never happened.

“I just want you to be happy, E.” Grayson said, suddenly referring to their previous conversation. 

“Me too.” Ethan smiled, trying to stop the tears from falling.

That’s what you said to him this morning before you left and he whispered I love you as you walked through the door.

[quillbetweenboots]

OMINOUS

by Lala J. Thorpe

Genre             : angsty romance

Pairing           : Uruha “The GazettE” x Mizuno Rin (OC)

Rating            : T 

 It was after graduation ceremony for 3rd grade students. This girl was standing at the podium delivering speech as being awarded as the best graduate in her year. My love. My so beloved young lady. I was sitting at the second row of teachers’ line. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears compiled with trembling voice. The crowd goes progressively quieter listening to her. As my colleagues reckoned, she excelled in almost all subjects except Math. I was teaching her class and noticed how she didn’t put much effort into every exercise I gave. As passionless as it seemed as her attitude could become a fatal blunder for her own goal.

           “Uruha-sensei, I appoint you as the private lesson tutor for Mizuno Rin,” the school principal spoke to me one day. “She cannot stay reluctant in your math class or she won’t be able to enrol in a French university after she graduates.” I looked up at him and I couldn’t remember how I said yes.

           She was difficult. Numbers were her worst enemy and complains and whining kept releasing from her mouth. One afternoon she was crying out loud screaming at me she hated being put in this private lesson, saying her head couldn’t deal anymore with those numbers. It’s not unusual though. I sighed and let my hand caress her ponytailed hair.

           “I know you can do this. Mizuno, look at me.”

           She lifted her face showing those swollen eyes. “Just this once, ‘kay? You’ll be free from numbers by the time you’ve been admitted as a literature student. You can do this.”

“I hate you, Sensei,” she whimpered. And she rose from her own frustration at once.

This lesson wasn’t always conducted inside a classroom after the bell. Sometimes she requested to have it at the weekend. Having intense classes everyday was stressful for her. While she was studying with me in my small studio, I played soft tunes with my guitar. She told me about her dreams of having education abroad and how she got bullied because of that in elementary school. We were growing closer gradually before we knew it.

And then it happened.

We kissed. One evening in my studio.

“Omae no koto ga suki da yo,” I said.

“Watashi mo,” she replied burying her face into my shoulder. “Daisuki desu!”

“We’re so doomed if school knows about us.”

“Hai.”

“Let’s just keep it for ourselves until graduation, okay?”

“Wakarimashita.”

That’s how we began to see each other secretly. Taking her on date outside town to avoid local people. The only person who learnt about this was Mizuno’s best friend, Ogawa Nacchii. They were so close that Ogawa could tell anything between us even though no words were uttered by Mizuno. Tell you what? Because Ogawa was frequent in accompanying her in my private lesson, not to mention in my studio, she was now dating one of my bandmates, Kai the drummer. They were so in love with each other without having any concerns about getting expelled from school. One afternoon on a peaceful date at a small beach, I decided to make a promise.

“Mizuno…”

“Hai?”

“Promise me you’ll give your best for your final exam. Go to France. Live your dreams.”

She nodded contentedly. “Un. Yakusoku desu!”

“Soshite…” I inhaled. My hands caressed her cold hands. “Let’s get married.”

Her jaw dropped, taken aback. “Sensei…”

“Mizuno Rin, would you give me the honour of being my wife?”

Her eyes were welled up.

“I know this is so sudden but I can’t think of anyone else but you. I’ve fallen deeply for you since I noticed that burning passion of yours. All I want is to be with you now. Dakara…I’ll always have someone to come home to whenever I go on tour with GazettE. Mizuno…would you be mine forever?”

“Yes! SENSEI, YESS!!!”

Now here she’s standing before me and many people. Showing people how it’s really done. How she was really gonna be living her dreams in France.

“I would like to give my biggest gratitude to especially Uruha-sensei, who never stops motivating me to fight. Without whom, I probably would never get up and overcome my difficulties in learning numbers. Thanks to it, I was able to get admitted in my dream university in France. Sensei, arigatou gozaimashita.”

Her gaze fell at me with rather hidden meaning. My chest was surged with pride as the audience clapped their hands for my love. Ogawa Nacchii, her best friend, was wiping the tears away from her red fluffy cheeks.

All graduated students were gathered outside the hall after the ceremony finished. Some were crying with their classmates, taking pictures with family, or even confessing to their crush. Mizuno was there laughing with Ogawa and few other classmates. She caught my eyes and gave a sweet smile. I smiled back at her.

“Meet me after this,” I mouthed inaudibly to her. She nodded.

When I was about to turn around to go back to my office, my eyes caught someone standing a few feet away behind Ogawa. His eyes were glaring almost emptily at her when his left-hand took something out from the pocket. A knife. A fucking pocket knife! With a trembling hand, he lifted the knife above his head and walked towards that small group.

“MIZUNO!”

 *flashback, author’s POV*

“Sensei, chotto iissu ka?”

Uruha paused from straightening students’ exercise sheets. Most students had already left and this guy was standing before his teacher.

“Can I help you, Uesugi?”

Uesugi Toru. One of top students in his year who was battling for first rank with Mizuno Rin.

He walked closer to Uruha’s desk. “If I happen to tell you something, will you perhaps expel me from your class?”

The bizarre question made Uruha frowned that he had to observe Uesugi’s facial expression before answering him. “Whatever do you want to tell me?”

“I know what is going on between you…and Mizuno-san.”

Uruha nearly choked his own saliva. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he scoffed avoiding Uesugi’s glare. “There’s nothing between us.”

“Oh, is that so? Then pray tell me what it is.” He showed Uruha a picture of him in his phone sitting with Mizuno behind the window of a small café in Shibuya.

“I was just giving her private lesson. She asked me to do it there as she’s too tired to do it in class over and over,” explained Uruha. “It’s not like what you th—”

“Then what was this?” Uesugi slid to the next photo. He was hugging Mizuno right before they got out behind the glass door. “Does a teacher happen to hug his student after giving her additional lesson?”

Uruha was quietened down. “Omae…”

“Because I’ve been following you almost everywhere, Sensei,” Uesugi confessed.

“You freaking stalker. Give me your phone!” Uruha almost fell over his desk scattering the piles of paper but Uesugi was too quick to pull the phone away from Uruha’s reach. “What the hell do you want, Uesugi?!”

“These…could be my tools as I’m gonna visit principal’s room, and you’ll be fired from this school. As well as Mizuno will probably be expelled…”

“Or what?”

“Or you stay away from Mizuno. From now on.”

Uruha sniggered quietly. “Like hell I’m gonna fall into that cheap threat. You already know what I’m capable of in this school. As for Mizuno, she can always find other school if she gets expelled from here. Ja na, Uesugi.” With that last sentence, Uruha collected his things and walked off the class. “Staying away from Mizuno? As if I would,” he muttered.

“No, it’s not like that, Sensei!” Uesugi spoke loudly before Uruha crossed the door.

“Then what?” Uruha turned around. “You happen to like Mizuno too? You’re jealous because she chose me over you?”

“Not as close.” Uesugi glared at his teacher. “Sensei ga…suki desu kara. And there should be no one who could be with you. Except me.”

“Dou yu koto da…?”

 *end of flashback* Mizuno’s POV

I was talking to Nacchii and my other classmates when I caught a glimpse of Uruha-sensei, telling me to meet him after this. Seeing his smile filled with pride stirred my heart. I was able to hold my tears whilst giving speech this morning because he told me not to cry in front of the audience. Because I’d love to see your smile on the podium, he said to me. What a beautiful day!

I was about to have a chat again with my friends when I heard Uruha-sensei called me loudly.

“MIZUNO!”

I could feel he abruptly grabbed me from behind and pulled me into his chest before.

“Gghhaaahh!!”

Why is he groaning? Why is he screaming in pain? As I turned around, Uruha-sensei was slowly falling to the ground with his arms were still circling my body. His face already contorted with pain. The intense screaming filled my ears horribly roughly mentioning his name…and blood. Blood? What blood?!

“Sensei…? Sensei, what happened?!” I nearly shouted seeing his face grew paler. He was still holding me.

There I saw it. On his upper right back. A pocket knife stabbed him. Then there’s blood…dripping slowly, escaping from his flesh.

“That’s him! Uesugi stabbed Uruha-sensei!”

I caught Uesugi’s panicked look behind Uruha-sensei for a second before he tried running away from the crowd. Wh—what the hell actually happened here?

“Mi—Mizuno…”

I returned my gaze to already weak Sensei. “Sensei, daijoubu desu ka?”

“Yokatta…” he whispered giving me a weak smile. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Tears were rolling down my cheeks seeing his face full of agony but still managed to smile at me. “Sensei, please hold on!”

“It hurts…” He spoke difficultly between his intense pain “…to see you cry. Smile for me…onegai.”

I shook my head failing to suppress my tears from falling continuously as I rubbed his cold cheek. “Sensei, look at me please. You’ll be fine, Sensei. Please hold on! Somebody heeellpp!!!!” I screamed my heart out asking for help before the bleeding worsened. My other hand was reaching for his wound attempting to stop the blood. Nacchii sat beside me supporting his body as well.

“Rin…his bleeding…”

I sobbed quietly in front of him.

“Remember that I love you…R—Rin. No one will take you away from me.”

“Don’t say anything. You better keep your promises to me, Sensei,” I whispered. He gave me one last smile before being lifted by school staffs and brought him to infirmary. I still stayed at the ground looking at my bloody hand whilst Nacchii’s still holding me. Comforting me that he’s gonna be fine even though she was also crying. It all happened to quickly in this day. My head couldn’t even make it out clearly. Please, be well, Sensei. Remember the promises we had made. Dakara…ikanaide.

to be continued.

[whitecoatdiaries]

The Notebook

We’re seeing a patient on endocrine consults who can’t regulate his sodium following brain surgery. I’m taking care of adults this month but he’s only 20 and his Mom does most of the talking in the room. The first day I meet them we’re only a few minutes into our conversation when she pulls out a worn spiral-bound notebook that I can see from across the room is full of pages and pages of cramped, furiously-scribbled notations. I’m surprised by how viscerally I react. 

I know this notebook well. Last month I spent 6 straight weeks in the PICU. I conclude at the end of the month that there’s no place in the hospital as full of suffering as the pediatric intensive care unit. The parents are devastated: they shriek and panic and fall apart in front of me. I become adept at placing one comforting hand on a shoulder and using the other to grab the nearest chair, gently guiding the parent to seated (syncope is a common and generally avoidable occurrence here). One morning we round for hours with the steady wailing of a brand-new mother in the background. She delivered without ever attending a prenatal appointment. I find that parents’ grief is almost always flavored with anger, or guilt, or some confusing, human combination of the two.  

The parents’ suffering is unmistakable. They do not ‘give up’ on their children-- they cannot. For 6 weeks I watch the vigil one Mom keeps over her 5-year-old. Her respiratory failure is so severe that even the ventilator can’t keep up. In some cases, we offer ECMO, which uses two surgically-placed catheters to drain the blood from the body, oxygenate it using a machine, and then return it to circulation, effectively bypassing the lungs. The decision to offer ECMO is a complicated one. It is an incredibly money- and resource-intensive intervention with significant morbidity, and most critically ill patients will die on it. The prevailing logic is that it should only be offered when we anticipate patients have a ‘reversible’ injury that they will recover from in a relatively short period of time (the longer a patient remains on ECMO the more likely they are to have a stroke, or other kinds of organ failure). We don’t know the cause of this 5yo’s respiratory failure so the argument is made that it could be reversible and that ECMO should be offered. It is, and she’s on it for 6 weeks. The team is divided. She shows no signs of getting better. We order medicines and infusions that cost thousands and tens-of-thousands of dollars apiece. Statistically, no one think she will survive this. We bicker over her lab values, her treatments, her oxygen and CRRT goals. The phrase “arranging the desk chairs on the Titanic” etches itself into my skull those 6 weeks. But her mother can’t give up. She won’t. The dynamic between the family and the team becomes vaguely adversarial at times. We often feel like we are being forced to torture a child that we know is almost certainly going to die. But children are difficulty to prognosticate about, and every so often they make miraculous recoveries, and so the parents hold out hope. And we consider that there is some sliver of a chance that she recovers. And so we do as we are told. One late night on my way to the cafeteria I see the child’s mother hunched in the hallway, bolting down a hot-dog just outside the doors to our PICU (food isn’t allowed inside, and there are no bathrooms for family inside the badge-swipe-gated doors either). She looks exhausted and famished and oddly guilty when our eyes meet, mid-bite. My heart breaks. The mother suffers. The child suffers. We press on, presenting our numbers and vent settings and rattling off the mile-long list of medicines she’s on every morning, resenting the Unit and the Family but probably mostly just resenting God and this God-forsaken place. 

The parents suffer. The child suffers, in spite of but often because of us. With adults there is sometimes a moment of relief when we switch from aggressive interventions to comfort-focused care. After years of hospitalizations and side-effect-laden medicines and painful procedures, the patient rests. I get to see the family exhale. The patient opens their eyes, in a moment of lucidity, and says, softy “no more.” We listen. We are liberated from our treatment goals. 

This moment rarely comes for children. There is no exhale. There is only a white-knuckled do-everything that seems to last until the very end. 

And so I meet The Notebook. It usually sits on the bedside table, within easy reach of the parents. When we mention new medicines, changed doses, or trending lab values, the notebook comes out. My words get transcribed word-for-word often, and if there’s time I pause, spelling things and repeating phrases. Most families with chronically sick kids are well-accustomed to the frantic pace at which we conduct rounds and so their scribbles are hazy, misspelled, phonetic interpretations of the bizarre medical language we speak and only sometimes translate. 

They flip back nervously, looking for evidence that their child has been on this medicine before. They know the patience of the medical team wears thin and so the page-turning becomes frantic. Somewhere in their notebook they are sure they have an answer to whatever today’s issue is: uncontrolled secretions, vomiting with the tube feeds, flushing skin after an antibiotic. It’s hard to watch.

The parents of chronically-ill children are often the most complete medical records we have. They know this and so police our treatments carefully, quick to interject if their child has had a problem with our proposed treatments. As the medical team, we feel complicated: we rely on these parents and their exhaustive lists. They coordinate the 15 specialists, fill the meds, know how their child best tolerates their feeds, know which meds best control secretions. But like all people, they are prone to all kinds of bias. My criteria for an ‘allergic reaction’ is strictly defined by a histamine-mediated response causing a certain set of symptoms. My patients’ parents criteria often feels like anything that correlates to a bad day, a weird look on their face, or an unexplained episodes of vomiting. They collect all of the information meticulously, scribbling in their notebooks, but it’s not always clear which information is important. 

On bad, cynical days, I often think that we create monsters in the parents of chronically-ill children. They have learned that making demands, throwing tantrums, and raising their voice tends to bludgeon the team into doing what they what: prescribing antibiotics we feel are unnecessarily, keeping patients in the hospital who are ready for discharge, avoiding treatments that could be beneficial. If a patient’s safety is truly being compromised usually someone puts their foot down, but we make compromises all the time that feel ridiculous. At one rapid response, we can’t get a 7-yo neurologically devastated child’s oxygen saturation up out of the mid-80s. The primary and intensivist team quickly runs through the utility of different interventions in a medically urgent scenario-- if her oxygen saturation continues to fall, she could die in minutes. Upset that she’s not being listened to, the Mom piercingly dog-whistles at us to give us a piece of information that is irrelevant and unhelpful. We listen, calmly, placate her, and continue on with our discussion. 

Afterwards, on returning to the PICU, I get angry. I do not intend to be whistled at like a dog in my adult life: not by men, not by strangers, not by my patients. 6 weeks of being treated poorly by parents starts to wear you thin. Their frustration and poor behavior is explainable, and each time I reach inside my reservoir of patience (filled on the occasional day off and unfortunately hoarded for my patients at the expense of those I love) and smile calmly, waiting for the tirade to end, but it gets old. 

So when my patient’s mother pulls out the notebook, I both flinch and tear up. I can read her anxiety from across the door. I know intimately this impulse to record as an attempt to exercise control over the situation, control which I know will not be afforded to her this hospital stay. Her child’s short-term memory has not been the same since the surgery and he looks at her, worried, when we ask him basic questions. She rushes to answer them, trying to soothe him, promising over and over that it’s just temporary, that he’s still recovering. I don’t know that it is. I don’t know that he will. I know that there will be many, many questions that come from this notebook that we will patiently answer, and that our answers won’t change a thing. 

[swfanficbyjz]

Photographs - Modern SW AU

Ahsoka design inspired by @litheian's human version of Ahsoka. Much of the idea came from her headcannon too. Check out her artwork here: litheiandoodles@tumblr.com

Pairing: Anakin (23)/Ahsoka (18)

Part 1:

Anakin strolled into the old warehouse. On the other side of the wall he could hear his agent, Ben, arguing with the studio owner, Plo. He rolled his eyes and sat down. It was the same old thing. “Are you kidding me, Plo? You can’t do this to me! We’re old friends, that’s got to count for something!” Ben was saying in his whiny, overdramatic voice. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Ben. But this is an opportunity of a lifetime for me and my business. I just can’t pass it up!” Plo replied, begging him to understand.

“Well then, what are we supposed to do? I’m telling you, he has what it takes! He’s the next big thing in the model world. But he’ll never get his face out there, without a good portfolio. And a good portfolio requires a good photographer! You’re the best around, we need you!” His agent exclaimed.

“Look, I’ll tell you what. I recently hired an intern from the high school down the street, she’s got a good eye. I’ll have her take the pictures and I’ll photoshop them later. They’ll have the Plo Koon seal of approval before they leave.”

“A no-name? That’s suicide in this business, you know that!” It wouldn’t be long now before Ben was yelling. Anakin opened his eyes and looked around. Whatever his agent was negotiating, wasn’t going well. He hated politics, so he stayed out of it. Movement caught his eye and he stood up and headed in that direction. 

He watched as a young girl with reddish-brown, almost copper colored, skin, came out of the back room carrying a tripod in one hand and a light in the other. She was wearing a red crop top and cutoff jean shorts. She had bangles up and down her arms and around her ankles, and bare feet. There were white markings on her face that came down in a diamond shape, wove around her eyes in both directions and then a separate wing shape on her cheeks. She was too far away to tell if they were a tattoo or something she drew on with makeup. She had a nose ring and multiple piercings up and down her ears. The way they sparkled in the studio lights reminded him of constellations. But her most dramatic feature was her brightly colored blue and silvery-white hair, dyed in stripes that were not your common highlights. She was cute, in an eccentric kind of way, he smiled to himself. Ben may not think she’s worth much, but he wouldn’t mind working with her.

“Ahsoka!” Plo called from his office, coming out into the open area with Ben on his heels. The girl that Anakin had been watching looked up from her task almost bored. His smile deepened. Her name was unusual, but it fit her. He liked it. “I have to go across town and take pictures of Miss Amidala’s new fashion line. I need you to do model portfolio shots for this young man.” Plo said, acknowledging Anakin for the first time. Her eyes followed where he pointed, widened just slightly when she saw he’d been watching her, but then returned to the owner and nodded. “Ben here, will tell you what he wants. Good luck!” He said a little strained and grabbed a bag of equipment before disappearing out the double doors. “Oh and lock up when you’re done!” He shouted from outside. Anakin imagined he was now muttering to himself angrily. He resisted the urge to laugh. Ben had that effect on people.

“Now listen here, girl…” his agent said to her. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m not happy about this arrangement. You’re going to take lots of pictures of my client in all different places and styles and hopefully in the next few days, there will be a handful that are worth keeping!”

If Ahsoka was offended or bothered by what Ben was saying, she hid it well. Anakin had seen stronger people melt under his gaze. She was probably used to demanding people. That’s the kind of people you had to deal with in this business. He admired her backbone. Ben called him over to stand in the middle of the set and then began his extensive list of demands. She nodded thoughtfully then had the gall to shoo him out. He liked her already. 

“I’ll be back in a couple hours, Anakin.” Ben said to him. “We’ll go to the gym for your daily workout. Then you’ll need to go to bed early because we have a seven am appointment with the governor. He wants you to be the poster boy for his ‘fit for life’ program!” His agent gave one last glare at the girl and was gone.

He sucked in a breath when she turned to look him up and down now that they were alone, then to his surprise, she picked up an old DustBuster and vacuumed the air around the space and him. “You’re messing up my hair!” He exclaimed trying to hold his carefully styled locks in place while she went around his head sucking up who knows what.

“It looks better that way.” She spoke at last. She stopped in front of him.

“What are you doing anyways?” He asked curiously.

“Getting rid of the negative energy around you.” She said matter of factly, as if that was the most obvious answer. Then she glanced at the door, made a face and went back to setting up the light she’d been working on. He hiked an eyebrow at her and then blew air out his mouth. So she was a little crazy… 

“Sick contacts.” He said trying to break the ice. Then cringed inwardly. There were plenty of things about her he could have complimented, why’d he start with that?

She turned and looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time, “I don’t wear contacts, this is my natural color.”

“Oh, well…” he was a little flustered. “They’re a very beautiful shade of blue.”

“Thank you.” She replied politely, but unimpressed. She studied his face, he squirmed internally. He couldn’t help but notice the bronze color of her lips. She was appealing, but a little over-confident for his taste.

When she finished with the light, she turned her attention to him at last. He swallowed without thinking as she looked at him. She did circles around him and he shuffled his feet. As a model, he’d gotten used to being objectified, even sexualized, but the way her eyes scanned him, he felt as though she had X-ray vision. Like she could see right through him. Her intensity made him uncomfortable, but more than that, she didn’t speak. 

Behind her cool, calm and zero-fucks-given attitude, he could see pain in her, but she was still one of the most unreadable people he’d ever met. “How’d you get the scar?” She asked stopping in front of him finally. 

“You can see it?” He asked startled. “I thought my makeup artist did an incredible job covering it.”

“They did, but wipe it off.” She handed him a wet washcloth. 

“Are you sure?” He asked. “Models are supposed to be clean. No tats, no marks, nothing.”

She peered at him. “Do you want to be just another model, or do you want to stand out?”

“Well whatever gets my career going. I confess that’s more Ben’s department.”

“He was the one that wanted you to cover it?” She asked.

“Yes.” He said. She clicked her tongue in response. 

“What do you want?”

“I want to be an actor.” He confessed with a nervous laugh, certain she’d find his dream silly. But she didn’t laugh or even make a face. 

“Then you have to move people.” She replied, pointing to the washcloth in his hands. This might be crazy, but… he wiped the makeup off without any more questions.

While he worked on his face, she went about moving lights and designing the scene. Then she took the washcloth from him and threw it to the side. “So? You never told me how you got it.” She said studying how well he cleaned it off. 

“A cat.” He replied. “Another modeling company was going to hire me, but the boss’s cat apparently didn’t like me. I had no idea that was a deal breaker.” She traced her finger down it softly. Her touch was surprisingly gentle. He watched her while she did so. Her white markings were a tattoo after all, he couldn’t see any makeup lines. She smelled sweet, like oranges. He liked it a lot. It wasn’t overpowering, but as distinctive as the rest of her. She definitely made a strong impression. 

“Ventress?” She asked with the first show of emotion since he arrived. She brushed his hair to the side just a fraction of an inch.

“You’ve heard of her?”

“She has quite the reputation. We get a lot of their cast offs. Bad for them, good for us.” She shrugged. Then to his surprise, she moved behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, then moved up to his chest. She then took a pen out of one of the two buns she had in her hair and marked two places on her arms. Was she measuring him? He’d never had a photographer do anything like this before. “When was the last time you had a decent meal?” She asked. 

“I had a good breakfast!” He said defensively.

“The only one in a month?” She asked.

“Of course not!” Why was she prying? She was supposed to just take pictures, why did she need to know all this personal stuff?

As if knowing exactly what he was thinking, she commented, “to photograph someone and do them justice, you have to know them.”

“Well maybe I don’t want you to know me, I just want you to take a damn picture!” He said harshly. He was getting tired of these games. Here he was feeling naked while he knew nothing at all about her.

She stopped and looked at him. It felt almost like she was daring him to say it again. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t dare. “Take your shirt off.” She said and patted the backwards chair she’d put in the middle of a black back drop. She went around adjusting the lights. Until it was relatively dark in the studio. 

He sat on the chair, one leg on each side, with just his jeans on, facing the camera. She moved around using her fingers as a frame and then stopped suddenly in one spot and moved the camera tripod there. He clearly didn’t understand artists, because he had no idea what she was doing. Once she was in position with the camera ready, he waited for her to take it, but she didn’t. “Put your left hand on your right shoulder, your right hand on your left shoulder and rest your elbows on the back of the chair.” He did what she said, wondering why she made him take his shirt off just to cover up exactly what removing it would show. “What’s the saddest thing that’s ever happened to you?" 

He looked up at her as though she punched him in the gut and heard the camera click. He stood up suddenly annoyed. "What are you playing at?” He demanded. “Are you enjoying this?” She looked at him blankly as though she had no idea what he was talking about. Which only served to increase his anger. 

He was just about to grab his shirt and storm out when she said quietly, “I’m sorry about your mother.” He stopped in his tracks. 

“How?” He was so shocked he couldn’t move. 

“Eyes talk, I listen.” She said. Then turned around and sat down in the chair he’d just vacated. He looked at her trying to decide if she was being serious. “I was taken from my parents as a child. Enrolled in a school for gifted children. Which as you probably know, is the politically correct term for mentally ill.” She sighed and dropped her head in her hands. “People don’t like me, people don’t understand me. And I don’t really care. But… I was tired of feeling like I was the only one that carried pain no one could see. I started going to the park and watching them, trying to draw out their pain. Seeing their pain, healed my own. I didn’t feel so alone.”

He wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt sorry for her. Except that in a way, she was right; seeing someone else’s pain makes your own hurt less. And though he was still angry for how she’d gone about drawing his out, he did feel lighter sharing it with someone else. At least knowing someone else saw it.

Part of him wanted to reach out and take her hand, but before he made up his mind to do it, she stood up. “Come look,” she said and took the memory card out of the camera and popped it in the laptop. Then opened the picture to show him. His jaw dropped. He’d never paid much attention to what made a good photograph but he’d never been so rocked by one before. She’d taken a single black and white picture that showed only his bare skin. Everything else blended into the background. Your eyes snapped right to his elbows and then followed his arms up to the most intense eyes. The emotion showing was so raw that you’re instantly captivated by the depth of the person sitting there. And even though she’d invoked such deep pain in him, he almost didn’t recognize himself. “What do you think?” She asked, looking up at him expectantly. 

His mouth worked for a few moments before words came to him. “You moved me.” He said at last. She grinned at him and he sighed. She was weird, there was no question. But she was onto something. This portfolio was going to be unique. He shouldn’t have been surprised that in this picture, his scar being visible, didn’t bother him at all. Here he’d been going around ashamed of it, feeling as though it would always be a disability in his career, but in one shot, she had made it a statement of who he was as a person. Dramatically emphasizing it as part of what made him. And no matter how strange she’d gone about doing it, he knew he could trust her completely.

He dropped his shirt again and gave her permission to keep going. She didn’t talk much, but worked much the same process throughout the session. She’d position him, find the right angle and snap a single picture after invoking a certain emotion. He didn’t really notice the passage of time, because he enjoyed watching her work. She often had a pen or lens cap, or sometimes her tongue, sticking out the side of her mouth as she concentrated on finding those perfect shots. The more he watched, the more fascinating she became. He found an odd comfort in the soft jingling sound her bangles made. He admired the lightness of her steps, the deliberate positioning, even the way she studied him. He was falling in love with that moment she found the perfect shot, because her blue eyes would light up and sparkle. But his favorite part was when her hands would brush his bare skin as she positioned him, leaving a trail of citrus teasing his senses. He was realizing it wasn’t just his sense of smell that was reacting. It was like he could feel her in the air around him. She radiated warmth, a kind of energy that left his skin buzzing long after the touch faded. It was like she was electric. He’d never met anyone quite like her before. He wasn’t here to fall in love… but… he just might be falling.

“Time for a break!” She exclaimed out of the blue. He hadn’t realized how tired he was just modeling. It was probably the emotional rollercoaster she’d put him on since they started. He glanced at the clock, Ben would be back in half an hour. He wished he didn’t have to leave. “There’s food in the kitchen that way,” she pointed past his nose. “And bathrooms are out the door and around the building to your right.” He felt a little like he’d been dismissed.

He pulled his shirt back on and headed towards the kitchen, but then decided he wanted a smoke before his agent returned and lectured him. He also thought it might calm the rush of feelings she’d ignited this afternoon. By far, this was the weirdest modeling session ever, but one he’d definitely never forget. He stopped a few feet away from the door and lit his cigarette. Then he wandered back behind the old warehouse and stared at the water. Across the river was Manhattan, a constant buzz of activity. This was a more run-down part of town, but from what he’d heard, Plo was a renowned photographer, so maybe he just liked the space. Space was hard to come by in New York, that was for sure. 

He absentmindedly puffed his cigarette while watching the boats go by and then he started heading back to the door. He wished he knew why Ahsoka was so appealing to him. She wasn’t his type at all. He’d always gone for girls with fairer skin and brown hair. Ones that were classy and rich. But there was something about this one, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

He looked up and saw her walking towards him. He forgot about his smoke for a moment as he watched her. She was graceful. Every movement had a purpose. She seemed to have a gait as distinctive as the rest of her. She reminded him of a cat… and as he thought about it… like one stalking prey. 

In one movement, she reached up and plucked the cigarette out of his mouth, took a puff of it, blew it back in his face and then dropped it on the ground and stamped it out with her bare foot. “Hey!” He said, recovering from the initial shock of what she’d just done. “I was going to finish that!” He pulled out another and stuck it in his mouth. She made a face at him, scrunching up the white markings. 

“Smoking is bad for you.” She said simply and turned to walk inside. He stared after her, eyes lingering in that direction long after she disappeared, unlit cigarette, still in his mouth. He brought his lighter up and ignited it, but then clicked it off and threw the cigarette away. What was wrong with him? For a girl of so few words, she had him wrapped around her finger already. 

He went inside not feeling much calmer. But he’d pretty much decided that would be the state of affairs when she was around. She was sitting in front of the laptop studying the pictures she’d taken. He walked over to her and put his hands on the back of the chair; looking over her at the screen. Before he could stop himself, he rested his chin on the top of her head and inhaled. Were they close enough to do that already? She seemed to know every in and out of him, but she was a mystery. If she didn’t like him that close, she didn’t say anything. He was surprised by the softness of her hair. He’d expected it to be rougher and more wiry since she had darker skin. He ran his fingers through the back of it, loving the silky feel and the way it would spring back up in curls when he let go. 

“What are you?” He asked, feeling like an idiot. There was nothing normal about her, but that was a dumb way to ask for more information.

“I don’t know.” She said, and at first, he felt as though she was trying to end that line of questioning. But then he remembered what she’d said earlier about being taken from her parents. So how would she know? He had endless questions, but he stood up straight and let go of her when he heard the door to the studio open. He spun around to see his agent walk inside. 

“I guess we’re done today,” he whispered.

“Yep,” was all she said. She hadn’t even looked up. 

“Please tell me there might be a shot or two we can use?” Ben said joining them at the computer. Ahsoka snapped the laptop shut so he couldn’t see the pictures. 

“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” Anakin replied stepping between them. 

“I hope so.” Ben said turning away, mumbling something to himself about how stressful all of this was for him. Anakin just rolled his eyes and glanced at Ahsoka. She’d resumed her deadpan attitude as she stared at his agent’s back. He wasn’t sure why he had the strong impression that if Ben got too close to her, she’d bite. But he decided not to test his theory and went about pushing him out the door. He glanced over his shoulder at her and saw that she was standing with one hand up in a wave. She suddenly looked so sad though; as though she’d actually miss him. The truth was, he’d miss her too, even if he knew he’d see her again tomorrow.

[mcauja]

Women & Weed... and a baby???

Read that title, take a moment to remove your britches from betwixt your uptight asscheeks, and follow me as I paint this picture for you right quick... January 4, 2017. Just days after naming and claiming my greatness for the year, which included losing that last 15 pounds, going back to school AGAIN, cooling out on flings and meaningless one night stands, and finally obtaining a passport, I sat on the toilet of my closet sized guest bathroom, scared shitless, waiting to see what the twin pregnancy tests I'd taken simultaneously would tell me. "Lol biiiiiiiiiiiitch GUESS WHAT?!" is what those pregnancy tests revealed. Rather quickly, I might add, so there was no time for second guessing. Those pink goddamned lines appeared like a sleazy landlord on the 2nd; posthaste, ready to run my pockets and kill my vibe for the foreseeable future. I was fucking pregnant. Gross. I'm sure most women take those few earth shattering moments afterwards to let the future materialize before them, beginning to dream of a reality they'd never imagined before. Not me. I had a nightcap jay rolled and ready for me before I discovered this new truth because I mean c'mon lol no way, right? RIGHT?! Wrong. So I take my few deep breaths, text my best friend and tell her that she needs to fix this because yeah NO, and I clomp back to my room in a stupor as muscle memory leads me directly to my ashtray where the fresh blunt is waiting; calling. Whenever things in my life go awry, all I need is a little time, a little space to think, and a little bud and I can fix or fineness anything. But just as I'm about to blaze the stress away, I could feel myself developing a little white angel on my shoulder. "You're pregnant Auja, that's bad for the baby dumbass." "Oh yeah, I forgot... Fuck." I smoked a little anyway tho because fuck that little white useless ass angel. Where was she when my uterus was being infiltrated?! Why didn't she tell me to swallow instead?!?! Stupid bitch, I hate that angel. February 9, 2017. It's been a few weeks since I realized I was harboring a squatter in my womb and life has flipped upside down. It's as if my body was waiting for me to catch up to what was happening before shit could really start happening. Mere days after those God forsaken pink lines appeared, morning noon and night sickness followed suit, with intense all day nausea bringing up the rear. I'd made a doctors appointment immediately and on the day of, while filling out the bullshit paperwork, I find myself once again stuck and scared shitless. "How often do you: consume caffeine, drink alcohol, smoke cigarettes, partake in recreational drug use?" Oh shit. Should I lie???? I should lie right?? I mean I didn't even do any of that other stuff before so I'm good. And it's not like they'll know anyway; I've stopped since I found out so it's not like I would really be lying. "Oh we'll also need a urine sample in just a second" FUCK!!!!! Okay, just tell the truth then. Fuck. And so I did. The Gods honest, "every damn day, at least twice a day." truth. Would this doctor call the imaginary pregnancy police on me? Would she look over the rim of her glasses and judge me as if I'd stabbed a white woman multiple times and was about to get away with it?! Would everyone pretend it's all good then on the day of my delivery, CPS shows up and rips my beautiful baby from my arms without bothering to cut the umbilical cord?!? I had completely went on auto pilot and panic mode while Dr. Nice White Lady went through the questionnaire with me, dreading that moment we'd have to discuss my hophead tendencies. "I see here it says you used drugs before pregnancy..." "Yes but only weed" "Well while we can't encourage or discourage that, I do have to inform you that it could possibly affect the baby" *inner dialogue* "DUH bitch that's why I stop-- hold up... did she just say she can't DISCOURAGE me from sparking up??" *Bitch ass angel refusing to mind her business* "Yeah but she can't ENCOURAGE you either dumbass" "1) call me dumbass again and see what happens. 2) nobody ever ENCOURAGES smoking weed but other weed heads. She's a doctor, she basically just told me roll up at my own risk..." "No, that's not what she sai--" "Aaaaahhhh!! Unt-un shut yo ass up, I ain't tryna hear it. You already know what's up!!!" And she did. My stupid shoulder angel I mean, not Dr. Nice White Lady. She knew what I'd been suffering through, but, you, reading this, may have no idea what pregnancy does to women. Each instance is different. All the forums and mom blogs I scoured for slivers of peace and sanity would reiterate this time and again. Most often they tell you to ask your doctor about these things, but your doctor will more than likely bullshit you then prescribe a drug you can't roll up and smoke, but a drug nonetheless. A drug that might make you a little LESS nauseous, but would not keep you from retching up the food you just ate 10 minutes ago. Some days it can be so bad, water won't stay put. You ever thrown up ice cold water??? Spoiler alert, that shit comes back just as cold and it's fucking disgusting. I took to eating Bomb Pops because supposedly popsicles soothe the stomach and help fight against dehydrating yourself and your unborn child but in my case it just made for patriotic toilet decorations. Can't even lie tho, it was kinda cool watching the red white and blue come up in the exact same order as it had gone down. Gross, right? Lol And it's not just stomach issues us preggers have to endure. The sleepless nights, the aches and pains of a body growing and changing to accommodate new life, the mood swings, the anxiety. THE ANXIETY OMG. As it stands, at 4 months I should be gaining about 1-2 pounds per week. I am currently 5 pounds lighter than I was when I first found out about my baby. I worry CONSTANTLY I'm not feeding it enough; that the lil guy(or girl, please be a girl) isn't getting the proper nutrition. That I'm a shit mom because I can't seem to do this without weed. But I mean gahdamn what's a woman to do?? Liquids don't hold and sometimes even just the sight or smell of food while sober makes me dry heave. I search google every day looking for new developments and studies that will assuage my guilt. I don't have to look very hard, almost all weed/pregnancy related studies conclude there isn't enough evidence to surely say weed will harm a fetus, but science can't ever let you have your moment so the "That doesn't mean it's okay" undertones are always there. The judgement I'm sure I'd receive from family and certain friends worries me, and every appointment I have with Dr. Nice White Lady, I fear the lecture I'm sure she's holding onto. But at days end, as I puff puff then take my prenatal vitamin, I can't help but feel a little indignant. My body, my baby, my bud, right?! If things are okay, then I should keep doing what works right?? I heard it's healthy heartbeat and witnessed Baby Big Heads growth in the sonogram. It's recently started to move around in there and it feels like gnarly gas lol I gladly welcome the morning vomit because that means my lil shorty is still alive and kickin. Afterwards I toke up and eat a hearty breakfast and then lunch and sometimes even dinner. I drink way more water than I ever have and make sure I'm getting all my fruit and veggie servings. As it stands, I'm living and self caring better than I ever have before, and my kid is all the better for it. What harm will a little session do, ya know?? Peace and blessings.

[rfa-scenarios]

I have a request, please! RFA s/o accidently hits/knocks down MC, causing moderate injury. As in more than just a bump but not catastrophic either. Can you do the circumstances and fallout of the accident? Thanks!

MC (moderately) injured by RFA + minor trio

This one took us SO long time, mostly because when we first tried, it just turned into crack (link to the crack version here). Enjoy ^^

Zen

Zen took you out to a date at a local bar

You were dancing, he was swinging you around – but you were both too drunk to be swinging around

…and at the height of your momentum, he kind of just dropped you, causing to you land awkwardly on your ankle

You heard something snap, but the alcohol was keeping the pain from immediately reaching your brain

“Zen.” You tried to get his attention, “I think we need to go to the hospital right now, pretty sure my ankle just broke…”

Oh shit shit shit

This boy sobered down at once

He picked you up princess style, ran out of the bar and shouted for a cab

He insisted on carrying you in the cab, and even in the hospital he kept refusing to let you go

He straight up refused the wheelchair, claiming you would be “safer in his arms”

When the doctors were about to inject the anesthesia, he shielded your eyes from the needle, and took a dramatic sharp inhale of air when the needle punctured your skin, as if he was the one receiving the shot

…the doctors looked at him funnily and joked that maybe he needed a shot as well

He refused to go back to work before you’ve fully healed, and treated you like royalty the entire time

Kept kissing your ankle, claiming that you’ll heal faster with a “true love’s kiss”

Yoosung

You were gonna get him some snacks from the top of the shelf

And somehow, you managed to fall and break your ankle

When he heard your scream, he rushed to your side, his eyes wide with worry

You had never seen this much fear and guilt on someone’s face before

He quickly called the ambulance, while placing an arm beneath your head

He tried to calm you down by leaning your body against his own, but he was shaking more than you

You spent whole ambulance ride trying to convince him that everything’s OK, because he wouldn’t stop blabbering and sobbing about how sorry he was, while tightly clutching your hand

The paramedics offered him an oxygen mask, because he looked like he was gonna pass out

Last thing you saw before blacking out was his tear ridden face and his eyes flickering over your ankle in horror

He never quite managed to forgive himself, even when the doctors informed him that you will be completely fine

He exaggerated the situation in his head, and worried himself sick - “what if she can’t EVER walk again?”

…and from time to time, he would cry alone out of guilt

He was super gentle with you once you came home

Pampered you 24/7, made all your favorite food and refused to let you do anything in the house

Didn’t even play LOLOL entire time for you to heal completely

Jaehee

Jaehee tried to hurry you up in a hectic day at the café

Without thinking, you pulled the tray of cookies out of the oven with your bare hands

The first sound that registered Jaehee’s ears were the sound of the cookies falling out

…followed by your ear-splitting scream

She dropped all the cookies in her own hand and ran over to your side

Her eyes were wide with shock once she saw your hands

“Oh god, I’m so so so sorry, come here, let’s run your hand under cold water,” she said, her pitch getting higher with every word.

She excused herself to all the guests, closed off the café early and drove you to the hospital

She noted down everything the doctor said

Also jolted down all your future appointments on her calendar

She would teach herself everything about burns, and put her knowledge into practice on your hand

The café was kept closed until you recovered, and until then, she baked those pastries just for you :)

Jumin

You and Jumin were on a cherry farm vacation, where you insisted that you wanted to pick the cherries yourself (like true commoners)

You were standing on a ladder, because Jumin had informed that the cherries higher up were the juiciest, as they received most sunlight.

He pointed out an especially juicy looking one, you tipped your toes just a little higher, and…

…and you fell, together with the ladder

He rushed beneath you and managed to catch you in his arms, but you still landed in an awkward position and sprained your ankle

Without wasting a second, he called up his entire medic team, claiming you were “gravely injured” and they had to “bring the helicopter”.

The team arrived within 15 minutes, and proceeded to bring out the stretcher, defibrillator, oxygen tank and various surgery equipment…

…they were understandably confused upon seeing their “patient”, fully alert, talking, albeit clutching an ankle

“I-I’m fine, it’s just a sprained ankle,” you tried to reassure the medic team. They kind of all just stopped and stared at you confused, not sure what to do.

“What are you all staring at? Get to work!” Jumin bellowed.

So the entire medic team, including but not limited to, a neurosurgeon, three cardiac surgeons and two trauma psychologists, hastily began “fixing” you, while Jumin paced back and forth nervously in the background.

All they did was bandage up your sprain, but for the next week, Jumin wouldn’t let you out of intensive care, constantly making sure that your “vitals” were “within a normal range”

Seven

You were fooling around by the entrance of the house

He jokingly pushed you, and you managed to fall down the couple of steps outside the door

It was an ugly landing, and you heard an ominous snap in your arm

…you both screamed

Seven stood staring at you, paralyzed by the initial shock

He was scared you were dying

Once he realized that you were, in fact, not dead, he dramatically fell on one knee and claimed that he had “wounded his love”

“This isn’t funny, Seven, this actually really really hurts,” you sobbed, clutching your arm

That was also pretty much when he saw how your arm was dangling in a questionable angle

…and he was mortified.

“oh f-fuck,” he said, his voice caught up in his throat, “fuck, shit, I’m so fucking sorry MC, I’m such an idiot, I’m getting you to the hospital, fuck…”

He carried you into his car and drove as fast as possible, “hold on, we’re gonna be there soon, alright? Shit…”

You had only seen him this serious on a couple, rare occasions, and last time you saw it, you were kidnapped by Mint Eye thinking you’d never make it out alive

You attempted to lighten up the mood. “i-it’s ok,” you groaned, “at least this is b-better than childbirth, cos you know, that’s coming too…”

“Be quiet, save your energy! Stop trying to cheer me up! Oh god, it’s okay, everything’s gonna be fine, I’m taking you to the hospital…”

He stayed serious while talking to the doctor

After the doctor fixed you up, you asked him to stop being so serious

He looked at you for a second, and before you knew it…

SUPER NON-SERIOUS 707 ACTIVATED! OHOHOH LOOK LET ME MAKE YO A BALLOON ANIMAL

…Seven why must you be like this

You got a cast from the doctor

And when you woke up the next morning, you were greeted by an impressive collection of vulgar drawings on your cast, and Seven’s smug grin on the side

He alternated between his maid and nurse costume and acted the part, the whole time you recovered

—————–Minor trio———————

V

V was working on a new photograph, and you were assisting by holding up some lights on top of a ladder

The lights were quite heavy, and as you shifted your weight, you felt the ladder shake

“V, help!” You cried, as the ladder started to sway in a dangerous manner

“Sorry, just hold on a second! I got the perfect angle here,” he said without looking up from his camera, completely immersed in his work.

With a loud crash, the ladder toppled over, and you landed on top of the ladder, your leg stretched out in an awkward angle

That was when the pain washed over you. You desperately grasped at your leg, screaming, sobbing, but the look on V’s face was far worse than the pain you felt

You saw shock and fear spread across his face, as he hastily dropped the camera and rushed to your side. “Hey, it’s alright, you’ll be alright, I’ll get you to the hospital”

The pain had pushed you to unconsciousness, and the next time you woke up, you were in a hospital room. V’s face was strained with worry when you saw him.

He pulled you into a hug once he saw that you were awake

“I’m so so sorry,” he whispered into your hair, “I’m so Sorry, I should’ve helped you with the lights, I should’ve held the ladder, I should’ve stopped when you asked for help, I could’ve saved you from all this, you had to suffer because of me, oh god I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so so –“

You shushed him, and looked into his eyes, “listen, V, none of this was your fault, okay? Accidents happen. I’ll be fine, you’ll be fine, just…just stop apologizing.”

“But-,“ he started again. But before he could apologize again, you came up with an idea…

“Hey, here’s a way you can make up to me. Draw on my cast! You’re an artist, right? Please draw something on it, before the rest of the RFA discovers. I don’t want Zen’s autograph all over my leg, and I don’t even want to imagine what Seven would do.” He chuckled weakly and nodded.

He refused to take photographs again after that, though, he couldn’t bring himself to pick up the camera, because every time he tried, he was reminded of the accident.

At one point, you insisted that you wanted him to take photos of you, and slowly, slowly he got back to business again :)

Saeran

Saeran was doing well in his recovery, but from time to time, there would be minor outbursts and backlashes

…And this was one of those times.

He was screaming in his room, throwing some things around, breaking some of his belongings

One of them was a glass, which accidentally hit you

You managed to shield your face with your hand

But the glass broke, causing a deep cut down your wrist, and blood was gushing out of the wound

“Saeran.” You said, trying to get his attention.

He didn’t hear you.

“Saeran,” you said again, this time with a slightly louder voice, as the pain started to register

He turned around, and he froze once he set his eyes on you.

Slowly, you saw the regret and shock spread across his face as he saw the blood pumping out of your cut, and he became aware of what he had done

You looked at each other and for a couple seconds, none of you said a word

Then you spoke, “it’s alright, i-it isn’t too bad, is it? Just…just help me get to a hospital,” you gasped, as the pain washed over

He mechanically followed your instructions, gingerly helped you into the car and drove to the hospital without a word

He sat in a corner and kept quiet at the doctor’s office

When you lied to the doctor about tripping on some broken pieces of glass, he silently left the room

You didn’t see him again until the doctor had finished cleaning and sewing up your wound, when you found him in the waiting room; He seemed to be in deep thought.

His eyes were red when they looked up to meet yours. Quietly, he spoke the first words after the accident - “We’ll get you home, I’ll pack up my things and leave. You won’t ever see me again.”

“No”, you answered in shock, “No way, Saeran.”

“I’ve made up my mind. You don’t deserve this from me.”

“No Saeran, you don’t understand, this pain,” you gestured to your bandaged wrist, “this is nothing, nothing compared to the pain I will feel if you leave. Nothing will hurt me more than that, do you understand?”

He sighed and buried his face in his hands, you could see him shaking. “Oh God, I’m so sorry,” he croaked.

You sat down next to him, and gently wrapped your healthy arm around his shoulders. “It’s okay, it’s okay, let’s get home, everything will turn out fine.”

…he got you home, and that was the last time you saw him.

.

.

.

…last time you saw him relapse. *finger guns* (I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself)

First couple of days after you got home, he tried to avoid you as much as possible

But you told him you would feel better if he was more affectionate

He did his very best :)

Vanderwood

You guys were being all domesticated

He was cleaning because he was Vanderwood

You were shredding carrots because he told you to

…with a fancy new grater he had bought

It was very sharp, and when he bumped into you, you lost the small piece of carrot, and grated your hand

You screamed.

There was a lot of blood, and soon enough the kitchen counter resembled a crime scene

“What?” he asked, then turned around and saw the blood dripping from your hand. “Oh shit, that looks pretty bad, I’m so sorry, I’ll fix this up -“

He hastily pulled you to the sink, cleaned your hand with water, wrapped it in a towel, then pushed you into the car

On the way to the hospital you tried to lighten up the mood by complaining, “dude, you just HAD to buy that fancy ass grater”

“Really, is that what you’re gonna be angry about now?”

“What else would I be angry about, you cutting my hand?”

You bantered whole way to the hospital

He refused to let you make food again once you got back from the hospital

…because apparently, you were “too incompetent”, and he wouldn’t ever “forget about those lost carrots”

It’s totally not because he’s terrified of you getting hurt again

————

Please!!! like! comment!!! reblog!!!! and follow!!! New RFA posts whenever the fuck we manage to post them!!! (no seriously tho we live for your comments, they make our days brighter ^^)

[wittesworldtravelblog]

Hated my picture taken…can you tell.

The year was 2010, the place was Yellowstone National Park, the feelings were;

irate, mad, annoyed!  

Yes, I was angry.  I couldn’t do anything, I felt my body had failed me, but I had failed my body.  Getting up in the morning was a chore, my husband would wake early in the morning, start a campfire, eat breakfast, and read his book.  I laid in the tent, sleeping, or just laying there, dreading the time I stepped out of the tent.  Stepping out meant I had to pretend to be a “Happy Camper”.  

Spending a lot of time in the Tent

Ugh, I could barely buckle the seat belt

In truth the only time I was truly happy was when I was just sitting and observing the beauty.  That sounds great, but when you have an active husband, it is depressing.  Walking the paths in the park was pure torture, especially the ones that required steps.  I felt so depressed about my insufficient engagement in the experience.  My handsome, wonderful husband played along and pretended he was okay with my insufficient energy, but in  truth I knew he was secretly disappointed.

Just before I started my journey to weight loss surgery

Returning home was not much better.  I was teaching at the time and it was in July, summer break was a nightmare.  Still, not wanting to get out of bed, still disappointing my husband, kids, grandkids.  Living was a strain.  I couldn’t go up and down stairs without pain and heavy breathing.  I  weighed in at 298 pounds, I was considered, “Class 3 – Obese”.  My BMI was way over the 40 point.  I was a mess!  

I am not even sure where the idea came from, but one day I decided to call my insurance to see if they would pay for gastric surgery.  They would, but you had to be on a strict, doctor monitored diet to qualify for coverage.  Quickly, I set up an appointment with my doctor and explained my situation.  She agreed to monitor my weight loss.  I explained that I wanted to try the Fit for Life plan to lose weight.  She read the plan and agreed it would be a great way to lose weight as it promotes high protein, low carbohydrates, six small meals a day, with gradual addition of exercise.  

The hardest

PART

Was

Telling my family!

Telling my family meant after all these years of lying about being happy, I would have to admit, I hate myself.  I hate I let myself down.  I hate I let my husband down.  I hate I let my kids down, I hate I let my grandkids down.  I just hated I had to go through this to lose weight!  Of course, everyone would say, you are fine the way you are, you don’t need to do this…but they all would end up saying, if you do this, we will support you.  That is what I needed, support!  Lots and Lots of support!

The Weight Loss Center

The realization that this is happening

The scariest place to be

The happiest place to be

The only place for me

I researched and researched for a weight loss centers in the area that would perform weight loss surgery.  I was lucky!  There was a surgeon in our area that specializes in weight loss surgery and was and affiliate with the hospital/doctors on my insurance plan.  I found out they had an informational meeting at a hospital near me the following week.  My husband and I attended the meeting.  It was informative.  I signed the papers to allow them to contact my insurance and my doctor.  It was the scariest thing I have ever done.  Weight loss surgery is, at the least, going to change my internal being for the remainder of my life.  

Once done, it is

irreversible,

permanent,

Indefinite.

120 on my wedding day

  298 pounds in 2010

A few days later the call came in…we talked to your insurance, they will cover the costs if you do the three month diet and prove you can lose weight.  I laughed…my problem never was losing weight.  Sure I could lose, and then gain it back with another ten pounds added on.  I went from a 120 pound 18 year old to a 298 pound 40 year old.  Yo Yo dieting was a way of life for me.  The insurance clerk laughed and said, the next step would be to do the three months diet, come in for a consult, and when the diet is over, submit the results to the insurance company for the surgery approval.  Sounds easy, right?!?  Since I already knew about the diet and started with the diet a few weeks early I set up the consultation appoint.

Who Knew?

I had no idea there were so many weight loss surgeries.  Each surgery has its pros and cons.  Each aids in weight loss, each changes your internal structures, each is permanent, each had side effects.  Did you know that someone that has had gastric bypass will get physically ill if they eat sweets?  Sweets were never a problem for me.  The surgeon took my medical history, eating habits, exercising habits, and lifestyle into account and recommended I have Lapband surgery.  

LAPBAND?  Why?

Lapband is the least invasive surgery that treats obesity through the slower consumption of food, thus reducing the amount you eat.  The surgery consists laproscopically placing a silicon gastric band around the entrance to the stomach, the tube is also attached to a port used to “fill” the silicon tube. The gastric band constricts the stomach making the entrance into the of the stomach smaller and allows you to feel full with less food and then the food takes longer to digest with the constriction.  You are literally eating small portions, feeling full longer, and losing weight.  However, you are not changing your internal organs permanently.  The lapband is permanent, you will always have the port, but your internal organs are not changed in any way.  

Readying the body for the day of reckoning

Dietary Changes  

Eliminate – bread, rice, potatoes, pasta, crackers, chips, pretzels, cookies, cakes, pies, candy, sugar sweetened food, sweetened drinks, full strength fruit juice, processed food, fried food, breaded and saucy foods

Prepare your body:

Cut food into small pieces, chew thoroughly, eat slow, eliminate distractions, stop drinking 30 minutes before a meal and wait 30 minutes after a meal, start an exercise program for at least 10 minutes a day

Changing Eating Habits:

Eat protein first, unlimited vegetables, fruit at least once a day, three meals a day, no snacks, limit carbs to 20-30 a day, drink much water, avoid alcohol, take a multivitamin, keep a log of foods

Three weeks before surgery change to a soft diet

Two weeks before surgery change to a full liquid diet

Three days before surgery change to a liquid diet

Six months and 28 pounds lighter

Time to go

February 15, 2011 – The day that will live in infamy

Surgery took about an hour under general anesthesia.  Recover takes about four hours.  You cannot leave until you can keep down fluids and pudding.

Recovery is quick, within a few days you are at full activity level.  You need to slowly introduce regular food again.  The gastric band is in place and has limited constriction at first.  It is at your two week check up they complete your first “Fill”.  I will never forget that first fill!  The pain was intense.  I thought I would never do it again.  You will get a “Fill” every two weeks until you reach your goal weight or you can’t keep food down.  

Lapband surgery is the slowest in seeing results.  With Gastric Bypass you can lose 50-100 pounds in a few short months.  With Lapband you will lose slowly and steadily for about a year to two years.  

The pros –

I lost weight steadily – going from 280 pounds at surgery time to 168 pounds in August of 2013.  I enjoyed most of the foods I love and still lost weight.  I went from a size 26 to a size 10!  I felt great, no more knee pain, can get out of bed every morning with energy.  Life was better, house was cleaner, everyone was happy!  I learned how to eat healthy and that the amount wasn’t what counted, but what your body needed to survive is what mattered.  

Almost there

There

Looking good

Awesome!

Started riding horses again!

Comfortable with myself again

The cons –

Limited foods you can eat, no carbonation at all, frustration, vomiting, never feeling satisfied, and  depression increases especially if you are like me and stress eat.

This summer – gained a few pounds, but still looking good!

I am not going to lie!  It was hard and remains hard to this day.  I have gained some weight back, I currently weigh 185 pounds and I went from a size 10 back to a 14.  How did I do this…I went back to my old habits.  I became frustrated with not being able to eat, physically it was painful most of the time and I would often vomit if I ate too much.  The most irritating is the build up of gastric fluids when you are eating and they need to be expelled by vomiting.  I would cry for just a normal meal, a cheeseburger, steak, any normal food.  I was tired of ground meat, soup, mashed potatoes, and literally feeling hungry all the time.  I started to eat “slider foods”.  These are called slider foods because they slip right through the gastric band without constriction.  Of course these are the bad choices we make, cookies, ice cream, chips, candy, cakes, pies…pretty much anything bad for you.  

I am asked all the time – Would you do it again if you could go back?  The answer is simple, YES!  I am so much healthier and in the long run, happier.  I look at myself now and think that yes, I have gained some weight back, but I am also still 100 pounds lighter today than I was in 2010.  I still get frustrated, I hate the vomiting, I miss my beer, but I am so much better off than I was back then.  I haven’t had a fill in two years and thus I can eat steak, potatoes, rice, chicken and most meals now, but there are days that I cannot eat these foods physically.   I have learned to read my body and what it needs.  I still eat a lot of soup

My goals and why I am blogging about this part of my life:

Be HONEST with you

Help those with weight issues

Help those who may seek gastric surgery for weight loss

Share reviews of restaurants based on my dietary needs

Share my vacation from a different perspective

Ask for support from my followers when needed

If you have questions or need support please contact me!

      I Live a Soupy Life – My Story of Weight Loss Surgery The year was 2010, the place was Yellowstone National Park, the feelings were; irate, mad, annoyed!