#i need to be medically examined to make sure i am physically fit enough for work :D

[si-cucumber]

I love ableist fuckwads 😀 Just the highlight of my week. The perfect way to start the weekend

[thedarlingdearestdead]

I'm scared:

Summary: Obi Wan and reader are fellow Jedi who grew up together and are now both on the council. A trip to the halls of healing brings up some feelings...

Warnings: None, pretty fluffy, bit angsty, a bit of talk of violence but otherwise fairly normal.

Word count: 1,992

"Alright, council adjourned," Master Windu said, his deep voice resonating through the dimly lit chamber as he wrapped up the discussion on war plans. The Jedi Council members gathered around the large circular table began to rise from their seats, their expressions a mixture of solemnity and determination. As they dispersed slowly, the room buzzed with hushed conversations and the clinking of lightsabers being adjusted for the battles that loomed on the horizon.

You breathed a quiet sigh of relief, grateful for the respite. The weight of responsibility had been pressing on your shoulders for days now, and any moment of peace was a blessing. Hastily, you stood up from your chair, eager to leave the council chambers, but before you could make your escape, a firm grip closed around your arm. It was Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"Not so quick, Master L/N," he said, his voice calm and composed amidst the chaos. "You're scheduled for a medical check-up."

You frowned, puzzled. "Why do you know that, and I don't?"

Obi-Wan's blue eyes twinkled with a hint of amusement. "I had my own check-up this morning, and they mentioned your appointment to me."

"Isn't that a breach of doctor-patient confidentiality?" you grumbled, reluctantly following him out of the imposing council chamber and into the well-trodden corridors of the Jedi Temple.

He chuckled softly. "Not when the doctor is a busy droid."

"Very well, then, Kenobi," you said, resigned to your fate. “How was your appointment? Are you physically fit? Have you recovered from your very long list of injuries - broken ribs, fingers, fractured wrist, cracked skull, and blood poisoning?” You counted them on your fingers in jest.

Obi-Wan smiled wryly. "Just about. Enough to be cleared for active duty. How did you even find out about the ribs? Anakin swore he wouldn't tell."

You raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I suspect your Padawan isn't as tight-lipped as you might think."

"Mmmh," he replied, his voice tinged with amusement as he continued guiding you down the corridor.

"You don't need to escort me to the hospital wing, you know," you quipped. "I am perfectly capable of finding my way around the building that I've grown up in and inhabited all my life."

Obi-Wan appeared genuinely surprised at your protest. "I'm not escorting; I'm accompanying. I want to see whether you've recovered from the smashed kneecap, severe laser burns, concussion, and broken toes."

You couldn't help but wonder how he knew about the concussion. "Rex?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes."

You huffed in frustration as you arrived at the sterile entrance of the medical bay. Of course Rex had ratted you out, the gossiping fiend. You would be sure to give him a telling off later on. Once inside, you were promptly ushered into the scanning chamber. Through the transparent glass, you shot Obi-Wan a pointed look, and gestured for the droids to get the examination over with.

Master Che, the Jedi healer in charge of the medical bay, walked into the room with a holopad in hand, her brow furrowing as she registered Obi-Wan's unexpected presence. "I thought I dismissed you this morning! Force, I don't think I've ever seen you in here voluntarily.”

Obi-Wan's cheeks tinged with a faint blush, caught off guard by her remark, while you couldn't help but laugh at his expense. "I only came because you mentioned Master Y/N's appointment. I had to be sure she would keep it.”

"You're just as bad as each other," Master Che remarked, her tone a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "I thank you, Kenobi. Be assured I will not try to hold you here any longer.”

To everyone's surprise, Obi-Wan seemed unusually reluctant to leave. He hesitated, his eyes fixed on you. "I don't mind the wait.”

Master Che furrowed her brow, perplexed by this unusual behaviour but ultimately had more pressing matters to attend to. "Very well, then. Master Y/N, your knee looks to be healing well, but I would like to discuss your head injury with you. You really ought not to be back on missions so soon..."

You listened to her words, a feeling of frustration building within you. The war had demanded so much of the Jedi, and the weight of your duties often left you with little choice but to push your physical and mental limits. You exchanged a knowing glance with Obi-Wan, who stood nearby, his presence offering silent support.

You sighed, knowing that Master Che was right but also knowing that the urgency of the war often left no room or time for personal well-being. "I'll consider it, Master Che," you replied, offering her a small, weary smile.

Master Che nodded, her expression disapproving. "I do understand your persistence, Master Y/N. But you must remember that even Jedi have their limits.” This was not something you liked to be reminded of. 

The medical bay's antiseptic aura couldn't conceal the impatience and turmoil which grew in your heart as the droids carried out their examinations. The air was heavy with the scent of bacta and the soft hum of machinery, and you couldn't help but feel like a wounded starship in need of repair. Obi-Wan, ever the silent sentinel, watched from outside the glass partition with a reassuring smile. You had always hated the halls of healing the both of you did whatever you could to avoid them, having spent far too long confined to these rooms in your youth to have the stomach for it as adults. Adults who had better things to do than lie down and worry about some minor bruises and scrapes. 

After the droids completed their scans, you were freed from the sterile confines of the examination chamber. Master Che offered her final words of caution regarding your head injury, then returned to her duties. Clearly expecting to see you in a few days and resigned to your lack of personal care and self preservation. Obi-Wan fell into step beside you, waving cheekily to the doctor who thought even worse of his habits. He was a comforting presence amidst the uncomfortable halls, and it was reassuring not to be Master Che’s worst patient. 

Walking together through the echoing corridors of the Jedi Temple, you both knew that these turbulent times and great battles tested your resolve like never before. Physically and mentally perhaps you both were too flippant about the effects that it could have on you. The war was a tempest, and navigating its treacherous waters required more than just lightsabers and Force abilities; it required the strength of bonds forged through hardship. Bonds which were strong between you and your companion.

Breaking the silence, you confided in Obi-Wan, your voice a quiet murmur. "I sometimes wonder if our efforts make a difference at all. I feel I’ve hit a cycle and gotten caught up in it. I spend all my time constantly on the way to the hospital.”

Obi-Wan's gaze met yours, his eyes a reflection of the galaxies of thought swirling within him. His hand brushed against yours, a subtle, wordless gesture of solidarity. “I prefer to think I am constantly evading it.”

“But you don’t.”

“I am constantly trying to evade it then.”

“But you agree? There is far too much of a need for the halls of healing these days.” Your journey ended as you reached the entrance of your chambers, and you turned to Obi-Wan, heart pounding with a blend of trepidation and longing. "Obi-Wan, there's something I must confess."

He regarded you with curiosity, his eyes glowing like the distant stars. "What is it, Y/N?"

“I’m scared. I know I ought not be, I know it is not the Jedi way, I know I should trust in the force, in the council, in so many things but…” You trail off and breathe deeply. It was Obi Wan, you could continue… “I find it all so difficult lately.”

You could see the conflict in his face. Your perfect Jedi trying to comprehend your crisis of faith. Obi-Wan did not say a word. Instead he turned more directly towards you. He was scanning your face making it grow hot. Making doubt and fear grow in you by the second. Would he tell on you? Was he disgusted? Shamed? Instead of recoiling or accusing you though, you found him growing closer to you.

And suddenly he was on you. Hands reaching to cup your cheeks and holding you as you melt in to his kiss, the world seemed to stand still. It was a moment filled with the echoes of countless stars, a revelation of love that had remained hidden amidst the tumult of war.

The weight of your fears and doubts melted away. It was as if the Force itself had guided you to this moment, because here you felt it. You had not known the reassurance and certainty of the force since the war began but in that moment it was as all consuming as his touch.

Obi-Wan's kiss was a declaration, a promise that he would be there for you, he was that blinding, cosmic, inexplicable thing that once you had called the force. His lips were warm and tender against yours, a testament to the depth of his feelings. You responded with equal fervour, your hands finding their way to his waist, pulling him closer as if to never let go.

The echoes of the Jedi Council meeting and the chaos of war plans faded into the background. The fear of battles, of death, of destruction dissipated. That you could handle, that you would suffer for the price of this man and the love you shared, a love that had grown silently but was now impossible to ignore. It was a love that defied the darkness of the galaxy and illuminated your path forward.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and with your hearts beating in sync, Obi-Wan's forehead rested against yours. His eyes bore into yours, filled with a light which told you he felt the same. He was all understanding, he was all yours now. "Y/N," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion, "I want you to know that you're never alone in this journey. We may face uncertainty, but together, we can find the light in even the darkest of times. You don’t have to be scared.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, not tears of fear or doubt, but tears of joy and gratitude. “I thought you would be horrified by me.”

He kissed your forehead gently, his embrace warm and protective. "I have not known peace from my fear for years, it has been my constant companion. But when I am with you… I feel the stillness and peace of the force that I have not known since the war began.”

As you stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, you knew that the love you shared was a beacon of hope, a reminder that even in the midst of war, love could conquer fear and uncertainty. And as you gazed into each other's eyes, you were filled with a sense of peace and determination, ready to face whatever the future held, hand in hand.

Stepping into your chambers, hand in hand, he became a source of strength in a galaxy consumed by chaos. Together, you were prepared to face life's fiercest challenges, for your love was a bond that transcended duty and destiny, a love that would shine as brilliantly as the stars for all eternity. Or so you hoped…

[flipping-the-coin]

Guardsman Recruit - Paradox: Entry #001

[10 Vorns after the restoration of Cybertron]

[Cycle 1 of training]

[Recording begins]

══════════════════

Is this thing on? I think so...

Right, my designation is Paradox! I was told by my Commander that I needed to begin keeping a record of my time in training so that once I finish I can review it. He says its so that when the time comes we can see how much we have changed for the better. I think its a little silly, but I am not going to be the one to tell the mech who served under the last Prime "no".

Anyway, as I said, my designation is Paradox and I was drafted into the ranks of the elite guard after I proved my worth in the trials. My Nurturer is a wonderful femme, but she's always been religious. As soon as she heard the guard were looking for young recruits, she sent me out to go try. I didn't see the harm in making the attempt, I already wanted to join up with the military and the guard are kind of military affiliated right? If nothing else it made my Nurturer happy, so I gave it a shot and somehow succeeded. She very nearly started crying when I came home to pack up my things and head to boot camp! She gave me a holo projector with a picture of us together so I don't forget to come visit her once and a while.

I asked the Commander if I could send her messages, but he said no. He said something about training being a time to step away from mortal attachments to become something greater. I don't mean to be rude or anything, seriously no shade toward Commander Smokescreen, I know he fought in the war and all... but I think he might have a screw loose somewhere. Its just boot camp and he's treating it like we are about to go on some sacred pilgrimage. I know the guard are tied to the Primacy and that's an organization that's religious as scrap, but still, feels a bit over the top.

But enough about that, let me tell you, those trials were no joke! Only mecha under five vorns were allowed to enter them, then we had to go through all sorts of slag to pass!

There was a medical assessment where some Primacy doctors took energon samples, poked at all of my components, scanned every part of me, and made me do a physical fitness test. I thought I was going to die with how many strange poses they made me do and how many laps I had to run. I think I did well though since at least half of the others who joined me were weeded out during the examination. There was even a poor mech who ended up overheating two laps in. It was probably best he didn't get past the trials, I think he would have rolled over and died honestly.

Once we finished that, the head doctor sent us into a separate room where we were given a pretty tough assessment. There was a fully fledged guardsman there and she was armed to the denta. No joke, she looked ready for war. Her entire frame was covered in this intricate armor that I think was magnetized to her plating or something. She had all these super intricate engravings all over her as well, and I couldn't read any of them. I think they were in the old language or something. I'd never seen a guardsman up close until then, and I couldn't help but admire the care that went into her armor and the way the gold and blue meshed. With that said, it still felt a little over the top, although I am sure there is a slag ton of symbolism or something behind it.

Anyway, she lined us up and then stared us all down one by one. I don't know what she was looking for, but three of the others were dismissed after she looked into their optics. That put me on edge I will admit, but not nearly as much as when she sat us down and gave each of us a written test. The questions were very odd. Some were expected, mainly math, reading comprehension, writing, and science. But then as I answered those, there were more and more questions all about topics with no active relation to academic studies. The questions were ones like "What is a Prime?", "What does it mean to be loyal?", "If forced to choose, would you die for the benefit of the people as a whole or flee to survive?", and "How important is individualism?". Super strange stuff, but I answered as best as I could.

The guardsman looked our answers over and graded them way faster than I ever thought possible. It took maybe ten Kliks and that was with nearly fifty different tests! But as soon as she finished another twenty mecha were dismissed and taken away. Those of us that remained were quickly herded into some sort of training ground. There we were each allowed to pick a weapon of our choosing. We weren't told what was going on, so to be safe I chose a spear. I don't mean to brag, but my Nurturer was pretty fragging fine with the spear and I inherited that skillset! I doubt anyone but the most battle hardened could beat me when I've got my weapon on me! And that's even after I got my aft handed to me!

It was literally the most terrifying thing ever when all of us suddenly found ourselves facing off against actual guardsmen! I swear on Primus's name we fought ACTUAL guardsmen! I got pitted against a particularly large guardsman with that same elaborate gold and blue armor. His face was largely covered by a mask, but I could see these super intricate engravings around his optics that were so small I only saw them as he charged at me.

I thought I was going to die as I desperately fended off the guardsman's blade. I looked everywhere, begging for help with my field... but not a spark moved. My fellows were in the same position and the watching guardsman merely stared us down with optics that were... so cold... so very apathetic and calculating. Looking back... I don't think they would have cared if we died...

But that is beside the point. I am unsure how long I struggled for, but I did much better than the others thanks to my Nurturer's training. I was by no means winning or even driving the guardsman back, but I was keeping myself alive. I was covered in small cuts and minor gashes, and honestly I think he was toying with me. The guardsman's field was held close, silent and without emotion. It startled me... but the way he used his blade told me that if he really wanted to, he could have ended me with one simple swing.

Time seemed to blur as I fought with my spear. I stopped paying attention to the others or the guardsman that watched my struggle without a care in the world. I was desperate and I could only keep my optics on where I thought my enemy would strike next. My fans burned and my frame hurt in so many places, but I was scared... I didn't want to die... so I kept fighting. I kept trying to buy myself but a moment longer. Then just as the guardsman finally swept my pedes out from under me, I think I had a bit of a revelation.

I saw the guardsman raise his blade above my helm. I saw his optics as they shone and I saw the cold and simple resolve there. And in that moment... I wasn't afraid anymore. I saw the blade, I knew what it meant, but I found myself unworried. I fought as hard as I could, and that was all there was to it.

Then the blade dug into the ground next to my helm and the guardsman stood, reaching down to help me get back onto my pedes. I was shocked and I could hardly think, but the guardsman watching gave an approving nod and instead of being sent away with the doctors like ten others that made it to the last part of the trials, my shoulders were clasped by the guardsman... and I could have sworn on every possible power in this universe that they smiled. Not with their mouths of course, but I could sense it for the briefest of moments in their fields as they brought me among their number and presented me and the remaining potential recruits to Commander Smokescreen.

Commander Smokescreen was shorter than I expected, but then again, according to the records he is only barely out of younglinghood. He had this look to him that was so very contradictory yet that fit him perfectly at the same time. His face was very youthful and the way he held himself spoke of energy with no place to be poured. If one didn't look all that closely I wouldn't blame them for thinking him just another youngling playing soldier. However his optics were just as cold as the other guardsman and his field firmly clamped tight around him. The way he stood was stiff yet prepared his frame to act at a moment's notice. His voice certainly didn't help the oddity of his identity.

He told us we had passed the trials. He told us that we were going to become part of the chosen, the Prime's honor guard and personal attendants. Commander Smokescreen used many sub-glyphs that I don't know and he spoke in a strange accent that hinted at reverence. But as I said before, I am pretty sure he's missing something upstairs, so I don't blame him for sounding weird. Eventually though he ran through some rules and what to expect, answered a few questions, and then directed us to return home to collect our items. We were told to return to the trial grounds in three cycles, and if we failed to turn up that we would be hunted down and dragged back.

A little scary honestly. But the guard are like the army after all. Gotta make a point to keep trouble makers in line I guess. Anyway I followed orders, got a special meal with my Nurturer, packed up, came to the trial grounds, and now I am here. I thought I was going to have to bunk with someone, but nope. Its just me in a small room in the guard barracks. Its pretty plain with just a simple berth, one shelf for my stuff, and a desk with this recording device. The ceiling is covered in Primacy symbols, but I think its mostly for show.

Well, I think that's enough for this cycle. Tomorrow training starts and I think I will try to record my mental state or whatever once a deca-cycle or so. I hope I can finish up training soon so I can show my Nurturer how far I've come. I think she'll be proud.

Elite Guardsman Paradox signing off!

══════════════════

[Recording ends]

[Recording uploaded to guardsman recruit supervisor for review]

[Training plan in development]

[autobot2001]

It's Nothing

Sicktember one-shot 5/6

Fandom: Transformers Characters: Jolt, Ratchet, Jasmine, Ironhide, Sideswipe, soldier Prompts: Day 9; white coat syndrome, Day 23; coughing fit, Day 27; Uncooperative patient, Day 30; Patient 0 Warning: None

A soldier wakes up, realizing they have a cold, but ignores it. They have a full training day, and they're certain a soldier gets a longer lecture than any other employee when they say they're sick. The soldier takes a shower and gets ready for training. The shower helps the soldier feel better.

The soldier tries to keep up with the others in Sideswipe's training class. Wishing this was the last thing on their schedule, and they could go to bed. Instead, they have to do an intense workout, run five miles then go to Ironhide's gun training class. By the time Sideswipe's class is finished, the soldier feels awful. Sideswipe notices, but the soldier claims they're fine. I don't think Ratchet would consider this a concern if I told him. Sideswipe believes.

The soldier hoped lunch would be enough of a break to feel better, but they felt worse. I am a soldier; we don't show weakness. They remind themselves. Sideswipe watches the soldier, wishing one of the medics were also in the cafeteria. Seeing the soldier is clearly not fine, but none of the medics would come to the cafeteria unless it's an emergency, and a soldier ignoring they have a cold isn't an emergency. "Someone doing terrible in your class?" Ironhide asks. "No, one of the soldiers seems off by the end of the class, but they claim they're fine. That's them," Sideswipe points to the soldier. Ironhide sees the soldier is unwell: "I was hoping one of the medics would be here." "We do have the right to make them go to the medbay," Ironhide says, "that's what I'll do if they refuse to go by the end of my class." The two watch the soldier leave the cafeteria.

Ironhide watches the soldier walk into the shooting range, noticing how unwell they are. He pulls the soldier to the side. "Why are you here? You should go to the medbay," Ironhide insists. Just like with Sideswipe, the soldier claims they're fine. The soldier does well in Ironhide's class. Relieved class is over. They head to the stairs to go to their room.

The soldier hopes to act ok as they walk by Ratchet but coughs in a way that anyone would consider a sign of sickness. "You are clearly unwell," Ratchet comments, "you are coming with me." The soldier cannot refuse as Ratchet forces them to go with him to the medbay. The two walk by Ironhide and Sideswipe, who follow the two. Ratchet is aware and believes he needs to talk to both of them.

Ratchet has Jolt examine the soldier while he talks to Ironhide and Sideswipe. "I know this soldier was not pleased to see me for their physical," Ratchet comments, "I could tell they do their best to avoid doctors." Ratchet talks to the soldier while Ironhide and Sideswipe leave the medbay.

The soldier is too sick to argue with the medics as they figure out the soldier has been hiding being sick. Now, to figure out how sick they are. They get a little rest while waiting for one of the medics to return and lecture them.

"Consider them patient zero," Jolt comments while handing Ratchet test results, "they're at the beginning of the flu, but ignoring the symptoms made them feel worse." "We sure this is the first patient then rather than there aren't other soldiers that avoided coming here?" "I'm certain. Even with everyone's busy schedule, no one can hide they're sick with the flu. Maybe a cold, depending on their schedule. Both Ironhide and Sideswipe noticed something was off with this soldier."

Ratchet talks to the soldier, finding out they left the base all weekend. Which increased their chances of catching the flu from someone. It's now Wednesday. Plenty of time for the virus to affect them. "….I want you to be admitted to the medbay until at least tomorrow," Ratchet finishes. "I'm fine," the soldier argues before coughing and lying back down. Ratchet is tempted to let the soldier leave, but they worry the soldier will get worse and face complications without treatment at the medbay. Instead, he has Jolt help him get the soldier into an in-patient room. Both medics are used to Autobots putting up a fight in their bipedal form. They both can tell how little effort the soldier is putting into fight them, knowing it's a sign of how sick they are.

By the time the soldier is getting treatment, they feel like shit. They give up trying to leave. "Are we going to have to add sedition?" Jolt asks. "No, they're causing symptoms to feel worse, and can't ignore how awful they feel. I just hope they will be getting better without complications." "I hope we don't have to deal with many like them this flu season."

As Ratchet planned, the soldier is released the next day, feeling a little better but still having to test in their room. Ratchet tells them they must report to the medbay first thing Monday morning. Hoping not to have to force the soldier to come to the medbay just to be cleared to return to training.

[ggidolsmuts]

Special Treatment - Jang Yeeun

"Fucking health insurance..." you mutter under your breath. A physical is usually guaranteed to be covered, why is it so hard to find a doctor that's in-network?! The ones available are either too far away or completely booked. You scroll and scroll and scroll the portal, looking for available doctors in your area. The only one that fits your needs is an unrated one, seemingly fresh out of medical school. Well, you needed to get a physical done before your coverage rolls over, so you bite the bullet and book an appointment with Doctor Jang Yeeun.

3 months later you show up at her practice, which is thankfully very clean and in a nice part of town. The receptionist checks you in with a sweet smile, and a short while later you are waved in by the nurse. Nervously you confirm your name and date of birth while she takes your height and weight. You can't help but get a whiff of the nurse's perfume as she leans in to put the blood pressure cuff on you.

"Hmm, reading's a little high." The nurse frowns. “Let's try that again.” White coat syndrome is a real thing, but you had a higher pressure for other reasons—frankly, the nurse was hot, the perfect combination of pretty and cute. Another frown adorns her doll-like face when she takes the second reading.

"Any history of high blood pressure or heart disease in the family?"

"No."

"Do you smoke?"

"No."

"Drink?"

"Socially."

"Are you sexually active?"

"Sometimes."

She makes a note of your answers before turning to the computer.

"Okay, so you're just here for the physical?"

"Yes."

The nurse responds with a wordless note, guiding you to the examination chair. Her hand dances across your body.

"Do you feel this?" She presses a finger into your palm, and you nod.

"Close your eyes, how many fingers do I have on your back?"

"Three."

"Mmhmm, keep your knee relaxed." She taps it with a reflex hammer, and you body responds accordingly.

"Good, anything you want to bring up, anything feel off?"

"No. But umm, shouldn't the doctor be doing all of this?" you ask the nurse carefully.

"I am the doctor." You look at her previously flipped nametag, and indeed, it says Jang Yeeun on it. You looked her up on the clinic website, but wow, that photo does not do her justice.

"Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't see the coat, so I assumed—"

"Does this look better?" Yeeun laughs and throws the stereotypical doctor's coat over her petite frame.

"Yes, much like a doctor now, I'm so sorry."

"No problem, we're shorthanded, so I handle both the doctor and nurse duties here."

"I see, that's amazing. For such a pretty doctor to do all of this is really—" you blush and stop yourself, realizing what you said too late.

"A pretty doctor hmm?" Yeeun eyes you intently, a thousand mischievous thoughts running through her head. He's cute, should I...? The truth is, Yeeun has been running herself on fumes the past few months, managing and maintaining her own practice. It doesn't give her time for meeting people, and as a result she's been dry, for lack of a better word.

"Umm... Sorry, that slipped out."

"No, we should analyze, why did that slip out?"

"Sorry, I just thought you are really good looking, and—"

"Thank you. Now, just to clarify, you are sexually active yes? Are you seeing anyone at the moment?"

"No."

"Okay, I'm trying to figure out if you're sexually frustrated since you said that, which I might add, is highly inappropriate."

"I'm sorry, m-maybe, I'm trying to do no-nut November."

"Now why would you do that? It serves no purpose."

"Does it not?"

"Mmhmm, it's quite bad, you can't be going around spouting such comments at any pretty lady you see."

"Not just any, you're just really—" Yeeun interrupts you again.

"Ah ah ah, enough. You need special treatment, please come by my place as soon as possible."

"Um sure, yes of course. Will this be covered by my insurance?"

"Oh no need, we offer it free-of-charge, you will receive a message later today with the details."

Later that night Yeeun lounges in her recliner, debating on what message she should send you. If she didn't want to violate every professional rule about her job, the "place" she sends you to would just be her clinic again, and she'd do some simple placebo treatments for you. But the idle finger she traces between her legs does the thinking for her—she absolutely wanted you to violate her, and so she sends you a different location, the place she's in right now. She gathers her willpower and pulls her finger away from her body, typing out the message and sending it off to you. She breathes deeply and heavily as she tries to fall asleep—she is already looking forward to tomorrow.

Gulping, a few days later, you knock at the door, nervous about not being actually in a doctor's office for this "special treatment".

"Doctor Jang, I'm here."

"Welcome, please come in." Yeeun's dressed in her casual wear instead of looking like a medical professional, but your heart is beating rapidly anyways. Yeeun wears a simple but tightly fitted t-shirt and shorts, and the head below the belt thought that she looked simply delicious.

"Go through the door there, please strip to your underwear and put on the gown." You follow the doctor's instructions obediently.

"You can leave your clothes on the table, please, take a seat on the recliner and close your eyes, try to relax." Yeeun disappears from your view. "So, are you still doing no-nut November?"

"Umm yeah." You can't see Yeeun, but you can hear her step all around you.

"Have you failed? Did you masturbate since we last met?"

"What? No, it has only been a few days."

"Oh, that's no good, it is not good to be pent up." A finger traces your right forearm, and softly Yeeun mutters. "I can feel your muscles, makes me want to feel it working me over..."

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, I mean, you should be exercising, to work off that testosterone. Have you been doing more exercise then? At least masturbation works this arm muscle here."

"Oh, umm, no, no extra exercise."

"That's no good at all! That can be very harmful to you!" Yeeun claims with a mock scandalized tone. Your gown is pulled open.

"Doctor?"

"Shh, I need to examine you, make sure there are no symptoms from lack of masturbation." Her finger traces your jawline dangerously, and going by her actions so far you were willing to let her dictate how far things were going to go tonight—Yeeun would be a wonderful reason to fail your "goal". But as she glides her nail down your neck, a tiny part of you wonders if she brought you here to kill you instead of fuck you. With your eyes closed, you focus and hear Yeeun's self-muttering all the more clearly, and it eliminates all doubt.

"What a nice strong jaw, makes me want to sit on it..."

"Doctor?"

"Shhh." Her hair tickles your chest—she's very near you. Brazenly her hands travel down your chest and stomach, and you reflexively suck your tummy in, and in response she pokes you with a laugh.

"No need to put on airs, I'm your doctor, remember?" Her whisper is a little higher pitched, teasing you. "It's quite firm regardless, not a six-pack, but something I wouldn't mind grinding on either. Now for something to ride on..."

You were hard before, and as Yeeun's fingers reaches your boxers you get extra sensitive, suddenly noticing the friction of the fabric against your shaft. But all she does is pull on them briefly before moving on. You gasp and buck your hip in response.

"Patience, my patient, the examination needs to be finished." Both your thighs are squeezed, and her hair tickles them, indicating where exactly her head is. Tension floods your body as her warm breath is on your thighs, seeming to move inwards. With a giggle she defuses you, her hands moving down to your calves and feet instead.

Unbeknownst to you Yeeun is soaking wet, her face already red at the scent between your legs—gods she wanted it so bad! But she denies both of you immediate gratification, knowing that the end result will be utterly explosive if she does it. Her hands massaging your calves and lightly touching your feet are just delaying the inevitable, working herself up to cross the next line.

You choke on your breath, gripping the recliner tightly as you feel her fingers on your boxers again.

"Lift your hips please." You almost rocket off the cushion to obey her. In an instant she has pulled them past your knees, and you hurriedly kick them off. Her hair tickles your cheeks once more, and you can't help but moan when you feel her lips pull on your earlobe.

"So hard, so thick, makes me want to fuck you over and over again."

"P-Please, please doctor!"

"It is time for your treatment, keep your eyes closed." Your cock jumps as she drifts her hand down your body, almost touching it. "You should not be denying yourself during an arbitrary month, you should orgasm often, orgasm freely as your needs dictate."

Suddenly you feel her hair tickle your thighs.

"You should cum for me."

You shout loudly into the room when her mouth envelopes your shaft, and a single lick of her tongue is enough to make you spew your pent up load down her throat. With one hand planted on the recliner, the other hand finds her head, and your hips buck off the cushion, trying to stuff your cock straight through Yeeun's face as you shoot rope after rope of cum into her. Yeeun's buried in your crotch, her nose inhaling your arousal, and she is dizzy with heat, either from her own burning need, or from the hot liquid you just put into her. Her hand massages your balls, and Yeeun shudders as you continue throbbing and feeding her rich semen—it makes its way through her body quickly, and every drop of cum you give her makes her produce her own slick, soaking through her panties.

You rest on the recliner, euphorically drained, too tired to even react when she release you with a pop, some cum leaking out the side of her lips. Absentmindedly she feels herself up in front of you while she waits, a hand drifting all over her midriff.

"Do you want me to help you?" you ask when you've finally gotten your wits about you.

"We should focus on your treatment, please go to the bedroom for step two." Yeeun heads in first, disappearing into the bathroom. She splashes herself with water, looking in the mirror at her blushing face. The line had been crossed, she had touched you, put you in her mouth and let you blow—and yet she can't wait to put you in her elsewhere. Yeeun touches herself—her nipples were hard and swollen, and she's sopping wet between her legs, she needed to get off now. She exits the bathroom and finds you sitting on the bed, almost obedient, waiting for her instructions.

"Now then, with your first orgasm out of the way, I need to make sure your arm muscles haven't atrophied."

Your eyes widen as Yeeun unbuttons her shorts, revealing to you black panties with a large and darker wet spot. She sits next to you, placing your hand on a delicious thigh.

"Please touch me, work your arm out as much as you can." Yeeun gasps as you move it swiftly, but not in towards her dripping core, but up to the hem of her underwear.

"Are you sure?" you ask, reveling in how fit Yeeun kept herself—her tummy's flat and very toned, and it twitched slightly in response to your touch. Yeeun nods hastily, her hand covering yours, trying to push you down further.

"Yes, ah, ahh!" Airily Yeeun whines as you immediately slip underneath her underwear, her heat almost overwhelming as you place your palm between her legs. You run two fingers along her labia, and they are instantly coated in slick. Daringly you cup and lift her just like that, pulling her petite frame into your lap, your other arm wrapped around her midriff. Now she's situated between your legs, and Yeeun forces your thighs open as she spreads her legs for you.

"Please show me how to workout, doctor?" Yeeun obliges and places a hand over yours, tensing as she pushes two of your fingers into her. Her back arches in response, and your free hand grabs at her clothed chest, pinning her back against your chest. Your palm grinds against her nipple roughly, and Yeeun bites her lower lip to stifle her moan. You are treated to the sight of her tummy twitching and undulating against you as you follow Yeeun's fingers into her.

"J-Just like that." Yeeun makes to lift her hand and leave you to it, but you are faster.

"No, let's workout together."

"Fuck!" Yeeun cries out as she is stuffed with four fingers for the first time. Her own fingers feel long and thin inside her, a sensation not too foreign to her. But stacked on top of those are your fingers, each seemingly way thicker, firmly pressing her own fingers into her snug walls. In her high arousal she bucks mindlessly against your hands, fucking it like a dildo, except it is one that could separate and push her open, then twist and seemingly screw inside her. Her own fingers are touching places she never thought to touch, places that she pulled away from normally due to how sensitive just getting close to them made her feel. Except now, your fingers are manipulating her, giving both of you an arm workout as you fingerfuck Yeeun with both sets of fingers.

Wait! Too much! Yeeun shouts in her mind, but all that comes out is a low groan. Her free hand scrabbles for your arm, urging you to stop moving, but imperiously you keep going, pumping your arm up and down as you sought to find her g-spot. Yeeun's world begins to go white, her body growing numb as it concentrates on the bubbling cauldron boiling between her legs. You push Yeeun on, both your fingers and hers ever so close to where you wanted to touch, where she needed to be touched. Her entire body tenses involuntarily when her fingerpad brushes against it, and you go in for the kill.

"Ohhhh! Oh nngh— God, oh fuck! Ohhhhh yessss..." Yeeun releases her first unreserved and satisfied moan of the night as you push your fingers against her g-spot repeatedly, fingerblasting her. A jet of juice sprays against her own palm, and you force it to splash back onto herself as you pump fingers viciously into her, the sound getting lewder and sloppier by the second.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!" Yeeun stays rigid as her body continues to produce more slick, as if your fingers are poking holes in the dam of pleasure she has built up over her dry spell, and all of it is leaking out uncontrollably. Loud moans accompany every burst of squirt, and she can feel her own palm getting splashed with every orgasmic flash of white in her head. Over and over she goes over the edge until it is finally dulled by overstimulation, her body only able to twitch, unable to squirt anymore. You pull your fingers out, and when you flick your hand droplets of her girlcum are flung on to the bed.

"Good?" you ask her, holding your shining fingers to her face. Yeeun nods and takes your fingers in her mouth. Her tongue cleans them before she pulls you in for a fevered kiss, sticking her tongue down your throat, making sure you can taste her want. You grab her own slick hand and draw it across your jaw and neck, much like she did earlier.

"What did you say before doctor, this makes you want to sit on it?"

"Yes, give me a moment though—" she tries to get off you, but you hold her still.

"No, I want to taste this—" you take her fingers and suck them clean, "straight from the source. Either you sit on me, or I am pinning you to the bed and devouring you right now."

"Fine, fine, lie down, I need to evaluate your neck and jaw muscles."

"Good excuse doctor." You lie down obediently. Yeeun turns around and crawls on top of you, her legs shaky on the mattress. She pushes herself up and down your stomach, smearing it in her juices, and she fires you a smile—right, she wanted to grind on you.

"Breathe in please." You suck your stomach in, and Yeeun moves a little higher, dragging herself over your ribs, the bumps sending shivers up her spine. She grates herself on you, shredding the last of her inhibitions, turning them into a light glean on your torso.

"What happened to not putting on airs in front of you?" you joke as you have to exhale and catch your breath. "There's another way you can feel good doctor, without me having to suck my stomach in."

"Good, I need this so bad tonight." You hook her knees and pull her up your body. The heat on your chest grows, and Yeeun pants heavily on top of you. With your hands on her ass you push her towards you, and she grabs your hair, pulling your head off the bed. Soon you are forced to breathe through your nose, taking in oxygen and her scent as she rides your face, your tongue slurping her like the last bit of soup in a bowl. The bowl is self-filling though, and over and again you drink from Yeeun, each lick on her slit ending with a flick on her clit—it makes her leak even more, coating your chin.

"Hrghk!" Yeeun ignore your grunts and pulls you further in between her legs. If the presidential jet is Air Force One, your face is her Cloud Nine as she bounces up and down, back and forth over your mouth. Your hands are large and grabby on her ass, and part of her wonders if she should let you take over for part of the night, have you pin her down and devour her like you mentioned... her eyes disappear into her head when your tongue wraps around her pearl of a clit. Maybe later.

"Ah fuck, yes! I'm going to cum, I'm going to cum on your face!" Her fingers tug even more urgently on your hair, and her grinding becomes frantic and wild. The resulting act is half her fucking your face, and half you tonguefucking her. You grab her ass almost painfully to try and control Yeeun, but it only serves to drive her arousal higher, and there is no stopping the pleasure shooting up her spine. With a loud cry Yeeun climaxes on top of you, her pussy desperately trying to grab at your tongue, lewd squelching noises filling your ears.

Yeeun falls off you, and you take a moment to take everything in—you are drenched in slick, you're sweating, your face is red, you're gasping for breath, and yet you haven't done a damn thing to your bombshell of a doctor. Yeeun has no plans of letting up though, and she clambers on top of you before you could get the upper hand.

"How about you take a rest doctor?"

"No, I want to ride this cock, need to feel this in me." She has already lined herself up with you, and her guiding hand is already grasping you.

"So fucking needy—" you grunt in pleasure as you slip into Yeeun for the first time. You thought you were drenched in her slick already, but your cock feels like it's submerged in a pool of her juices, and somehow it is the tightest pool you've ever been in. The pool grows and deepens inch by inch, until Yeeun is sitting on your waist. She takes off her t-shirt and bra, and you get a peek at her breasts before she leans on top of you, kissing your neck.

"Damn doctor, you're a little nympho aren't you?"

"You would be too if you haven't gotten laid in so long, now shut up and let me ride, you can take over later." The prospect of finally fucking Yeeun shuts you up, and you focus your energies on holding your orgasm back. It is relatively easy at first, but as Yeeun picks up the pace the warmth of her body on yours becomes hot and slick, just like her pussy wrapped around you. You shut your eyes tightly, wishing you could plug your ears from her erotic moans.

Yeeun smiles at your closed eyes, knowing that she was getting to you just as much as you were getting to her. She throws her head back, closing her own eyes and focusing on the pleasure she's taking from you. God I can’t stop riding him! Her body's taut and her pussy's tight, clenching down on you whenever she falls on your lap. Yeeun wants nothing more than to have your cock permanently in her, and she grinds down on your groin demandingly, trying to make the two of you joined at the cock and pussy. The heat between two of you grows with the friction, and Yeeun's fallen on top of you.

"Fuck I'm going to cum, I'm going to cum all over you!" she screeches, and when Yeeun orgasms, she really does cum all over you, giving your cock and crotch a fresh coat of slick. She gasps and groans into your neck, each contraction of her pussy around you forcing both air and juice out of her. You bite your lip and curl your toes, desperately trying to hold on and not blow in or with Yeeun.

"That was so good... Oh, you're bleeding, let me put some pressure on it." Yeeun leans in for a firm kiss, the light sting of your lip bite overpowered by the softness of her lips and the sweet taste of her lip gloss. She breaks the kiss with a smirk. "Haven't cum yet? Good, I'll keep my word then, you can do what you want, just don't cum in me."

Without a further word you roll Yeeun off you, and she's a little disappointed when you get on top of her in the missionary position. She's less disappointed where you put her legs on your shoulders, cooing in delight as you slide back into her. With the help of gravity you get even deeper and feel even bigger inside her, and she's already quickening to her next peak. You examine Yeeun's depths thoroughly with your cock, an invasive search that leaves her breathless in joy. Her body is pliable, bending to your weight, and no problems with her reflexes are observed—when you pull out, she lifts her hips best she can, yearning for the next thrust of your cock; when you push in, Yeeun tightens around you immediately, her ankles hooked around your neck.

"Yes!" Yeeun moans shamelessly—she was so right to let you do this to her! The pressure you're exerting on her entire body is nothing like she would get if she's the one in command. The bed creaks under your pounding, and Yeeun bounces powerlessly on the bed, sprung up by the bedsprings when you pull back, only to be slapped down at the hips by your next downward slam.

This feels so wrong but so good! She's violated all professional conduct tonight, and now you're taking her to task, punishing her with overwhelming pleasure. Yeeun screams in climax right before your own orgasm hits you, and your load splatters all over her twitching body as she thrashes about underneath. She threatens to pull the sheets off the bed in the throes of pleasure, but you grab her attention by leaning forward, pushing down on her legs. She looks up at you, eyes unfocused, still lost in ecstasy—a whimper escapes her as you lean even further on her, almost snapping her in two at the hips, but she inches her head up, and you reward her by gently pushing her legs off your shoulders and kissing the pain away.

"Oh fuck, it feels so warm..." Yeeun sneaks a hand down her body, smearing and spreading your cum all over her skin. Her tummy's now shining with your seed, and a second wind takes you.

"You admit you're a nympho doctor?" You're already flipping her on her front, and Yeeun reacts accordingly, pushing herself to her knees.

Fuck yes! "Only if the sex is good," she mumbles into the pillow, still catching her breath.

"And is the sex good?" Is he hard aga- nngh! You're already feeding her pussy with cock, and she pushes her hips even higher.

"Yes, fuck yes!" Yeeun cries into the pillow, her arms already tired from pulling on the sheets so much. She's sore, sensitive, and delirious, mostly fucked out of her mind. But she wanted more, wanted you to fuck her again, wanted you to fuck another orgasm into her. You give her just that, and with a sound that is as unintelligible as a doctor's handwriting she clenches around you again. The jolts of pleasure you give her as you fuck her through her orgasm become hammers on her nerves—her body reacts for her, spreading her knees and dropping her hips low on the bed, away from you.

But like an ambulance chaser your hips follow her down, and you easily drill Yeeun's prone form into the bed. One hand presses down on her back, and the other goes round to her face, and you hook her by the mouth with two fingers, twisting her head around to face you. Her tongue flicks against your fingers, and you pull them out to smear her cheeks with her own spit.

"Please, please cum for me already," Yeeun begs, drooling from where you had hooked her, it was too much, far beyond what she had expected! You are just about at your limit too, and with a few rapid ruts into her overfucked pussy you pull out, lodging your cock between her butt cheeks and thrusting forward, shooting your load all over her flawless back. Yeeun hisses, the thick white fluid scalding red hot lava on her skin. She moans in relief when it quickly cools, and when your cock throbs and slowly gets smaller on her lower back, indicating the end of the night. You knock the breath out of Yeeun when you collapse on top of her, kissing her sweaty neck.

"Too much for the nympho doctor?"

"Mmhmm, fuck that was too good."

"Are we done with treatment then?"

"Yes, no problems with your lack of masturbation. Might need you to come back in for another round of treatment sometime." Yeeun cranes her neck to look at you.

"I'd like that." You capture her lips passionately, two people thoroughly satisfied.

But the talk after you're all cleaned up is awkward.

"You know I can't be your doctor anymore right, this is a huge violation."

"Of course, I understand. You're losing my business then, I get sick very easily." Yeeun scoffs in response before walking you to the door.

"Please, my business will be fine. But I won't be, give me your number."

"You already have it no, from my records?"

"Yeah but it feels wrong to use that." You oblige and type your number in, and she calls you back. "Good, I'll contact you for your next treatment— Wait! Don’t save my number as that!” Yeeun winces as you save her number as "Doctor Jang". She takes your phone away from you before slipping it back into your hand with a kiss and a wink.

"I'll let you know when to come over, and bring some clothes to change into next time."

You look down at your phone on the way home. Her contact name says "Nympho Yeeun" instead—and already she's sending you a text for when you should come over next. An apple a day keeps the doctor away, but a lay a day keeps your balls drained, and your nympho doctor Jang Yeeun will make sure of that.

A/N: Took my time writing this one, Yeeun is gorgeous. It might read a little similar to the Woohee story, but hope it’s different enough. Anyways thanks for reading, hope you enjoy the medical references!

[doctorstethoscope]

The Right Chapter 23 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

hello my loves! Some of you may have already seen this, but I have news! This fic is officially complete. There are thirty chapters, so you still have seven left after today’s update. I’ll be keeping the usual Tuesday/Saturday posting schedule, so you have a month left of updates.

Now that I am done drafting this fic, my requests will be open while I begin to bank up new chapters of the Hotch x Reader Scandal!AU that I plan to write next. Please send in requests here. I would also LOVE if you could fill out this survey about the Scandal!AU so I can get a sense of what you all would like. I will make sure to write it in a way that makes sense, even if you haven’t seen Scandal! 

As always, thanks so much for reading, y’all are just the best. 

Read previous chapters of this fic here!

contains: canon-typical descriptions of violence, cursing, hospital mention

wordcount: 2.3k 

A little while later, Hotch sends JJ and Emily to the school to interview the classmates of the students who had been murdered, and you and Morgan head off to the medical examiner’s office. 

“Find anything interesting in the calls from the tip line?” Morgan asks you as he pulls out of the parking lot, and you shrug. 

“I need to go back through my notes. There were a couple kids' names that came up, but I want to go back and cross check for the names that came up more than once-- i figure if the name only comes up once, it’s kids pranking each other and I don’t want to waste our time on dead ends. Garcia’s looking into a teacher for me, though.” 

“We just need a couple more puzzle pieces, and then it’ll all come together,” Derek says, more to himself than to you, and you murmur out your agreement as he pulls into the examiner’s office.

“Cause of death for Mrs. Mack and Mrs. Sutton was a gunshot wound to the neck. The daughters, to the abdomen,” the doctor says, passing over her report. “The men were all strangled. The boys by hand, the men with a garrote.”

“Any idea what order they were killed in?” You asked. 

“My guess is the women first, one right after the other. Then the sons, and the husbands.” 

“How did he stop the husbands from taking him down while he killed the sons?” Morgan asks skeptically. 

The medical examiner points out a bruise on Mr. Sutton’s skull. “Looks like he was knocked unconscious, maybe by the butt of the gun or something in the home.” She explains.

“Thank you,” you said to the medical examiner, who smiled and left you both to your work.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Morgan asks you.

“White man in his twenties or thirties, snubbed by a woman he desired for another man, taking out the families he’s convinced he’ll never have?” 

“Call Hotch,” he said, taking off at a brisk pace back towards the car and trusting you to follow. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and discovered that Garcia was already calling you. 

“Hi Garcia, can you patch Hotch in?” You asked. 

“Already here bug, and trust me, you’re gonna want to hear this.” She told you, and you put the phone on speaker so Morgan could listen in while he drove. 

“What did you find, Garcia?” Hotch asked. 

“So, I looked into Marc Vexper, and it turns out this long-term English sub has something to hide-- he didn’t make a single card purchase on either day that he was out, and his phone was completely off from the moment he stepped off the school’s campus to the time he returned.” 

“Morgan and I are just leaving the medical examiner’s office now-- Marc fits the profile to a tee.” You interject. 

“Oh but wait, the high school of horrors doesn’t end there,” Garcia warns you. “I took a peek at Marc’s texts looking for clues about his whereabouts, and I noticed some too-friendly chats with Victoria Sullivan, a student in his AP Literature class. Her phone was on both days, and I’ll give you one guess as to where she was both days-- and it wasn’t school.” 

“You’re kidding,” Morgan sighs out. 

“So did he groom Victoria into doing it herself, or was she an accomplice?” Hotch asked. 

“The men were strangled, Aaron. There’s no way she could have done that herself.” You tell him. 

“We need an address, Penelope.” Hotch demands. 

“Already on your phone. The station’s closest.” She tells you. 

“We’ll meet you there.” Hotch says, and the line clicks. 

In a routine you’ve performed too many times to count, Morgan flicks on the lights and sirens as you mount your phone with the GPS sending you in the right direction. It’s all the same as it usually is, so why are you so nervous? 

**********************

Hotch elects not to put on his lights and sirens as he approaches Mr. Vexper’s house, not wanting to alert him that anyone had found him out. There are two cars in the driveway-- a modest sedan with a few dings in it, and a shitbox of an old jeep with a parking permit for the local high school on the back bumper. 

“The girl is here-- she might be a hostage.” Hotch tells Spencer, who nods. “We need to be careful. There’s no need for any other kids to lose their lives,” he says, quietly opening up his car door and gesturing for Spencer to take a back entrance while he takes the front. He climbs the worn wooden steps and peeks into the window, seeing nothing before he takes one hand off of his gun to swing open the front door of the home, where he’s met face to face with the Victoria Sullivan, standing on the main stairway of the home, gun leveled square at the middle of his forehead. 

“Victoria, put the gun down,” Hotch says slowly, raising his own hands as a sign of good faith. “I’m here to help you. Where’s Marc?”

Before Victoria can answer, Hotch hears the woosh of metal in the air and feels an overwhelming crack in his legs, falling to the ground as he yelps in pain. 

“Run, Vicky! You know where to go!” Marc yells, and the girl disappears from Hotch’s blurring line of vision as March continues to beat on Hotch with a crowbar, stomping on his legs. 

Hotch vaguely hears Spencer's running footsteps, and Marc takes off, running in the same direction as Victoria. 

Spencer falls to the ground next to Hotch, attempting to gently tend to his injuries, but Hotch weakly waves him off. 

“Go, go, save the girl, he’ll kill her next. I’m okay. Go,” he coughs out, and after a moment’s hesitation, Spencer goes. 

Hotch groans as he gropes around in his pants pocket, pulling out his cell phone and calling Garcia. 

“I need help,” he says once the line clicks.

****************

If Aaron lived through this, you were going to kill him yourself. You knew you were being irrational, you knew it wasn’t his fault, and worst of all you know that he hadn’t even done something you could be mad at him for, like going in without backup. This was just the job. This just happened sometimes. And you were absolutely fucking livid that it was happening to him. Not to mention scared shitless. 

Morgan had pumped the gas as soon as Garcia called, but it still wasn’t fast enough. Your leg bounced anxiously in the passenger seat. 

“He’s gonna be fine,” Morgan attempted to placate you, but you wouldn’t have it. 

“You don’t know that,” you spat out. 

“He’s tough. He’s got a lot to stick around for. He’s gonna be okay,” He tells you, and this time you don’t argue.

When you finally pull up to the house, Aaron is on a stretcher being loaded onto an ambulance. You throw yourself out of the SUV before it’s even fully stopped, calling out for Aaron. 

“I’m okay,” he sputters out as you climb into the back of the ambulance. 

“No you aren’t, you asshole,” you scoffed at him, your voice a little watery. “Tell the paramedics what happened so they can help you,” you said, stroking at the hair at the top of his head as your chin quivered. 

“Don’t cry,” he says, reaching up for you and you see that his hands are bloody. 

“Shh, shhh. Don’t worry about me. Let them help you,” you calmed him down, trying not to let your tears interrupt the medics when his eyes roll into the back of his head and he loses consciousness.

 Aaron will live, and you suppose you won’t follow through on your threats to kill him. Once he’s in the hospital, they wheel him back to a restricted area, leaving you alone in a waiting room while the rest of the team finds the unsub. You call Jess, let her know what’s going on, but ask that she keep it from Jack until you’re back in the room with him and Hotch is able to talk to Jack himself. You didn’t want Jack to worry, and you knew that Aaron’s assurance that he was fine was the only comfort Jack would accept.

After a while-- it could have been thirty minutes or three hours, Emily appears in the waiting room..

“I was appointed to come check on you,” she says by way of greeting. “Have you seen him yet?”

“Not since they took him out of the ambulance. He looked… bad,” you struggle to find a word that explains the magnitude of it. 

“He’s gonna be fine. No gunshot wounds, just some nasty bruises. I’m sure it looked worse than it actually was.” She consoles you gently.

“I hope you’re right.”

At that moment, a doctor appears in the doorway. “For Agent Hotchner?” He asks, and you walk over to him. 

“I’m Aaron’s partner,” you explain, the word “girlfriend” feeling entirely too childish for the scenario. 

“Agent Hotchner is going to be just fine. His left leg is fractured slightly at the femur and the kneecap, but we’ve put him in a brace to stabilize the knee, and he should recover over the next eight to twelve weeks. He’ll need some physical therapy, and field work is out of the question until he is cleared, but he’ll make a full recovery.  He has a mild concussion and a few bruised ribs, but we’ve given him some meds for the pain and the concussion shouldn’t present any further complications.” 

No field work. Aaron was going to be pissed. “Thank you, doctor.” You said gratefully. 

“He’s been asking for you, if you’d like to follow me,” The doctor responds, and you allow him to lead you down a maze of hallways, leaving you just outside Aaron’s room, where his eyes are shut and his chest rises and falls slowly. Figures, you were sure he’d been up all night running through profiles in his head.

You sat on his right side, away from his injured leg, and rested your head against his mattress, near his hip bone. He looked so fragile like this, wrapped up in a thin blanket and a johnny, bandaged from his collar bone to his toes. You wondered, briefly, if he felt this helpless and frustrated the night that he picked you up from your old apartment. The tears well up against your will, but you allow them to fall, for a few moments. You had earned the right to care for him, to worry about him, to fret. You had earned the right to sit vigil at his hospital bed and try to force images of a lifetime lived without him to stop passing through your head. 

Aaron stirred, and you sucked in a quick breath, not wanting to wake him. He settled, again, and you rested your head back against the mattress, letting the gentle rhythm of his breath lull you to sleep. 

He twitches a little while later, and the sudden movement jolts you awake. His return to the waking world is slower, and you let him come at it at his own pace, not wanting to overwhelm him when he was probably already going to be in pain and disoriented. You hear him mumble out your name and you stand, placing one hand on his cheek and the other in his uninjured palm. 

“I’m right here, baby,” you whispered to him. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, trying to look you up and down without moving his neck. 

“Am I--” you chided gently. “Honey, I’m fine. Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” 

“My leg,” he tells you, trying to sit up, but you push back on his shoulders. 

“Absolutely not,” you tell him. “You broke your leg. You are staying in this bed until a doctor tells you otherwise.” 

“Fuck,” Aaron muttered out. Suddenly, a thought occurs to him. “Is Spencer okay? And the girl, Victoria Sullivan?” 

“The team took them both alive. Spencer is fine, just a little breathless from his run.” You tell him. 

“When is it gonna heal?” He switches topics back to his injury. 

“You mean, when are you going to be allowed into the field again?” You asked skeptically, and he at least has the good grace to look sheepish. “Not for at least six weeks, more than likely closer to ten, plus physical therapy.” 

“God damnit,” Aaron sighs. 

“It could have been a lot worse, Aaron,” you point out softly, and he looks up at you. 

“You’ve been crying.” He says softly. 

“No, I haven’t.” 

“Don’t lie to a profiler,” He chides you gently.

“Well, I’m the woman who loves you and I’ve earned the right to cry when you’re hurt.” You said defensively, but not unkindly.

“Hey, I’m okay. Really, I swear. Come up here,” he urges you, and you roll your watery eyes. 

“I’ll hurt you,” you tell him. 

“You’ll hurt me worse if you don’t come cuddle,” he pouts. 

“Corny bastard,” you chuckle, tenderly sliding into bed next to him. 

Unable to shift and cuddle, Aaron settles for reaching out for your hand, which you allow him to take in his own. He strokes his thumb over the back of your palm tenderly. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he whispers, and you might start crying again right there.

“Don’t do it again. I was ready to kill you myself,” you warned him. 

“Noted.” 

“We should call Jack. I didn’t tell him what was going on, I didn’t want to scare him. Jess knows.” 

“I just… want to hold your hand for a couple more minutes.” 

“Okay, love. A few more minutes.”

tagging:  @romanogersendgame @wanniiieeee      @zheezs14      @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13  @baumarvel @ssamorganhotchner  @ijustwannaread2k19    @rexit-mo @shmaptainhotchnersmain @qtip-blog @averyhotchner  @the-modernmary @itsmytimetoodream @choppa-style @hotforhotchner11 @infinite-tides @isthatme-thatsme @g-l-pierce @bakugouswh0r3 @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads

[killyourpoet]

What to expect on 12th September? (NEET 2021)

Hey everybody, if you're appearing for the NEET 2021 exam this Sunday (12th September 2021), I've compiled a list of some important things you might want to keep in mind.

The National Entrance-cum-Eligibility Test (NEET) is the national medical entrance exam in India. It is the only gateway into all medical schools in the country. It is conducted annually around May, but due to the COVID-19 pandemic, it has been postponed to September in 2020 and 2021. This year, 1.6 million students will be appearing for the exam.

[This list is by no means exhaustive, I only speak from my experience and the advice of friends and teachers. Feel free to add anything I might have missed out!]

How to make the most of this last week before the exam?

Do not experiment with anything new. Doing so might disturb the delicate subconscious programming that your brain has undergone through all these months of studying and practicing. By experimentation, I mean anything other than the routine that you've built while solving question papers. If you're used to starting with Biology, then moving on to Chemistry and ending with Physics, do not attempt to spice up your 3 hours by indulging in adventure sports like staring with Physics first. This will end in disaster.

Look through all the important things at least once. I know, I know. That's 10 fat books in one week. But remember that this is not the first time you're reading it. Skim. When you catch on something you're not too familiar with, only then should you actually read.

NCERT = holy book. Idk if you've heard but actually reading the books prescribed by the examining body will most definitely give you an edge over someone who hasn't. I cannot stress this enough. They will LITERALLY take out things from the NCERT and slap that onto the paper and call it a day. Remember that the examiners have to cater to those who do not have access to / cannot afford any sort of study material other than the NCERT. While study guides can help you interpret the NCERT, they cannot substitute it.

Have a plan. It doesn't have to be grand or very detailed. Just clearly defining what you intend to do with your time will suffice.

Set your internal clock. Practice at least one exam a day from 2:00 pm to 5:00 pm IST because that's when the actual exam is held. You want to maximize concentration and attention at that time of the day.

Practice answering on OMR sheets. This year, because of COVID, all your mock tests were probably online. In that case, take a few hours to practice exams on the OMR. The time management on that is very different from online exams.

Eat well. Remember to drink plenty of water. Try to eat things that have come directly from the earth and onto your plate. I know it's hard and the anxiety is enough to make you under eat / overeat but messing up because of something as trivial as meal choices would kinda suck tbh. Please do not eat an entire large pizza all by yourself the day before the exam. Stay the hell away from carbonated drinks for at least this one week. I am begging you. You might not notice but they seriously mess with your head. Whole foods are the way 2 go babes

What to expect on the day of the examination?

The NTA will be releasing the admit cards 3 days before the exam. Your exam centre and time slot to show up will be mentioned on it. This is most probably done to (a) prevent unfair practices and (b) give students enough time to visit the centre.

Know your exam centre beforehand. If you're living with your parents who will be driving you to the centre, you could even ask them to visit the centre the day before just so you don't waste time searching for the centre on the day of the exam. Believe me, a lot of people have lost an entire year because of this.

The peeing. Listen. They'll allow you to go to the washroom in the middle of the exam, of course. But if you ask me, try to avoid getting up to pee. Try to time your water such that you wouldn't have to pee during the exam. Please make sure you pee right before the exam. Idk about you but the exam pee has always been a real problem for me and together with my anxiety, it has ruined a lot of exams. It also breaks your momentum and you'll have to re-orient yourself when you get back. NEET isn't like JEE - it's not about how smart you are, it's about how efficient and accurate you are, because that's what a doctor needs to be.

Eat a light, nutritious meal. Something that'll give you energy but isn't too hard to digest. You don't want to nod off during the exam. That would be highly inconvenient.

Be on time. If you don't turn up on time, no matter what, you will not be allowed inside. Again, a lot of people I know have messed up here.

Security check. You will be checked before entering the centre. Do not wear anything dark (black, dark blue, dark brown etc). Do not wear jeans or any tight clothes. All your clothes must fit loosely and they must be light. This is done to prevent people from sneaking in transmission devices. If you wear long sleeves, you will be asked to cut them then and there. Do not wear heavily embroidered clothes. Do not have any metal on you. Take off all jewelry at home. If you wear a bra, remember to wear a sports bra or one that doesn't have any metal hooks. You can't wear shoes - your feet must be visible. Wear flip-flops or thin sandals. People have been made to take off their shoes before and write the exam barefoot. They will provide a fresh mask at the centre and gloves. This time, due to COVID-19 restrictions, they will not be doing body pat frisking, they will not be checking your ears and mouth. There will be bluetooth jammers in the exam hall to prevent any transmissions and the entire exam will be videographed.

Stay calm. I know it looks like a high security airport check and you'll probably be scanned several times and subjected to several layers of screening but remember - this is done so that nobody has an unfair advantage over you. India has incredibly clever people, but sometimes for the wrong reasons.

While writing the exam:

Don't panic. If you see a question that looks hard do! not! panic! because we always know more than we think we do!! Wait a second, linger for a moment and the answer should come to you.

Know what to leave. If you aren't aiming to get a perfect 720/720 then you should leave time consuming questions and try to do as many questions you know as possible. If you are aiming for a perfect score, do the same but remember that you need to leave sufficient time at the end to come back to them.

Repeat. Remember - this is just another one of the hundreds of exams you've done. Follow the same strategy you're used to. Most definitely DO NOT experiment in the final exam.

Lastly, always remember that ur super cool and smart and amazing and one mistake won't define you. Your worth is inherent and not determined by an exam. Your timeline is very different from someone else's. This is not a race, it's about doing things right. Your physical and mental health are more important than anything else in life. Do your best today and try again tomorrow. And then the day after that.

If you have any questions, feel free to message me :))

Best of luck!!

— Svante

[pi-cat000]

BNHA: Kakashi dimension hops crossover (4)

Summary: Kakashi gets dumbed into the My Hero Academia universe through random plot devise.

Characters:  Kakashi Hatake

Fandoms: My Hero Academia and Naruto

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence/injury

START  / PREV / NEXT

Doctor Wada makes an unscheduled appearance the same morning. Kakashi has the doctor’s schedule memorised and knows the man usually spends his first work hour in his office before checking in with various patients. The change is not unexpected.

“Ms Iori finished her rounds, marked everything as normal and handed the ward off without incident.” Wada and one of the floor’s morning shift nurses talk, voices lowered, too quiet for a regular person to pick up.

“It was called in around 4:15 am. We confirmed it as a burst blood vessel behind his quirked-eye, but we don’t know what triggered it. Without examining the eye itself it is hard to draw any definite conclusions. Since we don’t know what his quirk does, we didn’t want to risk staff safety without a specialist on hand.”

“Nothing else? No other symptoms?” Wada asks.

“No external bleeding. No signs of irritation around the eye socket. Clear, coherent verbal responses from the patient. Vitals are stable.  The dressings on the eye were changed yesterday, and nothing was flagged then either.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Depressed at the thought of what amounted to a forced long-term infiltration mission, Kakashi’s attention drifts away from the hushed conversation. Kakashi has never been assigned to any extended infiltrations. Long, tedious things that they were. Jōnin were usually too valuable to waste on them. Even before he had made jōnin, his skillset lent itself to tracking, assassination, ambush and one on one combat not undercover assignments. It was just his luck -or maybe it was karma-that he had been shunted into one. Three years of ‘mingling’ amongst these soft-acting civilians, waiting to build enough chakra for an attempt at a technique he wasn’t even sure would work. It was enough to make even the most battle-hardened shinobi depressed. 

Maybe he should run off and hide somewhere. He would skulk around for three years avoiding the locals. Less of a hassle that way. Kakashi lets out a weary breath.

“See if you can bump up that MRI. We need to make sure this isn’t anything serious,” Wada’s voice breaks through his musing as the doctor starts in the direction of Kakashi’s bed. The nurse he is talking with nods and leaves.

“Well, you have certainly had an eventful night,” Wada greats when he draws near, leaning in to visually scan Kakashi, “Let’s see what we have going on. Can you close your left eye for me so I can unwrap it?”

 He habitually pushes down his natural discomfort at having a stranger close to his sharingan as the doctor reaches to tilt Kakashi’s head to the side for better access. If he was going to be stuck here then he should maintain his complacent, harmless persona. At least, until he leaves the hospital. Besides, if they had wanted to hurt him, they would have done it while he was unconscious.

“No swelling around your quirked-eye and the bleeding has stopped, that’s a good sign. We’ll run a few tests and get to bottom of this, not to worry.”

“Yeah. About that,” Kakashi rubs the back of his head to look sheepish and apologetic, “I might have tested out my, eh, quirk. You know…I wanted to see what it would do…”

There is a beat of silence, the older man drawing away, too surprised to respond.

“I think it lets me memorise things it sees?” Kakashi continues. Even if he wasn’t 100% sure about what he would do next, he is not about to abandon his shaky amnesia cover story.

“Of all the reckless, irresponsible decisions!” the doctor snaps out of his surprise moving straight into anger, “I expressly told you to wait and not to mess with it. You had no idea what sort of quirk it was! What if you had injured someone or yourself.” The concern seems pretty genuine and Kakashi almost feels bad for manipulating him.

“Young people these days…honestly. No patience.”

Young? It had been a while since anyone has called him that. Kakashi is practically ancient by shinobi standards. The response prompts a semi mournful, almost amused sigh from him, “I know, I know. I just wanted some sort of clue as to how I got here.”

The doctor takes a frustrated breath, calming “Yes. I know it’s frustrating, being restless and hold up in this bed for three straight weeks, but there is a procedure to these things. You got lucky that the only side effect was a burst blood vessel. Next time you want to test your quirk we’ll make sure it is in a controlled environment with an expert on hand. I don’t care if you have some sort of passive regeneration, quirks can be dangerous. The hospital has offsite testing facilities for a reason.”

“Yes. I understand. I won’t do it again,” he says dutifully and gets a huff of disbelief and a head shake.

“You better not.”

A pause.

“So.”

“So?” Kakashi raises a brow.

“So what did you discover? Explain it to me again.” Wada motions, impatient, repositioning a nearby chair so he can sit comfortably beside the bed.  

“It lets me remember things…” Kakashi had given a lot of thought to what he wanted his fake ‘quirk’ to do without giving too much away, “I’m pretty sure I remember anything it looks at perfectly.”

A somewhat true explanation, in that recoding information and prefect recall was one facet of the sharingan; a side effect of its primary function which was to copy ninjustu and taijustu. The explanation also played into the diagnosis Wada had already written into his medical files, making it more believable.

“Then, lucky for you, something good came of your reckless behaviour.”

Kakashi just smiles which elicits the beginnings of another lecture. “Not that you should ever take quirk safety lightly. Quirk licenses exist for a reason. People can’t go about throwing their quirks around willynilly. A licence, I might add, that you don’t have.”

“Sorry. Sorry.”

After witnessing several televised reports on police arresting people for quirk misuse Kakashi knows the people here, for whatever reason, are leery when it comes to using their abilities. To the point where they actively outlaw it. He is banking on Wada being sympathetic enough not to push the matter.  

Wada sighs again, “I’ll write it up as accidental use this time. Now. If your quirk lets you remember everything perfectly then what about your past memories. Any change on that front?”

“No. Still gone.”

“I see. That might mean the part of the brain linked to its memorisation function was damaged, disrupting the memories stored by the quirk,” Wada rubs his chin thoughtfully, “We’ll have to run a few more tests…a lot easier now that we know what it does I suppose.” Good. That was the conclusion he wanted Wada to come to.

“Alright, before we get to testing, were there any other side effects. Aches, pains, fatigue?”

Even as the man asks, he is pulling out a familiar penlight to shine in Kakashi’s regular eye.

“No. Nothing.”

What follows is his standard check-up routine. His vitals are recorded, his head checked over, the area around his sharingan examined thoroughly. Again. Well, as thoroughly as it could be examined without uncovering it. Next is an inspection of the chest wound he now knows is from Obito alongside a glance over his shoulder, arm and leg. Wada nods to himself as he goes, signalling that all is well.

“Your blood pressure is a little high for my liking. I’m guessing you didn’t sleep much last night what with how you were messing around with your quirk. Make sure you get a good night’s sleep tonight,” Wada instructs as he fits Kakashi with a padded eyepatch instead of the usual wrap of bandages. He pauses to wait for a nod of confirmation.

“I will,” he blatantly lies. Kakashi hasn’t had a proper night sleep since waking up the first time, dozing for shortened intervals only. With so many squishy doctors around he doesn’t want to accidently hurt one of them should he be woken from a nightmare. It did put additional strain on his body.

Doctor Wada peers at him, “We’ll give you another week of monitoring then get some authorised quirk testing done. A brain scan as well. Depending on what we find, we’ll see what we can do about getting you a diagnosis and then discharged.”

“Hmm,” he answers, noncommittally. Not like he has anywhere else to go until then. If this were Konoha, he would have taken off long before now and seen to his remaining injuries alone. This would be the first time in a long while that he is waiting for an official discharge. 

Guess he would be finding out how the hospital dealt with amnesiac patients after they healed. In Konoha, a displaced citizen would be given a menial labour job as part of the village’s many reconstruction projects and sent on their way. But this wasn’t Konoha and he should really stop with the comparisons.  

He needs to decide what he wants to do: Take off, find somewhere secluded and wait the years out. Or hang around to try and salvage the situation. This world did have a lot of interesting technology so there might be value in getting a better feel for the society here. Maybe he would find something useful to take back as an apology for abandoning everyone…

What a mess this all was.

...

...

...

The following week has Kakashi splitting his time between gathering supplies for a chakra storage seal and reading through Wada’s patient files to get a sense for his upcoming quirk tests and ‘brain-scan.’

He also takes the time to read through everything else Wada has in his office - mainly medical journals - to better understand the biological differences inherent in a place without chakra. Primarily, the people were physically weaker. However, there were a lot of mutations or ‘secondary quirk factors’ which reinforced the body to better deal with the stress of the primary quirk. All interesting and potentially relevant information to remember when he got into fights. Once he knew a person’s quirk he would be able to guess how their body was reinforced and act accordingly. A fire quirk would make someone naturally heat resistant but not impact resistant, is what Kakashi concludes as he re-reads the profile of current number two hero ‘Endeavour.’ The magazines gifted to him by Iori all contain a statistical breakdown of the top 10 heroes, their strengths, weaknesses, and their criminal apprehension and crime prevention rates. It is a list that rarely changes between issues. He commits it all to memory, idly planning out combat strategies that didn’t involve obvious ninjutsu or chakra use. It helps pass the time when he is not trying to make sense of what he sees on television or stalking various people around the hospital. 

At the end of the week, he steals Wada’s fountain pen, adding it to his growing pen hoard which he stashes in a vent on the roof. The storage seal he wants to make is complex and would need ink to complete.  A mix between a chakra-draining-seal-trap and a storage scroll, it is well on its way to completion. 

The seal would drain his chakra at a consistent and manageable rate, store it efficiently,  and give him a way to turn the chakra drain off and on at will. Also, as a precaution, he includes an emergency stop in case his chakra levels became dangerously low, so it didn’t accidentally kill him if he fell unconscious.

The seal would need to be positioned somewhere on his body in a spot where the doctors wouldn’t immediately notice. He doesn’t what to explain why he suddenly has a tattoo.  If he had had access to properly made fūinjutsu ink, the seal would be invisible. Alas, he would have to make do with chakra-infused pen ink.

Kakashi manages to keep himself busy enough that he expertly avoids making any concrete decision on what he wants to do with the next three years.

.

Note: this is slowly turning into a medical drama

NEXT

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Paging Healer Malfoy // Chapter Two - The Improper Use of Magical Materials (D.M)

A/N: CHAPTER TWO!! I wonder fi you can all guess what’s going to happen in this chapter from the title alone? Draco deals with some interesting cases, and I am loving writing this series. The love for the prologue and chapter one blew me away. I only hope you love this one just as much!!!

Summary: Coffee equals venting as well as inquisitions over personal lives. Interesting patients have their way of falling into Draco’s lap.

Warnings: mentions of coffee, mentions of procedures, hospitals, injuries, swearing, mentions of food, mutual pining, yearning, an overuse of commas and semi-colons, interesting medical cases.

Word count: 4k

Prologue// Chapter One

By the time Draco has a long enough lull in patients, it’s been a couple of hours and he’s more than ready for a coffee.

The tradition of coffee with her had started through their training; it was how they vented to each other after a particularly long shift that had either been difficult or slow. It was how over the course of their training; their friendship had formed. It was over the coffees and the vents that Draco slowly realised his feelings for her were far from platonic.

(Y/N) stands at the admit desk, chatting to one of the longest working nurses at St. Mungo’s, Lydia. Lydia had seen it all; there was very little that could shock her. Draco thinks out of his eight years at St. Mungo’s, he had only ever seen Lydia speechless from shock twice. Both of those cases had not had positive outcomes.

(Y/N) greets Draco with a smile that almost knocks him breathless. He slots his chart into the discharged box and cracks his knuckles; he grins at (Y/N)’s displeased face, knowing that that particular habit gets on her nerves.

“Are you free now?” She asks; an eyebrow raised as if she’s expecting another rebuff.

Draco nods, “Coffee?”

(Y/N) smiles broadly; another smile to leave him breathless and hopelessly yearning for her as she murmurs her goodbyes to Lydia.

The café for St. Mungo’s is on the very top floor, and Draco thanks every god and deity out there that the hospital board had seen fit to install a lift instead of relying on the stairs. It was useful for practical reasons too; especially transporting patients to different floors and such alongside Draco’s continued avoidance of physical exercise.

It wasn’t an overly large café, but it catered for the Healers and nurses on every floor as well as the steady stream of patients and their families that came through the doors. It constantly smelt like coffee beans; the scent settling within Draco’s bones as he walks to the till with (Y/N) by his side.

Happy to see their usual table by the furthest window empty, Draco heads over there with their tray of freshly brewed coffee. They sit across from each other and share a tired smile; they were coming up to halfway through their shift now. They both loved their job; they couldn’t imagine working anywhere else as anything else but even they couldn’t help but countdown the minutes until they could clock off and go home to their showers and their beds.

Adding a splash of milk to her coffee, (Y/N) asks, “What do you think of the new trainees?”

Draco nods, “I think they’re going to be better than last year for definite.”

(Y/N) nods her head in agreement. Draco grabs a sugar packet from the centre of the table, “What do you think of your student?”

She rolls her eyes fondly, “He’s rich, that’s for sure. The only other person I’ve ever seen with a tailored lab coat is you.”

Draco huffs; tugging at the collar of his lab coat, “It was a gift, thank you very much.”

She laughs, “And you look very dashing.”

Draco turns her nose up at her, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

(Y/N)’s eyes sparkle with mirth over the rim of her coffee cup; the cup barely concealing the smile on her face. Draco returns the grin in earnest; never truly able to stay mad at her or hold a grudge against for too long.

“How have you been?” She asks; light concern lacing her voice.

“I’ve been okay,” Draco answers; expecting the worry she always has for him. He had been diagnosed with insomnia after the second wizarding war. It came in waves; he could have weeks, even months, where he slept fine, but then he would have periods where sleep was a distant memory.

“Have you been sleeping better? I can always prescribe you something if you need it.”

Draco waves away her offer, “I don’t need medicine to help me sleep.”

“Draco, you have insomnia. You, yourself, have admitted that traditional remedies aren’t helping.”

“(Y/N), I’m fine,” He reaches out for her hand; she lets him take it, “I’m fine. I’m sleeping better, I promise.”

She bites her lip; looking like she so desperately wants to believe him. For a second, Draco thinks she’s going to argue but at the last moment she decides against it. Instead, whispering what she wanted to say at the start of their conversation, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“We see each other nearly every day,” Draco argues.

“We’re so busy, Draco, we don’t talk like we used to.”

Draco sighs; knowing how right she is. If they found themselves on nights together, they would spend most of that shift together – especially if it was a quiet one. They would talk aimlessly about whatever came to their minds; the job, their families, their love life.

To Draco, it felt like his feelings for her were almost inevitable. The longer he spent with her; the longer he thought of her. Their fumble at the Christmas party last year had driven a wedge between them; neither ready to talk about what happened for the fear of losing their crutch. They so heavily relied on the other in terms of emotional release from their jobs; if things went south, what would they do?

Catching sight of the clock, (Y/N) sighs, realising that their conversation was over, “I need to go chase up some labs. As smart as my trainee he is, he’s useless at keeping on top of things.”

She stands; finishing the final few sips of her coffee. Her hand finds its way to Draco’s shoulder where it squeezes it once in goodbye, “I’ll find you at the end of your shift, we can get the tube together.”

He smiles at her, “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

And he wouldn’t.

------

The first week with the new trainees goes swimmingly. Draco cannot help but compare this year to last year where last year he had to dismiss one Healer immediately based on their bed manner with patients; inappropriate comments flying freely.

The second week with the new trainees gives Draco a breather from needing to watch over them constantly. He starts to spend less time flitting between their patients and more time taking on his own cases whilst still supervising the trainees and their assigned attendings.

As the trainees find their feet, Draco finds it easier to fall back into his routine from before they arrived. Working in Emergency Medicine meant that there was very little leeway for a strict routine, but there was always a lull in the early afternoon that allowed Draco to sneak upstairs to the café and grab some lunch without being pulled in for consultation after consultation.

However, Draco feels that something is off within his very bones. As he lines up to pay for his food and drink, he feels suspicious. As he sits down at the table he usually shares with (Y/N) - admitting to himself that he does miss her presence when he’s eating alone – he feels as if he needs to rush whatever he’s about to eat.

Eight years as a Healer has taught Draco to trust that gut instinct; to follow it to very end to where it leads.

The familiar static of the tannoy system precedes the announcement of his name, “Healer Malfoy to Trauma Two. Healer Malfoy to Trauma Two.”

Draco looks down at his meal sadly; briefly wondering whether the patient would protest to him eating through his trauma. He throws out the food as he rushes from the café, stethoscope clinking around his neck as he amps up his brisk walk to a flat out run.

As he runs to the trauma room, Draco has no idea what awaits him when he arrives in the emergency room. He has no clue as to his patient; their age, gender, ethnicity. As of right now, he couldn’t care – all he needs to know is that there is someone who needs his help.

The patient has already been lifted onto the bed when Draco arrives. Studiously ignoring his growling stomach, he looks to Vera, “What do we have?”

“27 year old Rowan Talbott; injured in a duel between friends. BP and oxygen all fine though his pulse is a little fast.”

Rowan Talbott writhes on the bed in pain, gasping, “It hurts so much.”

“Where does it hurt, Mr. Talbott?” Draco questions; standing over the patient.

“My side! It feels like its burning.”

Draco makes eye contact with the nurse who helps to roll the young man onto his other side. With deft, experienced fingers, Draco examines the patient.

“Mr. Talbott,” Draco calls out over the patients cries, “Can you tell me which spell you were hit with?”

“Entrail-Expelling, I’m sure of it.”

Draco sighs; taking a step back and removing his gloves, “I can assure, Mr. Talbott, you were not hit with the entrail-expelling spell.”

“How do you know?” He demands; face cross.

“For one thing, Mr. Talbott, your entrails are still very much inside of your body. And another, it looks like you were instead hit with the stinging hex which has caused the burning,” Draco looks towards Vera, “Perform the counter-jinx and let him sleep it off?”

Vera nods; her face amused at the sound of disappointment in Draco’s voice.

He tears off the trauma gown; throwing it in the disposal bin. He looks towards the patient who slowly sits up in bed; his face aflame with embarrassment, “So I’m not dying?”

Draco shakes his head, “Not dying.”

Rowan Talbott sags in relief as Vera performs the counter-jinx.

“Rest now, Mr. Talbott, I’ll check on you in an hour or so.”

Rowan Talbott doesn’t reply; his snores fill the room as the porters come to move him to an empty exam room.

Both Draco and Vera chuckle as they leave the room. They return to the admit desk where Draco places his chart on the side.

“There never is a dull day, is there Vera?”

Vera laughs, “The day it is dull here, Draco, is the day I leave.”

“Merlin let’s hope that never happens there. How would we run without you, Vera?”

“Draco Malfoy, you are a flatterer.”

Draco laughs, “I’m going out to grab some lunch. I’m sure there’s a muggle café down the road. I won’t be long.”

Vera nods; waving him off as she’s pulled into another case by another Healer.

Before he can be dragged anywhere, Draco rushes to the break room. There, he grabs his jacket – replacing his lab coat with it and then makes his way to the exit. Through it all, his stomach has been growling like a wild animal; the café down the road would still be open, Draco thinks gratefully as he inhales the crisp autumn air.

At the café, Draco orders a sandwich and a coffee to go. All the while knowing that he would have to eat it on the way back to the hospital should another trauma come in or that he’s needed by someone.

By the time Draco arrives back at the break room; he’s eaten half his sandwich and finished his coffee. Munching on the other half, he doesn’t hesitate to pour another cup of coffee and settle on the break room couch.

A few years back, before Draco had started his training, the emergency room staff were given a television by a patient who was grateful for the saving of his life. After much attempting to get it working in a hospital that was, back then, mostly magical, the TV had become a hit with the nurses. However, no-one dared to switch the channel should something happen that they couldn’t fix, so it played a constant loop of the muggle news.

It’s this that Draco watches as he finishes the last crumbs of his sandwich and the dregs of his coffee. He kicks his feet up onto the coffee table and lets himself have a few minutes to himself with his eyes closed; letting the stress of the last few weeks leave his body.

All too soon, however, the usual guilt settles over Draco. In his early days as a trainee, Draco found it exceptionally hard to take for himself. He always had to be helping; he always had to be working. He simply couldn’t sit still. Draco thinks it stems from his family’s involvement in the second wizarding war where they had left the Battle of Hogwarts without sticking around to make sure that the survivors were well cared for.

It’s that thought that has Draco hauling himself off the couch and back into the fray.

“Janice – lovely, lovely, Janice. What do we have free?” Draco asks; always ready to compliment the nurses.

Janice laughs, “Malfoy, you are a flirt,” She hands him a chart, “23 year old female with stomach pain.”

Draco grins at Janice; happily taking the chart from her hands. He knocks on the door to exam room one before entering. He smiles welcomingly at the patient, “Miss Collins, I understand you’re having some stomach pain.”

Miss Collins nods her head, “For the last few days now.”

Draco makes some notes on her chart before putting on some latex gloves. He points to her stomach and asks, “Do you mind?”

Miss Collins shakes her head and lifts her shirt to reveal her stomach, “I don’t mind.”

As Draco examines her; he asks her routine questions that Nurse Marie lists the answers of on her chart. “And there’s no chance you could be pregnant?” He asks; broaching the subject carefully.

She shakes her head, “I got my period last week.”

Draco nods; continuing his examination of her stomach, feeling some tenderness which understandably is causing some discomfort and pain. Draco removes his gloves and thinks through the possible causes of this pain. He smiles down at Miss Collins before addressing Nurse Marie, “Let’s get a blood test and give her anti-nausea potion, thank you. We’ll monitor you over the next couple of hours to see if things get better or worse. How does that sound?”

Miss Collins opens her mouth to reply but she’s cut off by a timid voice asking, “Healer Malfoy?”

Draco turns from his examination of Miss Collins to find a trainee stood behind him, “How can I help, Healer Kinghorn?”

Matthew Kinghorn flounders for a moment; trying to find the words to explain his predicament to his superior. Draco frowns at the trainee, “What’s wrong?”

“There’s something you need to see.”

“Is it urgent?”

Matthew nods, “I’d say so.”

“Is the patient dying?”

“No, but-”

Draco cuts him off impatiently, “Then are you able to handle it?”

Matthew huffs, “With all due respect sir, you need to see this. I don’t want to be the one to pull it out.”

Draco’s eyebrows furrow, “Pull what out?”

-----------

“That is a wand,” Draco states; staring at the x-ray.

Matthew nods wildly; humming his affirmation.

“The patient,” Draco starts, “Has a wand in their rectum.”

“Do you see why I pulled you away?” Matthew asks, “It looks to be 10 inches.”

Draco can’t help the snort that leaves him though he knows he should act more professionally around a trainee. He holds a hand to his mouth as the other points to the image on the lightbox, “Why?”

Matthew shrugs, “The patient wouldn’t say.”

Draco sighs, “Well they’re at risk for a perforation. What room are they in?”

“Exam room three,” Matthew answers.

Draco pulls the x-ray from the lightbox; stuffing it in a file before walking to exam room three. Entering the room – Matthew close behind – Draco finds the patient lying on his front with his knees tucked up to his chest.

“Mr,” Draco pauses; holding his hand out for the chart from Matthew, “Winters, I’m Healer Malfoy. Would you care to tell me what’s happened?”

Mr. Winters groans; his voice full of pain and embarrassment as he replies, “My wand is stuck.”

Draco slips on some gloves before approaching Mr. Winters, “Sir, you know that that isn’t the proper use of your wand.”

“I know that.”

“I’m glad you’re aware.”

Mr. Winters sighs, “I just had an itch that I couldn’t get, and I just looked at my wand and before I thought it through, I was doing it.”

“I’m not here to judge you, Mr. Winters,” Draco murmurs, “I’m just here to help extract your wand, but we need to be careful so please remain as still as possible.”

Mr. Winters nods; trying to relax as much as he can and remain as still as possible. Draco looks to Matthew who remains by the door; watching the scene with wide eyes, “Healer Kinghorn, will you please fetch some lubricant and any tweezers you can find.”

“You’re going to pull it out?!” Mr. Winters cries.

Draco walks around the bed, removing his gloves, and bends so he’s eye level with Mr. Winters, “I think it’s our first option. You lost hold as you were inserting it, that’s correct?”

Mr. Winters nods, so Draco continues, “So I’m going to use the tweezers to try and grab hold of the end of your wand. Should I meet any resistance, however, I am going to have to call a surgeon.”

“I could need surgery?” Mr. Winters shouts.

Draco nods, “It’s a possibility. There is a slight chance of perforation so any resistance, it’s a surgeon.”

Matthew comes bustling back into the exam room carrying everything Draco asked for including a pain potion and relaxation potion. He lays it all out on a tray before wheeling it to the end of Mr. Winters bed.

“Thank you, Healer Kinghorn,” Draco murmurs before turning back to Mr. Winters, “I’m going to give you a pain potion, so you won’t feel a thing, is that okay?”

Mr. Winters nods, holding out a hand for the bottle. Draco pours the right amount into a small cup before handing it to the patient; watching him finish it all before making his way to end of the bed.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Winters?” Draco calls; slipping on some fresh latex gloves.

“Ready,” He answers. Draco nods despite tef cat that the patient can’t see him.

Draco turns to Matthew; his hand out expectantly for the lubricant and the tweezers. Together, they manage to dislodge the item from Mr. Winters; his wand offering little trouble at all. Matthew watches the procedure wide-eyed and in awe as Draco manages to extract Mr. Winters wand.  

He bags Mr. Winters wand as Matthew helps him back onto his side; reminding him that most likely isn’t quite ready to sit on him bum any time soon.

Mr. Winters has tears in his eyes as he thanks both Draco and Matthew. They wave off his thanks before leaving him to sleep off the remaining pain potion in his system; once he wakes he’ll be discharged and given a leaflet on appropriate wand use.

Draco co-signs Matthew’s chart before handing it back to the redheaded trainee. “You did well,” Draco compliments with a smile.

Matthew beams, “Really?”

Draco nods, “You went beyond what I asked you to do and made sure the patient was comfortable. You also recognised that you were out of your depth and you needed help. Past trainees haven’t thought of that; they would go straight in with the procedure and make a mistake. Well done, Matthew.”

Matthew nods; rubbing his hand across the back of his neck as his skin warms with the kind words from Draco. “Thank you, Healer Malfoy,” He replies earnestly.

Draco claps Matthew on the shoulder, “Go get some lunch, Matthew. You don’t know when you’ll be able to eat again.”

Matthew smiles at Draco again before leaving; rushing for the lift to head up to the café.

Draco shakes his head at the eagerness displayed by his trainee, but also pride in the fact that he did think before acting which is vitally important in a job like this. It requires you to think fast and act fast; it seems that Matthew had the talent for both. Draco couldn’t help but wonder how he would be like in a major trauma situation.

Returning to the admit desk, Draco finds that all patients are accounted for and for the first time in a while, he has no immediate need to see a patient – still waiting on test results for them all. He removes his stethoscope from his shoulders as he enters the break room; the television still playing its circuit of the daily muggle news.

(Y/N) sits at the small round table in the middle of the room; her eyes focused on the small screen. The volume always remains low; never playing loud enough for anyone to hear the words leaving the news anchors mouth. Instead, they rely on the red banner travelling across the bottom of the screen from right to left where it announces the breaking news.

“Anything changed since an hour ago?” Draco asks; heading straight for the coffee pot only to find that its empty. He pulls the coffee grounds down from the cupboard and begins to make a fresh pot.

“I don’t think so,” (Y/N) answers, “A celebrity couple is getting divorced; a royal is having a baby, and there’s a debate in the muggle parliament today.”

Draco leans against the counter; waiting for the coffee to brew. He nods, “Nothing new then.”

“I heard about your… impalement,” (Y/N) comments; turning her attention from the television screen to Draco.

“How?”

(Y/N) raises an eyebrow at him, “Lydia.”

“Of course,” Draco rolls his eyes, “I can’t say it wasn’t interesting.”

She snorts, “You always get the interesting ones.”

“(Y/N), you are an attending in emergency trauma surgery. All of your cases are interesting.”

(Y/N) huffs, “But I haven’t seen an impalement in so long!”

“It was barely even an impalement. The patient had an itch he couldn’t reach, that’s all.”

(Y/N) is silent for a minute before bursting into giggles.

“Act professional, (Y/N),” Draco chides but he cannot help the smile at that spreads across his face at the sound of her laughter. Soon enough, he finds himself chuckling along with her; their laughter providing the chorus for the chaos of the emergency room.

(Y/N) wipes her eyes with her sleeve after she finishes laughing, “It’s like what Healer Dorian used to say before she retired.”

“What?”

“If you don’t laugh, it’ll kill you.”

Draco snorts, “There’s some truth to that, but I don’t think Mr. Winters was laughing.”

(Y/N) shakes her head, “I don’t think he will be. I think he’ll choose muggle medicine over ours now to avoid us all.”

He hums, “Most likely, but if he needs us that badly, he’ll come back.”

(Y/N) doesn’t reply; she just shakes her head fondly, hair slipping from its ponytail.

“What shift are you down for next week?” He asks.

She grins at him; her eyes crinkling in the corners, “Why? Do you miss me when I’m not with you?”

He places a hand on his heart and stretches the other out; mimicking a Shakespearian pose, “Dear (Y/N), my heart yearns for you all the time, but it misses you more in your absence. Pray, tell me your shift pattern next week so I know whether to cry tears of happiness or sadness.”

A ball of paper hits his face. Her laughter fills the room, “You’re such an arse, Draco.”

He grins toothily, “And yet you’re friends with me.”

She glares at him playfully, “I’m regretting that decision past me made.”

“I don’t believe you for a second.”

She rolls her eyes, “I’m on nights next week.”

Draco pouts; playing the overdramatic lovestruck fool he is, “But when will I see you?”

“When I’m leaving… like now,” She stands from her chair; grabbing her drink and her unfinished charts.

Draco swivels in his chair; watching her leave the break room with his feelings all in disarray as to whether they’re finally going to confront of what is so clearly in front of them.

*********

Paging Healer Malfoy taglist: @sycathorn-slush @obsessedwithrandomthings @kpopgirlbtssvt @kalimagik @brycelahelalover @fallinallinmendes @mischi3f-manag3d @remmysrecs @willowbleedsonpaper @nao-cchi @haphazardhufflepuff @soundsquid27 @mytreec @maydillydally @chaoticgirl04 @pregnant-piggy @rhyxn @acciotwinz @birdie-writes @reaganwonders @chanelwonders @izzytheninja @ravenclawbitch426 @ohissandhalasta @missmulti

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obx-beach @obxmxybxnk @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl​ @detroitobsessed​ @reaganwonders​

[dalekofchaos]

Rian Johnson did Finn dirty and we gotta stop pretending he didn’t

Every now and then I am reminded how I hate how dirty Finn was done in the Sequel Trilogy. TFA started it, but TLJ continued it. JJ started it with the bait and switch, Rian continued by making sure Finn would remain a side character, which JJ would finalize in TROS.

Like I like TLJ for the visuals and Rey and Ben’s dynamic, but let’s be clear. It absolutely did nothing for Finn, Poe or Rose. Pretty much all the characters of color were given the shaft.(and one of them didn’t even get any speaking lines, NO I WILL NEVER NOT BE MAD ABOUT THIS)

Let’s take a look at what Rian Johnson did with Finn

Finn is repeatedly harmed for comedic effect. Most of his important scenes were either cut or rewritten. He is constantly belittled and mocked throughout the movie.

The beginning of Finn in the movie. Finn awakens from his coma. Does he struggle to come to terms with his near-death experience? Is he fearful that Rey is dead and he failed her? Is he scared, in pain? Nope. He falls on his face and squirts juice everywhere. The medics on-duty were on a coffee break and allowed their patient to wander the fucking halls unattended. And with that, his duel with Kylo is worthless and made a joke to laugh at.

Finn’s deleted scenes. The deleted opening where Finn wakes up. Finn and Poe’s scene on the Raddus where Finn declares he’s not joining The Resistance, but Poe simply says “you are where you belong” and hands him his coat after stitching it up for him. Then the scene where BB-8 shows Finn Rey’s last moment with Finn. Then the deleted scene with the one Stormtrooper where Finn shows restraint. and Finally the scene that shows a better death scene for Phasma......why were any of these scenes deleted? ESPECIALLY THE PHASMA ONE! I will never understand why this was deleted. Finn calls her out about her betrayal of lowering the shields and when this information is revealed, the Stormtroopers near her look suspicious and it looks as if they are going to turn on her. Phasma like the ultimate survivalist she is kills them with no hesitation. Finn cuts her hand off and blasts her into the abyss, giving Phasma a more deserving and better send off. Seriously, this is way better than their actual confrontation.  What I really like about this scene is its direct connection to The Force Awakens plot point and that it acknowledges Phasma’s survivalist attitude which was introduced into her novel.

Finn’s injuries do not get attention, but Kylo’s injuries do. In The Force Awakens, Finn fights Kylo Ren. He does well, but is ultimately defeated.  He is slashed in the shoulder and the spine by Kylo Ren and falls into the snow, unconscious. Now if this were in the first 6 movies, Finn would be dead or would be paralyzed. But because it’s a Disney movie, Finn heals up. Rey continues the fight and slashes Ren across the face, leaving him with a gash. The characters all escape, but Finn has to be carried to a medical station, unconscious until TLJ. Kylo Ren seems fine, ultimately jumping in a TIE fighter to try and kill his mom before getting patched up further.  Finn, again, has to wake up before doing anything. Here’s the difference between Finn and Kylo’s injuries.  Finn awakens in a medical bed wearing a bacta suit.  His first instinct is to call out for Rey. As he jolts up, he slams his head against the medical container.  He slams against it again. Regaining awareness, he opens up the medical container to find himself alone in a cargo room.  He falls out of the bed, spraying medical fluids all over the place.  He trudges down the hallway until Poe and BB-8 find him. His injuries are never mentioned, shown, or even referenced again.  Kylo, on the other hand, is asked by Snoke how his wound is, to which he responds “it’s nothing.”  He then takes that ridiculous thing off, complete with a close-up of a sad kylo Ren face, with his sutures  framed to draw attention to them. This happens again in the elevator.  Then we get a scene of him getting patched up soberly by a medical droid.  Then we get a shirtless scene as a final showcase of his other two scars.  Throughout the film, Kylo’s scars are present and framed as a constant reminder that he went through pain.  Finn’s injuries are used as a joke once and promptly forgotten, and let’s not pretend that these injuries are  one-to-one aside from how they’re framed.  Remember Finn received injuries trying to protect Rey, while Kylo received injuries trying to murder Finn and bring Rey before Snoke, a fate worse than death. Finn received a deep wound across his spine, which can often be fatal in the real world.  Kylo received a gash across his face.  Finn’s injuries were worse and nobly gained. Kylo’s injuries were comparatively tame and well deserved.  Yet the movie uses Finn’s pain as a joke, and Kylo’s pain as a humanizing factor. That Rey, as well as the director, cinematographer, and a considerable portion of the audience sees a scar and is willing to find sympathy with the person, no matter what they have done, is pretty reprehensible. Not only is Kylo Ren’s scar not enough to be considerably a change to his appearance, as Rian Johnson specifically modified the location of his scar because, “it looked goofy,” the scar is not the mark of an accident or from an assault, but rather from a failed assault on his part. Also, I could get into how messed up it is that scars that don’t fit Rian Johnson’s preferred model are considered goofy. Is a scar that isn’t kept to one side of the face not worth showing? Is a person with a scar you don’t personally like somehow less able to be taken seriously? By treating Kylo’s minor wounds as a big, life-changing deal, and treating Finn’s life-threatening wounds as a trivial matter of no more consequence than a joke, The Last Jedi reinforces century-old stereotypes about Black people. Specifically, it implies that Black people are somehow less affected by pain, have higher pain tolerances, or cannot be physically damaged the way White people can. This is a demonstrated, dangerous trend, where white people actually perceive Black people as experiencing less pain than White people under the same situations. Older textbooks, including some used as recently as late 2017, suggest Black people over-report the pain that they are experiencing. Doctors have declined to give painkillers to Black patients expressing the same level of discomfort that would grant a White patients the same painkillers, and some surgeons even believe that less anesthesia is needed for operations on Black people. This, of course, goes beyond the medical field, where Black people are not believed when they speak about suffering, and are expected to take more physical abuse than their White counterparts. However as the injuries are framed in a medical setting in this movie, I wanted to primarily address the medical bias as in the real world. This has been referred to as an empathy gap. When two people are hurt, with everything except the skin colour being the same, and White people feel worse for the hurt White person, there is a gap in empathy. Now, when the conditions are not the same, and the White person deserves to be hurt, and is hurt much less, and is still empathized with more, and the White man’s acts of attempted murder are framed as romance, while the Black man’s friendship is framed as harassment. Let’s also talk about Finn’s treatment. He’s placed alone in a room filled with cargo, without any monitoring.  It’s almost like the medical staff doesn’t even deem his injury serious enough to receive attention.  He’s not on the medical ship, which we know they have.  He’s not even in the Raddus’s Medical Bay, which, again, we know they have. Finn is isolated, left unattended,  injures himself, and stumbles out into the hallway without any assistance. All for a joke.  Finn’s injury should have been treated with respect and acknowledgement. A scene with the doctors examining his injuries, telling Finn he is medically clear to join The Resistance and Finn  sorrowed by his inability to help his friends, would have been light-years better than a scene where Kylo looks sad getting hurt while trying to kill people.

Finn’s rivalry with Kylo Ren drops instantly. Like Finn’s injuries, Finn’s rivalry with Kylo Ren is dropped for no reason whatsoever and never mentioned again. Finn and Kylo Ren are narrative foils, yet after TFA it’s dropped??? From the start they have been prominent foils to each other: dark from light and light from dark, both in the First Order but in drastically different positions. And Kylo too obviously has strong feelings about his defection. I also believe that Finn is the awakening in the force that Kylo and Snoke felt. Perhaps that is why Kylo focused on Finn and is so angry about him. Finn is also the first person to use the legacy lightsaber and is the first to actually fight Kylo. TLJ could've focused on Finn and Kylo being  narrative foils having a force connection and Kylo wondering why Finn would switch to the Resistance while Finn wonders why Kylo joined The First Order and  Rey standing in the middle of it all wondering with the new realization that her family has a mixed past of good and evil and her questioning where exactly does she belong? The way at the height of tfa when Kylo Ren rejected Han Solo’s offer for redemption and killed him he looked over and noticed Finn. Like they both locked eyes and in that moment was a surge of emotions between them— shock (and some fear) on Finn’s end, and anger on Kylo’s as he shouts at Finn that he’s a traitor— and those circumstances set Finn and Kylo up to be the dynamic for the sequel trilogy. They were foils, and the trilogy had the potential to truly expand on that and see their development in a final standoff/rematch at the very end. But it was wasted, because why have good movies.

Finn repeats the character arc from the last movie. Finn’s character arc from The Force Awakens was dropped completely in The Last Jedi. He does want Rey to be safe, but TLJ paints it as if  Finn just wants to run away, despite the fact that he learned to be courageous, face his fears and stay and fight at the end of TFA.  The First Order kidnapped Finn as a child, from his family(possibly killed his family) he was able to leave The First Order and resist the indoctrination. He no longer wanted to fight, he wanted to leave everything, he wanted Rey to come with him. When Rey was captured, Finn had something to fight for and when Kylo Ren pushed her. Finn finally stood up to his past and The First Order. He overcame his fear. So Finn should have been wanting to fight The First Order and become a big deal in The Resistance, we could have even seen Finn inspiring a Stormtrooper rebellion  against Phasma and The First Order. Finn just wanting to leave is just bad writing and backtracks his entire character arc from TFA.

Went from one of the major focuses of this trilogy to a side character. Finn is the very reason why The Resistance is alive. Finn breaks his life-long brainwashing, informs Rey and Han about the importance of BB-8 and helps out in getting BB-8 to the resistance and provides vital information that lead to the destruction of STB and gets nearly killed while helping to achieve this. If it were not for Finn saving Poe, BB-8 would’ve been scrapped for parts and Rey never would’ve left Jakku. The map would either be destroyed or be in the hands of The First Order. Starkiller Base would’ve destroyed D’Qar and Ach-To. He is the reason why Poe is still alive. He is the reason why BB-8 isn’t parts and Rey left Jakku. Because of leaving Jakku, this is the sole reason why Han and Chewie were able to find the Falcon. And he is the reason why The Resistance was able to find out about Starkiller Base’s weakness. he Helps out in sabotaging STB so that Poe, the very pilot he saved in the beginning can deliver the finishing blow to Starkiller Base and destroy it completely. In the Last Jedi, Finn awakes from a coma with no one attending him. No medics or guards. He's not even on a medship, he's in the fucking cargo hold. Finn recovering from his injuries is meant to be seen as a joke and his injuries are never mentioned again, while Kylo gets sympathy and shown his scars. There was also no marketing for Finn in the build up to TLJ. Despite Finn knowing that the First Order must be fought and knows there is something bigger than himself and Rey, we then see Finn attempting to flee in an escape pod to hide with Rey. Then he meets Rose. Rose in mourning meets Finn and expects him to be this big Resistance hero, only Finn never officially became one. Rose thought he was deserting. Finn wants to escape to save Rey and because The Supremacy is tracking them through hyperspace, but Rose sees this as desertion….Desertion? You taze people for desertion? How exactly am I supposed to root for either side again? This is probably the same only less lethal treatment one could expect from The First Order. And what if The Raddus took critical damage? Are you trying to tell me Rose would taze anyone going to the escape pods? I thought she was supposed to be a mechanic, not someone who prevents escape. Despite Finn explaining himself, she tazes him. She spends the majority of the movie berating, insulting and belittling him. It's even worse in the novel. Finn, who was the main focus of the last movie, and one of the main protagonists, is now made the sidekick to Rose in a pointless side plot. Finn and Rose then get caught because none of them could bother park their ship legally. Finn, the child slave doesn’t even get to say they should save the child slaves of Canto Bight, instead he blindly follows Rose into freeing the space horses. Then they openly trusts a man who talks like a snake and is shocked when DJ betrays them. Finn and Rose are made to fail their mission pointlessly, when they could've succeeded and get caught on the way to the escape pods. Finn gets to face his oppressor and fight Phasma and end her, but Phasma's better death scene was stupidly cut for reasons I don't understand. Finn then makes one last effort to save The Resistance, the people he loves. Rose stops him. She takes one last chance to insult him and kiss him without his consent as the bunker is destroyed while The First Order prepares to kill what Finn loves....and people see this as love???

The racist undertones of how RIan Johnson wrote Finn. Finn is treated like a racist slapstick caricature. The first real problem for Finn. He is reduced to a slapstick joke in his very first scene. Finn awakens from his coma, slams his face and it is revealed that he isn’t even on the medical ship or even in the medbay on the Raddus...he is in the cargo hold and is made to be a joke. This is the Co-protagonist of the trilogy, and he’s reintroduced as a slapstick joke. Then once again he wants to runaway. I am getting a real racist vibe that Rian Johnson sees Finn as the cowardly black man troupe. That’s just downright disgusting. Moving on. Finn is paired with Rose Tico, honestly I want to like her, but bad writing prevents that. Finn is put with someone who abuses him and we are supposed to root for this and see it as romance? Let me explain. Finn is then tazed by Rose, which is understandable, she thought he was running away and she was in mourning. He also was objectively posing absolutely no threat to her, wasn’t running away, and was even trying to explain himself. Additionally, just the threat of the taser seemed to have been enough to stop him from leaving. But Rose attacked him anyways. The difference between Rey and Rose attacking Finn is Rey subdued Finn just enough to stop and interrogate him, Rose went completely overboard by paralyzing him and knocking him unconscious. It was completely unnecessary and gratuitous. Rey and Finn have a real friendship and partnership from the last movie. Rose, on the other hand, spends the rest of the movie belittling Finn and talking down to him. The book also says that she thought about using violence against him more than once after the tasing (for annoying her) and even pushed him. This displays a really problematic pattern of violence and disrespect towards Finn so yeah,  multiple uses of violence and expressed desire to inflict violence on him as being abusive. I would argue that she is undeniably verbally abusive with Finn. In the movie and in the book (more so in the book) she often belittles him by calling him names and using other put downs. It seems she wants to make him feel bad about himself and bring him down, which is abusive. Of course, it doesn’t really matter what her intent is, even if she doesn’t “mean to be mean” it still counts as verbal abuse. So, in summary, her repeated threats and use of violence against Finn and her continual use of insults and put downs causes me to come to the conclusion that she is abusive to Finn. For the record I am not saying Rose Tico is abusive towards Finn, I am saying how Rian wrote Rose towards Finn is hostile for no reason whatsoever and could be interpreted as abusive and it’s downright tone deaf how the abuse and tazing is directed at the black man of the trilogy. Then Finn is made to fail. The only time he is allowed to be portrayed as a protagonist is him facing his abuser and taking her down. My only problem is they cut out Phasma’s better death scene. Finn reveals Phasma shut down the shields for Starkiller Base, and that gets the Stormtroopers to turn on Phasma. This is what I would hope starts a Stormtrooper Rebellion. Finn’s defection was withheld information by Hux and Phasma in fear of a full on rebellion. Humanizing Stormtroopers and having one become a hero is kind of genius, but the way they did it in Episode 7 made it seem like Finn was the ONLY good Stormtrooper, which has to be an impossibility. If one Stormtrooper can suddenly switch sides, what's to say that others couldn't? And since Episode IX will most likely see the fall of the First Order, I personally think that Finn should convince all (or most of) the Stormtroopers to turn against Kylo and Hux, leading to a cool final scene where the First Order is ultimately destroyed by their own henchmen, children who were abducted and indoctrinated take back their narrative. That would be cooler and more unique, I think, than another Resistance vs. First Order space shootout, or Rey and her possible Jedi apprentice army taking them down. The most insulting part of the movie is the last part. Finn’s suicide run. Finn was the best Stormtrooper and knows about The First Order’s weapons, he should know full well that speeder would be destroyed trying to destroy the mini death star. Finn’s attempted sacrifice was pointless, Finn was treated like garbage throughout the movie, he deserved better.

Finn was almost a big deal for the Resistance in the beginning. It is shown through cut material that Finn was in Cobalt Squadron uniform. If this was the case, there is something real simple they could’ve done. Have Finn be with Paige, have Paige and Finn have a short friendship(this actually gives Ngo Thanh Van speaking lines), Paige being in awe that Finn, someone who escaped The First Order helped The Resistance destroy Starkiller Base is working with him and she is more than happy to show him the ropes. They are co-pilots.  Finn was able to save Paige from dying in space and instead she dies in his arms while leaving a bloody handprint on his heart, working as a callback to when Slip died in Finn’s arms and left a bloody handprint on his helmet and her last words being “tell my sister I love her. Finn brings the bad news to Rose and gives Rose Paige’s pendant. Rose breaks down and hugs Finn. Both Finn and Rose have a good relationship at this point and there is no pointless hostility. You could even have Finn and Rose together finding the hacker and having their plan succeed and just having DJ betray them as they make it to the escape pod. And Finn and Phasma do have their fight, but keep in the deleted Phasma death scene. Instead of that? Nothing and instead of that we get a conflicting and hostile relationship between Finn and Rose and Paige has no speaking lines.

Rian Johnson rejected any and every possible character arc for Finn. Rian squandered a proactive, clearly-defined character from TFA, trying to make him fit moment after moment because he had no real big-picture idea what to do with this guy. And in light of Rian presenting himself as a progressive voice, he deserves to be challenged on why he failed a complex, heroic black character so abysmally while giving clear focus and dignity to the white male villain of the piece. (And this isn’t to say I want Kylo Ren’s character development to be worse, it’s saying I want Finn’s to be better.) But he shouldn’t just have treated Finn with care and dignity because it would’ve been more “progressive” - he should’ve done it because it would’ve made a better MOVIE.

Finn is brought to a white man, put on his knees, and is slapped in the face by said white man who once commanded him. Why? No Answers

Rian Johnson had Finn and Rose arrested and locked in a prison cell. Him and Rose are the only characters to be arrested (as in, not kidnapped by evil regime) in the Skywalker saga. PLUS they were immediately electrocuted after being pointed out to the space cops.

Rian admitted not wanting Finn and Poe together because he can't see them as two separate characters(he can't see two men of color as two different characters, let that sink in) and because in his words they "got along too well" and Rose is only there to give Finn 'conflict" We were robbed of Finn and Poe being boyfriends. I love Rose Tico as a character, but I will always want Finn and Poe to be together, aside from the amazing chemistry Finn and Poe have together and John and Oscar have together, if we get to see a gay relationship portrayed in Star Wars, it will show boys and girls who are gay that nothing is wrong with you, you are perfect the way they are and the way they love is beautiful. Oscar Isaac fought to have Finn/Poe together, he encouraged the shippers that the relationship they want is valid and supports it. And I feel so bitter after finding out Finn and Poe were meant to have scenes together in Canto Bight but were separated because Rian Johnson said “those two were getting along too well and that would be boring”  aka Disney doesn’t want gay characters in their cash cow. Despite Oscar’s fight, FInnpoe did not happen and it’s a damn shame. 

Rian Johnson joked about keeping Finn in a coma

Rian had a scene written where Finn was too bumbling/confused to know how to put on a tuxedo. He also had a scene where he sees alien ass unconsensually. 

Finn’s suicide run. Finn knows about the weapon during his time as a Stormtrooper, so he should know full well that speeder would be destroyed trying to destroy the mini death star. Finn’s attempted sacrifice was pointless as he knew that it wouldn’t work.

Rian has Rose explain to Finn, A CHILD SOLDIER, that war and child slavery are wrong.  Surely you see the issue there.

Finn almost had memories of his upbringing, but Rian chose to cut it. "In the original scene, Rose’s story of her childhood was a bit tamer and Finn shared his backstory with her, revealing a further connection between the two characters – that they both had family members taken by the First Order. Most of the sequence was reshot."

Rose stopping Finn. “that’s how we win, not by fighting what we hate, by saving what we love.” That makes no sense and ignores the entire narrative of Star Wars and heroism of the saga. Paige, her sister sacrificed herself to save The Resistance. Holdo sacrificed herself to save The Resistance. The Rogue One crew sacrificed themselves. Kanan Jarrus sacrificed himself to save what he loved. Finn’s entire arc in the movie was learning not to just think about running away with Rey and fight for a greater cause and when the time comes for Finn to prove that he’s grown as a character, he can’t? What was the point of Finn’s arc in the movie? And let’s talk about Poe. Shouldn’t Poe be sacrificing himself? Poe has spent the entire film watching others die and give their lives and he’s never backed down, so shouldn’t Poe be in Finn’s place? And if Rose stopped Finn who would save The Resistance? We saw after Rose stopped Finn, the bunker was blown up by the battering ram. Absolutely NO ONE knew that Luke was going to make his surprise entrance and save everyone. For all we knew, The First Order would’ve moved into the bunker and killed everyone and The Resistance.

I am well aware that JJ Abrams did Finn no better, I even talked about it here. But let’s be honest, Rian didn’t know what to do with Finn and truly did him dirty. 

This was really the easiest character arc for them to write. Indoctrinated Child Soldier turned Elite Soldier who after realizing what he was doing was wrong, wants to make things right, hunted by the FO for treason and because he knows too much, he slowly finds his path with the resistance and trains in the force with Rey and together they rise as the new Jedi, oh and Poe is his boyfriend.

It is my own personal headcanon that The force chooses Finn because he chose empathy for his fallen brother and chose to walk away from killing innocents.

Finn had potential to be one of the best characters we ever got in Star Wars. It’s been over 3 years since he was sidelined in the sequel trilogy and it still upsets me to this day. John really deserved better, to be marketed like this and then sidelined is just awful.

Finn in The Force Awakens: trooper number as call back to Leia, Awakening in the Force, & call to the hero’s journey/defending the symbolic hope of the Skywalker family is peak Star Wars & whatever was Abram’s original intent for Finn’s prominence in the ST; undone by studio interference because KK and China did not want a black lead.

Finn was the literal 1st face we saw when they teased The Force Awakens, it's clear he was supposed to lead the way for the future of Star Wars, criminal what they did to the character and god forbid a person of color saves the galaxy because some of ya’ll can't handle it

Finn was setup as the male lead and co-protagonist of the sequel trilogy. That’s not an opinion, that’s not a headcanon, that’s a literally fact. He was set up to be equal with Rey & Kylo’s foil and we all know why that changed.

At the start of the trilogy, we all thought people of color would have a prominent role in the new trilogy and there was a potential for the first LGBT relationship in Star Wars. But no, it’s clear that both TLJ and TROS gave us the impression that only white people can be Jedi and save the galaxy, people of color can only have secondary roles. And the blink and you miss it kiss? Only white women, not two men of color who clearly love each other.

Finn deserved to be a main character alongside Rey and Ben. He deserved a good character development, a great arc, an interesting backstory. he had the potential to become one of the most epic star wars characters. TLJ and TROS was an insult for him and he deserved better. nobody will EVER change my mind.

Finn should have been a Stormtrooper turned Jedi.  It doesn’t matter that you think it tells a better story for him to not be a Jedi. “Finn being a hero who is not a Jedi is important.” Poe and Rose are great examples of ordinary heroes coming from nowhere. Rey was supposed to be a jedi related to Skywalker or Kenobi legacy while Finn was the perfect "nobody from nowhere" that becomes a Jedi. And honestly, Black kids deserved to see themselves in the Black Jedi and black kids deserved to see themselves as one of the three protagonists of the trilogy.

[kristyana]

Untethered

Chapter 2/?

When he stepped into that throne room, Noctis had accepted his fate.

The ongoing war with Nilfheim, his father's slowly deteriorating life-force to power the force field protecting their city from daemons and magitek troops, their trip throughout Eos to collect the Royal Arms, the trials he endured from the Astrals to prove his worth for their cooperation when it was they who issued that condemning prophecy in the first place.

The sacrifices of all his loved ones.

It all led to that final moment in that throne room.

His death in exchange for the return of the dawn.

And when he had finally — finally — vanquished the Accursed along with the plague; battered body floating through the void as it slowly crumbled like shattered glass, he only hoped to see his father and sister one last time — to see his father's gentle smile and his sister's proud grin — before darkness embraced him.

So imagine his surprise to find himself waking up in a bed. Alive and well, as if a sword hadn't plunged itself right through his sternum.

He thought he had failed.

That all of their precious efforts were for naught and Ardyn was still alive.

That was when the door to his room opened revealing an exhausted Prompto who froze on the spot when his eyes landed on him.

They stared at each other for a full minute before Prompto broke down crying and launched himself at Noctis, clinging for dear life. They stayed like that for what seemed like forever.

Prompto was the first to pull away albeit reluctantly, saying he needed to tell the others and it didn't take long before they heard frantic footsteps outside getting louder. The door banged against the wall as Gladio practically shouldered his way into the room followed by a disheveled — and no longer blind! — Ignis.

"Ignis! Your eye—“ Noctis wasn't able to finish when he was engulfed in another hug by his advisor and Shield.

They tell him they'd won — after a second round of crying which he will forever deny ever happened — that the Starcourge was no more and that the sun was shining on Eos again for about a month now. People were making their way towards the city and that plans for restoration were being made as they speak.

"But why am I still alive?“ Noctis asked as he stared at his hand, noticing the Ring of Lucii wasn't there. "I'm pretty sure I died on the throne."

His friends winced at that.

"We're not sure of what happened either." Ignis replied, his arms crossed and face contorted in concentration. "All we could remember was fighting against those horde of daemons and then the princess showed up to help—"

Noctis cut him off. "Princess?“

"Your sister." Gladio inserted.

Nostic perked at that. "What?! She was there?! What happened to her? Is she—“

Prompto placed a calming hand on his chest. "Dude, take it easy. Like Iggy said, we don't know what happened. One moment we were fighting daemons with the Princess, next we woke up underneath this huge ass tree with you in it still in a coma."

Noctis couldn't help but stare at him in disbelief but also with hope. “But she survived, right?” If the four of them survived then she surely would have too.

Prompto's sad smile was answer enough.

The room was quiet after that except for the Prince's quiet sobbing.

-

The very next day, after a thorough examination from a hunter medic and several reassurances that he was fine, Noctis pleaded with his friends to show him where they'd found him. And they did, but the tree he had in mind wasn't the behemoth in front of him where the Citadel was supposed to be.

Calling the tree tall would have been the understatement of the century, it completely dwarfed all the city's skyscrapers. It's trunk was probably as wide as the Disc of Cauthess and it's canopy stretched far.

"How did this get here?“ He questioned, gaping at the giant.

“You guess is as good as ours." Gladio grunted as he and Ignis cleaved their way through the dense underbrush surrounding the roots of the colossal tree.

It took them a while before reaching a decently sized clearing, a large expanse of green grass forming a ring around the tree's ridiculously thick roots.

Looking around them, Noctis took notice of the details that indicated this was no ordinary tree; besides its unusually large stature Noctis can see white gold veins starting off thick along roots which then thinned and branched out as it goes up. Crystals of various shapes, sizes and color were embedded, faintly glowing in beat with the pulsating veins. And the leaves — Noctis picked up a fallen leaf — it was a luscious shade of emerald green with beautiful rainbow like iridescent when caught in the light.

"Noct!" Prompto called.

Looking up he saw them pointing to a large hole created by the tree's roots forming into some sort of doorway. Stepping inside, Noctis scanned the makeshift compartment. It could probably fit five people, plenty of flowers sprouted out of the somewhat undisturbed ground as if the tree purposely avoid this little patch of area.

Ignis and Gladio stood guard at the entrance while Prompto went to the very back of the area and sat down with a heavy sigh. He leaned against the tree and patted the space beside him. “Found you here, we woke up just outside... ”

Noctis paused for a moment, staring at the space beside his best friend before plopping down and leaning against the tree as well.

He could feel magic emanating from the tree, familiar but at the same time different. He sensed it reaching out towards him and unconsciously meet it halfway, it was then he felt it envelope him in a warm and comfortable cocoon, much like being swaddled in his amazingly soft bed for a nap. Unable to stop himself, he just closed his eyes and went to sleep.

Seeing their friend having fallen asleep, the other three followed suit, resting against the tree and be lulled by its comforting magic.

It was at that moment the four companions felt they could actually rest easy. No more fighting, no more daemons, no more duties (they'll get to that later), and no more prophecy. Just them and the sound of rustling leaves.

But with this sleep brought a dream to Noctis.

He was standing beside the very throne where his father would sit during council meetings, and right infront of him was his radiant older sister in her simple black dress standing in front of him with a smile. She reached out a hand and gently placed it against his cheek.

"You've done well, baby brother. Eos is saved and the Dawn shines upon the land once more. I'm sure you have a lot of questions but the answers will come to you in time."

Noctis clutched at the hand against his cheek as tears slowly trailed down his face. "Rosie, I—"

She shushed him with an exaggerated raised brow, as if daring him to interrupt her. The familiar action brought out a laugh from the siblings. Noctis quickly wrapped his arms around his sister and hugged her as tight as he could, praying to whoever gave him this boon that this moment be stretched on longer.

The siblings stayed like that for a while, basking in each others presence before he felt his sister speak. "I'm afraid I don't have much time, Noct. I came here to warn you."

Noctis paused at that. What? Warn him?

"You've fulfilled your task but the fight is far from over. Danger still lurks in the land and has masked its presence among the people. You need to find it before it'll overrun the whole continent.”

Noctis tensed as his mind went reeling at the message. He just killed Ardyn barely a month ago and now he's hearing there is still more?! It's as if his last quest wasn't bad enough!

A hand cupped the back of his head and Noctis felt some tension bleed out of him. ”I know. Gods, I know how unfair it is, Noct, but I wouldn't be here if it wasn't so urgent. Rest assured though that you'll have plenty of help this time around, they'll come to you soon."

His sister pulled away to look at him with teary eyes and a sad but proud smile. "I'm sorry for not being there for you as much in the end but know that I love you with all my heart, little brother. Now, be the King I always knew you were meant to be."

At those words Noctis' vision started blurring at the edges and he panicked.

No! It was too soon! He wanted her to stay! He'd be all alone if she disappeared!

As if reading his thoughts his sister gave him an incredulous look. "You'll have your friends with you, brother. They'll be with you every step of the way — and I'm not just referring to Gladio, Ignis and Prompto." Her expression softened back into a smile. "And remember what I always tell you, little brother. Physically, we may be apart,"

Noctis felt his chest tighten at the thought that this might very well be the last time they'll ever do this little ritual. "…but distance means nothing when it deals with the heart.” He whispers brokenly as he felt her place a kiss on his forehead.

Then everything fades to black.

But before he completely loses consciousness, he hears his sister and several other voices proclaim as one, "The Allmother has returned to Eos and has gifted the people the Guardian Tree, her conduit, through which to provide her protection and her bountiful blessings."

A furious beating of wings.

"King Noctis Lucis Caelum CXIV, with the Allmother’s grace, lead your kingdom to a new era of peace and prosperity."

In a softer tone but no less crystal clear his sister whispers, "Walk tall, my brother."

[dalamjisung]

let’s get physical ❃ jackson wang

word count: 8064

genre: hospital!au, fluff

pairing: physical therapist!jackson x fighter!reader

description: things are not all that great; how do you tell that to the person that’s only seen you smiling? or the one in which you are a professional MMA fighter and Jackson happens to be your escape from everything. 

“One more, let’s go!” Coach shouts and holds the punching bag more firmly. “Don’t stop now, Y/N, just one more minute!”

You gather all the energy left in your body, punching and kicking to your heart’s content. You’ve been training for the past three hours, as you usually do; you’ve been at this routine for years now, since your debut as an MMA fighter. Wake up, train, go home, train some more, sleep, and do it all over again. You had nothing to complain, really– still undefeated, you were the most feared opponent in the octagon. 

“And… time!” You finish with a roundhouse kick and allow your body to fall on the mat, breathing harsh and fast. “Come on, go take a shower and ice your muscles. You know better than to wait too long.”

“Yes, Coach!” You shout animatedly, excited to go home and get some sleep. 

“And don’t forget that instead of training, you have physical therapy tomorrow!” He says while packing things up. “We need to get that knee back to perfection before the match in the end of the month.”

You nod and run to the dressing room, gathering your things before Coach changes his mind and makes you stay for extra stretching. It was rare for him to be so forgiving of your free time, but ever since you took a kick to the knee that sent you to the hospital, Coach has been taking it easier on you– the fact that you were going home at all was proof enough. 

As always, you sleep like a rock, your body and your mind too tired to even dare and keep you awake. After a warm shower, your eyes basically close on their own and, as per usual, you don’t even climb into your bed, content with just laying on a comfy mattress on top of your blankets. It usually ends up with you cold and sneezing the next morning, but it’s nothing some warm coffee couldn’t fix. You make sure your mug is heated with hot water so that it will not interfere with your precious and much needed body heat. You have just enough time to eat some toast and throw a hoodie over your leggings, grabbing your wallet and prescription glasses on the way. Listening to music while walking, you make your way to the clinic, ready for the pain you know is about to come. The hit had been quite hard and they couldn’t do much at the time besides prescribe you a lot of physical therapy and some pain medicine; the attending physician had been a resident and not really sure of what he was doing, yet you still smiled and thanked him for his hard work, going home dejected. 

“Y/N!” You hear someone shout excitingly. You look to the side to see Jackson coming out of the bathroom, smiling widely. “Back for more?”

You laugh. You met Jackson when you started getting medical attention for your knee, a few months ago; coincidently, he was also receiving physical therapy. According to him, he hurt his shoulder while fencing and that made his job a little hard– but that is the extend of what you know about this man. He is a chatterbox, that is undeniable, but it never gets personal– on either sides. He knows your name and that you hurt yourself training, but he doesn’t know what you were training or when it happened… you refer to him as your physical therapy friend. 

“I just couldn’t stay away for too long,” You wink at him, ignoring the fact that you looked as if you had just woken up. “I missed you too much.”

“Careful or I might just fall in love with you,” He chuckles and you two walk to the resting area. 

The physical therapy room is basically a huge room with multiple beds and equipments, and somehow, you and Jackson always end up side by side. The instructors chat with you two and although you follow instructions to the letter, Jackson seems to have a mind of his own, moving freely in the room and using the equipments he seems to like. You look at your own instructor and he just shrugs, continuing to guide you through the exercise for your knee. An hour later you are done and ready to go home, knowing that today Coach wouldn’t bother your for the rest of the day. 

“Y/N!” Your instructor calls. “Your knee is really improving! I’m happy with the results today.”

“Ah, that’s so good to hear,” You sigh, relived. “I have a match in the end of the month and I hope to be all healed up by then.”

“I’m sure we can make it happen!” He high fives you. “Don’t forget to get us tickets for your big comeback!”

“I won’t!” You smile and make your way outside. It is still cold but now there is a light drizzle that makes you shiver a bit, the noise almost lulling you to sleep.

“What match?” Jackson asks, and you notice he’s been outside, waiting by the door. 

“Nothing too important,” You lie, chuckling a bit. “Have you been waiting for me, Jacks?”

“Oh, yeah,” He smiles wide, but it still doesn’t hide the blush that covers his cheeks. “I was thinking you might want to join me for some coffee? I don’t have work for another couple of hours, so…”

“Careful,” You joke, throwing his previous words back at him. “ Or I might just think you’ve fallen for me, already.”

He just rolls his eyes and starts walking.

                                                                 ————————

“What you want?” Jackson asks looking at the pastries a little bit too seriously. He frowns and examines each one. 

“Just a latte,” You say, not really hungry for anything yet.

“You have to eat something,” He chastises and you just stare at him as he confidently walks up to the counter, skipping the long line forming and screams the order. “One latte, one Americano, and two chocolate scones, please!”

“How many times do I have to tell you to get in line, Jackson?” The barista yells back, but getting his things ready nonetheless. 

“What is the point of you dating one of my best friends if not for me to have the privilege to skip the line?” He dramatically says, laughing at her face. “And you know I don’t have much time, so let’s go!”

“I’m going to tell on you!” She laughs. “Jaebeom won’t be happy about you treating his girlfriend like this!”

“He loved me first,” Jackson winks and grabs his stuff. “But it on Jaebeom’s tab, please and thank you!

You manage to get a table and you just observe the show that Jackson puts on for the other people; he seems to enjoy the attention more than you’ll ever be comfortable with, no matter how many people watch you fight, it always made you uncomfortable. Once he makes his way back, eyes follow him– men laughing at his antics, girl commenting on his good looks… and you had to admit, Jackson is really handsome, although you think he is particularly attractive when he’s being silly and making you laugh. You aren’t blind– nor stupid. You know Jackson’s flirty jokes aren’t just jokes. You feel the tension as much as he does, but you know better than to cross that line– the line in which you know what he does and he knows what you do and he’s always on edge about you getting hurt and you’re always on edge about him breaking up with you once you chose your career over him– even though you really, really want to. You might be mirroring your past relationships on him, but it’s what you’ve always known. People don’t take MMA seriously enough; it’s either not a real job, or too dangerous of a job. There is no in between. 

“Here you go,” He smiles, sitting in front of you.

“Thank you,” You say, taking a sip of what you just decided to be the best coffee of your life. “This is amazing!”

“I know,” He chuckles. “I’m always here when I’m not at work– my best friend’s grandmother owns the place and his girlfriend manages it. Those two will give Jaebeom gray hair sooner than we expected, but he deserves it.”

“They’re a handful?” You try to guess, giggling at the face he makes.

“Ms. Im completely ignores our medical advice and believes herself to be invincible… she is 82,” He deadpans and you completely miss the our medical advice part. “And his girlfriend, although always being there for him and honestly being one of the kindest people I know, always puts him in his place. It’s quite hilarious to watch; one day he gave her some attitude because of a bad thing that happened at work and she didn’t talk to him for five days. He was on his knees by the end of the week.”

“Oh damn,” You say, eyes wide. The girl behind the counter looks so sweet… it’s incredible what you find out about people once you actually get to know them. “I would’ve never guessed it, just by looking at her.”

“Oh, she’s crazy,” Jackson says with the utmost calm in his voice and you almost choke on your drink. “But we love her, so it’s okay.”

“What have I gotten myself into?” You mutter to yourself, looking at the man in front of you. 

Jackson always looks so composed, everything he wears fitting him just right, everything he does looking just right, everything he touches being just right– and then he starts talking. And that’s the Jackson you know and adore; the one that says stupid things without a care in the world, the one that doesn’t look so damn perfect all the time. You think that you only see him that way because you barely know him, but got to know a version of him in which he’s comfortable and easy going. 

“So,” He says, leaning a bit on the table. “Tell me more about how you messed up that pretty knee of yours.”

“Pretty knee?” You laugh, head thrown back and all. “Let me guess, you’re into knees?”

“That’s a talk for another time,” His eyes are intense and heavy on you, and you gulp, suddenly feeling hotter and hotter by the second.

“I– uh, I m-messed up at work,” You stutter out, blushing under his knowing smirk. “And here I am.”

“What do you work with?” He asks, sounding genuinely interested. “You never talk about it.”

“Neither do you,” You say defensively, managing to deflect the question towards him. “What do you work with, you mysterious man?”

“I’m actually a–“

“Jackson!” The barista shouts, extending her arm over the counter while holding her phone. “It’s Jaebeom; he’s saying it’s urgent!”

Without a word, Jackson sprints to the phone, attentively listening to the person on the other side, and after a few nods and ‘of course,’ he is walking back to you with a look you’ve never seen before on his face. 

“I am really sorry, Y/N,” He smiles sadly, shoulders tense and forehead frowning. “I have to go, it’s urgent, but… can I see you again? Outside of the clinic?”

You are at a loss of words. To say you did not expect him to do this now would be an understatement– you didn’t expect him to do this ever. And you want to tell him that; you want to tell him no and explain that you don’t have the time nor the emotional stability to do that now, but you find yourself nodding, and then you find yourself typing your number on his phone, and then you find yourself alone, because in the end you always seem to find yourself alone. 

                                                                ————————

Coach is screaming behind you, hyping you up for another three minutes. A round lasts for five minutes, with one-minute breaks in between, but Coach always said you should be conditioned to fight for six minutes with thirty-second breaks in between. Better to be over prepared than to be under attack, he always said, and you always laughed with fond memories of the first time you heard him say that, when you still thought you could argue that his logic was flawed and that since you are a professional fighter, your job is basically being under attack. 

“Let’s go, Y/N!” He shouts and you huff, a headache creeping in on you, and you know it will make you suffer later in the night. “Come on, Y/N, stronger! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

“Argh!” You shout, falling down at the sound of the buzzer. “Goddammit!”

You hear Coach sigh. “What’s happening, kid?”

“Nothing…” You mutter, not wanting to admit it. You refused to.

“You seem to forget you can’t lie to me,” Coach laughs humorlessly. “I raised you since middle school; now let’s try again: what’s happening?”

And he’s right. Coach, also known as Hwang Jisung, had been your Physical Education teacher back in middle school, where he saw potential where everyone saw trouble. Because home had always been hectic, school was the place your aggression was misplaced, since it was a place in which aggression wasn’t a part of. Your mother left before you were old enough to even remember her face, and you father took alcohol as crutch, relying on it to get by, and even though you think he’s raised you well and the best way he could, Coach took the paternal role in your life after he saw you punching a kid in the face for speaking ill about your dad. Nowadays, your dad is doing better, having been sober for a couple of years, but Coach never left. And you are extremely thankful for it and him. 

In the end, you tell all. You tell him about Jackson and about the growing tension in between you two, and about how you’re scared– scared that you’ll end up like you did after your last breakup, crying and angry for weeks. You are scared to be fooled again; and scared to fool him. But most of all, you are scared to put effort into something that will never have a future. 

“I can’t do it again, Coach,” You mumble, stretching your hands above your head. “I can’t waste my time and energy like that ever again– not when I’m this close to the belt.”

“Sure,” Coach shrugs. “I hear you, kid, and I am happy to hear that dedication of yours… but also remember that you have a life outside the ring. You seem to forget that a lot, and it scares me, because if something happens and you have to stop fighting, I want you to have something to go back to.”

You nod, letting his words sink. Did you have something to go back to, besides an empty apartment with a bed neatly made? 

No. You don’t think you did.

                                                                ————————

Pick you up at 7.

That’s the last you hear from Jackson, a week after he left you at the coffee shop. In between practicing and shamelessly flirting at the physical therapy clinic, you two haven’t actually found a good time to go out, always missing each other by minutes. But tonight is the night, and there you are, in your living room, nervously pacing from one side to the other. The dress feels weird in your body; it’s been a while since you got dressed to look good, instead of just getting dress to practice. It felt good and odd at the same time– almost like a break from routine. 

I’m here.

You take a deep breath and go to the elevator, impatiently waiting for it to get to your floor, and then back to the lobby, where you can see him and oh god he looks perfect– he looks literally flawless, what the actual fuck. Jackson is leaning on his car, white tshirt contrasting with his blue jeans, and he looks so good that you might just go back home and give up on all of this. But you can’t, because he sees you and then he’s not perfect anymore, because his eyes look like they are about to jump out of his face, like in a cartoon, and his incredulous laugh is a little too loud, and suddenly he is doubling over the car.

“You look too beautiful,” He breathes out, eyes sparkling a bit. “I can’t handle it.”

“Ya, you scared the shit out of me!” You shout, laughing. “I thought something was wrong!”

“If anything,” He says opening the car door for you. “Everything is just right.”

You blush and the date starts. It’s almost like following a script; you laugh at something he says, you flirt, you flirt some more, joke around, and everything is good. Jackson spills some wine on his shirt and instead of being embarrassed, he laughs it off and asks if you’re less nervous now.

“I fucked up already,” He explains, looking at you seriously, although you catch the mischievous glint in his eyes. “That means you have a Fuck Up Pass that can be used at any time.”

“That’s barely a fuck up,” You snort, pointing at the tiny stain. “But I’m not stupid– I’m taking that pass.”

“Planning on fucking up?” He laughs, finishing his cup. “You took the pass a bit too eagerly…”

“I just know myself,” Eyes down on your hands, the same hands that are too close to his, you admit. “I always end up fucking something up.”

“Oh,” He says dramatically, eyes moving to where yours look. He moves his hands on tops of yours and you cannot help but notice that no one ever held your hands like that before… this gently. “I can’t wait for it.”

Dinner goes by smoothly after that; Jackson keeps making jokes, and even decides to take a romantic stroll in the night market, under the excuse that he was still hungry. He buys both of you spicy tteokbokki and some chocolate filled bungeoppang, humming happily as you two walk hand in hand. You learn a lot about him, then; he has an older brother and a nice, whom he loves dearly, and before committing to medical school, because now you know he’s a doctor, he was on the path to be an olympic fencer. Jackson loves singing and dancing and he even demonstrates it, belting out to some random lyrics. 

“What about you?” He asks, pulling you closer by the shoulder. The night market’s noise stay behind you as you walk in the direction of your apartment. “You know about my family, my job, my friends. I still know pretty much nothing about you.”

And this is the moment you hate the most in any date you’ve been. The moment you have to chose– do you want to tell him about your job, the one that includes punching people out of conscience? Or do you want to tell him about your chaotic childhood and the man you consider to be your father? Or, better yet, you could tell him about your failed past relationships that traumatized you for what you believe will be the rest of your life, making you insecure and afraid of yourself… 

“There’s not much to say,” You shrug instead. “I’m not nearly as interesting as you.”

He laughs, but you know he’s not convinced. You two stop in front of your building and you ask him if he wants to come up for tea, and when he says yes, and walks in your apartment, and kisses you passionately, you know that sooner or later the things you hide will come out. But then he pushes you to your room and you think later might be a better time, anyways. 

                                                                ————————

The rain is not what wakes you up; but Jackson is. His arms, hidden under the covers you never use, are heavy around you and the weight, unfamiliar and too warm, make you wiggle in discomfort. Slightly throwing his arm to the other side, you hold a giggle as he groans, rolling to his side and allowing you to hug him instead; your leg finding a place to slot itself in-between his and your arm hugging his naked waist. You rest your forehead on his back and exhale in relief, finally comfortable… and then a phone ring. You are not sure if it’s yours or his, but he is the one that picks up, so you assume it’s not for you. 

“What?” He groggily asks, hoarse voice doing things to your awakening body. “What?!”

Jackson shots up, and you almost roll out of the bed with the suddenness of it all. 

“No, no no no, I’ll be there in fifteen!” He shouts, jumping around as he pulled his underwear up, looking for his pants next. “For fuck’s sake Jinyoung, cover for me just this time! I’ll be there soon, bye!”

“Is everything okay?” You ask, letting your head hit the pillow. Without his bodily warmth, the covers that miraculously cover your naked body offer you just the right amount of heat to lull you back to sleep.

“Yeah,” He hurriedly says. “I’m really sorry this is happening, oh my god, I completely overslept and it’s already 11 in the morning and work–“

“It’s what?!” 

It takes only a few seconds for you to join him in the search for clothes, naked bodies brushing each other as you pass by him to reach your underwear. He gives you your t-shirt and you give him his jacket, and like that, you both get ready in record time, running out the door and to opposite directions, a wave as the only parting goodbye. You can only imagine what you looked like, running for your life to the gym, hoping that Coach won’t kill you for being three hours late. You know you are fucked as soon as you walk in and see him throwing punches in the bag.

“Coach–“

“One week until your comeback match,” He growls. “And you are slacking off?”

You expected this.

“I told you to get a life outside the ring, Y/N,” Coach says walking to you. “Not to replace it.”

“Sorry, Coach,” You mumble, frowning. “It won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” He grumbles. “Go stretch. You’re training an extra three hours for the time you made me wait.”

Well, this you didn’t expect.

“Did you eat?” He asks, already putting his jacket on. “You look like you just rolled out of bed…”

“I didn’t, Coach, sorry…” You look at him sheepishly, embarrassed with yourself. You were trained better than that. 

“I’ll go grab something,” He says. “I want you fully stretched by the time I come back.”

To say that training was ruthless is an understatement. By the end of the six hours of stretching, and cardio, and weights, you could barely move. You were physically and mentally exhausted, and you just wanted to sit down and cry a little bit. You felt embarrassed and disappointed in yourself– losing track of the time because Jackson spent the night, what a ridiculous excuse; you were better then to let a crush take over you like that. You were also extremely confused and upset, knowing that he opened up to you, he managed to do it even though it probably wasn’t easy, and you can barely talk abut your family. You can’t talk about your friends because you don’t have many to begin with, and you refused to talk about your job, knowing what follows after. Aggressive. Heartless. Impulsive. Although you know better, it is almost impossible to ignore those words that hit you harder than any opponent you’ve faced in the octagon. 

You think that after last night, you’d die if Jackson looked at your hands the way most people do; they are not weapons, you want to scream at people. They won’t hurt you! You still remember the way your ex-boyfriend flinched when you reached out to touch him during a fight. It’s not my fault, he told you; you hurt everyone you touch. You didn’t want to hurt Jackson; ever. Last night had been incredible– he reminded you of everything you seemed to have forgotten, everything that had been taken away from you. He treated you like a woman– he cared for you not because he thought you needed it, but because he wanted to… you could see it in his eyes as he held your hand when you were walking down the stairs, or the way he would hold the door for you. He didn’t regard you as incapable, but as independent. He didn’t see you as weak, but as precious. You could still feel the warm touch of his hands on yours, and you can’t help but want more. You want to feel like that forever. 

But you can’t. Reality grounds you again when Coach starts going over your schedule for the next day; physical therapy, rest, train. You nod, promising to never be late again, and you begrudgingly move to get your things, body aching and tired. You finally have the chance to look at your phone, after six hours, and you see the five missed calls and numerous texts from Jackson; you call him immediately.

“Hello?” You say. “Jackson? Is everything okay?”

“Y/N! Hey,” He sounds relived, almost. “I’m so sorry if I freaked you out, but I forgot my wallet in your apartment and I just got out of an appointment… I was wondering if I could go pick it up?”

“Ah,” You hope you don’t sounds as disappointed as you feel, expecting him to say something more meaningful than that. Dream on, Y/N, you mock yourself internally. “I can take it to you, no problem. Text me your work address?”

“Oh, thank you so much,” He sighs, and you hear someone calling his name in the background. “See you soon!”

Dejected, you walk back to your place and you know exactly where his wallet in– sitting on the bedside table, where he left after he grabbed the condom. 

“Come on, Y/N,” You say to yourself. “Stop acting like a fool. It was one night… just one night.”

You take a taxi to the address he sent you because you are too tired to walk. It takes only a few minutes and you are surprised to see the hospital, big and mighty in front of you. You knew he works as a doctor, but you were expecting something more like a private clinic. You walk in, knowing the place already, and you go to the reception desk.

“Excuse me,” You say with a tight smile. “I’m looking for Dr. Jackson Wang?”

“Do you have an appointment?” She smiles wide, and you shake your head. “I think he is booked for the night, ma’am, but I’m sure we can find a–“

“Oh, no need,” You shake your head. “I’m just here to give his wallet back…”

“Ah, I see,” She smiles. “You can leave it with me and I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“If it’s no problem I’d like to give it to him myself,” You ask, blushing a little.

“I can call him for you, if you’d like, but this is not the first time someone drops his things with us,” She smiles understandingly, chuckling a little. “Dr. Wang is a very forgetful person.”

“I see,” Your shoulder tense up. So this is not unusual for him, I guess. “I’ll wait over there.”

You sit down in the main entrance, and you look around; families waiting for their sons, or daughter, or fathers, or mothers; boyfriends, girlfriends, spouses. You wonder what it’s like having a family member waiting for you, ready to embrace you after a consultation or a surgery… only Coach waited for you; but then again, Coach is family. 

“Ah, thank god you’re here,” You hear someone saying next to you, and you turn to see the girl that works in the bakery Jackson took you. She is smiling, arms open to a man with blue scrubs. He drowns in her, closing his eyes and relaxing his shoulders, seeming to find comfort in her. “It’s been a hard day.”

“I’m sure it has, love,” She says back, and you can’t help but feel guilty to eavesdrop such an intimate moment… you also couldn’t help but feel jealous; who would embrace you like that after a match? “But it’s alright, cause tomorrow is your day off and I made you some chocolate scones. Taehyung-ie is really excited for you to sleep over to–“

“Y/N!” 

Interrupting the moment, you see Jackson running to you with a huge smile on his face, and you have to reprimand yourself, remembering the nurse’s words; it’s not the first time someone drops his things here, you think, smiling back. Don’t be a fool. 

“Thank you so much for bringing it to me,” And Jackson, as always, does the unexpected, pulling you into a tight hug. You freeze for a few seconds, before allowing yourself to mold your body to his, feeling, for the first time, comfortably small. “Do you want to come up? I have some time before my next appointment and I just picked up some food… you didn’t eat yet, did you?”

“No, not yet but–“

“Good!” And he pulls you by the hand, surprising everyone around. You see the nurse that talked to you before and even she looks shocked; you can’t help but smile to yourself.

I’m going to allow myself to be a fool, you think, following him to his office. Just for tonight, I’m going to let myself enjoy this.

You are lying to yourself and you know it, but you don’t care. Not when Jackson sits you down on the couch in his office room, and pushes the food towards you, nagging you in the most caring of ways to eat and relax a bit.

“You look extremely tense,” He scoffs. “Do I make you that nervous?”

“N-not at all,” You smile, tightly. “I just wasn’t expecting this…”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you have plans?” He frowns softly, and a wave of guilt washes over you. He looks like a puppy!

“No!” You basically shout. “No plans. This is great, thanks Jacks.”

“So,” He starts, looking at you intently. “You still haven’t told me about yourself…”

“What about me?” And you are tense again, but this time it’s different. You recognize this kind of tension easily– it’s the same as you feel whenever you step into the ring. This is not a fight, you have to remind yourself, trying to escape the defensive mindset. Get it together, Y/N! “I told you I’m not that interesting–“

“Anything about you,” He sighs, and you know he’s frustrated with you. “Literally anything; your dreams, hopes, fears. Work, family, friends. Whatever you want to tell me, but tell me something.”

“Jackson…”

“I don’t want to push you,” He mumbles, letting his head fall on his hands, and he looks so tired. His eyes look oddly dead and sunken, and you just want to embrace him, care for him, but you don’t. You don’t dare to touch him when he’s already that fragile, afraid to break him, too. “But I’ve been trying to crack you for months, and I thought that when you agreed to go out with me it meant something– that you liked me too, hopefully. But you don’t open up. We had sex and I don’t even know where you ran to the next morning, Y/N…”

“It’s not easy, Jackson,” You say a little harsher than you intended.

“It’s not easy for me, either,” He defends himself, leaning back in the couch. “It’s so fucking hard but I did it for you!”

“Why?” You asks, frowning. “If it’s so hard, why would you do it?”

“Because I like you,” He says, softly looking at you. “I’ve liked you for so long now, and I’m so confused… sometimes I think you like me too, and sometimes I think you’re just seeing where this goes.”

“What?”

“You don’t talk to me,” Jackson sounds so defeated, and it’s all your fault. “What am I supposed to think?”

“That I like you too!” You shout, getting up and putting your jacket. “I’d never string you along, Jackson. I’m not that kind of person!”

“I don’t know what kind of person you are!” He cries out and out of everything you’ve heard, this is the one that hurts the most. “You never showed me! You never allowed me to see you!”

And you know he is right. You know he tried his best to be patient with you, to find out more about you, to respect your privacy, but in the end, he is right. You never showed yourself to him. He saw you naked, but you never laid yourself bare, and you are not sure you ever could. 

“I’m sorry,” You choke out, taking a few steps back. “I’m really sorry Jackson, I- I got to go.”

“Y/N, no,” He reaches out for you, but you are out of there before he can even register it. 

The ride back home feels much shorter than before and you are thankful; you couldn’t burst out crying in the back of a taxi… you wouldn’t. Once you are home, however, you cry from the front door to your room, allowing yourself to feel like you behaved before– a pice of shit. Screaming at him and then running away were the stupidest decisions you’ve ever made; you don’t think you’ll be able to forget the look in his eyes as you opened the door. Sad, defeated, exhausted. 

Maybe this is for the better, you try to console yourself. Maybe I’m saving him the energy… dealing with me can’t be easy. He’s already busy with his patients, so yeah, maybe I’m helping him, after all.

You repeat that like a mantra, and for what feels like the first time ever since you moved into your apartment, you pull the messy covers back, and climb onto your bed, hoping that the weight the blankets offer would replace the comfort of having his body next to you. 

It doesn’t and you barely sleep. 

                                                                ————————

The week flies by and you don’t see Jackson at the clinic. Your chest contracts when thinking of him skipping on his health because of how uncomfortable you made him, and you even text him– saying he can’t miss physical therapy because of you and that you’ll change your appointment date if he prefers, but he never answers and you give up. With the increase in training, you also barely have time to think about it, but when you do, it hits you like a freight train; knocking the air out of your lungs and the sleep out of your body. 

“Focus!” Coach shouts, and you try; you really try to focus your eyes on the bag but it moves to fast and you miss it. “Goddammit Y/N… what happened? You were on top of your game yesterday!”

“I couldn’t sleep,” You mumble, frowning and giving yourself a few taps on the head, hoping that it would wake you up. “I’m so tired…”

“Okay, we’re ending it here,” He sighs. “The match is tomorrow… are you sure you’re ready for it?”

“Yes,” You answer mechanically. “Yes, Coach.”

“Okay,” He nods, frowning. “Come on, I’ll give you a rise home after dinner.”

He orders your favorite and you two eat in silence, enjoying each other’s company as much as you could, feeling the tension slowly leave your body and make way for nervousness. You haven’t faced an opponent in a while– you are sure how this will go. 

“What happened to the boy?” Coach ask as he drinks his water. “You don’t talk about him anymore… I was excited to meet my future son-in-law!”

“Ha ha,” You say emotionless. “It didn’t work out.”

“How so?”

“Since when are you so invested in my love life, Coach?” You ask, squinting at him. 

“Since you got one,” He shrugs. “You looked really happy, that’s all.”

“I was,” You whisper. “But it would never work out. He started asking too many questions that I didn’t have answers for.”

“Like what?” Coach nags. “You’re one of the smartest people I know; you have an answer for everything!”

“He asked about dad,” You say, too quick to even process what is about to come out of your mouth. “He asked about my life– my family, my job, myself. I can’t answer those, Coach, you know I can’t.”

Coach just nods, looking at his hands. “Do you trust him?”

“With my life,” You joke, thinking of him in his scrubs. “He’s a doctor…”

“Huh, so his schedule would fit well with yours,” Coach smiles slightly. 

“Coach, don’t say that,” You beg. “It hurts. Having hope hurts.”

“You trust him with your life, but not with yourself,” Coach sighs. “What am I going to do with you, kid? You can’t shut everyone out like that. One day, I’ll be gone, and who will take care of you, huh? Who will watch after my little girl?”

You have tears in your eyes. 

“Y/N, he makes you happy,” Coach grabs your hands, warming the up in between his. “Listen to this old man, will you? You don’t meet a lot of those– people that make you happy. He wants to know more about you because he cares… or else he wouldn’t even have asked. You’ve took punch after punch, in this life, I know that better than anyone, but maybe he can help you heal.”

“I don’t think I’m capable of healing, Coach,” You say in between sobs. “But I really want to. Oh god, I want to.”

“You’ll get there,” He brings you closer and hugs you. “I know you will. Now let’s go home; you need to sleep for tomorrow.”

The night is quick and so is the day, and soon it’s time; you are backstage getting ready and warming up. It’s time for your comeback. Coach is next to you, counting as you jump rope, voice calm and smooth and you smile at him. This man has given you everything; you aren’t failing him now. 

“Let’s go!” Someone calls from outside the door and almost as if something inside of you switches, you are moving, and moving, and moving until you are at the octagon. 

Your opponent is on the other side, jumping up and down and she tries to look threatening, teeth showing through the mouthguard and fists tight, but you can’t help but smile and wink at her. You’ve always been like that, light and carefree inside the ring. Not reckless, though; never reckless. Maybe I should be a little reckless sometime, you think, chuckling to yourself as the judge calls both of you to the center to touch gloves. 

“Let’s have a good and clean fight,” He says.

“You’re going down,” She says, and you try to find her name somewhere in your mind. 

“You’re welcome to try, Hyejin-ah,” You smile widely, going back to your place.

You hear the bell and it starts. The first five minutes are quick and you rejoice as your feet are quick and precise– kicking, jumping, moving. Your fists protect your face, keeping your guard up, and your eyes, attentive and trained, gather enough information on her so that you can finally start playing. The second round is when things get tough, for both of you. Hyejin is stronger, but you are quicker; moving as fast as possible, you punch when possible, and it’s only when she lands a jab to your face that you lose yourself for a little bit… and she pounces. Punch after punch, you can feel the glove sliding over your sweaty skin, and you feel it tear, you feel it bleed, and you feel alive. You know what to do; the punch comes and it takes only a few seconds for you to duck and hit her in the temple with your heel. In the business, you are known for your roundhouses and when the judge raises your arm above your head, you can’t help but think how good it is to be home. And how much you’d like to share this with someone. Hell, scratch that; how much you’d like to share this with Jackson.

You get back to the dressing room while still on an adrenaline high. But then it fades. And you trip. And things go a little black for a while; and you can hear Coach shouting your name, and you can feel his hand shaking you, but you can’t really get up. You’re tired and spent and you just want some sleep. You tell him that– or at least you think you did. You sleep for a while and when you wake up again you are in a car, and you know because there are bumps and Coach is there, holding your hand, and he looks like he’s praying. You smile and you think that going back to sleep for a little while more won’t hurt. You wake up once more, just for a few seconds, because of the voices next to you.

“… her condition is stable for now… waiting on tests…”

“… will she be okay?!”

“Yes.”

Then it’s fine to sleep some more, you think.

“I swear to god, kid,” You wake up with Coach’s whispers. “When you wake up, I will kill you.”

“Seriously?!” You let out an airy laugh, putting some effort into opening your eyes. “Are you really threatening me in a hospital?”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Coach gets up, trying to look stern, but you see the softness in his eyes too easily to actually be afraid. “Are you insane? The doctors all said you were malnourished and lacking sleep! You had a fever when we got here… how the fuck did you get in the ring like that?!”

“I felt fine in the ring,” You say, confused. “But Coach…”

“What?” He grumbles, looking at you with tired eyes.

“Did I win?”

“You don’t remember?” He is genuinely surprised. “You knocked her out, kid. I’m so proud of you!”

You smile in relief. You won. You’re back. 

“The neurosurgeon said nothing is wrong with your head,” Coach informs. “You took quite a fall, I’m surprised nothing happened. The Physical Therapist is coming soon to look at your knee… I’m still a bit worried about that.”

“Ah,” You smile at him tightly. “All my money from tonight will go to this hospital, I see…”

“Shut u–“

“Excuse me,” You hear a voice from the door. “My name is Dr. Wang and I’ll be your doctor today. What seems to be the problem?”

When he looks up, you feel like vomiting. His smile disappears and his eyes bulge, wide enough for them to look like they will pop out at any second. You know what you look like– swollen lip, cut eyebrow, and bruised cheeks. You felt it all. 

“Y/N?” He shouts and you are surprised, flinching a little. His steps are quick and he’s soon inspecting you, hands all over your face and pressing down on your ribs. “Are you okay? What the hell happened?”

“I–“ You stop yourself before you can come up with an excuse, eyes finding Coach’s; he smiles and points to the door, walking outside. “I think we need to talk.”

Jackson just nods, hands shaking as he slowly traces your injuries. 

“Jacks, I’m fine,” You sigh, closing your eyes to the feeling. “I’m used to it…”

“Used to it?!” He shouts again and you can’t help but laugh as his behavior. 

“I’m a professional MMA fighter, Jackson,” You say, looking deep into his eyes, waiting for any sign of fear or disgust to show. But it never does. “This is literally my job.”

“You had a fight tonight?” He asks, moving to the other side where the chart is. “What happened? Did you get knocked out? Did they check for concussions? My friend woks for Neurosurgery, I can call him!”

“Yah, calm down,” You ask, pulling him to you by his hand. “I’m just malnourished. And exhausted. Haven’t really been eating and sleeping lately…”

At that he stops. 

“Me neither,” At that, Jackson finally looks straight into your eyes, and you see it; the pain, the anxiety, the hesitation. “I don’t know what happened, Y/N, and–“

“I’m sorry,” You say before he can. “I’m sorry about everything. I like you. I like you very much, but I have some issues and I didn’t know what to do. I want to use my Fuck Up Pass... can I?”

He chuckles, nodding. “What do you mean?”

It seems that once you finally open up, you don’t stop. Until three in the morning you talked; about your past, starting from the young age of when your mother left, to now, and he listens– attentively, holding your hand and smiling as sign of support. He falls asleep before you do, resting his forehead on the bed next to you, and you are still awake once his phone rings nonstop, demanding his presence somewhere else.

“Jackson,” He grunts once you shake him. “You have to go.”

“Why?” His head shots up, eyes barely open.

“I think someone is calling you back to work,” You chuckle. “You can come back later.”

“It’s seven in the goddamned morning,” He groans, getting up and stretching his arms above his head. You have to admit, he looks really good in the morning. “I hate this.”

“That’s a lie,” You call him out, smiling. “You love your job.”

“I do,” And goofy Jackson is back. “I’ll come back once my shift is over and I’ll take you home, yeah?”

You nod and he kisses you goodbye, laughing once the heart machine beeps faster. 

                                                                ————————

“All night I'll riot with you, I know you got my back and you know I got you,” You close your eyes in embarrassment as you hear his voice getting closer. “So come on, come on, come on, let’s get physical!”

“Please,” You beg, grunting when the instructor pushes your knee a bit too hard. “Stop singing that stupid song.”

“Dua Lipa is a queen and you shall never disrespect her again!” He cries out, making you chuckle fondly. Jackson is next to your bed now, sitting on a stool. “How’s the knee, Doc?”

“Pretty good,” Your instructor smiles, nodding appreciatively. “She’d be all healed by now if she hadn’t walked in that ring without stretching.”

“Excuse me,” You nag. “That was months ago!”

“And look where you are now,” Jackson sighs. “Babe, seriously, you need to be more careful. I’m not always there to take care of you.”

“What the fu– You’re not even my doctor!” You protest, frowning at him. “We’ve been dating for three months now and you never–“

“I’m not your doctor because you won’t let me,” He deadpans. “Something about private and work life… tsk.”

The instructor watches you two with a small smile, slowly waking away to the front desk where his colleagues are.

“I won the bet,” He says, raising his hand. “Pay up.”

“Not fair,” One of them grumbles while giving him the money. 

“I said those two would get together, and look at them now.”

You stop bickering to look at the workers in the front desk, staring and laughing at you.

“You’ll destroy my reputation like this,” You complain, but Jackson laughs. 

“What reputation?”

“Shut up,” You chuckle and pulls him in for a kiss. 

“Admit it,” He pecks your lips. “You’ve gotten softer ever since we started da– ouch! Oh my god, guys, have you seen this? My girlfriend, my girlfriend who is a fighter, just punched me! I’m going to die!”

“Oh my god, Jackson,” You grumble, getting up and dragging him out of the clinic. “You’re so dramatic…”

“Said the girl who made a whole fuss about dating me,” He jokes, winking at you when you look at him with your mouth hanging open. He always made jokes about it, although he’s been extremely patient and loving. 

“I’ll kill you one day,” You sigh, grabbing his hand. “But for now, let’s go home.”

He wiggles his brows and you just know what he’s going to do.

“Let’s get physical!”

You smile.

“We’ll see.”

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

okay so this is way longer than I though it would be LOL but at least I figured out the ‘read more’ function!!! Other thank that, I kind of love how this turned out! The General Hospital series has been giving me a lot of joy to write and I hope you all like it too! As always, leave a comment and let me know what you think <3 Love you all!❤️

[purpli-writes]

With Every Cough My Love For You Blossoms

Summary:

Makoto Naegi refuses to confess his love for Izuru and Hajime.

If only he wasn't suffocating on flowers.

You can read it on AO3 here

Makoto gagged on two different colored petals. Kyoko’s hand was comforting as he coughed the flowers out.

Dark red and orange met both of their gazes.

“You still haven’t told them?” Kyoko asked although the answer was already obvious.

“I don’t think I will,” Makoto said as he wiped his mouth. “There’s no point, anyways…”

“You won’t know unless you try.”

“They already have a lot to deal with,” Makoto argued. “There’s no way they’d accept my confession.”

“Makoto,” Kyoko said, sighing as she examined the petals on the ground. “There’s no way this isn’t going to get worse, and when these petals start coming out as whole flowers you aren’t going to be prepared.”

Makoto got up, glaring at the petals and stomping on them.

“Like I said, there’s no way they’d accept my confession. So it’s much better to just keep my friendship with them.”

“Then you’re going to have to look into the surgery,” Kyoko responded coolly. “Assuming you don’t want to die, that is.”

“Of course I don’t want to die…!” Makoto protested. “But the surgery…”

“Then look into confession, Makoto,” Kyoko said, turning to walk away. “Those are your only options, so you better choose quickly.”

Makoto decided to not heed Kyoko’s advice. There was a lot of work to be done before they left for the mainland.

Or there would be if Byakuya didn’t know about his ‘ailment’.

“You can’t actually believe we’ll let you work,” Byakuya began. “It would be stupid if we let the Ultimate Hope die, even if it is you .”

“I’m not going to die by working, Byakuya!” Makoto complained. “It’s not like you don’t need the help…!”

“As if we need your help,” Byakuya said. “You’re useless here, Makoto.”

“Is there something else I should be doing?”

“Yes,” Kyoko interrupted. “Confess already.”

“N-no way…!” Makoto responded. “You can’t actually-”

“If they reject you,” Byakuya said. “I’ll pay for your surgery.”

Makoto frowned, it wasn’t only the rejection he was afraid of. If he had the surgery, would he still want to be friends with Izuru and Hajime?

He didn’t want to seem shallow, but he felt that his strong attachment to them came from his crush.

Before he could ponder his situation anymore he was coughing, violently.

Sharp pain forced him on his knees and in moments, Kyoko was at his side once again.

“It’s getting worse,” Byakuya remarked.

A few petals left his mouth and Makoto gagged at their exit, relieved at the same time.

“It’s not that,” Makoto replied, voice hoarse. “It’s just that there will be more of them.”

“This only proves our point, Makoto,” Kyoko said. “You need to confess or receive medical attention.”

“Confession would be his best option,” Byakuya said. “The Future Foundation will want to see him as soon as we come back.”

Makoto frowned, knowing his friends were right.

“I’ll be fine, guys,” Makoto said. “Usually the disease takes months to become even close to fatal.”

“You’ll have a harder time,” Kyoko replied. “Most people don’t have to deal with so many petals.”

“You’re already forcing enough on us, Makoto,” Byakuya said. “I don’t want to deal with you passing out on the way back to the Future Foundation.”

“I’ll think about it,” Makoto lied, already knowing he’d never confess.

Byakuya and Kyoko didn’t look convinced, but there wasn’t much more they could do.

Kyoko helped Makoto up, giving him one last look, “Please, at least consider it.”

Makoto nodded, deciding to head towards the beach.

They had two days left at Jabberwock before they needed to head back to the mainland. 

I might as well enjoy my time with Izuru and Hajime , Makoto thought. If nothing else, I should remember these feelings before they’re surgically removed… Is that how it works…?

On the beach, Makoto was surprised to see Izuru and Hajime already there.

Izuru had made them keep the long black hair, much to Hajime’s dismay.

“Izuru, Hajime!” Makoto yelled as he walked up to them. “How are you guys?”

“Makoto,” Izuru said. “We are… fine.”

“Are you sure…?” Makoto said, looking at Izuru and Hajime once more. “You don’t sound too sure…”

“Ugh, what that asshole means to say,” Hajime said, taking over. “We're a bit worried about you, Makoto.”

“H-huh…?” Makoto said, hand going for his cheek, an old nervous habit he had yet to beat. “Worried about me…? I don’t understand…?”

“Your physical appearance,” Izuru began to explain. “You’ve been looking weaker and overall more nervous.”

“Really…?” Makoto asked. “Because there’s been nothing going on at all…!”

“We never implied there was,” Izuru responded, lowering himself to look Makoto in the eyes. “However, you just revealed that there is something ‘off’.”

“Huh…?!” Makoto yelled at the close contact. “I did…?”

“You have obvious tells,” Izuru comments. “Are you going to tell us or are you going to make us guess?”

“I mean… it’s nothing important,” Makoto responded quickly. “It’s just about the Future Foundation.”

“You’re lying,” Izuru said. “A plain and boring lie at that.”

“What…?”

“There is something else bothering you,” Izuru said. “Something more important.”

“You’re right,” Makoto admitted looking away. “But, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Hajime said. “Why wouldn’t you want to talk about it…?”

“It’s personal,” Makoto said quickly. “And it’s not the reason I came to see either of you anyways.”

Izuru and Hajime didn’t respond, they looked at him with the same expression Kyoko and even Byakuya had given him.

They were worried.

“I only have two days left on the island,” Makoto continued. “So I want to spend them with you two if that’s okay.”

“Of course it is,” Hajime answered. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Makoto smiled sadly, “No reason.”

After talking with Izuru and Hajime, Makoto decidedly felt worse. He wasn’t sure if it was the flowers pressing in on his lungs or the fact that he might never feel the same way towards Izuru and Hajime if he got the surgery.

It’s not an ‘if’ situation though, is it? Makoto thought. There’s no way I can confess without ruining our friendship…

As Makoto met up with Kyoko and Byakuya again, he felt another cough coming in. Like before, when Makoto went down to cough, Kyoko was right by his side.

He thought he could hear her muttering about how his stubbornness was going to kill him but he pretended otherwise.

“We should get you back on the boat,” Kyoko said as she helped Makoto to his feet. “We can all call it an early night.”

“Tch,” Byakuya said. “Once again my work is stopped because of Makoto.”

“Sorry about that,” Makoto remarked weakly. “I’ll owe you one, Byakuya.”

“You already ‘owe me one’, Makoto,” Byakuya replied. “Several ones.”

Makoto laughed slightly as Byakuya glared.

Once on the boat, Makoto fell asleep easily. Exhausted from so many coughing fits, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

“Makoto,” Kyoko’s voice was soft, as she shook him awake. “Today’s our last day.”

There was more in her tone, desperation, he thought.

“Already…?” Makoto replied groggily. “I just fell asleep a few minutes ago.”

Kyoko shook her head and smiled slightly, “That’s how it always feels for you.”

“Where’s Byakuya?”

“He already left for breakfast with the Remnants,” Kyoko said. “He decided not to ‘waste any more time on you’.”

Makoto nodded and got ready to leave with Kyoko. 

Breakfast was uneventful, ignoring the fact that both Byakuya and Kyoko were staring holes into his head.

Sighing, Makoto realized they weren’t going to leave him alone until he at least tried to ‘confess’ to Izuru and Hajime.

After breakfast, Makoto went to talk to Izuru and Hajime.

“Makoto,” Izuru began, once again. “Are you here to talk?”

“Not only that,” Makoto admitted. “But I need to talk to both of you.”

“Both?” Izuru asked. “What do you have planned, Makoto?”

“Nothing,” Makoto said, and that wasn’t exactly a lie. He didn’t even know if he wanted to confess, but there was no time like the present.

“Alright,” Hajime said. “You’ve got our attention, Makoto.”

Makoto blushed, as he looked at their shoes. 

How am I going to say this? Makoto thought. What did I get myself into?

“Nice shoes,” Makoto mumbled.

“Is that it?” Hajime asked, sounding almost insulted.

“How boring,” Izuru commented.

“N-no…!” Makoto yelled, face fully flushed as he looked them in the eyes. “I’m in love with Izuru Kamukura and Hajime Hinata!”

“Wha---?!” Hajime yelled, staring at Makoto shocked.

“An interesting development,” Izuru said.

“I know you don’t have to like me back,” Makoto said, looking down at their shoes again. “But if I didn’t let you both know now, I know-”

Before Makoto could get any more words out, he was suddenly engulfed in a hug.

“Please, shut up,” Hajime said while blushing. “I don’t want to hear about your confession…”

“H-huh…?” Makoto replied although it was muffled by their shirt.

“It’s his way of accepting your confession,” Izuru replied simply. “I also accept your confession as well.”

“Really…?” Makoto asked.

“Obviously,” Izuru said.

“Ugh, can we not talk about the ‘romantic’ stuff?” Hajime complained although it was obvious his heart wasn’t in it.

Makoto smiled, and he noticed his chest felt lighter. 

“So, they finally confessed their feelings,” Byakuya said. “Now we can all move on with our lives.”

“Byakuya?!” Makoto yelled, moving out of Izuru and Hajime’s arms to face a crowd.

“It was a wonder you confessed at all,” Kyoko said. “Although it was a bit on the loud side.”

“Jeez, if only I could be that way with Miss Sonia…” Kazuichi commented sadly.

“Why are you all just watching…?!” Hajime yelled.

“I mean, could ya really expect anything else?” Akane asked. “This is the most interestin’ thing on this damn island!”

“How predictable,” Izuru said. “Why did you expect anything different?”

“He is the most correct!” Sonia said cheerfully. “We are your friends, so of course we’d watch!”

“I mean fuckin’ hell Makoto, I didn’t know you could even be that loud,” Fuyuhiko said.

“H-huh…?” Makoto said. “Was I really that loud…?”

“Yes,” Kyoko and Byakuya answered.

“Man,” Akane said. “If only I could get more excited over things like that.”

“You should not give up hope yet!” Sonia said. “Obviously Makoto was working very hard to reach his romantic goal!”

“Maybe we should give them some space,” Fuyuhiko said. “They obviously want it, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Kazuichi agreed. “Maybe Miss Sonia and I could spend some time working on our ‘romantic goals’.”

As the group dispersed, Makoto put his head on Izuru and Hajime’s chest. “That was so embarrassing…”

“Tell me about it,” Hajime agreed.

“It was interesting at the very least,” Izuru said. “Especially when Makoto started yelling…”

“H-hey…!”

Makoto began to bicker with Izuru and mostly Hajime, but he couldn’t complain in the slightest.

It turns out Kyoko wasn’t wrong when she said he should at least try .

[mylifewithhurley]

My Life with Hurley Story

My Hidradenitis Suppurativa Story

l believe the best way to start is with a description of the disease - and this is my description of the disease, based mostly on my experiences, but also drawing from the hundreds of medical articles, forums, and discussions I've had the pleasure of reading over the past decade in my attempts to understand and manage my disease better. Hidradenitis Suppurativa (HS) is a chronic skin disease, in which pus and blood-filled abscesses form under the skin in the groin area, inner thighs, armpits and under the breasts. These abscesses can range from the size of a pea to as large as baseballs. They grow in size until they are close enough to the surface of the skin, and may break open. When they do, they either do not heal at all, or take a very long time to heal... I'm talking years. As open wounds, they constantly leak blood and pus. There is nothing more horrid than the smell of an HS wound, trust me. They are extremely painful, if you can imagine. Large abscesses can often restrict your ability to move your arms, if they are located in the armpit, or restrict your ability to walk and make it vert uncomfortable to sit, if they are in the groin or inner thigh area. With all that being said, you can imagine the shame and embarrassment such a condition can bring to a person. An individual with this disease can be extremely self-conscious and depression is very likely as well. There are some points I'd like to stress before I move on to my personal experience with the disease.

HS is NOT contagious. It is NOT the individuals fault. No one knows why this happens. HS has NOTHING to do with a person's hygiene. HS has NO cure!

IN THE BEGINNING...

My HS started out as small pus-filled bumps on my groin when I was around 15 years old. These were easily popped open and were not painful. They would come and go. They were a nuisance, but were not totally alarming. I did not know I had a "disease" at this time. I did not seek medical care. I was about 20 when bumps started appearing around my breasts. These were larger and had to grow a few days before I was physically able to squeeze them out. The pus was generally very dry, like something that would come out of a pimple on your face. It would quickly shoot out and splatter onto the mirror or whatever I was in front of. I mention this only to illustrate the change in consistency of the pus over time. They would heal, but always come back. Same spot, same size. Seeking help was difficult. I didn't want anyone to see. I can remember going to a walk-in doctor who prescribed a topical cream to rub on them. That didn't help. Eventually, the pain was too much to bare and I was forced to go to the emergency room. I went in the middle of the night. I had an abscess about the size of a quarter on my chest, between my breasts. It was so painful, I couldn't sleep. I had my first I&D (incision & drainage) that night with a very nice doctor. After he had cut it, he told me a nurse would come in to "pack" the wound and that I would be set up with home care. I didn't know what "packing" meant at that time, so when the nurse came in and simply covered the wound with gauze and tape, I thought I was good to go. That specific wound came and went over the years but it would easily break open after a week or so, and the pus and blood would pour out, like syrup, messing up my bra and clothes.

I went to a walk-in maybe a year or so later who I could tell really sympathized with me, but truly didn't know what to do. She referred me to a dermatologist. I waited months to see her. When I finally did, she was cold towards me. I didn't feel like she cared as she told me there was no point in treating this externally (I was hoping she would cut one or two open to give me some relief). She told me the only way to get rid of this was to do it from the inside. She prescribed me some pills (probably an antibiotic). I asked her if it had worked for others, and she nodded yes and she scooted me out. The pills she prescribed did wonders for the acne on my face but absolutely nothing for my HS. I was told to come back and see her in three months, but I never did. She didn't care enough.

For a long time, I just waited for the lesions to grow large and break open on their own. There's one that I actually tried opening with a needle (DO NOT DO THIS), and of course I just made it worse and probably make it stick around a lot longer than it would have had I just gone to a doctor. I had started working full time when I began getting abscesses on my upper leg, extremely close to my groin and bottom. This was extremely painful. I had to find creative ways to sit on my chair without drawing too much attention to myself. There were many days I wouldn't even sit. I would just do type on the computer standing up, pretending like I was only checking something out on the computer and would have to leave in a second to do something else. The days in which I did sit, I learned I needed to sit on my jacket or sweater, in order to not stain the chair with the drainage coming out of my open wounds, seeping through my pants and onto the furniture. I often walked funny, trying to avoid feeling the wounds rubbing against my pants. If anyone asked why, I just told them I had a problem in my leg.

It was a Sunday night when I decided I needed to see a doctor to drain one lesion on my inner buttocks. My mother took me to the emergency room. When the doctor had seen how large the abscess was, and the others that surrounded it, he called for a surgeon to come and take a look. The surgeon told me that I needed surgery, but because I had eaten dinner that night, and she and her team had already had a long day, I agreed to come back in on Wednesday for surgery. On that day, while the surgeon was briefing me on the surgery, I asked her if she didn't mind also draining a lesion under my arm. When I showed it to her, she couldn't refuse. When I awoke from surgery, she mentioned that she had arranged for a Infectious Disease doctor in the morning and also told me that I may want to consider plastic surgery, a suggestion I wish I had taken at that time. I was released from the hospital the following day and set up with home health care.

The Infectious Disease doctor examined me and prescribed me two antibiotics to take over a period of three months. Whether theses helped my case or not, I'm not sure. It's possible I could have been worse off if I hadn't taken them, but I wasn't getting better. I went on living my life just waiting for my abscesses to open and draining them myself - or going to the emergency room if I thought it was getting too large with no signs that it was going to resolve on its own. Going to the ER always meant that I was going to be set up with home health care, or what they call CCAC (Community Care Access Centre). Nurses could either come to your home to change your dressings and check on the progress of your wound, or, as they preferred, you could go into a near-by clinic every day or every other day for the same service. This may be common knowledge, but there are great nurses, and there are terrible nurses. I could write a book about my bad experiences with CCAC, but I won't elaborate. The point is, more often than not, CCAC nurses made my life more difficult than pleasant. 

DERMATOLOGY

My sister had told me about a dermatologist that would see patients without a referral. This sounded great to me because having to explain to doctor after doctor (or anyone, for that matter) about your disease and the things you've already tried to manage it is exhausting. I called and made myself an appointment for a few months later. When I met with Dr. A, I felt like he sympathized me and I had hope. He knew my disease. He had patients with my disease. He had touched my wounds and wiped away pus. He sampled the pus for testing. These are things the first dermatologist I had seen never did. He had a son who worked in clinical trials and had just finished a study on my disease with an expensive treatment called Humira. He called his son right there in the patient room to ask him if he knew of any upcoming studies so that I could possibly get medication for free, but unfortunately the answer was no. He had also treated patients with HS with Accutane, but this too was expensive. With the knowledge that I didn't have any drug coverage, Dr. A prescribed me two strong antibiotics to take over a course of three months. Those antibiotics did help some. When I revisited Dr. A after the three months had passed, he prescribed me another run of the antibiotics.

HS controls my life in every way. There's not a moment I'm not thinking about it. There's not a minute I am not uncomfortable or not in pain. There is not a decision I make without considering my disease. I have to think about my HS before doing the smallest tasks. There are times I put off going to the bathroom just because getting up, changing positions, can cause so much pain and discomfort, and I'm literally mentally preparing myself for what I'm about to experience. Needless to say, there are many activities I just cannot participate in. Simply getting into the car can be difficult. I dread going shopping - too much walking, which means wounds rubbing against my clothes. I'm often caught off guard when someone asks me why I'm walking funny, or holding my arm awkwardly, because I think I'm hiding it so well. HS also controls what I can wear. As much as I love form-fitting clothes, its just not comfortable to be in them. I don't wear anything white - my wounds will stain it. I don't wear anything sleeveless - my underarms are full of wounds I don't want anyone to see, not to mention the drainage that will have no place to hide. I try to wear my clothing as loosely as possible, but I'm fighting to keep my pride, despite this disease and I hate to look shabby. Depression is all over my face. I try to act happy as best I can, to not bring any attention to myself. I look back at old pictures, and miss how happy I was and how beautiful it was to not be in pain; to just feel nothing. I cry all the time. The tears often start because of the physical pain - but they quickly grow into a bawl just thinking about everything I've already been through, how much the disease controls my life, and how I don't have any idea how to make this better. HS affects my sleep, because it's not easy to fall asleep while you're in pain or you're too busy scratching or squeezing a nuisance of a wound. It's frustrating just knowing that I can't just tell someone, 'I have HS' and have them just know what it is and have a small idea what I'm going through - as I could have if I had something like arthritis or psoriasis. No one knows what this is. No one has heard of it. No one can ever understand - and so I don't try to explain it. I've tried before, and it only leads to individuals thinking they know how to take care of it. I've been told just to scrub it, just to take the pain and squeeze it out and it'll go away and never come back. I've been told to just use natural soaps; that my skin just can't handle the harsh chemicals. I've even been told that it's because I don't pray hard enough. Everybody thinks know, but nobody really knows. It hurts to know that people don't believe me when I say this is an actual disease! It cannot be healed by something as simple as washing it away. If it were that easy, I would have rid myself of this a long time ago, believe me. Would you tell a cancer patient to just wash it off? I didn't think so. My loved ones, who know my condition still don't know what I truly live with because I try so hard to be normal, act like it doesn't bother me, around them. Firstly, because I don't want their ideas on how to 'easily fix' the problem, and secondly, because I don't want to be pitied. I just want to be free. 

After two three-month courses of antibiotics, I was over it. I was over putting these pills into my body just to get little to no results. I stopped seeing Dr. A and went back to just dealing with it - drug free. This meant frequent visits to the emergency room and urgent care centres, and of course just waiting for some to burst on their own. I remember crying to a doctor at an urgent care, telling her how tired I was and asking her to I&D an abscess under my armpit. She told me there was no way to cure this and I was just going to have to live with it. How rude! I mean, so far I haven't found what she said to be untrue, but she could have been a little more comforting and optimistic. Can you believe she didn't even cut the abscess? She told me to take some antibiotics and wait for it to break open on its own. With this disease, I've learned that you're going to have to kiss many frogs to find your prince - kisses being doctor appointments, frogs being doctors, and the prince being a doctor who doesn't necessarily have all the answers, but just cares enough to try, and then try again. That night, I was in so much pain and a doctor refused to help me. Physically and mentally, I was fed up. I actually quit my job that next morning and applied for Employment Insurance. Getting up and ready in the morning was too hard and my supervisor was beginning to give me a hard time for the times I showed up a few minutes late after giving too much attention to a wound in the morning. I was physically and emotionally tired, and I truly just needed a break. So I quit. 

I must have had enough of 'just dealing with it on my own' again, because I decided to go see a doctor one more time. I went to see a family doctor, who prescribed me some antibiotics but also referred me to a lovely dermatologist, Dr. Nisha Mistry. Oh, Dr. Mistry, what can I say about you? On my first visit, she presented me with print-outs and spoke to me on what HS is, what the different causes might be and different treatments. Now, I had already read most of this online while doing my own research, but it truly meant a lot to me that she had taken the time out to read up on my disease prior to my visit. After I told her I had already tried antibiotics - maybe too many times, she told me about Humira. Humira defined by www.drugs.com:  "Humira (adalimumab) reduces the effects of a substance in the body that can cause inflammation. Humira is used to treat rheumatoid arthritis, juvenile idiopathic arthritis, psoriatic arthritis, ankylosing spondylitis, plaque psoriasis, and and a chronic skin condition called hidradenitis suppurativa."  Don't you just love how HS is the only disease they had to briefly define? She explained that she would only recommend this in extremely severe cases, because of the possible side effects. She had me change into a gown, and after taking a look at my wounds, she agreed I had a severe case. Unfortunately, like Dr. A had told me over a year prior, Humira is very expensive, and I didn't not have any drug coverage. She too, like Dr. A, knew of some clinical trials in which I could get the drug for free, but the trials had just ended before my meeting with her. That's when she told me about a program called compassionate care - where the Canadian government actually pays for your medicine because your doctor feels so terribly for you. That's my definition of compassionate care, anyway. She didn't make me any promises at that time, but told me she would put in an application for me. I was approved! There were a few tests and things I needed to do before I could officially start, but I eventually began my Humira treatment a few months later.  I also started working again around the start of my Humira treatment, about four months after I had quit my last job. 

I have to believe Humira helped me. It did not cure me, but I feel like my case got better. It's hard to say for sure because every time I would meet with Dr. Mistry for a check up, she would say it didn't look any better. But I felt better. My range of motion improved and I feel I was able to do more things a little more comfortably. I was still making visits to the emergency room, however. After one particular visit where I ended up staying the night, the hospital notified Dr. Mistry. She called me in a panic about a week later demanding that I come and see her right away. The hospital had totally exaggerated my symptoms. Apparently I had a fever when I was admitted, but they told her I came in shivering! They even told her I had been there for 3 days when it had really just been one night. I explained to her that it wasn't as serious as they made it seem, but she was still very concerned. She suggested I stop taking Humira immediately. At that time, I begged her to let me continue, but she pointed out that after eight months of treatment, I was not seeing sufficient results, and with the side effects of Humira, it may have been causing more harm than good. I agreed to stop, and after discussing with her some of the symptoms I was experiencing, she referred me to a gastroenterologist to check for Chron's disease, an internal medicine specialist, to just check me in general, and a general surgeon to actually operate on the HS manifestations. 

SURGERY

Dr. Mistry had suggested I see the gastroenterologist for of some of the symptoms I was experiencing. I had a consult with the gastroenterologist to explain my medical history and my recent symptoms. At that time, he said if it was Chron's, the Humira should have helped with that - but he proceeded to schedule me for a colonoscopy anyway. I was cleared for Chron's - which I was happy about - but that doctor never really addressed the reasons I may have been experiencing the symptoms Dr. Mistry was worried about. Sigh. Doctors. Dr. Mistry had wanted me to see an internal medicine doctor because I was experiencing many fevers and she just wanted to make sure my body chemistry was alright. Somehow that appointment never happened. I was, however, scheduled to meet with general surgeon Dr. K for a consultation, rather quickly, I might add. She was lovely. Before examining me, she explained that she was only a general surgeon, and if my case would require something called a 'flap', then she would have to refer me to a plastic surgeon. A quick glance at my skin would confirm that I, of course, was more of a plastic surgery candidate. My heart sank. Luckily, she knew of an excellent plastic surgeon, she said, and would be able to get me an appointment with him a lot sooner than it would typically take. She was very sympathetic and encouraging and I really wished she could be my surgeon. At that time, I had recently been to the hospital for an I&D and was visiting the CCAC nurses every night. Getting the wound packed was very painful because the incision had been made so small. Dr. K was nice enough to widen it for me. As her nurse was dressing the wound, she assured me that the plastic surgeon I was being referred to was very good, told me I was very brave and that she was impressed with how high my spirits were. If only she knew I was fighting back the tears that would burst out of me as soon as I entered my car. 

It felt like forever before I got a chance to see the plastic surgeon, Dr. T. If Dr. K had in fact expedited my appointment, I feel really sorry for those who don't have that privilege. My parents came with me to this appointment. After I had told them about what happened at my appointment with Dr. K, my dad told me to let him know of any future appointments. It means a lot to me that he didn't want me going alone. I'm guessing Dr. T had just finished reading a Wikipedia page or something on HS when he walked into my room because he was basically telling me all the things I would have read had I quickly did a google search on the disease. He basically told me at that time that surgery was not a good idea because of complications and scarring. This was before he even looked at my skin. After examining me, he tells me that he would prefer I go and see Dr. S, an expert in HS, and he would only perform the surgery if Dr. S recommended it. He told me that he would put in the referral, but not to worry because his office scheduled appointments quickly. In the mean time, he told me to focus on losing weight because HS was often made worse by heaviness. I am not a skinny girl, but I am not huge either. Weight may be a factor in other peoples HS, but not mine. I know this because I had actually lost quite a bit due to stress (of the disease) and my symptoms did not change. I didn't take it personally though. I knew he was just spewing out whatever he had just read on the internet. I was devastated, still. I had really high hopes about him because Dr. K and her nurse had praised him so much. I had even warned a supervisor at work that I may have to take time off shorty in order to recover from surgery. So of course, my heart was crushed. Another appointment that had caused me to go home and cry. 

At this point, I'm waiting for an appointment from Dr. S, but not really, because for one, I had already seen a GREAT dermatologist in Dr. Mistry, and she had already recommended surgery, and two, I no longer trusted Dr. T. It didn't seem like he was eager to help me, and so I didn't want him to. I went back to 'just dealing with it', until I got a call from Dr. Mistry's office asking me to come in to talk about renewing my Humira prescription. I thought this was odd, seeing that I had stopped taking Humira, and Dr. Mistry knew of this. I went in to see her, anyway. I told her about my experiences with Dr. Kapala and Dr. T. She told me that she actually worked for Dr. Sibbald (who still hadn't called me for an appointment, by the way), on his team in his office on Fridays, and she knew for sure he would recommend surgery. This made me even more upset at Dr. T. She offered to refer me to another surgeon. I explained to her how frustrated and exhausted I was at all the appointments and disappointments - and that I needed a break from it. She understood completely, and let me know I could call her whenever I was ready to try again.  

I got another odd call from Dr. Mistry's office a couple months later telling me that Dr. Mistry wanted me to call her to discuss my test results. It was odd because I hadn't taken any tests. I called anyway. She explained that she had been in contact with a Humira spokesperson who had asked her about my Humira experience. After she had told him that I didn't really benefit from it, he told her of a plastic surgeon who would love to help, as a 'special favor'. She said she knows I had opted to take a break from surgery consultations, but she didn't want to let the opportunity pass without offering it to me. I accepted. I wanted to at least talk to this surgeon. I was still in pain, and maybe this was my luck finally turning around. 

I met with Dr. CT on Monday, November 21st, 2016. She asked about my Humira experience and about the surgeons I had seen before her. After I told her that Dr. T had basically told me he didn't want to do it, she told me that nobody wants to do it. She explained it was an extremely messy surgery that would require a skin graft and two separate surgery weeks apart, and after all of that, my body may reject it. When briefly describing what surgery on my lower body would be like, she mentioned that I would have to urinate in a bag temporarily. As you can imagine, this is where the tears starting filling my eyes. As she was working really hard to turn me off this surgery, I'm sitting there wondering why I was even invited to this appointment. I was told that there was a surgeon who wanted to help me as a special favor and when I met her, I felt like I was just being kicked in the gut. I told Dr. Mistry I needed a break from the heartbreak of surgeons telling me they can't help me, and she sent me to a surgeon that would reject me again. The surgery did sound awful, I have to admit. Her goal was clearly to make me change my mind about desperately wanting the surgery, and she did so well that I even forgave Dr. T for rejecting me. After seeing the tears run down my face and the disappointment in my eyes, Dr. CT offered to refer me to a plastic surgeon at St. Mikes Hospital who had done more complicated HS surgeries. I declined. I was so over it. Instead of surgery, Dr. CT suggested that I should go back on Humira. She stressed that it is a very new drug and it will get better and work. Whatever. I was on Humira for eight months and it barely helped me. I'm convinced I was just injecting cancer into myself and not seeing any immediate benefits with my HS. I refuse to go back on Humira. Something has got to give. 

Dr. CT called me herself the next evening at 7:00PM to tell me she had spoken to the Humira representative, and he was doing to be in touch with Dr. Mistry in recommending some other dermatologists that have a little more experience with HS. She also said that she would contact Dr. Melinda Musgrave, the plastics surgeon at St. Mikes, and ask about any new approaches she has come across and can suggest. She explained St. Mikes is trying to develop a clinic of some sort where they can talk to HS patients about lifestyle changes, such as diet, that may minimize the effects of HS. She stressed that even though she didn't think surgery was a solution to HS, she didn't want me to believe that there was no hope, and that there were hopefully a couple things we could try before taking that route. The call meant everything for me. It lifted my spirits. It just felt like there was another doctor out there, in addition to Dr. Mistry, who was in my corner - who saw my pain and truly wanted to help.

NATUROPATHY

I had reached out to a naturopath, Dr. S. The appointment was booked for a few days after I got the call from Dr. Mistry about Dr. CT, and I almost cancelled it thinking that I wouldn't need him anymore because Dr. Mistry found me someone that would help, but I didn't. During my first appointment with him, I just spent the hour telling him about my disease and how it affected me daily. He asked questions, I would answer them. He ended the appointment by telling me that he "really, really, really wanted to help" me, and gave me a few of his ideas. He prescribed me Effer C, a supplement to help me go to the bathroom more often and Vitamin D, and we booked an appointment for about 3 weeks later. By the next appointment, he had a very detailed plan written up that predicted to have me pretty much healed in six months. The plan included a couple supplements, something called colonics, and a strict diet of no dairy, sugar, gluten or wheat. As you can imagine, sticking to that diet proved to be difficult, but I did try. I saw little to no results, but to be fair - I was not completely committed. I went to a few subsequent appointments, but naturooathy is not covered by OHIP, and although my work insurance covered a lot of the cost, it was becoming expensive to keep seeing him, and during the appointments, he was mostly just making other suggestions of changes I could make to my diet. I felt like I could handle that on my own. 

What's it like to feel nothing? I miss feeling nothing. No discomfort, no pain, no sting. I used to take feeling nothing for granted, and now I know how precious it is. I miss being able to sit down on a chair, a bed, the floor, without feeling anything. I miss being able to get into a car without feeling anything. I miss being able to drive without feeling anything. I miss walking and feeling nothing. Oh, I miss going up and down stairs without feeling anything! I miss putting on my panties, my pants, my bra, my shirt, my coat, without feeling anything. What's it like to get in and out of bed without feeling anything? To take a shower and feel nothing?

SURGERY PT. 2

After that meeting in November 2016 with Dr. CT, I hadn't really been to any doctors, with the exception of the few additional visits with the naturopath. I gained a little relief by changing my diet - but no major improvements. In April 2018, the drainage coming from my arms was uncontrollable. My shirts were soaking wet within a few minutes of changing into them. I didn't know what else to do except to plea with a surgeon to operate on me. I chose Dr. CT. I met with her on June 6th 2018. Again, she illustrated a nasty surgery that might not even be successful. I told her I didn't care, I needed to do something. She offered to send me down to St. Michael's Hopsital to see plastic surgeon Dr. Melinda Musgrave or her colleague Dr. Karen Cross, who do a lot more work with HS. I agreed to a referral, just because I could tell how badly she did not want to operate on me. If you'll recall, she had mentioned referring me to these doctors before, but nothing ever came of it.

This time, I got a surgery consultation with plastics surgeon Dr. Karen Cross, scheduled originally for November 2018, but moved up to September 2018. It was simply and honestly the best consult I've ever had. She specializes in HS surgeries and really can't imagine why I hadn't been referred to her before. She told me I was an excellent candidate for surgery, but she agreed that my disease was so active that it probably wouldn't be effective. She requested that I see a dermatologist of her choice, follow their suggested treatment for about three months, and after the disease had calmed down, she would operate. I loved speaking with her because she just got it. She knew exactly how I was feeling as a person living with HS without me having to tell her. She knew and answered all my questions before I even had a chance to ask. It was obvious she had spent real time with other HS patients because she truly just got it. She was so hopeful and encouraging. She let me know that it would be a long journey to recovery, but that we would be on that journey together - and that I should always let her know where my head is at and how I'm truly feeling not only physically, but emotionally. I had never met a surgeon like her and even if I don't end up getting a surgery, I'm so glad that my path lead me to her - just to know doctors like her exist. 

CLINICAL TRIALS

Dr. Cross referred me to dermatologist Dr. Afsaneh Alavi, also specializing in HS. She enrolled me into a clinical research study for a potential new "antibody therapy". Without going into much detail, I was required to go into a clinic every two weeks for intravenous infusion and complete a small questionnaire on a phone-like device nightly. I officially began getting dosed in October of 2018. A lot like my experience with Humira, I couldn't see any changes in the way the disease physically presented itself, but I can say the day to day pain dropped considerably and my quality of life increased. However, in mid-December, I developed a large abscess on my upper thigh. It had been growing in size and pain for about a week before my next scheduled infusion and meeting with Dr. Alavi. After examining the abscess, she decided immediately to take me off the study and arranged for me to have it drained that morning. She prescribed Ertapenem, an antibiotic infused intravenously daily, for four weeks.

ERTAPENEM

Ertapenem is an antibiotic administered intravenously. I was taught how to run the IV on my own at home. It took about 30-45 minutes and then I would wrap up the IV site with gauze until I was ready to do it again the next day. While showering, I used a arm cast protector I found in a home health care store. It's basically a long plastic glove-bag that spans the entire arm, the way a cast would, and tightly seals before the shoulder. I couldn't use that arm to clean myself with, but the IV site was protected from the water. My IV site would have to be changed every 3-5 days. I would go to a CCAC clinic to have a nurse set up a basic IV line in my arm or hand. I have very difficult veins, and so nurses often had a hard time starting my IV. On every visit, I was poked multiple times before one was successful. There was a night when the nurses were not able to find a good vein, and I was sent to the emergency room for one of the nurses there to try. I waited four hours that night just to get an IV started. Initially, the plan was for me to have a procedure done to get a 'picc line', which is more secure than the regular IV and could remain in my arm for weeks without having to be moved, but that wasn't scheduled until week three of my four week course of the drug and it just didn't make sense at that point. All this to say, the treatment of Ertapenem caused some minor inconveniences, but overall I was pleased with the results. 

Ertapenem was the best treatment I've received so far. I felt virtually no pain during the 4 weeks I was on the medication. My wounds pretty much dried up. Although you could still see them, there was no drainage coming from any of my wounds. My clothes remained dry throughout the day and through the night and I never worried about staining my seat. Proving this, my laundry loads we significantly smaller and my jeans/pants were clean enough to re-wear before washing.

CLINICAL TRIAL DRUG: IFX-1

Although an effective treatment for me, I could not remain on Ertapenem for very long. Antibiotics are not meant to be taken long-term. I was on the drug for about five weeks. With permission from the sponsors and executives of the clinical trial, Dr. Alavi allowed me to continue treatment with the clinical drug, IFX-1. During the first phase of the trial, I was either being given the active drug, or a placebo. Dr. Alavi wanted to give me a chance to enter the second phase of the trial, which guaranteed active drug administration.

Since beginning the second phase, I can confidently say I feel better. I have not experienced any large new abscesses, and the ones I already had are smaller and draining less. The most improved symptom is my ability to move; my range of motion. I am able to move my arms and legs in ways I wasn't able to do before. This alone has improved my mood and my quality of life. Dr. Alavi agrees, I will still need surgery to remove the skin that the HS has completely destroyed over the years, but if this drug makes it to the market, I believe it could help many of us keep the disease under control. 

December 30th, 2019 Dr. Cross performed a 'left axilla extraction with flap' surgery on October 31st, 2019. She removed all of the affected skin from my armpit and pulled skin from my back to replace the missing skin. It was a day surgery that took about 3 hours. The wound was cared for by near by clinic nurses. It took a little over a month to fully close. The surgery went extremely well and I am please with the results. I will meet with Dr. Cross again in a few months to talk about my right arm. Dr. Alavi thinks I should return to Humira in the mean time, but at this point, I don't think I want to take that route. I know it's only been a couple months, but I believe surgery is the solution for me. 

November 22nd, 2020 Dr. Cross performed the same surgery, this time on my right axilla on August 20th, 2020. Again, the surgery went well and I am pleased with the results. Now, I don’t have any inflammation or affected skin in my armpits and it’s truly changed my life. I can wear sleeveless tops and I don’t have to worry about drainage messing up tops with sleeves. I can finally wear white if I choose to. I do still have some HS on my lower body, but nothing that warrants the surgeries I needed for my arms. I will try to treat what’s left with diet changes - specifically the keto diet and will keep you updated.

The rest is still unwritten...

[redrobinhoood]

the lakes | chapter 2, how the mighty fall

AO3 Link | 3,100 words (approx) | Chapter 1, Chapter 3

A/N: Please mind the rating! Mature content really starts after the *s for those who would like to read up to there.

Chapter summary: Fox and Riyo consult with a doctor on the state of Fox’s injury [M rating]

Riyo’s eyes wandered around the small clinic as she leaned against Fox’s shoulder, waiting for the doctor on staff to call them in. She remembered now why they had not chosen to live in town. The paranoia that some being would recognize Fox would have killed her. The scruff of a beard that he was growing helped to conceal his identity, but nothing could be done for his eyes and the set of his brow. Even if it could, he still presented himself as a soldier in his stance and demeanor. She would never be able to truly hide him.

“Do you think they do hypertests?” Fox murmured, moving his arm that wrapped around her waist to a more comfortable position.

“I don’t know, Fox.” She muttered back. She had never seen a hypertest, but she had been in Fox’s office when Rys had returned from a physical. She’d watched him fall asleep hunched over against Fox’s desk, exhausted and unable to keep his eyes open anymore. Then she’d watched him to make sure he was safe as Fox ran off to respond to a prison breach. She’d even leant a hand when Stone had come in and begun to stack some of Fox’s loose datapads across Rys’ shoulders. The memory brought with it an immense sadness. Not because it was sad, but because she would never see those men again. “Do you remember the time that Stone started a betting ring on us kissing on camera?”

“You mean, do I remember shoving Kilo into a trashcan? How could I forget.” He said coolly. But he was smiling. “I could have fit Stone in there too, but he had too much dirt on me.”

“Any you care to share?”

“Well, he was there the first time I puked from stress. So that’s one.”

Riyo scoffed in disbelief. In the time she had known Fox, he’d carried his stress with grace. Or at least he had when he was around her. “When was that?”

“Geonosis. About six minutes after I received my assigned command.” He sighed and tightened his grip around her waist. “I never wanted to be in charge. The burden would’ve been too much if it wasn’t for Stone and Thorn.”

“You never talk about Thorn.”

Fox went silent, and for a moment Riyo thought that he wouldn’t answer her, but he did, speaking deliberately. “I don’t have the words to tell you what Thorn meant to me. He kept me alive, Riyo. He kept me human, even when being human hurt. When he died, I didn’t feel anything. I’ve still never felt anything for his death. I don’t think that’s healthy.”

“No, I don’t think it is either.” She agreed. “If you ever find the words, Fox, I’ll be there for you.”

“About that, Ri, I think that we sh-.”

“Chuchi?”

Fox and Riyo looked up at the medic called them.

“We’ll talk later.” Fox said quietly as they stood and approached the medic.

“Are you Fox Chuchi?” The medic asked.

“Just Fox.” Fox corrected. “Your system wouldn’t let me leave my surname blank.”

The medic looked to Riyo. “Are you family?”

When Riyo hesitated, Fox answered for her. “Yes. She is.”

Riyo kept any surprise off her face- she’d be thinking about this moment for days- as she nodded in agreement.

If the medic wasn’t convinced, they didn’t show it. “Follow me.”

Riyo wrapped her arms around Fox’s elbow as they followed the medic to a small room in the back. It would add credibility to their claim of being family, and, if nothing else, it brought her comfort. She let go when the medic gestured Fox towards the exam table, taking a seat in the chair beside it.

Once they had been seated, the medic was gone, replaced a moment later by a Bothan, who introduced himself as the head doctor and leaned against the counter opposite Fox as they explained why they were there. The doctor waited for Fox to finish before he spoke. “If you wouldn’t mind, would you take off your shirt so that I can examine the scar tissue?”

Fox hesitated a moment before nodding and slipping the shirt over his head. Riyo knew that memories of Kamino and the treatment that he and his brothers had previously received at doctors’ hands must be going through his mind.

The doctor’s eyes scanned up and down Fox’s torso. “You were a soldier?”

“Yes.” Fox’s impassive expression didn’t flicker.

“Then you must have fought in the Clone War. May I ask which side?”

Fox shook his head. “I don’t know anymore.”

“Fair enough.” The doctor laughed. “Let me take some readings before we discuss this new injury.”

Riyo watched as the tension in Fox’s shoulders drained with every gentle hand the doctor lay on him as he began to quietly take note of Fox’s health. Finally, he spoke again when he had lain his stethoscope against Fox’s chest. “Have you ever had any lung injuries?”

“No.”

“Considering the array of scars you have here, that’s quite lucky. Any broken bones?”

“My cheek, once. When I was very young.”

“And how’d that happen?”

“My brother was much stronger than I was.” Fox smiled nostalgically, and Riyo finally allowed herself to fully relax with Fox at such ease.

“And this new injury, what caused it?” The doctor stroked the back of his finger against the scar in the center of Fox’s chest as he spoke.

“I took a hit from a sniper rifle three months ago,” Fox paused for a moment, then turned to Riyo, “to save her.” As was the official story. Officially, Commander Fox had died of sepsis after bravely throwing himself between Senator Chuchi and an assassin. The infection hadn’t been caught in time to save him. Only four beings knew the truth.

“You must be very proud of your husband.” The doctor said.

Riyo’s hands gripped the arms of the chair, and even her practice in the halls of the Senate was not enough to hide the look of shock that briefly crossed her features. Then she had her face back under control, and she was thankful that the doctor hadn’t turned to look at her as he spoke. “I am.” She managed.

If her voice shook, the doctor didn’t comment on it. “Did they do a bacta flush of your system?” The doctor asked as he traced his fingers across the surgical scar around the wound.

“Yes. For three days when I was in the bacta tank.”

“How long were you in the tank?”

“About a week.”

The doctor was quiet as he continued to examine the scars. “The army doctors didn’t care for aesthetics when they stitched you up, did they?”

Fox didn’t answer.

“Well, best I can tell, you’re fine. But you should’ve been in that tank for longer than a week, and I have a feeling they ripped up your liver when they were securing the bacta flush system. We can do a soft tissue scan to make sure everything is healing if you’d like, for peace of mind.”

Fox glanced over at Riyo, who nodded in agreement. “I would like that.” He decided.

The doctor nodded and stepped out of the room to fetch a medical droid. In his absence, Riyo stood up and walked over to Fox, placing an arm on his thigh. “I told you they took you out too early.”

Fox reached over and pressed his curled fingers under her chin, lifting her head ever so slightly with his touch. “Yes, you did.” His hand fell when the door began to slide open again and the doctor returned with a medical droid in tow. Riyo stepped back, returning to Fox’s side when he had lain down and standing beside his head as she watched the medical droid run a small imaging array over Fox’s stomach. She glanced over to the monitor displaying the visual but turned back to Fox when she realized that she wouldn’t be able to make sense of it all without the doctor’s explanation.

“How much of your liver did you lose?” The doctor asked as he looked at the monitor.

“I don’t know.” Fox admitted. “I never cared to ask.”

“Well, it’s healing, but I’d stay away from alcohol and other liver stressors for another three months or so to keep any strain off it until it’s fully healed. Your stomach appears to have healed, it probably received more bacta from the flush than your liver did, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d received more liver damage from the flush than you did healing.”

“He’s going to be okay?” Riyo asked.

“He’ll make a full recovery.” The Bothan assured her. “However, let me give you some senoti cream to help with the scarring.” When Fox and Riyo laughed, the doctor gave them a questioning look.

“We have a history with senoti cream.” Riyo explained. “It’s probably the reason we got together in the first place. Applying it was a good tension breaker.”

The doctor smiled. “I see. Then I don’t need to worry about any reactions if you’ve used it before. I’ll have a medic bring it in here, then you are free to go. I wish you the best of luck in your recovery, Fox.”

“Thank you.”

“Doctor?” Riyo called before the Bothan could step out of the room. “How did a medical expert like you end up in the middle of nowhere?”

The doctor hesitated, then sighed and turned back to them. “For the same reasons that many of the beings in the settlement did, including you, I’m sure. I spoke out against the Empire. And they don’t take kindly to that.”

She nodded solemnly. “No, they don’t.”

---

Riyo watched as Fox raised another spoonful of soup to his mouth. If he noticed her stare, he gave no indication of it, keeping his eyes locked on the sunset over the lake. His body was curled perfectly in the mossy roots of the tree, the mug of soup resting in the curl of his torso. Riyo had already finished hers, despite having drawn more from the pot than Fox had drawn, and had set the empty mug aside on a flatter portion of root.

“What was it you wanted to talk about earlier, at the clinic?” She asked once he had set his mug aside as well.

“Can we talk about that tomorrow?” He turned to look over at her, causing the fading light to catch against the scars that cut through the sides of his neck and through his lips.

“Anything for my sun god.” She smiled reassuringly.

“Blasphemy.” Fox scoffed before turning back to the sunset, the ghost of a smile lingering on his lips.

Riyo stood up from her own root hollow and made her way to Fox’s side, sinking down into the moss beside him and laying her head on his shoulder. “I wish it were.”

When Fox wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap, she didn’t protest, wrapping her legs around him and leaning over to kiss him. She hummed as she felt his hands slide up under her shirt to grasp her waist, then rest warmly over the top of her hips. This could have never happened on Coruscant. For one, there was no nature there. But even if there had been, she and Fox would have never had the privacy to kiss in this way due to their positions in the Republic, or Empire.

“It’s not anything life changing is it?” She asked when Fox had broken away to breathe.

“Ri.”

“It is.”

“It’s something I want to think about how to say for a while longer.”

“You’re breaking up with me?”

“You’ll find out tomorrow!” But the twinkle in his eyes kept her at peace. She had seen Fox be cruel, and this was not it.

“It’d better be worth the wait.”

“I think it is.”

“And I trust you.” She leaned down to kiss him again. This time, she was the one to break it. “Let’s go home, I’m cold.”

“Am I not warm enough for you?” Fox asked.

“You’re a furnace, Fox. Maybe I just want to go home.”

“We can go home.” The words sounded right to her, coming from his lips. Home. Their home.

She slid off his lap before standing and offering a hand to Fox to help him stand with her. They gathered their cooling mugs and set back down the path that led to their home from the lake. As they stepped back into the trees, Riyo cast one last look over her shoulder at the fading light on the water.

When they’d returned home, they set their dishes in the sink before Riyo shooed Fox off to go apply the senoti cream to his wound while she washed the dishes. After they had been rinsed and dried, she walked over into their bedroom, then the bathroom to check on Fox. She found him leaning over the sink, head hanging low with the unopened container of cream beside him.

“Are you okay?” She padded over to him and lay a hand on his shoulder blade.

“Just nausea.” He assured her. “It’s fading.”

“Here.” She took the container from the counter and slid her hand up to grasp his shoulder, gently tugging him upright and steering him towards their bed. She pushed him down so that he was sitting on the mattress before setting the senoti cream beside him and sliding her arms into his shirt, gently lifting it over his head and shoulders. Opening the container and dipping her hands into the cream, she reached towards his torso and began to rub the cream into the scar tissue. Fox’s breathing fluttered with her touch and she hoped that the cause of it was not pain. When the new scars were thoroughly covered, she gathered the excess on her fingers and brought it down to the long, thin line that crossed through Fox’s abs. A reminder of a time she had nearly lost him. With Fox sitting patiently before her, she climbed onto the bed behind him before dipping her fingers in the jar once again and pressing her fingers against the clean, faded scar that sat between his shoulder blades. One of the two he had received when he saved her life. The other sat at his waist, just as faded as the first, and was the last one that she rubbed the senoti cream into.

“This brings back some old memories.” He said when she had pulled away.

She screwed the lid of the container back on and tossed it towards the head of the bed before she spoke. “Like this one?” She moved to wrap her legs around his waist and placed her hands against his neck, beginning to rub the skin in slow, circular motions.

Fox let out a light moan. “That’s just the one.”

When she had moved down to his shoulder blades, she leaned her head forward and began to press kisses down the side of Fox’s neck as she continued to work her fingers against his skin.

Fox leaned his head back, allowing himself to go limp against her. “Never mind, this is better.”

“You have always been a sap for physical contact.” Riyo said against his skin. When she could no longer leverage her body weight against his, she wrapped her arms around his torso and continued to place kisses along his neck. “Want me to do the rest of your back?”

“In a few minutes. I want to stay like this for longer.” He tangled his arms in hers and took her hands in his.

“Okay.” She went back to pressing kisses against his neck, settling herself over his artery when she heard his breathing hitch as she passed over it. She could feel the vibration of his vocal cords when he moaned under her touch. “How the mighty fall, Marshal Commander.”

“No titles.” He begged.

“Is that an order, Commander?”

“Riyo, please.”

She smirked against his skin before sucking against the soft flesh over Fox’s artery until he was gasping underneath her.

“I changed my mind. I’m getting you back for this.”

******

She let her lips pop when she pulled away from his neck and straightened up to look down at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Fox pulled her arms away and stood up from the mattress to look down at her. “Riyo, do I have your permission to make you suffer as I have suffered tonight?”

Riyo could practically feel the green arcs on her cheeks darkening. “You have my permission, Marshal Commander Fox.”

“You’re going to give yourself a complex, Ri.”

“I think I already have.” She laughed. “Just give me you and your kama any day.”

Fox set his hands on the bed and leaned over to look at her. “And who’s the one wearing the kama?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” She closed her eyes when Fox wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her over to the edge of the mattress. His hands slid up into her shirt once again, this time pulling the material with them until Riyo’s chest was bared. Riyo rested her arms on Fox’s shoulder blades when he bent down to kiss across her breast. Her eyes snapped open when Fox pushed her down onto the mattress before shutting once again as he began to trail kisses down her torso, pressing his face into the contours of her body with his hands leading the way down. She pushed her hips up when he reached her stomach, allowing him to hook his fingers around her waistband and pull down her pants and underwear in one fluid motion.

Fox reached an arm up to lay across her hips, pinning her to the mattress. “May I?”

She lifted her head to look down at him. The playful twinkle that had lit his eyes earlier had transformed into an eager gleam in his dark gaze.

“Yes.”

She watched as Fox gently tugged her legs apart and lowered his head to the inside of one of her thighs. Any further hopes of watching were gone the moment his lips brushed against the soft skin and she let her head fall back with a sigh as he worked inwards. When he buried his face between her legs she couldn’t help the low moan that escaped her lips as he brushed against her. With his arm across her hips, she couldn’t move to relieve the frustration he was beginning to build in her. But she knew one thing. She liked the beard. She really liked the beard.

[boldly-ho]

Another Life Chapter 3

Pairing: Vladislav x Reader

Fandom: What We Do in the Shadows

Word Count: 2678

Trigger Warning: Brief mentions of domestic abuse

Chapter Summary: You spend a night on the town, but become increasingly frustrated by your lost memories as you almost recognize a place you’ve never been, and a man you’ve never seen. 

A knock at the door.

You ignored it.

You sunk lower into the bathtub, letting the now lukewarm water rise to cover everything but your nose. You liked the way the world sounded from underwater. It sounded heavier. You took slow breaths, careful not to get any water up your nose, wanting to prolong your submersion.

Nothing wrong with you. That���s what all the doctors had said.

Dawn had taken you to the emergency room on that first morning last week. You’d explained your situation and were subjected to a number of examinations, tests, and scans. All had come back fine. Your brain was healthy. There were no indications of physical trauma. You didn’t have problems remembering anything before that year, or since you’d woken up on that morning. There was no medical reason for your amnesia. You were fine.

So, you were referred to a psychologist. You met with her this morning, a pleasant-looking woman with round cheeks and short, mousy curls. She made you feel comfortable when she asked why you were there, when she expressed sympathy at how stressed and frightened you must feel. You were stressed. You were frightened. And she told you she’d help you get to the bottom of your problem. You weren’t sure it would work, but it was something. A solution to move towards. For the first time in a week, you didn’t feel so helpless.

However, you began to feel a lot less comfortable when she suggested that your relationship had ended so poorly, on such emotionally traumatizing terms, that you’d repressed the entire thing. She hadn’t outright asked if you’d been abused, but the question was in the air, being danced around. You were fairly sure that she was going to suggest it outright, but decided to wait until at least your next session after seeing your response to her attempts to broach the topic. You’d shut down, refusing to acknowledge any prompts to take the conversation in that direction.

It terrified you. You felt deep down that it wasn’t true, but you didn’t know why, and so you couldn’t really rule it out. Maybe your gut feeling that you hadn’t been abused wasn’t based in reality but in denial. Still though, you hadn’t found any marks on yourself, and all your exams from the ER had come back fine. There was no evidence that you’d been abused, at least not physically. It wasn’t entirely unfathomable that you had been emotionally or psychologically abused. There wouldn’t be any physical evidence of such treatment. And it would fit with the psychologist’s suggestion that you had repressed your memories of the events since last May.

If you had in fact repressed your memories, you’d asked the doctor, should you try to get them back? If your relationship, or whatever it was, ended so horribly that you blocked the entire thing out, maybe you were better off not remembering? The psychologist told you that was something you’d have to decide for yourself. Either trying to remember or not was fine, so long as you were sure, and willing to accept the outcome of your decision.

So, you were underwater.

Another knock. “Y/N?”

You poked your head up, wiping water from your eyes and ignoring the unpleasant sensation of water sliding down your ear canal.

Dawn’s head peered from around the bathroom door. “You’ve been in there for a while. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

“Well, I am.” Too terse. You softened your tone. “Really, Dawn, I’m okay. I just need some time to relax.”

“You’ve been in there for hours. Get out. Get ready. We’re going out tonight.”

You sunk lower into the tub, the water making a satisfying sloshing noise against the bathtub. “I don’t really feel like it.”

She ignored your protests. “We’re leaving in an hour.” And with that, she shut the door and left, preventing any further protestation on your part.

You pulled the plug from the tub, letting all the water drain before you finally stood up and toweled off. You stood in front of the mirror, looking at your face, inspecting it like you might a stranger’s. You were looking for any difference, any changes that would show you the passage of time. There were none. You hadn’t aged enough, nor experienced enough weight change, nor changed in any way significant enough to render your reflection unrecognizable. You should probably find that comforting, but instead it upset you. It was as if it invalidated the time passed.

Turning away from your all too familiar face, you wrapped the towel around your body and walked across the hall to your bedroom, rummaging through your closet until you found what your were looking for- your favorite little black dress. Laying it out on the bed, you noticed that it had changed. It was slightly washed out. The fade was relatively insignificant, something you likely wouldn’t have noticed if you had your memories. But your last memory of the dress was almost a year old, and you’d clearly worn it often over the past year. You smiled. You might not bear any signs of the passage of time, but at least something did.

You pulled on the dress, then rushed through your hair and makeup. If Dawn said she was giving you an hour, then you had that hour and not a second more. Sure enough, Dawn knocked at your door. “Ten minutes!”

“I’ll be ready!” you called back, blotting your lipstick onto a tissue.

You gave yourself a final once-over in the mirror, and realized you weren’t wearing earrings. You grabbed your jewelry box, but stopped dead in your tracks upon opening it.

There was an unfamiliar plain white business envelope sitting on top of the jewelry within, with three words written on it in a messy scrawl you didn’t recognize. ‘Wear every day.’ You picked up the envelope and stared at the writing. It definitely wasn’t your script. Maybe it was Vlad’s. The thought excited you, though you couldn’t quite tell if that feeling was positive or negative.

The envelope was unsealed, so you reached within and pulled out its contents. It was a necklace. The chain was long, so long that the pendant could be tucked into even a fairly low cut top. The pendant itself was small, but obviously recognizable, a simplistic silver cross. You didn’t own any other cross jewelry. It really wasn’t your taste.

‘Wear every day.’ You wondered why on earth you would even own the necklace in the first place, let alone wear it daily. The message wasn’t even your own. Is this something you used to wear daily? Its ties to your forgotten life of the past year were more appealing than the necklace itself, so you pulled it over your head, tucking the cross into your dress where it couldn’t be seen.

You walked out to find Dawn on the sofa, scrolling on her phone.

“How do I look?” you asked her.

“Perfect. Ready to have fun?”

You nodded, not really committed. If Dawn noticed, she didn’t say anything.

Some of Dawn’s colleagues, including a cute new coworker she blushingly insisted she wasn’t into, had met up at Boogie Wonderland, so the two of you were headed that way to join them. You walked quickly through downtown Wellington, chilled by the cool autumn air. You wished you’d brought a jacket, but knew you’d regret having to tote it around when you got to the club. Dawn was telling you all about this new coworker she supposedly wasn’t interested in, but you were only partially paying attention, too focused on how cold you were becoming. You picked up your pace, glancing behind you make sure Dawn was keeping up, when you spotted it across the street.

The Big Kumara. A small, uncrowded dive bar you’d never paid much attention to in the past. But something about it grabbed your attention now. It was like déjà vu, almost, though different somehow. You didn’t feel like you had experienced this moment before, more that you almost remembered something. It wasn’t that you recognized the place mentally, more like you recognized it emotionally. It made you feel something, though you weren’t sure what. You didn’t know the place; you felt like you should. It was a bit like when you knew a word, and it was on the tip of your tongue, but you just couldn’t get it. It was like that, but with recognition.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Dawn stood beside you, looking from you to The Big Kumara and back.

You didn’t look at her, still staring at the bar, frustrated by your inability to recall whatever it was you were almost getting. “I think I know that place.”

“What? The townie bar?” She sounded confused. “Oh! You mean from last year?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” The almost déjà vu feeling was fading quickly, like a dream after waking up. “Maybe it’s nothing.”

“Do you want to go in?”

Did you want to go in? You weren’t sure. You didn’t even know what you would do if you went in. Just look around? See if anything sparked a memory? You could ask around, you supposed, see if anyone recognized you. But that would probably be a bit weird.

Did you even want to chase this feeling? Your psychologist had said trying to get your memories back was fine, so long as you were sure. But were you sure? As the saying goes, ignorance is bliss. Maybe leaving the past year alone was in your best interest. You had a sneaking suspicion that you’d regret either option. If you left it alone, and chose not to pursue your memories, you’d always be wondering. You don’t think you could ever fully come to terms with not knowing. But if you walked into that bar, and tried to uncover the truth, you’d most likely find something bad. Bad enough that your brain erased it in the first place, as some sort of method of self-preservation. There were no good options.

Typical.

But now you had an idea of where to start, should you chose to do so. Walking into The Big Kumara now or never walking into The Big Kumara weren’t your only two choices.

“No,” you finally answered. “Let’s just go to Boogie Wonderland.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” It felt nice to answer honestly. And it felt nice to be sure.

Boogie Wonderland was just as loud and as crowded as you remembered from your last visit with Dawn. She spotted her friends immediately, but it took you a good few minutes to fight your way through the throng of close-pressed bodies to get to them.

“Dawn!” They greeted her as if she were Norm from Cheers. She was certainly more outgoing than you, and had quite a few more friends and acquaintances.

Dawn introduced you to all of her coworkers, giving you a pointed look when she introduced the one she didn’t, but of course definitively did, have a crush on. The group didn’t make much of an effort to include you in the conversation, but that was fine by you. You listened from the periphery, absorbing what you could with the music blaring, focused mostly on trying to decipher whether or not Dawn’s new coworker had any interest in her. The good news: he was absolutely flirting with her. The bad news: he was flirting with two other coworkers, the bartender, and a woman sitting at the bar, as well. Dawn had always had terrible taste in men. The thought occurred to you that you might not be able to judge. The guy you’d apparently been involved with could have been just as sleazy. Or worse. Your hand absent-mindedly traced the silver chain around your neck, as you once again became frustrated by your lack of memory.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by one of Dawn’s friends talking to you.

You focused on him. “Sorry, what?”

He raised his voice, assuming you couldn’t hear him over the music. “What is it that you do? For work?”

You were startled to realize you weren’t sure. The last few days had been so crazed that you hadn’t even thought about work. You didn’t have any angry calls about missed shifts. Were you unemployed? Last May, you had been transitioning to working remotely. Maybe you still did that?

He continued to look at you expectantly. “I, uh…”

Thankfully, Dawn came to your rescue, confirming that you did in fact work remotely at the same job. You probably should try to get some hours in, soon.

The same man, whose name you couldn’t remember, turned to you again. “That’s cool. How long have you known Dawn?”

“Three years.”

He nodded. “Nice. I’m going to head up to the bar. Would like me to get you anything?”

You realized he was asking to buy you a drink. You panicked. “Uh, no, thanks. I’m probably just going to close out, myself, anyway.”

His face fell. “Oh, yeah, sure, okay.” He got up quickly and went to the bar.

You were uncomfortable with everyone’s eyes on you. “I’m probably just going to head home,” you addressed Dawn, before getting up and making your way to the bar to close out.

It wasn’t that Dawn’s friend was unattractive. He wasn’t drop dead gorgeous, but he was definitely handsome, with gorgeous eyes and attractively mussed hair. A year ago, you would have accepted a drink from him, no questions asked. But you felt different. You felt almost guilty for being flirted with, as if you were cheating. You felt a sudden pang of loneliness, similar to grief. It felt like the first time you had the urge to phone a grandparent before remembering they had died, like falling with nothing to catch you. It felt surreal.

It was as you signed the receipt and put your credit card back into your clutch that you noticed him across the dance floor, talking to some woman. You had the feeling you’d had at seeing The Big Kumara, but so much stronger. You almost recognized him. You didn’t know him from Adam, but you missed him, like he was a dear friend you’d given up for dead. He was pale, with messy brown hair, and wore an outdated black and red military jacket that had clearly seen better days.

The man saw you staring, and seemed startled for a moment before his face lost all expression and he looked past you to the bar. Had he recognized you? It happened so fast, you couldn’t be sure.

He left the woman he was talking to, and walked towards the exit. Without thinking, you followed. You pushed past warm, dancing bodies, picking up speed when he went out the door and you lost sight of him. As you finally made your way through the crowd and out into the cold, you saw him halfway down the block and called out to him, “Wait!”

He turned to your voice, and you started to go towards him, but he turned and ran. Shit. You sprinted after him, calling now and then.

“Please, wait!”

He ran a few blocks before ducking to the right. When you rounded the corner, you stopped in your tracks. What the hell? You were standing in a dead end alley. The man was nowhere to be seen. There was no one in the alley, save for you and a stray dog who sat beside a dumpster. Your heart was racing, and not just from the running.

That was that, then. He was gone. You felt a lump form in your throat. You were so confused, stressed, and overwhelmed. Leaning against the alley wall, you let out a soft sob as your tears started to flow. The dog trotted over to you, and you scratched his head with one hand as the other clutched at the chain of your necklace. He looked up at you with big, intelligent eyes as you let yourself lose composure.