trauma alert

anonymous asked:

Would Simon ever sing "King" by Lauren Aquilina to Nahyuta when he's sad? Cause that would be cute.

So I had never heard of this song (or this artist really) and I had to go listen to it and it is beautiful and perfect for our two boys thank you so much <3

I imagine that Simon often doesn’t know entirely how to comfort people in the traditional way - he usually is a “tough love” sort of person (just look at his interactions with Athena whenever she gets in a bind; he’s always shaking her out of things or harshly reminding her of what is important).  While that approach can work and often does for him, there are situations where that is the least helpful thing and actually can just make people more upset, because they feel like he either is being insensitive or is not really listening to them. 

Nahyuta’s transition into power isn’t as smooth as it seems - there are people who are not at all happy with the fact that he is the interim ruler due to his hand in Ga’ran’s regime.  Despite the fact that he was doing it for the sake of Rayfa, there are still some who question him and think that his crimes under the former queen should bar him from ruling, and they’re afraid that he - like his aunt - will not wish to give up power when the time comes.  On the other side are people who actually still support Ga’ran; though they are few, they are kind of loud and make things rather difficult for him. 

(as usual with things I do, this got long ahaha)

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Fitting Our Own Skin and Finding Ourselves Again.

Each week, part of my chaplaincy training is to write a reflection on how it’s going. Here’s week number five. Some identities may be altered for privacy. All the writings are here.

I’m always trying to shake this feeling that I’m not fitting in my own skin. That ickiness is always there.

Even when I’m good at something, I constantly wonder if I’m getting it right. It’s like that strange phantom when you go on a trip: Did I grab everything? Do I have my wallet? Where’s my charger? Is the stove off? Am I wearing pants right now?

The moment I visit a patient, the finger-pointing phantom jumps right in my guts and starts twisting batter in my belly. It’s this nauseous churning of self-doubt and second-guessing and burning insecurity. This gleeful little rat-goblin chips away at me as words spill from my mouth.

Oh come on, you shouldn’t have said that.
Oh look, you’ve upset the patient.
Oh dude, your tone was really weird and nasally there.
Oh yeah, you’re doing that loud nose-breathing thing.
Okay, but no one will take you seriously with that hair.

I have a lot of trouble just announcing, “I’m a chaplain.” It’s a powerful thing to say who-you-are with confidence. I’m a doctor. I’m a nurse. I’m a chaplain. I’m a trained professional. I’m a big boy. What really gives me the right to say anything like this? I want to immediately apologize for my lack of knowledge and to explain I’ve only been here for five weeks and that maybe if they want someone more experienced, I’ll barrel roll to the nearest exit and grab a chaplain with normal human hair.

Oh hi, I have no clue what I’m doing and I got lost six times on the way to your room.

I have to act like my own skin really fits me, if not for my own sanity, then at least for the patient not to crawl away from me. I’m still pretending to be a big kid with a jacket that’s eight sizes too large, or I’m just eight sizes too small. Like a rookie every day. That feeling: it’s always there.

Maybe God or fate or the universe knew about it, because I was forced into announcing myself all the time.

I got stopped by a doctor after a trauma alert, and I instantly shrank another size again. The doctor said, “Hey, you’re a chaplain?" 

"I … well I just started. Like two months ago. Actually less than that. Five weeks.”

He smiled really big. “Fresh blood, huh? I love you guys though, really. I call you guys for myself all the time, you know that? We get all kinds of people down here, like musicians and service dogs and this harp lady, but the harp lady was really creepy because it felt like we were ushering people into heaven too early or something. But chaplain, yeah, awesome. Thank you for what you guys do. You’ll see me around. I’m going to call you.” He patted me on the shoulder and really meant it.

After another visit to a comatose female patient, I had to call her sister, to confirm something.

“You’re a chaplain?” she said.
“I … yes.”

“My sister, can you pray for her? I know she isn’t awake but I heard she might hear things. She’s a Bible-believing lady. You do things like that, right chaplain? Pray for somebody?”

“Yes. I will.” And I did.

As I was leaving for the night, I took the elevator back down and a woman stepped in. She was a visitor: tired, eyes sunk, hair a frizzy mess. I was feeling sort of the same.

She got off a floor before mine, and I said, “God bless.”

The door closed, but suddenly an arm shot in and yanked the door back open.
The lady stepped in again and said, “You’re a chaplain, ain’t you?”

“I’m sorry, ma'am?”

“A chaplain. Ain’t you?”

“Yes ma'am. I … I’m … I’m a chaplain.”

“I thought so.” She beamed and raised both hands. “When you said, ‘God bless,’ I could hear it in your voice. You all do a wonderful thing here, chaplain.”

“Thank you. Thank you, ma'am. How are you?”

“Oh you know, blessed. He’s got it. Send me a prayer, chaplain.”

“Yes ma'am. I’m on it.”

The woman stepped back. She kept her eyes on mine. The elevator door closed. I did a last wave goodbye.

I thought, This is it. I’m a _____.

And I left the hospital into the night, a size bigger than I was in the morning.


anonymous asked:

can u rec fics where kyungsoo likes jongin but jongin doesnt like him back and then when kyungsoo finally move on / close to other guy, jongin start to get jealous. sorry for the long explanation. thank you:)

So yeah, this request is amazing, I hope I can do it some justice. These are all the ones I currently know, and this is definitely a topic I am keeping my eyes out for from now on. I had to do a little bit of variations, but here I what I currently have. Enjoy.

Good for you: complete 11 chapters. Wolfau. So Kyungsoo is having dreams about a wolf and then Jongin shows up and Kyungsoo recognizes him from the dream, but Jongin has a girlfriend. Kyungsoo tries to deny his feelings and move on to Hyunsik, and Jongin is wondering why he is so jealous.

Promise me forever: One shot. Jongin is a CEO and Kyungsoo is his assistant that is in love with him. Jongin is a player and oblivious to how Kyungsoo feels. Kyungsoo gets asked out by Joonmyun and decides to take a chance

A change in perception: Complete 2 chapters. Kyungsoo is in love with his best friend, who is straight. After a makeover by Baekhyun, Kris starts noticing him

Tell me if this is love: ongoing.That is kinda what you wanted. Kyungsoo has a crush on Jongin who comes into his coffee shop. One day Jongin gives him his number to hang out…but as friends. Kyungsoo doesn’t move on in this one with someone else, but does visit with his ex boyfriend, which is observed by Jongin, who gets jealous

Beautiful Butterfly: Ongoing. Jongin is a CEO at the company Kyungsoo’s brother works at. Kyungsoo likes Jongin and confesses and gets rejected. Chanyeol also confesses…

Destiny: Complete 3 chapters. Kyungsoo really likes professor Jongin who keeps rejecting him, Kyungsoo decides to move away to cure his broken heart

Jealousy: one shot. This is kinda. Jongin likes his roommate Kyungsoo, but doesn’t want to be gay. When Kyungsoo starts dating Chanyeol, though, it all adds up until Jongin can’t take it anymore. (warning almost non-con)

Please Don’t: Complete 2 chapters this one is kinda. Jongin is Kyungsoo’s best friend and in a relationship with Soojung. Kyungsoo has to distance himself, and when they meet again way later in a bar Chanyeol tells him he is Kyungsoo’s boyfriend 

A controlled life: Ongoing. They are in an arranged marriage set up by the govenrment, and Jongin was Kyungsoo’s bully in school. They have an agreement to do whatever they want, but when Kyungsoo gets lonely and meets Hyunsik at a bar and brings him home, Jongin changes his mind

Try: Complete 2 chapters. This one is only kind of. They are friends and Kyungsoo is in love with Jongin, who is dating Luhan. This is only kind of because things don’t really get resolved until way after Jongin breaks up Kyungsoo’s move on date with Chanyeol.

Life goes on: Complete 33 chapters. Jongin is Kyungsoo’s bully, and homophobic. Eventually they get paired up for a project and they get close, and Kyungsoo starts helping Jongin get over his trauma. (spoiler alert) Jongin has to finally come to terms with his feelings when he sees Kyungsoo making a date at a party with someone else. 

Crash [Outlaw Queen Medical AU, Part I/III]

“Trauma alert arrival to bay one.” The overhead voice crackles monotonously and then falls into silence.

Regina is in the room before the patient is, waiting with a tense calm as the bed rolls in and the air around her shifts to accommodate the sudden influx of faces, all with different roles to play and responsibilities to fulfill. Senses are heightened but not panicked, hands quick but methodical, steady, efficient. 

“Motor vehicle collision,” reports the paramedic, clipboard in hand in case he needs to reference it (he doesn’t). “Five-year-old male, restrained in a booster seat in the rear of a minivan. Father was driving; they were T-boned by a truck that ran a red light at forty miles per hour.”

Regina cringes involuntarily.

“No head injury, no loss of consciousness, no vomiting afterward. Able to speak, complaining of pain in the left side of his abdomen.“

Good, Regina thinks, and some of the tension is released from her shoulders. Not good that he’s hurting, but good that he’s speaking—it means his airway is clear, there’s no obstruction there. The most common cause of cardiac arrest in children actually has very little to do with the heart and everything to do with the lungs, if they’re not breathing properly; and a kid can’t get the oxygen his body needs if there’s something blocking his windpipe, or his windpipe itself has been crushed.

It’s one of those things you read about, it’s hammered into your head over and over in the sterile environment of a lecture hall, but some things you can never learn, never really truly learn, from books and talk alone.

And she’d learned that the hard way with her own son.

Regina’s eyes run over the small child lying in front of her and do a quick assessment of their own while the nurses cut through his clothing, attach wired stickers to his chest, a blood pressure cuff on his arm, a pulse oximeter over the pad of his left pointer finger. He already has a hand IV in place. The boy is crying, wriggling his arms and legs around as best he can with all the bustling around him, and she feels reasonably assured that he’s not in terribly bad shape, that she can do this. She can save him this time. 

She ignores the wild and heavy thump, thump, thump in her chest.

The paramedic continues, “Patient accompanied by father, who is now—“

“Here,” says a man, stepping forward, his British lilt barely masking a frantic tremor in his voice. Regina clasps his hand in hers with a brief introduction and some vague, comforting words, but there’s no time for more than a second of eye contact before she refocuses immediately on the boy. He’s whimpering softly, reaching a small hand out to find his papa, so she takes it into her own instead.

“Hi, honey,” Regina says to him, soothing, “I’m Dr. Mills. Can you tell me your name?”

“Ro—Roland,” he stutters, “L—Lock—Locksley,” and he tries to wriggle in the collar that’s restraining the movement of his neck, a precautionary measure.

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Dean x Reader

Warnings: language, serious injury to major character, mention of surgery, intubation, etc., fluff.

A/N: I got this idea while I was working the other night. Let me know if you guys want a part two!



“Shit,” you mumble under your breath as you scarf down what little you can of the cold chinese food you had ordered 3 hours ago. You toss the container back into the fridge, and dash back out into the main room. It’s organized chaos, as per usual. Nurses and doctors are pulling on gloves and yellow disposable gowns, yelling for this cart or that tray. You join the bedlam, asking the nearest doc about what’s coming.

“Male, late 20’s or early 30’s. BP was 80/60 when the paramedic called in the report. He said it looks like trauma to the head, abdomen, and lower extremeties,” the doctor says in a rush as she ties her gown. She looks over you and yells for someone to call the blood bank and respiratory department before returning to you. “They found him on the side of some back road by a barn. That’s all we got so far.”

You nod your understanding and snap into auto-pilot, going through and making sure the correct kits are out and everyone is where they need to be. When it comes to major trauma patient, time is of the essence. Your small ER isn’t equipped to handle anything really serious, so the faster you can get the patient stabilized and the helicopter, the better. The doors to the ambluance bay open, and the EMTs rush in with a gurney in tow. The person they’re carrying on it is covered in blood and hooked up to two IVs, both of which are pouring saline into his veins. One EMT has a mask pressed to his face as he pumps oxygen into him. The gurney is lined up next to the stretcher, and you along with four other nurses transfer the patient over so you can begin to work. The moment the mask is removed, though, your heart drops.

No. No, no, no, not him. Please not him, you think as you back slowly out of the room. Your entire body begins to tremble, and you grab the EMT nearest you. You yank him to the side none too gently, your voice shaking.

“Was there anyone with him?” you ask.  Your voice is a quavering mess.

“Huh?” The EMT looks at you like you have ten heads, but it’s mostly because he didn’t understand you.

“Was there anyone with him when you picked him up?!” you all but scream at him. With the madness going on all around, no one even spares a blink at your outburst.

“Yeah, tall guy. Longish hair. He looked pretty beat up, too, but denied being transported. He should be out registering this one here- Hey! Where are you goin’?” he called. You didn’t turn to answer. Your feet were already carrying you as fast they could as you fled towards Admissions. Seeing Sam hunched over the desk there almost made you collapse in relief as you flung yourself at him. He jumped slightly at the contact, but once he realized who had latched on to him, his shoulders eased slightly and he returned your embrace.

“What the hell happened?” you demanded after you had stepped away. “I didn’t even know you two were in town and now Dean’s… Dean’s…” you couldn’t force yourself to finish the sentence. Thank God for Sam, he didn’t need you to.

“I know, I know. We were on a hunt. Nasty demon. He got Dean alone, and did a number on him. Dean kept telling me not to call 9-1-1, but he was losing so much blood. What else was I supposed to do, _______? This is out of ‘slap on a bandaid and a few stitches’ territory,” Sam choked out. He was trying to so hard to keep it together that it was plainly visible. Tension tightened every muscle in his body as the clerk typed away in front of you.

The sudden erratic beeping sent you back to Dean after a squeeze of Sam’s arm. In the time you were gone, Dean had been intubated and another IV had been inserted. You waited for the radiology techs to leave before slowly entering the room. He was a mess. His clothes had been cut away, revealing lacerations deep into his torso. His legs were covered by a thin sheet that already had red blooms blossoming through it. You made your way to the head of the bed, looking down at Dean’s face. One of your hands gropes for his, and though its still warm, its completely lifeless. You hope its from the sedation and not something more severe. Blood cakes his forehead and cheeks - fresh and shiny in some spots, already dried and flaking in others. His eyes, those green eyes you love so much, are closed. You glance up at the monitor showing his vital signs, and that calms you somewhat. His blood pressure has already started to rise, and everything else looks to be okay, all things considered.

“You know him?” another nurse asks as she gathers up the various wrappers, caps, and rolls of tape from the bed. All you can do is nod. A yell from just outside of the department makes you turn.

“He’s my brother! I don’t give a crap about your policies! I’m going to see him!” Sam shouts from the other side of the closed doors. You run over to let him in.

“It’s alright,” you say to the clerk who is clearly flustered, and you feel a pang of pity for her. You wouldn’t want to be the one standing between him and Dean now, either. You take Sam by the hand, gently guiding him over to where the ventilator whirs its steady rhythm.  Sam takes one look at his brother before collapsing to his knees beside the bed.

“I should’ve been there,” he croaks. “He insisted we split up, but I still should’ve been there. We knew there was more than one in that house. Goddamnit,” he says through clenched teeth. He stands, grasping the hand you had let go of as he surveys his brother. “You gotta wake up, Dean. Please. You have to pull through this. You’ve been through worse. You can do it.”

“Sam, he can’t hear you.” The pleading in Sam’s voice nearly breaks you, but you have to stay strong. “Look,” you point to the bags hanging next to Dean’s bed. “They’re already transfusing blood. He might need surgery, but in a few weeks, he’ll as good as new in no time.” You’re trying to reassure yourself as well as Sam as you speak.

The helicopter crew arrives, pulling their own stretcher and monitors with their helmets tucked under their arms. One flight nurse stops to talk to the doctor as the others start prepping Dean for the trip. You back Sam out of the room, knowing they need the space to work. Soon, he’s strapped in and ready to roll. They’re about to wheel him out when you step forward.

“Wait!” you call out. “I’m coming with you!” You turn to Sam and start giving him directions to the trauma hospital Dean’s being taken to, but one of the flight crew stops you short.

“_______,” he says, “we got this. I appreciate the extra help, but we’ll be fine.” You realize you don’t know him. He must be just rotating through.

“I’m not asking as his nurse,” you reply. You pull out the chain you normally keep hidden under your scrubs, giving a good pull to snap it apart. Sliding off the single ring, you slip it onto your left hand and hold it in front the flight nurses face. “I’m telling you as his fiancée. I’m coming with you.” He still looks uncertain, so you look past him to the other flight nurse. This one you do know, and well. “Brenda,” you say to get her attention. She looks up the folder in her hand. “Bren, please,” your voice cracks on the last word.

Seeing the look in your eyes, she nods once before handing you her helmet. “Let’s move, people!” she calls. You turn to Sam, and he looks so lost standing next to the now empty room. You rush over, pulling him into a bone crushing hug.

“I’ll stay with him as long as I can,” you say into his ear. “I promise.” You call one of your coworkers over, instructing her to finish giving Sam the directions he needs before turning back to him. “I’ll see you there, alright?”

“Don’t leave him,” Sam says, his face set in a hard expression to hold back the wave emotions you know is building inside of him.

“I won’t.”

You rush out after the crew, the blades from the chopper whipping your hair around your face as you pull on the helmet and climb into the back of the aircraft. You feel a small sense of relief when you see Brenda is nearest to you, and she gives your knee a friendly pat. The craft shudders as it leaves the platform, and though you had always wanted to do a run with the flight crew, you had never wanted this. You lean down, the noise of the wind drowning out your words to the others in the cabin as you talk into Dean’s ear.

“Don’t you do this to me, Dean. Not now.” Your fingers brush through his hair as you finally let the tears fall. “I found my dress. I can’t remember if I told you yet or not. The damn thing is going to cost me at least three paychecks, and I mean to wear it, you hear me? So you fight. For me, for Sam, for Cas, hell just for yourself, you fight. Because I swear to God, if you die on me, I’m gonna kill you.” You press a soft kiss to the part of his forehead that is clear of blood and pull back to find Dean’s emerald eyes locked on your face. The faraway look in them tells you that the sedative hasn’t fully worn off, but he’s starting to fight the steady in and out of the ventilator, trying to breathe on his own. Brenda is already drawing more medication up into a syringe as you choke out a sob. “Hi baby. I love you.” Brenda pushes the med into one of his IVs and he’s out again.

You lose track of time as you gaze down at Dean, and in what seems like minutes and days all at once, you finally land. Another team is waiting on the pad to retrieve the love of your life as soon as the doors are opened. You run after them, but are forced to stop mere yards into the doors at the red line that is laid down on the floor that indicates only necessary personnel are allowed past that point. You watch as Dean is wheeled off, his life now in the hands of doctors and nurses you don’t know, but now have to trust with the most precious thing in your world.

Your arms tighten about your chest as you wander off to find the waiting room and look for Sam. You slink down into one of the few chairs left in the crowded space. Anxious faces are everywhere, everyone either nervous about their own health or the health of a loved one. Its so strange for you to be on this side of the process, and you want to scream. Your whole body is shaking with spent adrenaline and worry, your mind sifting through every possible outcome of the next few hours. The one you dread most is the one that constantly finds its way to the forefront: you being ushered into some small room where your cries will be muffled but still audible to others as a doctor tells you in a sad tone that despite their best efforts, they lost him. You refuse to give in to that, though. Dean’s eyes had only been open a few seconds and he had still been drugged, but you had seen the spark of life that lived behind them. He had to pull through this. He had to.

Sam comes running through the doors, his head whipping around to find you. You give a small wave to show where you are and he comes to sit beside you. Neither of you speaks. There’s no need to. At some point, Sam reaches down to clench your hand, whether to share his own strength or borrow some of your own, you don’t know. It grows dark outside while people come and go from the waiting room. After what seems like years, the doors open and a tired looking doctor still in OR scrubs walks out.

“Family for Dean Winchester?” he calls. You give Sam’s hand a squeeze as you stand and take a shaky breath in. The time has come: small room or Dean’s bedside. You’re heading for one or the other, no turning back.

Here we go, you think as you follow him inside with Sam at your shoulder. For better or for worse.