#all this to say hi ive been here over an hr and ive already emptied a cart of shrubs.

[dilfian]

theres genuinely nothing more liminal space-like than being in a l*wes garden center at early morning with nobody out here and sweet dreams playing on the overhead

#xoxo #all this to say hi ive been here over an hr and ive already emptied a cart of shrubs. #nobody out here i mean ppl. not the summer bugs and birds chirping. #o is watering trees. dn is around somewhere. b is still sick so shes not here today. #also helps that no ones opened the gate either. guess that means theres no cashiers. cool. #ive got another cart and a half of shrubs left. going to organize accent and flowering and prem shrub tables. #then tropicals then ?? #should go around and see how all the tables look ig. if i dont think i have enough to do for my full time i'll just leave esrly #and makr up the resf of my hrs next week #this music paired with o's watering in thr bsckground is driving me crazy 😔 ok grabbing a snack bc i feel a migrainr coming on then work

[luckyspike]

Eleventh Hour Admission - A Good Omens fanfiction

Hey guys remember when I talked about writing a hospital AU

i did it but no one is a doctor they’re all nurses

title refers to literally getting an admission during the eleventh hour of your shift, possibly a fate worse than death

CW: hospitals, medical procedures, automobile accidents, the joint commission

this will never be continued (probably) or posted to AO3, so enjoy it

--

Ari Fell liked it his job. That wasn’t sarcasm. He really, truly liked his job: he liked helping other people, he liked watching the sickest of the sick get well again and, when he couldn’t do that, he liked being there for them, trying to help them peacefully and painlessly move on. He liked meeting the families of his patients, he liked getting to know his patients when they could talk, and he liked that every day was a new day, something different and unknown and rife with opportunity to learn something new, or to help someone.

He liked his job, but he didn’t like 6am admissions.

Which, he had a feeling, was precisely why his ASCOM phone was going off at 5:55am. The caller ID informed him that it was Gabriel, the charge for tonight. He winced and the other nurse working the east pod with him tonight, Tracy, nodded sympathetically. He picked up the phone, and answered the call.

“Ari!” Yes. Yes, that was Gabriel. By the sound of it, he was in the cafeteria, likely having coffee with the other charges during their morning “bed meeting”. Ari had long since suspected that “bed meeting” was an excuse to get coffee and kvetch for the last hour of their shift, but he’d never really had the opportunity to find out, after he’d refused the offered charge position last year. 

“Gabe.” He stared gloomily at the empty room before him. It had been empty all night, after he’d packed the last patient off to IMC to make room for a possible admit. He had known it was too good to be true, known with a sort of icy certainty that a quiet night would never last, and soon enough there would be some kind of admit rolling up. He’d hoped it wouldn’t be an hour before shift change but, well … 

Maybe it would be an intubated pneumonia. Sedated, even. That would be nice.

“Got an ED trainwreck coming up. You heard them call that level 1 trauma, yeah?”

His heart dropped into his stomach, which dropped all the way to his Danskos. “Yes.”

“MVA, lady was flying and ran off the road into the orchard. Hit like three of the apple trees, Bee told me. Anyway, she’s a hot mess. I told them they could call report and bring her up any time.”

“I’ll need to stock the room -” 

Gabriel ignored him. “I’d love to help get her settled but we’re gonna be in bed meeting until 6:30 and then I have to do the board for day shift, but I’m sure you and Tracy’ll have it in hand. Holler if you need anything!” The line went dead.

“What do you need?” Tracy asked, already half out of the pod, aimed toward the supply room. The supply room, Ari knew, where the housekeeper usually hung around this time of the morning, surreptitiously drinking instant-brew coffee behind the Pyxis. 

Ari sighed. “A whole set-up. I don’t have report yet, but it’s a trauma. Probably need suction and the whole nine yards.” The ASCOM chirped again. “That’ll be report.”

“I’ll get some culture bottles and extra red tops as well.” He nodded to her as she vanished around the corner, and picked up the phone. “Ari Fell, ICU 4 East.”

“Ari!” He might have groaned. “It’s AJ!”

“Great. You’re calling report, I assume?”

“Well, yeah, but also I was just thinking I’m off for two days after this, and I don’t have any plans after my shift, was thinking about kegs and eggs at the place across the street. Care to join?”

“Somehow,” Ari said with rather more chill to his tone than usual, “I think I’ll be getting off my shift late.”

AJ laughed. “Oh, yeah. I’m bringing up the hot mess express.”

“Oh, boy.” He half-sighed, half-groaned. “I’m ready.”

“Right, patient’s still a Jane Doe but ID in her purse said Eve Smith, 22 years old, just waiting on family to confirm. Chaplain called her parents but no answer yet. Anyway, adult female, unrestrained driver in car-versus-tree MVA, GCS of 3 at the scene, flown here, went into SVT on the way but we’ve got her on amio now at 0.5mg/hr, pan-scan showed a left-sided pneumo -”

He rattled on, Ari jotting down notes as AJ moved through the systems. At least there was that: report from AJ was, usually, good, although he did like to linger on the gory details a little longer than necessary sometimes. If he was going to get a 6am admit, at least he’d have a good report to hand off to the next shift when he inevitably presented them with this hot disaster.

Tracy was back from the supply room, a suspicious damp spot on her scrub top. The navy blue shade hid the color of the spot, but if Ari had to guess, it would be the color of Svanka instant coffee. “Enough?” she asked, holding up two bags of supplies and a handful of lab tubes. He cupped a hand over the phone.

“Two straight poles and an IV pole,” he whispered. “And an EVD hookup for the monitor.”

“Gotcha.”

“Anyway,” AJ was saying, “she’s got a Foley, so you don’t have to worry about that, and, ah … Hm. Multiple lacerations and abrasions spread out all over, but no pressure wounds or anything otherwise. Right. Anything else you need?”

“Ah …” He looked at the report sheet, the notes about infusions and lines and testing left un-done, and shrugged. “You’re coming up with her, right?”

“Oh, yeah. It’ll be a miracle if she doesn’t crump on the way up. I’ll probably be bagging her when we get there.”

He grimaced. “Wonderful. I’ll have RT ready. Otherwise, uh … no, I think I should be alright. Whenever you’re ready, we’ve got the room stocked.”

“Okay.” A little distantly, as if he’d moved away from the receiver somewhat, he heard AJ call, “Hey, you ready Erica? Time to move!” And then, back into the phone. “See you in ten.”

Ari ended the call, placed a quick SOS to respiratory for a vent delivery, and tossed the ASCOM onto the desk. One last chance to check his other patient - a post-op heart cath they’d sent for access site observation overnight before planned discharge in the morning - and then he headed into the empty room, fussing around with the lines and waiting. The vent was there, already pre-programmed with the settings, blue screen glowing in the dark room as it waited. Tracy returned with the required equipment, and rolled a pole across the room, around the end of the bed, toward Ari.

“Disaster?”

“Complete train wreck.”

She patted his shoulder. “My two are primped and propped and ready for seven. I can help all you like, dear.” She was always nice like that, calling him ‘dear’. He supposed it made sense, given that Tracy was old enough to be his mother, but he had noticed she never used the term for anybody else. He’d never asked her about it, though, mostly because he was sort of afraid that if he pointed it out, she would stop. 

“I think we just wait, now.”

“Fresh meat coming?” The gruff voice of the custodian drew their attention to the doorway. “I’m off duty at 6:30, so if you think I’ll be coming in here to clean up whatever mess you and those hideous interns make -”

“I’m sure your relief will have it well in-hand, Mr. S.” Tracy fluttered her eyelashes, and leaned across the bedside table, the front of her V-neck scrub top gaping open just enough to draw the housekeeper’s eyes. “You know, I was thinking of getting breakfast and coffee at The Pantry across the street after shift … been craving their waffles.” It was a statement, but it hung open like a question. Mr. S blushed a little.

“I … I’m a little hungry myself. Could go for a nice thick pat of scrapple.” He cleared his throat. At the far corner of the ICU, Ari heard the elevator - the direct-from-the-ED elevator - ding open, and the distant sound of alarms suffused through the early-morning bustle of the unit. 

“Think they might have two seats at the breakfast bar?”

“Maybe.” He smiled a little, and then remembered himself and glowered. “If an educated woman’ll deign to eat with me, that is.”

“Mm, I think I might be able to bring myself to slum it this morning.” She waved a hand. “Here she comes, move over, there’s a love.”

And come she did, in a wail of alarms and machines and, Ari was both relieved and exasperated to see, AJ, who had, as long as Ari had known him, struggled with the concept of ‘reserved’. “Heyo, told you so!” AJ was, as promised, bagging the patient, his arm snaked between various lines and tubes, the critically-ill human attached to them almost so covered as to be invisible. “Ari.”

Ari looked at the lines, horrified, and then to AJ. “What happened?”

“Huh? Oh. She came back from radiology like this. Didn’t have time to untangle everything.”

“Nothing’s even labeled!” He waved his hands at the mess. “You’ve got fluids and pressors and is that blood? What’s going where?”

“Ah. All in the subclavian, I’d imagine.” The redhead added, with scathing sarcasm, “Pretty sure I didn’t hook anything up to the EVD. Got a slide board?”

Tracy had, and she and Ari tucked it under the unconscious young woman as AJ and Erica rolled her to the side. “Hang on, let me check her back while she’s there.” There were abrasions, and lacerations, too many to count or list as part of a specific area, and then, between her shoulder blades, was an apple blossom. He plucked it off. “Really, you couldn’t clean that off?”

“Had bigger fish to fry. You done?” AJ raised an eyebrow at him, visible of the rims of his dark-tinted glasses, and Ari nodded. AJ and Erica let the woman down. “On three -” She was light enough, and with four of them they had her slid into the ICU bed in one smooth motion, still piled with a tangled mess of lines and tubes. 

“You really had to bring this mess up,” Ari griped, trying to decide where to start first. His eyes widened. “You left the EVD lying under her pillow!”

“It’s clamped!” AJ replied with an exasperated groan, gratefully flicking on the vent and plugging it into the ET tube.

Erica rolled her eyes. “You done here? I’ve got to get back to the department.”

“Be right behind you,” AJ said, waving the other nurse off. “I’m gonna help whiny here get organized.” He pulled the EVD from under the pillow, carefully threading the buritrol back through the other lines until the tubing lay neatly over the rest of the tangled mess. Carefully, he hung it on the straight pole, leveled it, and opened the clamp. Pink-tinged spinal fluid started to drip out. “Come on, hand me the cable, I’ll even hook it up for you.”

“How charitable,” Ari grumbled, tossing the cable behind the headboard and bouncing it off AJ’s shoulder. “Bastard.”

“Now, boys,” Tracy admonished from the foot of the bed, where she was busying herself with untangling the Foley and the SCDs*. “Let’s not argue.”

[* Are SCDs really that important in a fragile immediately post-trauma patient, you may ask. To which the answer is: only if the Joint Commission is there.]

“Oh, we’re just having a good time.” AJ was tracing the IV tubing containing the fluids down through the sheets. “Alright, so this is going to the peripheral, just untangle this -”

“You know,” Ari said, as he fiddled with the monitor and the arterial line, trying to check for level in spite of the level being, as always, conspicuously absent. “I’m sure you have patients back down in the department. You don’t have to help. I was just giving you a hard time.” He ended up seizing a length of blood pressure cuff tubing and eyeballing the line between the transducer and the phlebostatic axis.

“Well, what if I want to?” He snorted. “My only other patient down there is a kid with a head lac, and he’s on ice until the LET kicks in and we can do staples anyway. Which will be, fortunately, after shift change. He looks like a screamer.” He smirked at Ari, and passed the IV pump with all of the various central line tubing across the bed to him. “Never let it be said I’m not occasionally nice.”

“You’re not.” 

“Hey.”

At the foot of the bed, Tracy shook her head, tapping in the vital signs as she did. “Did anyone page the fellow to let them know she’s arrived?”

“Not yet,” they replied, in unison. And then exchanged a look, very briefly, before Ari looked away to busy himself with setting the monitor alarm parameters and AJ became absorbed in scribbling labels for the IV tubing. 

“I’ll do it, then.”

It was quiet for a minute while they worked, but after a time, Ari realized the white sheet atop the woman was clear, the lines were meticulously untangled and laid properly, with messily-written but legible labels. It would have done the Joint Commission proud. 

“Think she still needed cultures,” AJ muttered, grabbing the bottles off of the counter. “Where do you keep the tourniquets up here?”

“Here.” He set to checking orders, with the black-clad invader from the ED pulled the first set of cultures on the first stick. Ari frowned, impressed. “Nice one.”

“Eh, you get good at ‘em when you have to get a line in anything.”

“Seriously,” Ari said, more quietly now, noting that for the most part, all of the ED orders had been cleaned up, taken care of, and signed off before the patient had arrived, “you can go. Really, I’m grateful, but I can handle it and you don’t have to -”

“I know. But this is really selfish for me.” He tore the tip of the index finger off the fresh pair of gloves he’d donned, the better to palpate a vein in the opposite arm, where the splint would allow. “Don’t wanna eat breakfast alone.”

Ari stared at him for a minute. Blinked. “Seriously?”

“Well, yeah,” AJ replied, tone flippant. “I think it counts as alcoholism if you drink alone too much. Have to keep up the facade of being a normal, healthy, functional adult.” He winked at Ari over the rim of his glasses. “You know how it goes, choir-boy.”

“I -” he glanced into the hallway, where Tracy and Mr. S were chatting. Mr. S had clocked out - was it past 6:30 already? And Tracy had her ASCOM in hand, although by the looks of it she hadn’t yet called. If she waited much longer, the fellow wouldn’t arrive with new orders until after shift change. He could have laughed. What an angel. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. You want to get a pitcher?”

Aj laughed, although he was watching intently as the second bottle filled. “You know, I have two days off coming up - what the hell? Let’s do it.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #human au #crowley #aziraphale #hospital au #i did it i did the thing #i wish i didn't enjoy fanfiction so much

[sunriseskog]

comethru- Auston Matthews

Request: n/a this was entirely self induglent bc im sad and ive had comethru by Jermey Zucker stuck in my head for weeks

Word Count: 2,267

Warnings: cursing, angst, dudes being assholes, mentions of tr*ding auston

A/N: ive been on hiatus for a long ass time so any feedback is more than welcome!!!! also i am fully aware that i used this gift for my last post but its hot and i dont care

It had been a little over a month since Auston left. No… that’s not quite right. It had been a little over a month since Auston left Toronto. It had been just barely under a month since you had left Auston.

You weren’t entirely sure who the trade surprised more, but you did know for a fact that it had had a far greater effect on you than it had on Auston.

He had remained optimistic in the beginning. After all, Buffalo is barely a 2-hour drive on a bad day. On a good day, he could probably make it in an hour and a half. But the two of you had quickly reached the conclusion that either of you driving 4+ hours a day wasn’t practical, and it wasn’t fair to whoever drew the short end of the stick, pun intended. You knew he would never ask you to move for him, hell even moving in together had been a stretch for you, but you also knew that there was an unspoken expectation that eventually the both of you would relocate closer to the arena.

Before he had even reached the border, you had managed to convince yourself that this short distance relationship would cripple your relationship before you could even begin filling out the US immigration forms to move with him, let alone actually convince yourself to do it. So you backed off. You knew that trying to exhaust what was left of the relationship would only end up destroying you the both of you more than was necessary, so you let go. You knew it wouldn’t take him long to pick up on the fact that you were becoming distant, taking longer to respond to texts, barely calling him back and conveniently timing your responses with the specific intention of him not being able to pick up. You may have been stupid, but you sure as hell weren’t subtle. You knew that as long you were the bad guy in the scenario, it wouldn’t take him nearly as long to get over you, and as long as you remained in control of the situation, you knew that you’d come out of the tail end of things perfectly fine.

And you were. You were absolutely, positively fine. But that was all you were. You weren’t good or great or doing well, you were just… fine. You were off-kilter, sure, but you were surviving, and that was honestly all you had come to ask of yourself. You were sure that the other shoe would drop soon enough, you had ridden the high and now you were at the plateau, but the comedown seemed to always be lurking around the corner.

One too many sleepless nights in a row had come to significantly impact your sleeping schedule. It had gotten to the point where your boss had come to expect your work day to end at 5 am instead of 5 pm. It was nice, though. To see the city when it felt like no one else could. To have your whole day to yourself, even though it was technically night. Everything was much quieter, and there were moments where it felt like you might be the only person in the entire city to be awake, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You rarely interacted with anyone, you didn’t even wake up until hours after the last of your coworkers had left the building, and every errand you had to run could be completed via the self-checkout of the 24 hr supermarket a few blocks away from your apartment building. You weren’t lonely by any means, you just so happened to be alone.

Except on game nights. You were never alone on game nights. Luckily, there weren’t very many Toronto residents that enjoyed watching one of their franchise players play in a different teams jersey, but you still couldn’t help but punish yourself by watching his games whenever they were on at the sports bar you frequented. You told yourself that as long as someone else put the game on, and as long as you left with someone new before the game was over, then it wasn’t nearly as pathetic as it seemed.

An issue arose the first time Toronto played the Sabres. You hadn’t checked the schedule, you just knew that there was a game. You also knew that if you were ever alone when a game was on you would curl up with far too much ice cream and a borderline dangerous amount of rum, neither of which were ideal. Immediately upon entering the bar, you knew that it was far too crowded for there to not be a Leafs game on, it was nowhere near baseball season, and the sea of blue jerseys couldn’t be for any other team. An involuntary wince consumed your face as Auston’s name reached your ears, it seemed like every congregation of fans in the entire establishment were talking about him, and a cursory glance at the nearest screen confirmed your fears.

The bad news was that if you stayed, you would have to watch Auston play, which was bound to be painful for any Leafs fan, but this one would hurt you just a little more than all the others— the knowledge that he was just across the city weighed heavily on your shoulders as you pushed through the crowd to find an empty stool somewhere. The worse news was that there was no way in hell a single guy in here would be willing to leave before the game was over, so you’d either have to watch all of it and then fuck the feelings away, or go home and watch all of it and probably end up crying for a majority of the third period. The former seemed like a more viable option at the time.

Now, though? You wished you had just gone home. Because it turns out you were wrong, there was a dude at the bar who was willing to leave before the end, as it would turn out, he was ready to leave before the second period was halfway through. That should have been your first red flag.

In your defense, you had a lot of other shit going on, and your brain was far too preoccupied coping with the stress that the game was bringing to consider the fact that the nice guy who had been paying for your drinks might not turn out to be that nice after all.

On the cab ride back to your apartment, you found out that his name was Sam and he was a lifelong Leafs fan. The two of you bonded over having grown up around hockey without actually playing it, and you even shared a cigarette at the entrance of your building’s lobby. It wasn’t until the two of you stepped into your living room that things took a turn for the worse.

The framed and signed Matthews jersey on the mantle had been more of a joke than anything else, all of your friends thought it was funny while the two of you were together, and you hadn’t had anyone over since the breakup, so you hadn’t found a reason to convince yourself to take it down. The look of disgust on Sam’s face as soon as he laid eyes on it would have been a fairly convincing reason if you actually gave a shit what he thought about you.

“That’s borderline sacrilege,” he commented, gesturing towards the display. You shot him an incredulous look, waiting for him to give any indication that he was making a joke.

“What?” You questioned, not really confused, just wanting to clarify if he was saying. What you thought he was saying.

“You can’t seriously call yourself a leafs fan and still support that guy! He’s a traitor,” He asserted. His over passionate gesturing indicated that he was genuinely this invested in the topic, which should have been your second red flag.

“I mean c’mon, (Y/N),” He continued. “You’re not stupid, are you?”

You couldn’t help but scoff at how pretentious and condescending he was being, without seeming to realize that he was acting like an absolute prick.

“I can assure you, Samuel,” You drawled sarcastically. “I am anything but stupid, but you have got to be absolutely moronic if you genuinely believe that I’m going to let you fuck me after speaking to me like I'm a goddamn child. Your kinks are your business but that's not really my style,” you sneered as you moved towards the doorway in order to invite him to throw himself out so you didn’t have to bother touching him any more than you already had.

“Now why don’t you get the fuck out of my house, dick head,” You spoke as your lip curled and your brow quirked, gesturing through the doorway to drive the point through his thick skull.

“Gladly,” He scoffed, slamming his shoulder into yours as he stepped past you. “Not like I’d want to fuck a whore like you anyways!” He shouted over his should as he started towards the stairs.

“Open your mouth that wide again and I’m gonna have to ask you to chortle my cock, Samuel” You responded, giving a middle finger to his back for your own satisfaction. You had never been one to censor your insults, and over the years they had become more and more lewd. This, of course, had never really presented itself as a problem until you caught the eye of your neighbor as you turned to storm back inside of your apartment. You couldn’t help but wince apologetically at the old woman, giving her a repentant head nod as you shuffled back inside.

You let your back hit the inside of the door, sliding roughly down until your tailbone hit the hardwood floor beneath your feet. Of course, the first substantial interaction you had in over a month would turn out to be a spectacular disaster. And of course, it was because of Auston. Realistically, you knew it wasn’t his fault, you just really really needed someone else to blame right now. You carded your fingers through your scalp roughly, and let out an elongated groan in the hopes that it would satisfy the overwhelming urge that you had had to scream at the top of your lungs for the past month or so.

As you stared at your own intertwined fingers in an attempt to calm yourself down, you couldn’t help but notice that your fingers were shaking. This wasn’t a recent development by any means, but this was the first time that you had noticed it being this aggressive. It usually only happened when you had coffee, which was why you had abstained from it for a majority of your life. As you looked back on what your routine had become, you realized that through all the late nights and later mornings, you had been popping caffeine pills and ordering espressos far more than the ‘one-time thing’ you told yourself it was. The realization that your life had done a complete 180 in the span of 5 weeks began to weigh on you, and it seemed like your mind was consumed entirely by flurries of memories of bad habits you had fallen back into and the lifeless moments you had spent floundering, convincing yourself that you were fine on your own, despite the fact that that was anything but the truth.

It didn’t take very long to find his contact picture in your recent messages. You hadn’t had much of a reason to talk to that many people lately. It took longer to open up the message thread, trying to prepare yourself to view the unbearably awkward finality of your most recent messages to each other. The preview underneath his name only served as a painful reminder that the last time he had texted you was to say that he loved you. And you hadn’t said it back.

You weren’t sure if he was going to respond, hell you went sure he was even going to read it. For all you knew it was entirely within the realm of possibility that he had blocked you a while ago. You knew exactly what to say, surprisingly, that wasn’t the hard part. Of the few letters that you typed, the closer you got to reaching out to him again seemed to calm you down more and more. By the time you tacked on the question mark at the end, your fingers had stopped trembling for there first time in what you could assume had been at least a couple of weeks. You let your phone drop to the floor as soon as you hit send, either he would be here within the hour or his response wouldn’t be worth reading. Those were the only options on the table. Either he was going to come and the two of you were going to get to be okay for a little while, or it truly was the end. If that was the case then you really didn’t want to see what he had to say. You heard your phone vibrate from where it laid just a couple feet away, and as much as the desire consumed you, you couldn’t bring yourself to move to see what it said. So you sat there, and waited to see if you would be able to hear those oh so familiar footsteps ascending your staircase again, responding to your oh so familiar request.

‘come thru?’

#i am literally begging you to tell me what you think #auston matthews #auston matthews imagine #Toronto Maple Leafs #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #imagines #imagine

[zoemurph]

to have a friend, chapter 10: $233

on ao3 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

haha im dying!

thank you for being patient. i have one essay left, a group project (that includes another essay :P), a final quiz, a flash fiction piece, and a final. and i'm done with my first semester of college? i'm actually...taking next semester off so...probably more consistent updates after this. phew. oh and i won nano? wild

i'm exhausted and genuinely don't like at least 75% of this chapter, but it's done. please please p l e a s e read the end notes for a little disclaimer thanks

warnings: anxiety, depression, panic attacks, let me know if any other warnigns should be added

enjoy~

Sometimes Connor has the really strong urge to hold Evan’s hand.

It’s a weird feeling. This desire to just reach out and take Evan’s hand in his own and not even say anything, just hold it.

Sometimes Connor thinks that romantic feelings are bullshit. Especially when it’s seven in the morning and Evan sees him waiting by the locker and lights up like the goddamn sun and Connor’s stomach tries to become an Olympic gymnast.

Like right now.

Evan stands next to Connor, their arms almost touching, as he talks to Alana. They’re still trying to figure out a name for their club, because for whatever reason, Alana refuses to use The Fuck Project.

Jared thinks it’s hilarious, which has somehow worked against the name.

Alana is going on about the details. Evan nods, and he probably knows what’s going on, but Connor’s zoned out. Alana has this in the bag and also Connor isn’t actually involved in their little pet project. Even if the initial idea did come from Alana being way too fucking nosy.

She’s nice when she’s not picking Connor’s brain.

So Alana and Evan talk and Connor stands and people pass them and time until the next class starts ticks down and down and down. It’s a nice moment. Weirdly calm. For once, Connor doesn’t feel entirely awful, despite where he is and everything about himself.

He still wants to hold Evan’s hand.

It’s not like Connor actively tries to think about it. The opposite, in fact. As soon as thoughts about dating Evan pop up, he shoves them to the very back of his brain. He quarantines them away in the darkest corners, because thinking about it hurts.

Evan has made himself a constant in Connor’s life. But a temporary constant. Which is weird and annoying and tiring. Sometimes Connor’s emotions bubble up inside him and threaten to spill out and then Evan will give him this look when Connor pays him and everything just vanishes. Evan looks at Connor and all Connor’s thoughts shrink back and go ‘fuck never mind’.  

That doesn’t mean that he’s actually good about not thinking it. He’s getting worse, actually. It’s turning into a mild problem.

Evan can just look at Connor and Connor’s heart will flip and his mind will be consumed with ‘holy fuck I would date the shit out of him’.

He would. Connor has absolutely zoned out staring at Evan on multiple occasions. He keeps passing it off as being tired and honestly it’s a miracle that Evan hasn’t started asking about Connor’s sleep schedule— which is a disaster but isn’t why Connor keeps staring Evan.

Connor keeps staring at Evan because his brain is a fucking traitor and likes to think about what it would be like to kiss Evan.

Of all the boys to fall in love with, Connor had to go and fall in love with Evan Hansen.

Connor checks his phone under his desk. It’s been facedown on his desk — he’s making an attempt in calculus because he’s doing a really shit job right now and he has to pass because he literally cannot spend a day longer in this hellscape than he has to — but he can see the screen lighting up repeatedly.

From: Ev To: Connor      AR eyou in clasright no w      Of cours e youre in c alss where els e wi oudl you b      Im so ryrcan you g et out ?

Connor squints at the board. There are x’s and t’s and some other bullshit that he doesn’t understand. A lot of lines and marks.

Fuck.

He opens another conversation.

From: dickbag To: assface      you any good at calc?

Jared replies surprisingly fast. Actually, not so surprisingly. Connor is actually not surprised at all that Jared uses his phone in class.

From: assface To: dickbag      ive got a mean b in calc bc      y

Connor raises his hand and asks to go to the bathroom. The teacher waves him out the door and keeps teaching.

From: assface To: dickbag      i have to do something and i need to not fail      you willing to tell me what the fuck is happening?

From: Connor To: Ev      where are you? got out of class

Connor heads to the bathroom, because he’s already on the third floor and that’s where Evan was last time. And it’s the closest bathroom. His phone buzzes in his hand as he hurries through the hall and he tries not to groan when it’s just Jared.

From: dickbag To: assface      no promises but i can try      dont know y ur coming to me lmao      also i charge $10/hr

From: assface To: dickbag      fine but youre a dick

Connor pushes the bathroom door open. The lights are on, someone’s been in here in the past ten minutes, but the bathroom is empty. He drags his hand through his hair and catches a look at himself in the mirror.

Wow. He looks like shit.

Connor rubs his face and checks his phone again. It’s been buzzing, but it’s just been Jared.

From: dickbag To: assface      not news      whats so important that ur running out of class??      o shit drugs?      420 blaze it      i dont kno weed culture

As Connor scrolls through Jared’s messages, a text from Evan pops up on the top of his screen.

From: Ev To: Connor      J aanito s clostesecond follr

Connor runs into a wide eyed freshman as he hurries out of the bathroom and swings around a corner to get to the stairs. He only vaguely knows where that closet it, because he’s never had a reason to pay attention to it. Janitor’s closets are usually locked and it’s not like Connor is observant when it comes to his surroundings.

He skips the last few steps and just jumps down to the landing, slowing to a fast walk as he searches the hallway for the janitor’s closet. He finds it tucked into a corner between two classrooms. He glances up and down the hallway before he knocks softly. He tries the handle and knocks again before he pulls the door open.

“Evan?” he asks softly into the darkened closet. Light from the hallway spills into the darkness, barely brushing Evan’s shoes. Evan is huddled into the corner furthest away from the door, squished between shelves, on the ground with his knees pulled to his chest and his arms covering his head.

Connor stares for a minute, listening to Evan’s ragged breathing, before he steps into the closet. He turns on his phone’s flashlight and covers it with his hand before pulling the door closed. He lets some light slip through his fingers and finds a bottle of Windex on one of the shelves. He puts his phone under it and the room glows blue. Maybe life hacks aren’t always as shitty as they seem.

Connor sits down on the floor next to Evan. “Ev,” he whispers. “Can I help?”

Evan doesn’t look up. After a few seconds he stops holding on to his hair so tightly and holds a shaking hand out to Connor. Connor takes it. Almost immediately, Evan’s hand clenches around Connor’s, squeezing Connor’s fingers tightly. Connor moves over so the position is less awkward and lightly squeezes Evan’s hand back. 

Connor sits and waits, because he doesn’t really know what else to do. He watches Evan’s breathing and tries not to let his mind wander too much, because it’s too early in the day for any of that shit.

Evan loosens his grip on Connor’s hand and the tension seems to run out of his body. He sags against the wall and slowly lifts his head from his knees. He pulls his hand away. “S-sor-sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Connor says. His voice sounds weirdly rough. He clears it and stretches out his fingers.

Evan stares at them. “I— i-if I hurt your…your hand I didn’t mean to I just—”

“You didn’t,” Connor interrupts quickly. “See?” He wiggles his fingers. “Work just fine.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Do you…uh, want to talk about it?”

Evan makes a strangled sound. “N-nothing to… I mean there’s always—” He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. “D-dr. Sherman always says that— that there’s something? And I just don’t u-understand what so I’m…supposed to process it. But I just…”

“I think it’s a fucking lot to ask you to process shit right after a panic attack,” Connor says flatly.

Evan shrugs helplessly. “I don’t— I-I forget. I forget what I’m— what I feel in the moment a-and what I was thinking and then when she asks what was going through my mind I can’t tell her and then I feel worse and like a failure and I think I’m supposed to be getting better because I go to therapy and I take meds and—” Evan cuts himself off to take a deep breath. “It takes time,” Evan says softly. “It takes time. It takes time and it’ll get better it just—”

“Takes time?” Connor asks.

Evan smiles at him weakly. “Y-yeah.”

The bell rings, slightly muffled. Evan goes tense.

Connor thinks about his calculus teacher. She probably won’t be thrilled that he skipped out on the rest of class, but whatever. Maybe he’ll do homework for once and try to get back on her disinterested side.

“Your mom is working right now, isn’t she?” Connor asks slowly.

Evan nods. “Yeah, she’s a-always working. Pretty much.”

“We’ve still got three classes to get through.” Connor bumps their knees together. “Can you hide out in the nurse’s office or something? I’d say just leave, but…” Evan shakes his head. “Yeah, exactly. I don’t know shit about doing things the ‘right’ way.”

“I’ll…be okay,” Evan says.

Connor stares at him.

“It’s-it’s really fine,” Evan insists.

“Ev—”

“I’ve done it before, it’s not a big… I’ll just— it’s okay, really.”

“You aren’t taking the bus home today,” Connor says. He gets to his feet and takes the Windex off of his phone. “Light warning.” Evan covers his eyes. Connor flicks the light on and winces in the brightness before shutting off his flashlight. He slides his phone into his pocket and offers Evan his hand.

Evan takes it and lets Connor haul him to his feet. “Y-you don’t have to—”

“Fuck the bus,” Connor interrupts. “Zoe has a perfectly good car.”

Evan blinks. “Doesn’t she have rehearsal today?”

“How do you know my sister’s schedule better than I do?” Connor opens the door of the closet and peers out into the hallway. They have to be careful, because high school is fucking hell. Most people won’t give a shit and don’t pay attention to shit, but all it takes is one person assuming something. When no one is looking, he steps out of the closet and pulls Evan along, walking away from the closet quickly and melting into the thinning crowd. “So what if we have to wait for her to get out, just hang around with me for a little bit.”

As soon as Connor says it, his stomach twists. “I don’t have any today but—”

Evan stops walking, yanking Connor back a bit. They’re still holding hands. Connor pulls his away and puts his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt.

“D-don’t,” Evan says.

Connor furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“You’re already— you’re doing me a favor by…by driving me home. So you don’t have to…” Evan gestures with his hands. “Debt paid. It’s— you’re fine.” Connor stares at him. “I— okay.”

Evan takes a step back. “I have to… I have class. I’ll see you after.” He spins on his heel and walks down the hallway, dodging other students before disappearing around a corner.

—«·»—

Connor drops into his seat in the back of AP Literature and puts his head down on his desk.

He needs to think about something — anything — other than Evan. Evan is supposed to be the one who thinks himself into an anxious spiral, not Connor. And Connor can’t help but feel like something is horribly wrong.

But, fuck, he wouldn’t stop their arrangement for anything. He’ll keep paying Evan to put up with him in the halls for as long as he possibly can, just to see Evan smile.

He wants to see Evan smile today. Anything other than the empty expression he had on his face when he walked away from Connor earlier.

Alana sits down next to Connor. Sometimes Connor forgets him and Alana talk now, even if it’s only because she’s Evan’s friend and probably thinks this is a good way to keep tabs on Evan. All she’s ever wanted from Connor is information, anyway.

Connor stares out the window at the icy field hockey field spread out in front of the school as the teacher starts the lesson. Something about the essay they have due in a few days at midnight.

Alana hands over her essay, printed and typed, five pages long double spaced and stapled in the corner. “It’s just a rough draft,” she says.

Connor blinks at the paper. “Uh…were we supposed to…”

She shakes her head. “No, we just needed to have an outline today.” She adjusts her glasses and opens a notebook. “But if you didn’t—”

“I did,” Connor says quickly. He actually did for once. “Here.” He pulls out his notebook and flips through pages and pages of shitty sketches to the section where he just stuffs any loose papers he’s handed. He pulls out the outline and smooths it out a little. “Don’t expect anything.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Alana says as she takes it from him.

Connor squints at her. “I did this while high so it’s either a brilliant disaster or just a fucking mess.”

Alana grins. “I hope it’s a brilliant disaster.”

“Probably not.”

She just shrugs and pulls out a pen, tapping it on her notebook as she skims over the outline. Connor turns to Alana’s essay and starts reading. Alana likes words and complex sentences. She’s good at backing up her points with evidence from the text, and doesn’t dance around her conclusions. She has a structure and logic to her essay that Connor’s never been able to achieve. He just sort of says words until he feels like he’s done.

He reads her fourth paragraph a few times, picking at his nail polish as he does so. He glances over to Alana and then reads it again.

She’s scribbling on his outline when he looks back to her. She meets his eyes. “Something wrong?”

Connor’s eyes flick from her to her essay. “Uh…no.”

Alana rolls her eyes and hands him her pen. “Fix it. Whatever it is. That’s the entire point of peer review.”

“I could be wrong—” Connor starts, but Alana holds up a hand to stop him.

“I’ll decide what to do with your feedback. Just do it.”

Connor nods slowly and hesitates with the pen hovering over the paper. “What are you doing, by the way?”

“Translating.”

“What?”

Alana pulls another pen from her backpack and uncaps it. “Your outline is good, you have some really good ideas in here, it’s just lost in the typos and grammar.”

“I can figure it out,” Connor says. “You don’t have to do that shit.”

Alana raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

Connor blinks. “…not anymore?”

She nods firmly. “Exactly. You edit mine, I’ll edit yours. You won’t hurt my feelings, please, feel free to rip it to shreds.”

Connor exhales slowly. “Okay, Beck. Whatever.” He strikes out a sentence. “Whatever you say.”    

—«·»—

Connor meets Evan by Evan’s locker. They lock eyes and for a second everything feels weird. And then Jared shows up.

Connor has never been relieved to see Jared Kleinman before.

“What’s up?” Jared asks, clapping a hand on Evan’s shoulder. “My…main bros.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“Alright, crossing that off the list.” Jared gives Evan a look and Evan shrugs. Connor looks between them and shifts his weight to his other foot. “Anyway, you free on Saturday?” he asks Evan.

Evan blinks. “Y-yes?”

“My moms wanted you over for dinner. They’re going to try to harass Heidi into coming too but,” Jared shrugs, “we know how that is.”

Evan smiles and ducks his head. “I-I mean— yeah that’d be…that’d be nice. Um, I can…ask my mom?”

“Nice.” Jared holds his fist out for a fist bump. Evan rolls his eyes and knocks their knuckles together. “Okay, text me, cause if she’s working, I’ll swing by and pick you up.”

Evan nods. “O-okay, I will.”

“Sweet, got to dash or I’ll never get out of here.” Jared shoots finger guns at Connor. “See, ya Murph,” he says before sprinting down the hallway.

Connor lifts a hand to wave goodbye as jealousy twists in his stomach. It makes him feel gross. He swallows it and turns to Evan. “So, uh…we can probably hide in a practice room until Zoe’s done.”

Evan pulls on the straps of his backpack. “A-are they, um, open? Because I know, I mean I’ve heard because sometimes the band kids in my classes complain about this, that they lock? Or get locked? So…”

“We can…check?” Connor suggests.

Evan nods. “That’s…probably a good idea.”

Connor leads Evan down to the music wing. The first two practice rooms are locked, but the third that they try is unlocked. Connor raises his eyebrows at Evan and pushes the door open. The lights flicker on automatically and Evan closes the door behind them.

All four of the practice rooms are the same in Connor’s experience, a keyboard and bench, a trash, and maybe a stand or chair that someone has dragged in. Except one, that for some reason, has two pianos. They lucked out and that is exactly the room they’re in. Less room, but it doesn’t really matter.

Evan puts his bag down on one of the piano benches and then sits on the floor in the space between the end of the piano and the wall.

Connor coughs. “Uh…are you…okay?” He winces. Yikes.

“Tired,” Evan says softly.

Connor glances to the light switch before pressing the button to turn off the lights. There’s still a decent amount of light from the window in the door, but it’s darker. Connor puts down his bag and joins Evan on the floor. Evan looks up at him.

“Take a nap,” Connor suggests.

Evan blinks at him.

Connor sighs. “Scoot over.”

Evan moves so he’s as close to the piano as he can get. Connor squeezes into the space between Evan and the wall. There’s way more space in these practice rooms than it seems, the pianos make them look small.

Connor pulls on the sleeve of Evan’s sweatshirt. “Just lean on me. More comfortable than the wall, probably, though I’m basically all bone.”

“Y-you sure?”

Connor rolls his eyes because it feels right. “I wouldn’t be offering if I wasn’t. Close your eyes, Ev.”

“Okay,” Evan whispers. He rests his head on Connor’s shoulder. “Wake me up if your arm falls asleep.”

“Sure,” Connor lies.

A few minutes later, Evan’s breathing starts to even out. When Connor is sure that he’s asleep, he carefully pulls his phone out of his pocket.

From: C To: Z      waiting in practice room c      evans napping so dont come in just knock or some shit

Once he’s sent the texts, he puts his phone down and turns his attention back to Evan. Connor turns his head to look down at Evan, and when his nose brushes Evan’s hair, his heart goes into double time.

Fuck.

—«·»—

Connor thinks he’s drifted off when Zoe finally knocks on the door. He inhales sharply and sits up straighter, eyes wide. He leans forward to see Zoe standing in front of the door with her guitar on her back and her saxophone in hand.

He leans back and sighs. Okay.

Connor shakes Evan’s shoulder. “Ev, Ev wake up. Zoe’s done.”

Evan groans and blinks blearily. “Huh?”

Connor’s breath catches in his throat. He finds himself lost in Evan’s sleepy eyes for a moment too long and hopes Evan’s still too asleep to notice. “Zoe,” he says. “We can go home now.”

“Oh.” Evan pulls himself to his feet using the piano. About halfway up, he grabs Connor’s arm and pulls Connor up as well.

They grab their bags and open the door.

“Sleep well?” Zoe asks with a smirk.

Connor flips her off behind Evan.

Evan shrugs. “I-it was the floor.”

Connor takes Zoe’s saxophone from her. “Let’s go. I have an essay to write.”

Zoe blinks. “You do?”

“Unfortunately,” he grumbles.

The parking lot is blissfully empty when they step outside. The air is bitter and cold, and Connor wishes that it would just snow more than half an inch so the burning cold is worth it. He grabs Evan’s arm when Evan slips on ice and Zoe makes an offhanded comment about driving and black ice.

“You know?” she says to Evan.

Evan blinks. “N-no, I don’t— I don’t drive?”

Zoe frowns. “Do you take the bus?”

Evan turns pink, and Connor wonders if he’s redder because of the cold or not. “Yeah, it’s…yeah.”

Zoe looks to Connor.

“What?” Connor asks.

“What time does the bus pick you up?” Zoe asks.

“Uh…” Evan slows his walk. “I— around like…6:35?”

Zoe purses her lips. “Okay. Monday? We can swing by and pick you up.” She twirls her car keys around her finger. “Unless you hate my music choices as much as Connor does.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Evan says quickly.

“Too late,” Zoe sing songs. She unlocks the car and pops the trunk open. She puts her guitar in and then takes her saxophone from Connor. “We’d be happy to, right Connor?”

“Duh,” Connor says. “The bus is bullshit.”

“Good for the environment,” Evan says. “P-public transport!”

“We’re already using this car.” Zoe slams the trunk shut. “So it doesn’t actually matter. No additional cars on the road, just one less Evan the a bus.”

“Uh…”

“Sleep on it.” She rubs her arms. “Let’s go before I freeze.” She glances to Connor as she moves to the driver’s side. “How are you alive?”

Connor shrugs and pulls open the car door. He slides into the backseat next to Evan. “Can’t feel cold if you’re dead inside.”

Zoe twists around in her seat to glare at him before shutting the door. She turns on the car, blasts the heat even though it’s just air at the moment, and plugs her phone in. “Today we’re listening to Billy Joel,” she announces. “Get over it Connor.”

Connor just leans his forehead against the cold window as Uptown Girl plays from the speakers.

Zoe asks for directions a few times, but for the most part, they drive in silence aside from the Billy Joel in the slowly warming car.

Connor sits up when they arrive at Evan’s. “I’ll text you,” he says.

Evan gives him a smile. “Y-yeah. Thanks for the ride.”

“I’ll see you Monday at 6:40!” Zoe calls out before he shuts the door. She turns to look at Connor. “You moving up?”

“I guess.” Connor unbuckles and climbs over the center consul to get into the passenger seat. He buckles back in and Zoe backs out of the driveway.

“So…” she says slowly. “You and Evan.”

“What about us?” Connor asks flatly.

Zoe glances to him. “Anything…up?”

“Do you want me to say it?”

“No, but I can’t stop you from doing shit.”

“The sky.”

Zoe rolls her eyes. “Great, now that that’s out of the way—”

“Nothing,” Connor interrupts. “Can’t two people be friends?”

“Well, yeah, obviously.” Zoe taps on the steering wheel. “You just seem like more than that.”

Connor scoffs. More like barely that. “We aren’t.”

“Do you want to be?”

Connor stares at the road. “The light is green.”

Connor spends most of his Saturday writing his paper. Because Alana had written all over his outline and now he feels obligated to make something half decent out of the genius she turned his bullshit into. Also, she shared her essay with him on google docs the night before for him to edit — he does not know why the fuck she did that and hates the fact that school emails are standardized so she didn’t even have to ask for his email — and offered to edit his in return. He’s not going to give up that opportunity. He’s doing fine in english but another solid essay grade can get his parents to calm down for at least a day.

He texts Evan and draws when he’s not writing. The other weekend, Cynthia dragged him off to the store with her, so he threw a cheap set of kids’ watercolors in the cart. And a box of Capri sun. He sits on his floor and drinks a Capri sun while he waits for a painting to dry. Evan is making lunch right now, so it’ll be a few minutes before he responds. Evan doesn’t usually text Connor while he’s making food, apparently the risk of fire is higher than normal, and that’s not just Evan’s anxiety talking.

Evan had texted him the night before thanking him for the ride home. Connor had replied ‘what are friends for’ and then threw his phone across the room so he didn’t have to read Evan’s response. It didn’t end up mattering, because Evan’s next text wasn’t sent until this morning, and it was a frantic apology because he fell asleep before responding.

Connor just said it was fine and changed the subject as fast as he could.

Connor sighs and gets to his feet. As he waits for the painting to dry, he’s really fucking impatient, he takes pictures of some of his least shitty doodles from class and posts them on a randomass tumblr he made after Evan suggested posting his art online. Mostly Connor did it out of curiosity, he didn’t really use the site otherwise, just posts drawings and then vanishes for a few days, but it’s also good because it means he has somewhere where all his art was stored digitally. He might’ve accidentally spilt a mug of coffee all over a notebook the other day. And he distinctly remembers setting a few sketchbooks on fire back in middle school.

From: Ev To: Connor      Back ! ANd I didnt evne burn anything

Connor smiles to himself and leans against his bed.

From: Connor To: Ev      congrats you now have the cooking skills of a 12 year old

From: Ev To: Connor      :((

Connor hesitates before typing out his next message. He really shouldn’t ask — it’s a fucking terrible idea on so many levels — but it’s been slowly eating away at him. Which doesn’t make sense. But whatever.

From: Connor To: Ev      doesnt matter though i mean youre having dinner tonight wth jared right??

He puts his phone on his desk and goes back to painting and tries not to think about it for a few minutes. It’s not fair of him to get jealous. Because Jared is trying to get better. He’s still a dick but there’s an attempt there.

Connor hasn’t changed anything.

He sits on the floor and works on the painting. Now that he has slightly less shitty watercolors, they’re still pretty garbage but they aren’t old and mostly gone, he uses way too much purple again.

Whatever.

He doesn’t check his phone again until he has to wait for more paint to dry. He’s tempted to grab a sketchbook and keep ignoring it, but that’s not fair to Evan.

From: Ev To: Connor      Oh  y eah      We used to ha ve dinner a lot togethe r when ew wer elittle      All oru moms were friends      Kinda weird that were doing it again but… NIce?? Hopefull y ?      My mom s ocming which is nice      She hasnt been home ofr a few nights so yeah

Connor takes a slow breath before replying.

From: Connor To: Ev      thats pretty cool      i hope its fun and the food doesnt suck

Evan replies almost immediately, even though Connor took almost twenty minutes to respond.

From: Ev To: Connor      Thnk you!!!      Jareds moms are really good cook sso itll be good I think      I hope dinner goes ok for you tonight !! Good luck :)

Connor stares at the smiley face and falls on his bed with a groan.

—«·»—

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Evan lately,” Larry says, pushing quino around his plate.

Connor resists the urge to roll his eyes. They never really talked about that. Sometimes, when Zoe goes over a friend’s house or has a friend over, Connor will give Larry a very pointed look and Larry will find something on his phone fascinating. An amazing double standard.

And, like? Of course he spends time with Evan. They’re best friends— pretending to be best friends. Connor doesn’t know how to get that through Larry’s thick skull.

Evan is Connor’s best friend.

“Well yeah,” Connor says, stabbing a piece of kale with his fork. “He’s my boyfriend.”

Wait, shit— 

Zoe chokes on her drink.

“What?!” Larry practically shouts, silverware hitting the table.

Connor opens his mouth to explain that technically, no, they aren’t boyfriends, though they are friends who are boys, even if sometimes Evan looks at him and makes Connor feel like he’s turning to putty. But they aren’t actually—

He glances to his mom with wide eyes. “Mom? Are you okay?”

Cynthia smiles, eyes watering. “I’m just so happy for you, sweetie!”

Connor slowly looks around the table. His mother crying tears of joy, his father staring at him in shock, his sister trying to bite back a smile.

Connor needs to talk to Evan immediately.

They’re fucked.

—«·»—

Connor grabs Zoe’s before she can disappear into her bedroom. She stiffens and he pulls his hand away. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine.” She crosses her arms. “I thought you told me nothing was going on between you and Evan.” She raises her eyebrows.

Connor grimaces. “I— don’t tell Evan.”

Zoe tilts her head. “Don’t tell Evan…you’re dating?”

Fuck. “No, no, fuck.” Connor frantically searches his mind. “I, uh, we weren’t going to…tell people? Yet? And I…fucked that up. So don’t— don’t mention it to him until like he says something or whatever, okay?”

Zoe mimes zipping her lips. “Secret’s safe with me. But also, I fucking knew it.”

Connor forces a laugh and runs his hand through his hair. “Yeah. You did.”

Zoe goes back into her room and Connor grabs his phone and goes down to the basement. He wonders if he can get his door back for Hanukkah, but for now, this is the only private place he’s got. He would lock himself in the bathroom, but that’s still way too close to the rest of his family members for comfort.

He flicks on the light as he heads down the stairs and grabs a blanket off the back of one of the chairs. The basement is about half finished and has been since Connor was in middle school. One of those projects that Larry never got around to finishing. Now they mostly use it for storage and hanging out when it gets too hot in the summer and even central air isn’t working well enough. Him and Zoe used to camp out for weeks in the basement on air mattresses and stay up way past their bedtimes giggling.

Now it’s December. He hasn’t been down here since he punched the far wall when everyone else was asleep. Him and Zoe haven’t spent time together in here in years. They haven’t done much together in years.

Connor wraps himself in a blanket and sits down in one of the old oversized chairs. They’re only down here because the went out of style and were deemed unworthy for the living room.

He unlocks his phone, scrolls through his contacts, and presses call. Then he listens to the phone ring and hopes that they’re done with dinner at the Kleinmans’ while he waits for the call to be answered.

“Hello?”

Connor grits his teeth. “Hi. I…might need help.”

“Is it about Evan?”

Connor frowns. “Why do you assume it’s about Evan?” It is but—

Jared laughs. “Dude, we aren’t friends. The only reason you talk to me is because of Evan. What’s up?”

Connor blinks. He’s just gotten so used to having Jared constantly around that it’s like they’re basically friends. But not. Because Connor doesn’t have any real friends.  

“I,” Connor clears his throat, “my family now thinks Evan and I are dating.”

There’s a long pause. Connor waits for Jared to start cackling, but Jared just whispers, “Holy shit.”

“Say whatever shit you want to now,” Connor mutters. “Get it out.”

“Holy shit,” Jared repeats. Connor rolls his eyes. “Murphy, what the fuck.”

“Yeah, I know, I fucked up.”

“What are you going to do?” Jared sounds almost amazed.

Connor frowns at the phone. This is not how he thought this conversation would go. “Pay Evan two hundred dollars? I know you meant that as a joke but—”

“Fucking shit, my dude. What the hell!”

Connor drags his hand through his hair. “Kleinman, my mom started crying when I said Evan was my boyfriend, okay? I can’t— fuck. I don’t know.”

Jared whistles.

Connor picks at his nailpolish. “Would Evan…go along with it? Do you think?”  

“I think that’s a question for Evan.”

“I’m asking you.”

Jared snorts. “Okay, fine. I think he’ll go along with it.” It almost feels like Jared is going to say something more, but he doesn’t. “You got two hundred bucks lying around?”

“No,” Connor admits. He has an idea. It’s a terrible idea that could backfire, but it’s an idea.

“So…how are you going to get it?” Jared gasps. “Oh shit! Are we going to rob a bank?”

Connor frowns. “No? Why is that the first thing you came up with? Why would you rob a bank for two hundred dollars? Wouldn’t fucking…normal robbery be easier?”

“Fuck off. Are we doing that?”

“No.”

“Well we both know you’re not getting a job—”

“Fuck you.”

“—and that would probably take too long. Are we going to sell weed?”

“What? No,” Connor says. “Also how long did you restrain yourself before asking that?”

“Too long for that boring answer and reaction,” Jared admits. “Give me something to work with, stoner kid. We could just steal it. I know you said no, but—”

“Jared what the fuck,” Connor interrupts.

“Dude, you aren’t offering any ideas here, I’m just trying to help out.”

Connor rubs the bridge of his nose. “Fucking— do you know how PayPal works?”

“Yeah sure,” Jared says. “Super easy, why?”

Connor sighs. “Would you be willing to help me set one up?”

“Ten bucks.”

“Fine.”

“Yeah sure, you wanted some help on calc anyway. Do you have info on your bank account, by the way?”

“I…can find it,” Connor says slowly. “Does tomorrow work? My house?”

“Yeah sure, my man. Shoot me an address and a time. I expect snacks.”

 Jared shows up on the doorstep ten minutes earlier than Connor expected with his backpack slung over one shoulder and a Starbucks drink in his left hand. “Sup.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “You’re early.”

“Fashionably.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Whatever.”  

Zoe leans out of the dining room. “Who’s here?”

Connor steps aside to let Jared in. Jared waves at Zoe.

Zoe squints. “What are you doing here?”

“So nice to see you again too, Smaller Murphy,” Jared says. He kicks his shoes off and puts them next to Zoe’s converse.

“Calc,” Connor says. “I’m…not doing great.”

“But you aren’t failing yet,” Jared says. “So we’re just going to keep you from not doing that. What are you learning again?”

Connor shrugs. “Something implicit. I’ll show you the homework.”

Jared nods. “Chill, chill.”

“Aren’t you friends with Alana?” Zoe asks.

“I…guess?” Connor frowns. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“She’s the valedictorian, isn’t she? Why didn’t you ask her for help?”

“Uh…” Connor looks to Jared.

Jared takes a sip of his drink. “I’m genuinely offended, by the way. I’m no Alana Beck but I am passing AP Calc BC, which is more than you can say for seventy percent of our class. Don’t take it.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Zoe assures him. “Just didn’t tutoring was your…thing.”

“Alana tutors,” Jared says.

“I know, that’s my point.”

“Ha ha very funny. She tutors a lot of people so it makes sense that I take someone off her workload.” Jared points to Connor. “As her friend, Connor understands.”

“Right.” Connor nods. “That.”

Zoe rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t judging you or anything I was just wondering. Have fun. Don’t set the house on fire, I’m going over Pippa’s to work on our history project, and Mom and Dad are out shopping or something.”

“I’ll keep Jared away from anything breakable,” Connor promises.

“I remind you I’m doing you a favor,” Jared says.

“You’re making me pay you.”

“Shit you’re right.”

—«·»—

“This is easy shit,” Jared says, looking up from Connor’s textbooks. “Really easy.”

Connor flips him off.

“I’ll explain it!” Jared promises. “This makes my job easier, probably. So back to real reason I’m here—”

“You are here to help me with math.” Connor reaches for his laptop. “I’m going to open commissions.”

Jared stares at him with a blank expression.

“Commissions,” Connor repeats slowly.

Jared blinks. “Since when do you draw?”

“Do you actually know anything about me?” Connor asks.

Jared looks away. “Valid. How can I help?”

“Mostly just need help with PayPal. And maybe wording the post? I don’t know shit about talking to people.” Connor opens his laptop and logs in. He closes a few tabs and opens up tumblr. He hesitates and then opens his blog. “Here.”

“Your theme is awful,” Jared says flatly.

“Did I ask you?”

“Didn’t have to.” Jared clicks a few times. “Dude, if you want to be selling your art, you need a theme that isn’t painful to look at.” Connor opens his mouth to protest, but Jared holds up a hand. “I’m doing you a favor here. Give me like ten minutes. I will change your world.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

Jared pushes away in the desk chair. “Too late, I’m not helping if we don’t change this ugly ass theme. Doodle or something while I do this. Make a commissions banner, I don’t fucking know.” Jared hunches over the laptop and starts typing.

Connor stares at him. Hopefully Jared isn’t going to charge him for this too.

Forty minutes later, Connor is putting aside a random drawing and Jared is looking up from the laptop.

“Bam, motherfucker,” Jared announces spinning the laptop around. “A picture heavy theme with easy navigation, readable text, and colors that don’t make me want to stab my eyes out.” Connor leans forward to see it. It actually looks pretty decent. And pretty professional. Jared has also added a few links, including one to Connor’s still nonexistent PayPal and a commissions page. “By the way, your art is pretty rad.”

Connor blinks. “Thanks. Did you want that bank account information?”

“Yeah sure.”

Connor gets up from the floor. “Let’s break into my dad’s office.”

Jared sets aside the laptop. “Sweet.”

—«·»—

Connor sits down in the chair in Larry’s office. He pulls open one of the lower drawers in the desk and flips through the the hanging folders until he finds one with his name.

“Don’t steal my identity or anything,” he says to Jared as he hands him one of the folders. “But see if anything in there is what you need.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jared starts flipping through the papers. “Your identity is too lame to steal.”

“Thanks.”

Connor skims over various forms and papers with his name all over them. So weird that he’s attached to all of these things but doesn’t understand any of them. That might be concerning. Is he supposed to know what these mean? He squints at something that looks like it has something to do with money.

“I can’t believe you’re going through with this,” Jared mutters.

Connor looks up. “With?”

“This fake dating shit.” Jared puts a stack of papers down on the desk. “I thought this was convoluted before.”

“You helped.”

“So you two keep reminding me.” Jared flips a piece of paper over. “I think this is it.”

“Cool.” Connor puts his folder away and Jared puts Connor’s laptop on the desk. Connor fills out what he can and Jared helps with the rest.

“And you have a PayPal,” Jared announces, finishing the form. “If you click this you can transfer money to your bank account, which is how you’ll get the money off the internet and into Evan’s hands.”

Connor nods. “Makes sense.” He grabs the papers and puts them back into the folder. He puts it back in the bottom drawer and makes sure everything is just how Larry left it before he gets up from the chair.

“I genuinely didn’t think either of you would get invested in this shit,” Jared says as they stop in the kitchen to grab a bag of chips.

Connor shrugged. “I fucked up, that doesn’t mean anything.”

Jared gives him a flat look before biting into a chip. “Let’s just finish this shit so I can teach you how implicit differentiation works.”

Connor wrinkles his nose. “Fine.”

They bring the bag of chips up to Connor’s bedroom and sit on the floor with Connor’s laptop in front of them. Between handfuls of chips, Jared sentences to the post.

“We can’t call it ‘I’m Gay Give Me Money’,” Connor protests.

“Why not?” Jared asks. “It’s tumblr.”

“What’s your point?”

Jared pulls the laptop closer and starts typing. “We just say like… ‘I’m trying to meet my boyfriend’, we stay vague on the details no one wants to know the complexity of this shit and also it’s weird as fuck, ‘so I’m opening commissions’. Blah blah blah here are details…” Jared looks up at Connor. “Any suggestions for prices?”

Connor shrugs.

“You are the least helpful person,” Jared mutters. “Okay…going on what I saw on your blog…” He types rapidly for a few minutes. “And posted.”

“What?!” Connor grabs the laptop from Jared. “Why did you do that?!”

“You weren’t going to have anything to say so fuck it, it’s posted.” Jared pops another chip in his mouth. “Chill the fuck out.”

Connor reloads the page to check the post. He doesn’t have any idea if the prices are reasonable, but Jared put up Connor’s email and a link to his PayPal and tagged the post with a few tags that make sense and a few that don’t.

Connor groans. “If you fucked this up for me—”

“I didn’t,” Jared says. “I am doing you so many solids right now. And now I’m about to try to teach you calculus. I am literally a god.”  

Connor resists the urge to slam his head against the keyboard.  

#connor murphy #evan hansen #convan #tree bros #deh fanfic #my fics #to have a friend #hi im dy ign

[xxaliencuddlesxx]

The walking dead - Together

Hey, this is my first post and its about Carl Grimes x Reader.

You wake up to the sound of the door being shoved open, your heart is pounding and you have a headache you wipe your eyes even though your'e wide awake the window is cracked open a little so the chilling wind of Feburary tickles your neck, you sneak of the bed hoping not to make any noise, you grab your knife and pistol (which is beside a half empty water bottle) off of the nightstand beside you

You peer open the door and your eyes instantly locks onto one man coming up the stairs, you quickly ditch under the queen size bed you were just sleeping in

The man is talking to two other people downstairs "I bet you i'm gonna find at least one water bottle up here" "Ive already found one, you better pay up" from a distance another man yells, your heart is still racing but you've cooled your breath to a minimum

The door to the room your in swings open as the man searches for any supplies that are hidden, he's wearing dark brown boots that have been stained with more than just dirt, there's blood on his boots, as his feet slowly walk up to the nightstand he grabs the half-empty waterbottle that you had been drinking before, he instantly yells to the men downstairs "guess who found water!" "This guy" he walks away downstairs to the other men

You stop holding your breath and get up from under the bed, you quickly but silently grab your backpack that was underneath the bed and go out the door into the hall, the wallpaper is stained and peeling of wall, you look for a way out and see a window toward the front, you remember there is a roof just outside, you hop out the window with no hesatation and drop down off the roof

To your surprise there was a man on the porch, he agressively yells to the other's "GUY'S, WE HAVE A VISITOR" while he is yelling he is scrambling over to you, you try to run but he grabs you by the arm and pulls you towards the house, you get loose and try to run but you fall to the ground because your feet slipped on the gravel road, when you fell you slamed your head on the ground and you slowly black out

You wake up and your head hurts even more than it did before you're tied up and on a hard wooden chair, there are 3 men infront of you, the leader steps forward and says in a raspy voice "So darlin, what's your name?" "Dont have one" you snap back "Well you gotta have a name, maybe we can come up with one" He says in a patient but strict tone "Dont want one" you quietly partake "Fine i'll just call you Baby then" he vouchers "I aint your Baby" You snap "You are now" He aggresivly says as he waves the other two men out of the room, when they leave he says "Now what to do with you"

He walks to a table in the corner of the room, you're in a bedroom downstairs, you remember the furniture, he grabs a knife that has a leather handle with grooves to fit your fingers the blade is long and sharp, he plays with the knife while he slowly walks towards you, when he reaches the edge of the chair your sitting on he croutches down to meet your eyes and says "Now I know"

As he breaths those words your heart is pounding as fast as a speeding bullet but you try to act cool, when he finishes his sentance he plundges his knife into your Left thigh, you scream in pain and try not to cry but you do, he doesnt just stop there he drags the blade and cuts you flesh all the way down to your knee, he then stops get's up and leaves closing the door behind him

Your still badly hurt but work through the pain, you bend over to try and pick up the knife that is still in your thigh with your teeth, you know its going to hurt and your already bleeding alot but its worth it, you successfully pull the knife out wimpering while you do, you then cut the binds of rope on your left hand and then your right, you do the same for your ankles, you try to stand up but fall to the ground, you are determined, you pick yourself up and limp towards some drawers in hope to find some bandages, you find a towel and cling wrap in the desk drawer, you bandage your wound then crawl out the window on the right wall

You drop down and put all your weight on the right leg, you try limping for the woods to lose them there but one of they guys catch up to you and trys to take you down but you move ut of the way and grab his guy while hes down, you shoot him in the head without hesitation, the other two guy's run out but you shoot them, the one guy you shot in the shoulder then the head and the last guy got a head shot

The leader finally comes out and says "Okay i give up" you see him with his hands up slowly walking towards you, you try and shoot him but the pistol has no ammo, he pulls out his gun from his holster and shoots you in the hip, you fall crashing to the ground in even more pain than you were before, he's standing above you with his gun pointed at your face, "Do it" you whimper out confidently

BANG

The man Crashes to the ground beside you and you look up to see who shot him but before you could your vision goes blurry and you pass out

You wake up in a room with bright lights, you look down at your leg and see it has been bandaged, same goes for the bullet wound, your eyes then adjust to the light and you can see your in what looks to be a hospital of some sort, your laying on a bed and out of adrenaline you jump to your feet limping over to your backpack and you pull out a Colt M1911, a young boy around your age walks into the room with a plater of food, you point your gun and yell "Where am I" the boy responds "This is Alexandria, its a community" "How did i get here?" you ask "I found you, and brought you back" he replies calmingly "What's your name" You ask "Carl Grimes, what's yours" Carl answer's

"Im (Y/N)"

#carl grimes #carl x reader #twd #the walking dead #carl

[biologicallyimpaired]

November 27, 2019

Geez we’re almost through November already?? Goodness. Sorry it took so long to post. Life has been crazy, to say the least.

The surrogate pulled through like a champ and is healing well. We are adjusting to an infant at home. I’ve already had a flare up where I couldn’t do the Mom Thing and gotten sick and couldn’t do the Mom Thing, and tried to deal with all that emotional stuff -- tho luckily I have a great support system. I expect this stuff will show up more in future posts, so I won’t dwell on it here.

For the birth itself… that was something. There are a LOT more nitty gritty details but honestly I’m just too tired to go through them all over again. So here are the highlights:

*He was born Nov 2nd at 8.5lb and 19.5”. He came out with the cord around his neck and blue. They got him breathing (god waiting for that cry felt like an eternity) and bundled him up on me for skin to skin. It was supposed to last an hour and I got like 2 min. He wasn’t pinking up. In the moment I was terrified and angry they ripped my baby away from me right when I FINALLY got to make contact with him for the first time, but luckily they know how to explain stuff to an overly-emotional mom by now.

*They got him warmed up and he pinked up really well. They gave him back to me for more skin to skin. At some point the surrogate managed to pump some colostrum? I really don’t remember how that happened. I just remember getting a syringe with the colostrum in it to feed him. He took to feeding REALLY well. However, I noticed pretty quickly he wasn’t breathing right. I brought him over to the pediatrician to re-evaluate him. After a few minutes under the lamp and being monitored, he just wasn’t breathing any better. They took him to NICU.

*He was on oxygen for ~16-18 hrs (not really sure, it was all a blur; I honestly thought it was longer but timeline tells me otherwise). Then they were on regular air being pushed through his nasal tubes. He was also on a sugar drip & ABs and had to have a BATTERY of blood tests which made him VERY not happy. ~20 hrs after he was born, my husband got to hold him for the first time and we slowly learned how to handle a baby covered in wires.

*At some point during all this, my husband, who had stayed with the surrogate to make sure she was ok, came and got me from NICU to come back to the room. It was a 10min walk away from the NICU. Which is just beyond dumb. We didn’t get a closer room until literally our last night there. I walk into the room, after crying for HOURS at my baby’s bedside, finally a little more stable, and what greets us is an empty crib. I broke down again because that is where my baby was supposed to be. My family was amazing during all of this.

*On 11/3, after pleading with a few folks to give us formula to give him since he was clearly STARVING (he was a chonkster and the colostrum was slowing down), we talked to an amazing night nurse who helped us get it done. Apparently, some asshole nurse with an agenda made a note on his chart for family requested "Breastmilk ONLY" even tho we NEVER said that. The night nurse listened to us, deleted the note, and in 5 min had a script from the NP for baby-led feeding with formula supplementation. He took 9.5mL colostrum and 19mL formula. He stopped crying and slept like a champ. We're livid about the initial note but glad that it was fixed -- and that the other nurses are just as mad about it. [Also, this explains some of the dirty looks I’d been getting and the snark one nurse threw at me scolding me for not “letting” the surrogate breastfeed directly instead of pumping (like, she had a fever and cough so she couldn’t even go there, also that was a mutual decision).]

*On 11/4, the surrogate is sent home and thus we no longer have a room. We are told that the baby will have to stay in the hospital another 48 hrs to wait for another blood culture since the last one came up positive for Staph. We shuttle back and forth that night a couple times to deliver colostrum/milk but we really couldn’t manage more trips since we live an hour away from the hospital. God I felt so bad having to sleep away from my baby. Even worse, I felt super guilty that I actually got a good night’s sleep -- the first good sleep I’d had in a week tbh since I hadn’t slept well leading up to the birth and between the morning of 10/31 and 11/3, I couldn’t even manage a nap.

*On 11/5, my husband was on his way for his trip to take colostrum/milk when we got the call that the cultures were so clear there likely wouldn’t be anything on them (meaning a false positive for Staph on the last culture), and that he was breathing well enough & blood sugar was stable enough that they felt comfortable sending him home. He turned around, grabbed us, and we headed there. They had the IV sugar/antibiotic out before we got there and they let us take off his nasal tube.

I really don’t know how my parents handled it when I was stuck in the hospital for eternity. Because those few days, while nothing compared to how long I was in the hospital, seemed to stretch FOREVER. It was legit the worst feeling I’ve ever had to experience. But all this chaos doesn’t matter. Because on 11/5 our baby came home and our family is whole.

#familyplanning #nontraditional #surrogacy #baby #newborn #nicu #togeth #whole

[unapologeticalyme-blog]

Nursing gone wrong

Starting my day at work 

A typical day 

I come into work an hour early so that i’m able to actually read through my patients’ charts and write down all the meds they are going to need because once I clock in, it’s going to be a rat race.  It’s  now 7 AM and I am looking for the nurses who had my patients the night before so that we are able to do bed side report. They are nowhere to be found. They are finishing up med passes that were due at 4 AM but they didn’t have time because they had 4 people  admitted from the ER between 1 and 3 in the morning and they are trying to find out what kind of diet these people are supposed to be on, what fall risk they are, what medications they take at home and the last time they took them, and their history. As i’m walking down the hall looking for someone, I hear a patient yell “help me.” I go in and they have slid off their bed pan and have a mess in their bed. I slip on gloves, look for their wipes only to realize they don’t have any. So I take the bed pan off them, slip off my gloves, run down the hall to get into the supply room, and grab the wipes. Now I have to get them fresh sheets and a new gown. As i’m heading back to their room, two nurses are waiting for me so that they can give me report and go home. I know this patient isn’t going to die from dirty sheets. So I go in and explain to them that I will be back in to clean them up in a short while. I wipe them up and remove the dirty chuck pad underneath them so that they won’t be uncomfortable. They then tell me they need fresh water as well. --so I think “ok, I need to get report, change these sheets, and get fresh water.. check” 

I get a patient report on one person and they tell me that they have not been walked and want to get up and stretch their legs. -- I write it on my sheet and think, “ok, so I need to change sheets in room 910, get her fresh water, and then I need to pass my morning meds, do my assessments, look at my telemetry reading at 8 for my four patients and make sure their heart rates aren’t doing anything whacky, chart that info, and then i’ll come back around and hopefully the techs will have vitals done and be starting on the bed baths..after that is done, I will get up and walk this patient.”  

I walk down the hall and a bed alarm goes on. I go running and a patient down the hall in room 915 has now gotten up and knocked their entire bedside table over and there is water all over the floor and they have ripped off their telemetry monitor. I put them back in bed, call telemetry to tell them that this patient is ok, and go to put their monitor back on and realize that they have taken their chest pads off as well and there are none in the room. Back to the supply room I go. I  I walk by the nurses station and hear the phone ringing and call lights going off but I just ignore it and get packs of telemetry pads and go back to attach the monitor to them. 

I walk past two rooms with IV alarms going off. I will come back and check them or someone else will. 

It’s now close to 8 and I haven’t been back in patient 901′s room to change their sheets yet. I’ll just have the patient care tech do it because they will be going around doing vitals, checking blood sugars, and asking the patients if they want their baths. 

Next report taken, this patient is a stroke patient and requires neuro checks every 2 hours and must have blood pressure checked manually on the hour to make sure it is controlled because they have a bleed that is currently being controlled. They are on a nectar thick/pureed diet and can only be fed by staff. They are bed bound as well.

---Ok so now four of my patients are all accu-checks- which means I have to make sure their blood sugars are tested when they order breakfast. If it is high, I have to cover them with insulin when their tray comes. One of them, I have to feed or have the tech feed them and I have to make sure I stay on top their blood pressure every hour and check their neuro status every 2 hours. 

It’s 8:15. I haven’t seen a tech yet, patient in room 910 is still dirty, I still have a mess on the floor in 915, and I have to go look at the telemetry screens and chart their current rhythm and rate, which is already 15 min late. We chart rates every two hours. 

I still haven’t seen a tech. Four alarms are going off, nobody is at the nurse’s station, and the phone is ringing. My pocket is ringing and it’s dietary, telling me that two of my patients now have their breakfast trays and I look on the board and none of their sugars have been checked. 

I find out we don’t have a tech. I am now responsible for my vitals, which are to be taken every four hours (except for my one patient, who I have to do manually every hour), my own accu-checks, administering insulin to cover them, giving my own bed baths, walking my patients that do not have an order for PT, checking my telemetry screens every two hours and charting, completing all assessments and charting,  rounding with physicians, and checking charts to see if any new orders have been put in or if lab results have came in. 

Lab results are in- 2 of my patients have low potassium, nothing in their med rec shows they have potassium ordered. I have to page the doctor. 

Room 910 is still laying in a dirty bed. 

I have a family for one of my patients wanting to know how their mother is doing today.. I don’t even know what to tell them.. I haven’t assessed her yet. When they say her name I don’t even know who she is, give me a room number.

Two doctors have just arrived to round with me on my patients. 

Two of my patients have eaten breakfast and have not received their insulin. 

My patient keeps calling wanting to know when he can get up and walk. 

My other patient calls and wants their bath in the next half hour because their family is coming up. 

I haven’t charted anything. 

My 8 oclock meds are 45 minutes late. 

I page the doctors again about my lab results

I call pharmacy twice because my patient’s levemir isn’t in their bin and it was due a half hour ago. 

One of my patients has to go for dialysis and they are ready. Did they get their bath? I have no idea.  

We have two more admits coming from the ER. Now each nurse will have 5 patients. 

One of my patients needs a blood transfusion. 

910 is still dirty, at least I think they are. Someone may have cleaned them up, I haven’t been back. 

I’m passing meds and my patient starts talking about his love of camping and telling me about all the trips he and his wife go on. He is answered back with,  “how exciting” .. I honestly haven’t heard everything because I see in his chart he’s tested positive for influenza and we have no precautions set up. Everyone is going to need masks for his room now. I don’t have time to talk to him. I need to go page the Doctor to make sure they are aware of his results. His wife starts asking questions about when I think he’s going to be discharged. 

I can’t even remember why he was admitted or what he is here for. 

910 is still dirty. I haven’t charted anything. 

My patient in room 918, who was just admitted an our before shift change, has a heart rate of 165 and radiology is trying to take her for a cat scan so I have to run and stop them. I look on her chart, nobody has reconciled her meds so nothing is ordered. Radiology is pissed at me. I don’t care. She’s not going anywhere.  I page her doctor. I call his office and find out he is out of town. I call the doctor who is handling her doctor’s patients.. no answer. I page him.I tell radiology she’s not going to have the scan until her heart rate is controlled, she is going to be having a pacemaker put in tomorrow but I refuse to send her because she needs to take her amniodarone that she should have had but she forgot to take it last night. I know she’s drank all the contrast for her scan and is on limited time but her HR is now 180. The physician calls me back. I am going to give her a cardizem bolus of 10 mg  and run a drip. If that works I  can call radiology and let them know they can come back and get her. It works. her heart rate is now 110, going down.  The Doctor tells me to update her entire med list, that means I have to go through and put in each medicine and order it through pharmacy for him. I can fight him on it but I don’t because it needs to be done and i can’t be sure he’ll do it right away. 

Shit, I am a half hour late on my blood pressure check for my stroke patient and guess what? 910 is still dirty. 

My mouth is so dry and I have to pee.. keep moving. 

The cardiologist is here to round and I have a nurse run up to me telling me that pharmacy is on hold for me and case management wants to know if one of my patients is ready to go home.  Oh, and my patient who had the stroke’s family is all in the room wanting to see me because he hasn’t had his bath yet and his food is just sitting there because nobody has fed him. 

I hear a nurse getting yelled at by a doctor for not knowing that the patient had converted back to a-fib. 

Shit, I need to check my telemetry. 

I need to check blood sugars because lunch is coming up. 

Who had the crackles in their lungs? Was it 903 or 904? 

Another nurse stops me, 905 needs their catheter emptied and needs fresh water. She has to get her patient ready for his heart cath so she doesn’t have time to do it. She’s super sorry. 

My phone continuously vibrates in my pocket. I am told by the charge  nurse I need to take a lunch. 910 is still dirty. I tell her I’ll take my lunch later, let someone else go... knowing I won’t eat lunch until 3 and it will probably be nothing more than a snicker bar and milk. My urge to pee has passed, I’ll slip in the dietary area and get a small drink of water when I go to get fresh water for a a patient. 

I still haven’t charted. I hope 910 isn’t still dirty. Surely her nurse took care of it . 

This is every day. I did not sign up for this. I became a nurse because I truly love people and wanted to help and make a real difference in this world. If I take the time to talk to my patients, I am late doing something that could effect the outcome for another patient. There are times I can’t even remember what patient is what or what they were even here for. All through nursing school, we are told that our job is to be advocates for our patients and tend to their needs, not only medical but spiritual as well. I can’t advocate for my patients when I don’t even have time to talk to them.