#for my first wish I will kill all plastic surgeons for my second wish I will kill everyone who’s ever posted in the Billy tag. amen

[a-star-that-burns-brightly]

CH2-12 thoughts (spoilers, I guess. You probably shouldn't be in the tag if you haven't finished the episode though.)

So! DRDT is officially back, and wow what a way to begin the rollercoaster we'll be put through the next few weeks. This episode was amazing, and I wanted to discuss my thoughts on it in a more detailed form. This episode gave us a lot of character moments that I want to at least mention, so let's get into it? Before we do though, I want to say that through these posts, I will be updating two things and showing them at the beginning and end First one being the swear statistics! It became a thing after my previous rewatch that every time a character swears, I count it, and I want to continue doing that for the rest of the series if I can so manage it.

^ current swear statistics as of CH2-11

And the second being...drumroll please!

My own personal DRDT CH2-Part 2 bingo card! If something on this list happens in CH2-Part 2, I'll check it off. Hopefully I can get a bingo or two in here, especially since, spoilers, two of the boxes have already been checked. But with all of that preamble out of the way, let's begin shall we? I’m going to cover the character moments we got in separate categories of the well…characters, rather than in order, for the sake of being concise.

Arturo

First and foremost, “Shut your whore mouth” made me scream at the top of my lungs. God I wish that was voiced. But more importantly, the thing about Arturo being very young for a plastic surgeon actually being addressed was not something I expected, especially so early. But I definitely appreciate the nuggets of Arturo backstory. Funny enough, his situation sounds very similar to Min’s in some regard, especially this line

(x) Arturo: I was only able to get this far in such a short amount of time because I specialized in plastic surgery, and nothing else. I neglected everything that wasn't immediately relevant to my goals.

This absolutely plays a factor into his relationship with his little sister. It more than likely was not just him leaving that made her commit suicide, but perhaps also years of neglect. And if she really felt like she couldn't live a life without Arturo in it, it's safe to say that their parents probably weren't the best either. The more I learn about Arturo and his homelife the more worried I am for him and especially his sister.

Veronika

Veronika didn't get much besides being her usual self, but I gave her a category because I wanted to point out two things One, Veronika calling Arturo cute. That just made me smile

And secondly, this line right here

(x) Veronika: Oh, and don't say something as boring as "I want to kill myself." I have no interest in such mundane reasons.

This is so fucked up and awful and gross and I absolutely love her for it. I just know she's going to get worse, I hope she does.

And also the fact that she apparently finds suicide to be inherently boring is very interesting, given the fact that she more than likely has the self-harm secret.

Whit

I know he didn't have much, if any major role in this episode but...listen I missed him. So much. You have actually zero idea how much I missed him and his goofiness... But also I can't believe that was the explanation for the dent in the computer lab that's been bugging me for months. Well played DT-Dev... (though the fact that Whit got away with breaking a rule solely because MonoTV thought it was funny is a bit fishy...it's almost like he's the MASTERMIND-- /hj)

We also in general got a lot of Charles and Whit moments, which I always like to see I don't think there's anything else to cover when it comes to Wh--

(x) David: Ugh! Goddamn it, Whit, does everything you say have to be made into some shitty dumb joke?! You're actually really fucking annoying! Shut the fuck up!!

...Well, when I said I wanted more Whitvid interactions I guess this can serve as a reward. ...guys dont worry this is how we can still wi--

Levi

...I mean, what else is there to say really?

No but actually I'll talk. This is what we've been theorizing for a year, and I actually had it in my predictions that Levi's secret was going to be the one revealed in this episode. But I did not expect it right at the end, nor did I expect it to be so sudden. And I don't think Levi has any reason to lie either, so I think this is his actual secret. Seeing him lose confidence and apologize for his unhelpfulness kind of stung to me, honestly. Levi has been trying to help the group since the very beginning, and that has only amplified since the start of Chapter 2. So seeing him...basically give up was very upsetting He is definitely going to be in the hot seat next week's episode and I am very excited for it, hopefully we get some insight on his past as well and...maybe a levi and nico interaction? please dt-dev? please? :>

Hu

FishyFried, as always, knocked it out of the fucking park with Hu's voice acting, and her monologue towards David was just as amazing...if not a bit terrifying, as it directly parallels with her hidden quote

I want to pay for what I’ve done. But even then, I still want to live.

I think I've said this before, but I adore David and Hu's dynamic and how both of them tackle the themes of change in their own ways, how both of them project onto the people around them to fulfill their own desires due to being stagnant in their own growth as people, it's so much fun, and I can't wait to see how this continues to develop in the later chapters I am sincerely a ch5victim!david + ch5killer!hu believer at the end of the day.

Teruko

Oh Teruko, quite a bit to discuss with you today.

For starters, her genuinely feeling embarrassed and upset upon realizing what she did wrong, apologizing for it, and (how I interpreted it anyway) beginning to realize that working alone and not accepting help from others is starting to bite her in the ass? That was not what I expected. I really did think that Teruko was going to get worse before she got better, but maybe she's improving a lot quicker than I thought (...let's hope she doesn't backslide again though, especially if the culprit is who I think it is) Also.

If I have to live with this knowledge, so the-fuck do you. And then there's her argument with David, which I already made a post about, but I want to add onto it by saying that the performances from Swords and LuucarIi here are absolutely phenomenal. One of my favorite voice acted scenes in the entire series. I have replayed Teruko's "Hah! Based on what?!" probably around 20 times and I will repeat it 20 times more because the delivery gives me actual chills. This fangan has such an amazing voice cast oh my god it's insane.

David

Oh. You are such a broken, broken man, and you are absolutely going to go down the Simon Laurent route. I actually don't have a lot to add when it comes to David's actual motivations for his actions, I think a lot of us theorized that he was trying to kill everyone and himself. But the main thing I want to talk about is the Xander shit because oh my god this man is Down Fucking Horrendous. I mentioned all the way back in this post that David idolizes Xander just as much as Xander idolizes him. What I didn't expect was for him to still be clinging onto the hope Xander gave him and trying to follow in his footsteps, and being borderline possessive over the damn dead man. Xander may have idolized David, but David is obsessed with Xander and what he represents to him. And he is willing to ruin his reputation, reliability, and dignity in pursuit of what he thinks is right. Not to mention, it puts the Tally5 image in a whole new light.

Though I still think these words apply to the very possible revolution that David, Xander, and Mai enacted towards Hope's Peak, a theory that has become even more credible after this episode, I also think these lines portray David's thought process during his actions in CH2-11 and his motivation for doing the things that he does. David calling Xander "the only good person he's ever known" is very, very telling when you consider what he personally thinks makes someone a bad person (lazy, useless, stupid). And that makes me upset. Xander and David's relationship will never not be absolutely fascinating to me. ...alSO DAVID APPARENTLY HAS MEMORIES FROM HOPE'S PEAK??? APPARENTLY??? Like am I reading that right or do I just have bad media literacy. How...How does he??? WHY does he??? Why did he say he didn't know who Xander was in the prologue???? I am very confused and I'm sure it will all be answered. Extra Thoughts !! - we got 7:30 AM confirmation, woohoo!! And the bonus of Arei swinging when she was first found was such a good detail and I’m surprised none of us noticed it, honestly. With that confirmation, that leaves basically everyone else (minus J, David, Veronika, Hu, and Nico) in the hot-seat. - the multitude of new sprites we got were so amazing, especially David's - Apparently everything that happened in the second half of CH2-11 was in the span of two hours?! Sheesh, the editing crew on the TV show must be working overtime. Hopefully they get a paycheck and its not just MonoTV who gets paid. - If I had any doubt in my brain that Eden was the culprit it has basically dissipated with this episode. I really do not know who else it could be other than her. three of the five main suspects other than her have basically been cleared up, either through alibi (J and Hu) or though plot (Levi) David and Nico are also cleared from suspicion Though there isn't really any plot or evidence reason to necessarily exclude Rose, given her moment in CH2-8 and, let's be honest, this murder being way too physically complicated for someone as lethargic as her to commit, I'm inclined to believe she is not And every other character has something that's clearly being set up to be further explored in Chapter 3 (Charles, Whit, Ace, Arturo, and Veronika) Like... even if you don't think Eden is the culprit, you can't deny that she's the odd one out here. I still think Accomplice!Levi is true, but I also truthfully think the culprit can't be anyone other than Eden - If I were to give one I-guess critique though, not just on this episode but on the trial as a whole, it's that we are four trial episodes in and there has been very, very little focus on the actual murder mystery itself. We have barely even covered 80% of the evidence. This isn't like, a huge problem for me specifically because I very much watch DRDT for the astounding character writing over the murder mysteries, and I definitely think that the lack of focus on the case is worth the amazing character moments we got in this episode. But I can see it really bothering some people, and there's a part of me that can't help but be a bit afraid that the actual solving of the murder case is going to hit the audience with a bunch of information at once and come across as a bit rushed due to the lack of focus it's had so far. I trust that DT-Dev is cooking though, and it'll probably be a lot more cohesive once we have the full trial to look through.

Predictions for CH2-13 - Like I said before, Levi is going to become the main suspect easily thanks to his secret reveal. I know Ace is going to be on his ass especially, because in his mind it would basically confirm the image he has already conjured up of Levi in his mind as a violent brute who is going to snap his neck any second. J is also going to jump to conclusions because that's just what she does, and she was already concerned about the murderer secret to begin with. - Furthermore, I think most of this episode is going to entail Teruko trying to disprove that Levi could've been the culprit. Considering the fact that there, well, isn't much evidence to suggest he didn't, maybe this episode will feature this chapter's Random Guess minigame. - I highly doubt we're getting an AM VS PM scrum debate now, but maybe we'll get one on whether or not Levi is the culprit? Maybe? - On the topic of trial minigames, I hope we get another nonstop debate, it's been like three episodes since we've had one lmao - Nico is either going to defend Levi, or reiterate the speech that J gave them in CH2-9. Either way, I hope this reveal causes them to interact it would be so interesting - We are on a track-record of having at least one person's secret exposed every trial episode. Considering the fact that Xander and Min are dead, and I do not think Teruko's secret will come out until the end of the chapter, that really only leaves Hu and Veronika...which is interesting, as they are both in the clear for being the culprit. Hu has already had multiple moments to shine in this trial, so I think its more likely that Veronika's secret will be the one getting revealed. How that happens, I am unsure. But I think Veronika will be the next person to have her secret revealed.

Conclusion Overall, I think this episode was amazing and a great way to kick off the end of the hiatus. I can already tell that these next few weeks are going to be a wild ride for us DRDT fans, but we're all in this together, so I think everything's going to be fine (nothing is going to be fine.)

UPDATED SWEAR STATISTICS: CH2-12

UPDATED BINGO CARD

[ducktr0ducin]

You know what, this is really bothering me and I don’t care if my irl friends see this at this point.

So. My psychiatrist is actively making it hell to peruse top surgery.

Back in early June, after two months of being on a wait list I was able to finally enter the consultation process at the plastic surgeon that my main doctor referred me to. Everything went swimmingly! The surgeon even said that should everything go smoothly, we could set up the surgery in 2-3 months. I was, to put it lightly, ecstatic. I hate having breasts. I hate feeling them all the time. Wearing bras is the worst, constantly being aware that they’re there. But I finally had a light at the end of the tunnel.

And then Dana goddamn Foster stepped in.

I wish to note that her profile SPECIFICALLY MENTIONS specializing in LGBTQ+ issues, hence why I do not feel bad at ALL for dropping her name (even if it helps at least one other trans person avoid her, it would all be worth it).

She had been my psychiatrist for roughly a year at that point? We never really talked about me being trans specifically, however, she knew that my chosen name is Ned and I go by he/him. We only really talked about my meds, and effects from the meds. The most we talked about outside of this was how my work was going or if I had any plans for the weekend. Small talk.

Anyways, we needed a Letter of Approval from a psychiatrist to be able to go ahead with the surgery, and so we sent it forwards to Dana without a second thought. The next session I enter with her, she starts the call by saying she had declined approving the letter. I was a little shell shocked that she didn’t even talk to us about it first, but she stood her ground. She said that with my anxiety/paranoia that I “Wouldn’t be able to handle the post op aftercare” and that we needed to find the source of my trauma before I could handle something like that. I was devastated. I tried explaining to her how this was something I had been looking forward to for a long time and how declining it before even talking to me was awful, but she didn’t back down. Eventually, after enough of standing my ground, she said that should my therapist agree that top surgery would be beneficial to me, she would approve the letter. She ended the call by reiterating the crisis hotline, and that if I wanted to kill myself to get to a hospital. At least she’s vaguely aware of the trans experience enough to know the high suicide rates.

So smash cut to therapy like a week or two later. Obviously, my therapist sees no point in withholding a surgery that would ONLY be beneficial to my mental health. The recovery process as well would be at home, only needing to spend a few hours at the hospital post op before being able to rest at home, alleviating a lot of potential paranoia I could experience. So, she sends a notice to Dana about how she’s ok with it, and says that she only wants to check in with my main doctor to make sure she doesn’t want me to be on hrt first.

Now, imagine yesterday, me waking up and getting ready for my call with Dana at 11. Finally approaching the light at the end of the tunnel, right?

.

Dear reader, that light was not the beautiful warmth of the sun, but rather a freight train approaching rapidly to run me over.

Now all of a sudden she never said that she would approve the letter if my therapist approved, and that “You should just get a new psychiatrist who would approve of this, because I will not”. Despite me and another family member being there and hearing that initial wording. I was. Pissed. The call then went on as normal, albeit very strained. We discussed upping my meds to help with me feeling more stressed (gee I wonder WHAT IN THE WORLD could have caused me to feel more stressed), and Dana, in her 150 iq wisdom, says that she never set my meds to be 3ml. On the bottle of medicine she prescribed us. She then proceeded to try and blame both my main care doctor AND the pharmacy for “making a mistake on the bottle.”

The bottle that they just print the label off from your order. But yeah sure the dosage I’ve been taking for months now was just a pharmacy error! Let’s just ignore how it got refilled MULTIPLE TIMES without ever getting that error noticed! How convenient!

And now, this morning, as we’re looking into a new psychiatrist, I noticed something really funny about my patient chart. My gender dysphoria diagnosis was magically gone. Gee, how convenient!

I think that is what pushed me over this edge. This went from “oh, maybe this is just her misremembering” to actively malicious. I feel disgusted, upset, angry, and just sad. Really sad. Anyone who’s ever had to find a new psychiatrist you know how long the process takes to get in. My mood has been worse, I’ve been feeling so physically ill, I’ve had many intrusive thoughts about just taking a knife to my chest and getting rid of my tits myself, it’s awful.

I don’t even know what the point of this post is, I think I just need to get this off my shoulders.

I feel so tired.

[tiktaalic]

Can’t get over how fucking white you have to be to like Racism Billy from stranger things. One measly little carrot (him being weird about Steve in the shower) and people start writing essays about how he’s racist to cope with abuse and is just a little internalized homophobia baby who deserves sympathy. Did Billy have gay power? Did Billy have gay power when he contemplated hatecriming a 12 year old black kid?

[frostedfaves]

Repercussions (15)

Masterlist

Pairing: dark!Natasha Romanoff x dark!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha and Wanda search for their printsessa with the help of Tony.

Warnings: dark themes, gun use, blood mention, serious injury

A/N: am I devastated that this is the final part of one of my favorite things I’ve ever written? absolutely! but I’m also really happy with myself for being able to turn the images in my head for this ending into coherent words. I’ve been holding onto this idea for weeks and I’m ecstatic to see everyone’s response to it. I’ll be letting you know later on this week what’s coming next! 👀

Previous part

-

With Clint’s assistance, Natasha and Wanda were able to quickly create a plan and make their way to the last base, using the fear and anger of their girlfriend’s disappearance to barrel through anyone that stood in the way of intel collection. They wasted no time in waking everyone up when they returned to the safe house.

“Is there a security breach?” Steve questioned as the group gathered, and Natasha tossed the hard drive at him.

“We got everything, and we need to get back--”

“Oh, I get it,” Sam cut in with an eye roll. “They rushed through the mission to get back to their girlfriend so they can cuddle and all that cute shit--”

“She’s missing!” Wanda growled as her eyes began to glow, causing Sam to step back a few feet with wide eyes.

Everyone aside from Clint started asking questions all at once, and Natasha shut them all down with a stern command to be ready to fly out in ten minutes. Bags were packed and bodies were dressed as the team rushed to get to the jet, afraid of what might happen if they delayed the two women any longer.

“While we’re checking out the house, I need someone looking into Wesley L/N,” Natasha ordered, nodding as Tony volunteered and sending him all the information she had.

“Who is this, her brother?”

“Her cousin, if that’s even true--”

“It is, we checked the family history,” Wanda insisted, grabbing Natasha’s hand with a shaky breath. “They’re really close, he wouldn’t hurt her.”

“We don’t know that! Anyone can do something terrible if they’re pushed far enough--”

“Stop! Just fucking stop!” Wanda cried out as she covered her face with her hands, and Natasha moved to wrap her arms around her as she sat in the seat beside her.

“I’m sorry, Wan. I’m just worried and my brain is wired to go to the worst case scenario instantly.”

Wanda simply sniffled as tears started spilling down her cheeks again, leaning her head against Natasha’s shoulder as she accepted the comforting embrace. After a few minutes of silence between the pair, Wanda dropped her hands into her lap as she glanced at green eyes already absentmindedly staring at her, lowering her voice as she spoke.

“I want to ruin his mind before we kill him.”

-

The house felt empty and colder without your presence, every step on the carpeted floor of the front room seemed to echo around the building. Tears threatened to build in Wanda’s eyes again but she held them back, intent on believing that they will find you and bring you back where you belong. Only they could take care of what you needed.

A heavy feeling washed over their hearts when they entered your solo room and discovered some of your clothes and shoes were missing, along with the travel bag you’d first arrived with. The guest room Wesley resided in was also void of his presence, and anything that could clue them into where he’d taken you. 

“Tash, look.”

Natasha followed her gaze to the security room, cursing loudly in Russian when she noticed the door left wide open. She stormed inside, clenching her fist in anger when she noticed the tiny plastic baggie holding the miniscule tracker that was supposed to be in your leg right now.

“He’s a psychiatrist, not a fucking surgeon!” she fumed as she showed the object to Wanda. “How did he get this out?!”

Wanda walked around her to get to one of the computers, logging in as fast as her fingers would allow her to type and bringing up the security footage from the last several days. For the most part, the two of you acted normally, doing all the things you’d told them about like playing games and watching TV, but the sight of the two of you emerging from the TV room in the basement and entering the game room brought something to her attention.

“Did you see that?” She backed up the footage and switched over to slow motion. “She’s limping.”

“Isn’t that the day she hurt her leg in the backyard?”

“Yes, but…” The backyard footage is brought up next and skipped through until the moment of your ‘injury’. “This happened almost two hours later, meaning--”

“It was a cover for the tracker removal.” Natasha cursed once more as she released a frustrated sigh. “She’s getting locked in her room as soon as she gets back here.”

A notification similar to a phone ringing went off on one of the monitors, and the two women scurried over to answer the incoming call from Tony.

“Everything you had on this Wesley kid checks out, no criminal history or secret ties to any Hydra related groups, or anything else you have to worry about. However, I tried tracking and hacking into his phone and it seems to be wiped clean. So I got into his phone records with his cell company and his last call was made to an unsaved number connected to someone named Kendall, last known address in Nebraska.”

“Send it to us, please.”

They were on their feet as soon as the call ended, grabbing the mission bags abandoned in the doorway and heading off to their respective rooms to repack for the trip.

In nearly the same moment, you were in your safe house in Nebraska, rounding the corner to enter Wesley’s room. He knew something was wrong by the way your eyes watered and your shaky hand held onto the bugging device.

“They found us.” There was no questioning tone in his voice, but you answered with a nod anyway.

“Pack everything you brought and get out of here, drive toward the west coast until you run out of gas and hide wherever you stop.”

“What?! I can’t leave you here! They’ll just take you back and it’ll be worse than before.”

“I’ll be fine, Wes,” you assured him with a gentle squeeze of your hand over his. “I planned for this too, and if I know them as well as I think, I’ll be free to come find you.”

-

Wesley was packed and gone within the next hour, and you worked quickly to transform the space, make it seem as if you’d been the only one to reside in the home. Once that was set, you changed clothes and positioned yourself in an armchair against the wall in the front room, a gun resting in your lap. You didn’t move when a knock was heard on the front door that night, simply waited until the visitors got impatient and picked the lock to force their way in.

“You worried us, printsessa, disappearing like that,” Natasha addressed you in a chilling tone as the two of them stopped a few feet away from you. “And we’ll deal with that later, after you tell Wesley to come out so we can punish him first.”

“He’s not here,” you told her calmly. “His only job was to bring me here--”

“And take the tracker out of your leg, which we will be putting back,” Wanda interjected with a stern expression. “Now, you can either come with us to the car willingly or we’ll drag you.”

“I won’t be doing either of those things.” You stood slowly, lifting the gun to your temple as you went. “Your only choices are to leave me here and go back to the way your lives were before I came in, or you can let me die. If you take me again, I’ll just fight you every day until you wish you’d killed me yourself. No matter how you manipulate my mind, my true self will never love someone who wants to control me. I’ll tell you how much I hate you for ruining my life every second I’m able, and I’ll kill myself the moment I get the chance to do so.”

You noticed the glassy look in their eyes as they faced each other, and you knew they were having a silent conversation in their minds. Seconds felt like minutes as they seemed to discuss their options, eventually turning back to face you. Wanda was fully crying now, and Natasha seemed to be physically holding back her own emotional break.

“We always thought we’d be able to love and care for you until our dying days.” Her shaky voice filled the quiet room. “But we understand if you don’t want that, and we’re sorry that you’ll never be able to love anyone else.”

Before you had time to react, Natasha was pulling a gun out and aiming it at your heart, the sound of the shot echoing and triggering Wanda’s instant sobbing. Natasha was quick to pull her into her arms, facing her away from you as you tumbled to the ground, your own weapon sliding away as your free hand weakly pressed against the oversized sweatshirt that covered your wound.

The two women hurried out of the house as you began to choke and cough up blood, not able to stomach hearing or seeing anymore, and the sound of a car speeding off echoed throughout the neighborhood. Waiting another minute or two to be sure they left, you got up to walk off to the bathroom, wiping the fake blood off your palm the best you could. After slipping the bulletproof vest off your torso and washing your hands, you quickly rinsed your mouth and brushed your teeth to get rid of the red stains, lifting your head to look in the mirror with a smile when you were done.

You looked pretty good for a dead woman.

-

Tags: @littlegasps @nat-km-mh @natasha-danvers @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @imnotasuperhero @creepingwolfberry @emilyprentisswife @cherrieloco @bebe404 @seventeen0 @buckmesidewaysandcallmesteve @its-a-long-way-to-ba-sing-se @fayhar @becka107 @wannabe-fic-reader @beforeoursecrets @cosmicbrownies7 @messuhp @mjaudrey @sxphiaswitch @trikruismybitch @muted-stoneheart @multi-images @just-a-normalpersons @want-to-watch-it-burn @stop-drop-and-drumroll @stickystudentlightmug @pianogirl2121 @welcometothepeanutgallery @witchxaf @natashadeservedmore @sakurat123 @darkangelxoxo @haiiiloeee2

[fighterkimburgess]

Lover Chapter 10 - Death By A Thousand Cuts

Summary: Chapter 10/19 - Hailey sits vigil in Jay's room, but Will brings a harsh reality to light. Series masterlist here

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: Medical talk, discussion of last wishes.

Wanna join my taglist?

--

It had been three days. Three days of bad coffee, of an uncomfortable plastic chair, of curling up and sleeping on the cot they’d provided because as soon as a nurse suggested Hailey leave Jay’s bedside her anger had flared.

Connor Rhodes had been by to give a full list of his injuries after Jay had come back from his second surgery, and they played through Hailey’s mind any time she closed her eyes. Severe concussion, broken nose, dislocated shoulder, four broken ribs, a punctured lung, a sprained ankle and bruises, cuts and small burns on a large amount of his body. He was lucky to be alive. And all Hailey could think was he had to wake up.

The first two days were spent in a medically induced coma. He had a small bleed on his brain, and they didn’t want to put him under anaesthesia for another surgery, so instead they put him in a coma and on medication to clear it. It worked, but he still hadn’t woken up.

The team came by once a day, checking in on them both. The only time Hailey would leave the room was when Voight was sitting with Jay, and she’d let Vanessa and Kim bring her to the cafeteria for bad food. They tried convincing her to go outside for fresh air, but that was a waste of time as soon as they attempted it. Instead she returned back to the small room, getting pats on the shoulder from her coworkers.

Will had taken two days off work, but Hailey had assured him that she could stay with Jay. She sat when the nurses came in to do vitals, and when Connor came in to check the incisions. It was nearly four when Will walked in, Connor following behind.

“Is there any news? What’s the prognosis?” She had Jay’s hand in hers, feeling his pulse move in time with the beeps on the monitors.

“Hailey…Jay had an advanced directive. If something like this happened, he didn’t want to be on machines for longer than fourteen days.” She felt her stomach fall away, and the thoughts came bouncing around her head. It was day three. Eleven days to go.

“What happens if he doesn’t wake up in eleven days?” Her tongue was thick in her mouth, it was like talking through sandpaper.

“Thirteen days. We spoke to Goodwin and the hospital attorneys, and the medically induced coma doesn’t count. If he’s not awake, we need to talk about final steps.” Connor’s voice was soft. She trusted the trauma surgeon almost as much as she trusted Will, she’d watched him stitch her up more than once. But it was Jay, and he was telling her there wasn’t much time left.

“I…I’m gonna be sick.” Hailey ran to the small adjoining bathroom, spewing out the coffee and half donut she’d managed to swallow that morning. She ended up dry heaving over the toilet, running her hands through her hair. Finally, when she thought her stomach was settled enough she stood and cleaned up after herself.

Will was still out there, and he held out a bottle of water. The sips soothed her stomach as they sat beside each other, watching Jay.

“I’m technically his medical POA, but I’m not doing anything without you giving the ok. He’d kill me for keeping you out of the decisions.”

Hailey wiped her eyes, swallowing the sob that wanted to emerge. “Before he went under I was going to sign mine over to him. But then he wouldn’t be around so I didn’t want to risk it. How are we supposed to do this, Will?” She leaned her head on the doctor’s shoulder, taking comfort from the man who may as well have been her own brother.

“We do what Jay asked. Even if it hurts us. When he came in Rhodes told me there was a chance he wouldn’t even make it to the OR. Then when he was in there there was a chance he wouldn’t get off the table. And then the bleed could kill him. But he’s still fighting, and we have to fight with him. And if the worst happens, we’ll get through it together.” Hailey felt him squeeze her shoulder before standing.

“I have to go downstairs, I told Ethan I needed to be here when Connor gave the news. If you need anything tell them to page me, ok?”

“Definitely. Thanks, Will.”

The next week was hell for Hailey. Everyone kept coming around, but she hadn’t told anyone except Voight about the deadline. Telling people made it real, and she couldn’t do that. Seeing her hard nosed sergeant show emotion when she told him about Jay’s decision was hard enough for her, and she couldn’t face telling anybody else. She felt guilty leaving the unit without a detective, but Voight had told her if she turned up he’d kick her out of the precinct.

Even Trudy showed up when she finished work, dinner for Hailey in her hands. Out of everyone, Trudy knew what it was like to have the constant fear that your partner was in danger, that there was nothing you could do to prevent it from happening. The desk sergeant was able to help Hailey come to terms with what had happened.

She got into a routine. Kim or Vanessa would bring clothes in every day, Hailey would change and shower in the bathroom before taking her place at Jay’s bedside. She’d downloaded some cheesy romance novels, and read them to him to keep herself amused, putting on accents when required. Either Kev and Kim or Adam and Vanessa would turn up for lunch, one taking her spot at his bedside while the other dragged her for food. Voight called in whenever he was passing, at least once a day. Trudy turned up with dinner for them and stories about what patrol got up to.

Every day felt like she was dying, a thousand cuts being slashed into her all at once. When she slept she’d wake up multiple times to nightmares, memories of Voight calling her about Jay, her dad, Booth, when she and Kim were abducted all mixing in her head. She wanted to scream, wanted to get drunk and blast music. But she couldn’t leave Jay alone.

Finally on day ten Voight turned up with Will and Kev, forcing her from the room to go home and sleep in her own bed. They watched as she got into the car, but Hailey took the long way home. Every traffic light she wanted to stop and scream at the world, beg for Jay to wake up and be ok. But every time she asked that question, whether in her head or out loud, I don’t know swam around her brain.

She slept fitfully, waking multiple times. Finally it was late enough she could go to the hospital without being yelled at, and she stopped to buy breakfast on the way. It was a familiar walk through the hallways to Jay’s room, and she steeled herself before walking in. When she turned that corner she dropped the food and coffees in her hands in shock, staring at the bed. Because Jay Halstead was awake and looking at her.

Chapter 11>>

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[qvid-pro-qvo]

hello :) would you mind writing something for barba x reader where she's part of svu and get's hurt on the job and he's with her during it and afterwards in the hospital? wishing you a lovely day! xx

rafael barba x female!reader.

word count: 1907

rating: mature, for the moments that are spent doing nothing but praying for a miracle (tw: canon-typical violence, guns, blood, hospital, food. hurt/comfort).

-

There were a lot of things that Rafael Barba was thankful for, and one of them was you.

Not… directly for you. No matter what Rollins tried to tell him, tried to convince him of, it wasn’t you. It was your skill on that stand that endeared you to him. You were always prepped, and you were always ready to blow the jurors’ minds. You didn’t have a temper like Rollins, stubbornness of Fin, or Carisi’s… existence. You were you, and you held yourself to a brilliant standard. If he could have you on the stand, you were always your first choice.

This case was a shitshow, and as always, you held yourself to a higher standard. You were brilliant, you were incredible, you probably singlehandedly saved the case. But he wasn’t going to tell you that. No. He met you outside the courthouse, he shook your hand, and thanked you for your work.

“You did well” was his only remark. He shook your hand. A little too long. For some reason Rollins appeared in his head, and he shook her off. He didn’t have feelings for you. He appreciated you.

“Thanks. I got directed well,” you countered, and he smiled, a little quirk of his lips. You gave him something brilliant, a grin, and an elbow. It made him swallow, tightly.

Right. No feelings.

Suddenly your eyes closed, and you sighed. When you opened them again, there was something solemn, somber in them. “Barba, it’s only gonna get worse.”

He had tried to look away, ignore the feeling that your smile settled in him, but found himself glancing at you anyway. In this light, the heat of the summer, your face shined in the sun. You looked up at the sky before looking back at him, quirking your lips. He couldn’t help the way he noticed your coordination – his handkerchief, his tie, the color of your lips. A pretty deep pink. Impossible to pull his eyes away from.

He didn’t have a thing for you. But he was grateful for you. For you looking him in the eyes, and telling him again. “It’s going to get worse. The people who hurt our victims… they’re not gonna stop until every single one of them are behind bars.”

“We got one,” he countered. The two of you paused on the steps in front of the courthouse, a press conference a few feet away discussing the very case the two of you just ended. “It’s a start.”

“I know.” You turned to face him, and you gave him a smile. “I know, just. Just thinking.”

There was a sudden rush of movement. Rafael didn’t see much, didn’t feel much. But he heard. Heard you shout his name. Heard the scuffle on the stone steps of the courthouse, heard you announce yourself.

“NYPD, stop!”

And he heard the shot. He heard the shot, and he heard the gunfire, and all he saw, all he could do, he… he watched you fall.

Fall in front of him.

Because you took the shot. The one meant for him.

There was a commotion. A tackle to the ground. The screaming man was shouting at Rafael, for putting away the bastard he just put away, and you… you were on the ground.

You were fucking bleeding on the ground, god –

“We – we need a medic!” he shouted out. His voice was too hoarse, so he shouted it again, and again, until he couldn’t breathe. “Someone, please!”

“Barb – Barba.” You were choking on something, something a lot like blood, and that face that was shining was so damn pale. You lips were still that perfect pink, and Rafael’s hands were red, reaching out to press his own jacket to the wound. He had flashbacks to a courtroom scene, his hands tending to the wound in the judge’s side, but he blinked and they vanished. You weren’t a judge. You weren’t Rafael. The bullet missed, and the bullet hit you.

“Stay with me,” he begged you. “They’re calling an ambulance.”

“Are you h-hit?” you asked him, and his laughter was shocked out of him. It took him too long to answer, with a shake of his head. No hit. The only blood on his hands, on him, was yours.

You smiled, and there was red dripping from the corner of your lips. “Good.”

And then your eyes fluttered shut.

There were more things that happened. Liv showed, pulled Rafael back as the medics swarmed the scene. She looked to Rafael, scanned him. Asked him, more than once, if he was hit. But he’d already answered you, hadn’t he? It wasn’t him who’d gotten the bullet, even though he was the one who had been the target. The bastard had screamed his name.

“No,” he finally told the lieutenant, watching your body get taken away. He could only watch after all, because they were treating you. They were treating you, and you’d be fine, wouldn’t you?

Wouldn’t you?

“Rafa…”

His sharp look could’ve killed a weaker person. He turned the full force of his anger to Liv because there was nowhere else to put it. No other option. “No, but I should’ve been! God, I – I should’ve been.”

But Liv wasn’t weak. Not like Rafael. No, Rafael crumbled as soon as he spoke, and Liv stood beside him, held him up with her presence as the sirens faded away.

-

The beeping was incessant. Unending. Infuriating. Your heart, reduced to a monitor on a machine. He supposed he was grateful for it, knowing that you were alive, but if anything it just reminded him how lucky you were. That that steady rhythmic beeping didn’t stop.

It’d been three days since you got shot. Three days. The first day was spent in limbo, waiting in a room reserved for others in just as much pain as Rafael. That’s where the whole team waited, where Liv sat with Rafael when a case didn’t take her away. Waiting for news, waiting for the doctor, waiting for something. Anything.

When the news came, it was filled with platitudes. With good, good things. But all Rafael could think about was the cardiac surgeon who walked in along with the trauma specialist, the fact that a whole team was gathered around your body and fighting to keep you alive.

“The bullet shattered a few ribs, and nicked some of the arteries surrounding the heart and lungs,” the doctor told him, her smile tight. Her mask was around her neck, and her hair was contained under her hair net, but the lines remained – the place where her coverings had sat for hours while they stitched and poked and prodded. “It was a close call, but.”

“Will she make it?” Rafael asked, before he could stop himself.

The other doctor twisted his lips, too. “She’s a fighter. But it’s still a fight. It’ll be a few more hours before she’s truly stabilized, but. At this point the prognosis is positive.”

They discussed the details. A prolonged ICU stay. Sedation, while your body healed. A couple of calls, to the father, to the brother. Next of kin, after all.

When Rafael returned to the waiting room, a couple more of the squad had camped out there. A call from Liv had brought them.

“What’s the word?” Rollins asked, brow furrowing.

Rafael just blinked, realizing that her question was directed at him. Not Liv. Not anyone else. Him.

“Uh, she’s – she’s still in surgery,” he told her. “But the prognosis… positive.”

The nod from her was small, and Carisi reached out to hand him what was in his grip. A warm cup of coffee.

“Liv told us you’d been here, and, uh. Wanted to make sure your caffeine addiction didn’t get left behind.” It was a weak joke, but Rafael huffed anyway, shaking his head as he took the Styrofoam with the plastic lid.

“I’m sure my headache thanks you,” he returned.

The second day was the transfer. The move from the operating room to the ICU, the transition from waiting room to bedside. Rafael was the sole sentinel, sitting while Liv and Carisi and Rollins and Tutuola kept saving lives, kept fighting outside while you fought inside. Every so often, Barba was doze, only to startle awake to something he thought was you.

The second day was the realization. The feeling that overwhelmed him as he sat there, reaching for your hand. The moment when he made the call to Liv, asking for a change of clothes, a collection of files.

“Don’t you think you should take a break?” his friend asked him. Meaning well, a tentative reach. “I can only imagine what your back will be saying after sitting in those chairs.”

But it wasn’t a question. As long as you were here, asleep, he would be watching over you. “The clothes are in the closet in my office. The files are on my desk. Carmen can help you organize them.”

The hours passed. Liv brought clothes, like he asked, brought files, like he asked. Brought food, and water, and more coffee.

You slept.  

The third day was the guilt.

The third day was the day he spent on his figurative knees. Files around him, stacked and gathered and scribbled on. Three legal pads of various states of decay in his vicinity. And all he could think about was you, still so still on the bed.

He watched you for a while. Alternated watching you and working.

And in the end, he prayed. Prayers he didn’t remember learning, platitudes and pleas to God from his soul.

He gripped your hand and he prayed for strength. For you, for him. He crossed his heart and prayed for forgiveness. It was him after all. His fault. His fault, his fault, his fault, his fault –

“Barba.”

An answer to prayer. Your skin, sallow, your eyes glazed over, but your mouth quirked up. The vision of you there in the bed collided with the memory of what you looked like on the courthouse steps. The bandages, the bruising, all combining to create the sight of you.

But your eyes were open. And that’s what mattered.

His guilt could wait.

He was sure he looked just as much of a mess. Bags under his eyes pronounced. His suit broken down, until even his tie was tossed across the beside table.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked, and the question seemed silly. After all, his voice was hoarse, with the hours spent repeating prayers in English and Spanish. But you managed a smile, a groan, and he scooted closer.

You hadn’t let go of his hand.

“Like I got shot,” you hissed. “But. You’re okay, right?”

“Me?” Astonishment. How could you… how could you think about him? “I.”

Another squeeze, from you. It felt strong, felt like you. You smiled again.

“I’ve been here,” he finally admitted. The realization settling into every bone. The sight of your smile bringing it full circle. Rollins would say that she told him so, and Carisi would probably laugh at him. And Liv would just shake her head, but.

In the end there’d be you. He’d make sure of it.

“Boring, I’m sure,” you whispered. Your eyes met his, and when you blinked there was something you seemed to be pushing away. “But, uh. I’m good, now. If you need to leave.”

“I think I’ll stay a little bit longer,” he assured. “If you’ll have me.”

[metaphorical-love-for-a-car]

Sunshine After Rain-- Connor (RK800) x Reader (Part 1)

Summary; After the death of your little brother, Cole, your dad hated androids. He blamed them for Cole's death. Hank couldn't stand to be around them. How the hell are you supposed to tell him that your soulmate is an android?

Warnings; swearing

Word Count; 2.2k

Notes; Originally posted on AO3, this was the first ‘x-reader’ fic I had ever written. Since it’s finals/death season at my uni, I won’t be doing much original writing and figured that this would be a good time to re-upload this old thing to my current blog. It’s full of flaws, but it has a special place in my heart. ((will have minimal editing, so I mean it when I say full of flaws))

Soulmates aren't all the things the media makes them out to be. Some people have one, while others don't. Sometimes, people's soulmates can change. That's exactly what happened to your parents. Hank Anderson fell in love with a woman he met in during his first year at the Detroit Police Department. He just knew she was the one. Being the suave man that he is, Hank marched up to her, said some cheesy one-liner, and took her hand in his. The moment they made contact with each other, the world around them exploded into color. As soon as he let go, the world sank back into its grayish hues. Over time, whenever they touched, the world seemed less and less colorful. The colors finally faded away when your little brother, Cole, died.

There was a little theme park not far outside the city. Hank had taken the two of you for the evening because your mom drew the short straw for the graveyard shift at the station. As the sun began to set, the snow fell harder. Hank eventually tore the two of you away from the park and got everyone packed into the car. He muttered swears under his breath as the engine sputtered to life. “Can't see five feet in front of me with all this fucking snow,” Hank growled.

“Yeah, look at all of that shit in the road,” you commented. Hank snorted. A lopsided grin crossed his face.

“Don't let your mom hear you say that.”

“Why?”

“’Cause she'll kill me,” he said with a huff.

You and Cole played spotting games in the back seat to pass the time. He was only a few years younger than you, and the two of you usually got along fairly well. Cole was leaning forward to look out of the windshield in an attempt to find whatever blue object you were thinking of. He reached over to unbuckle in an attempt to move and see better. “Dad! Cole is trying to unbuckle!” you tattled. Hank peered up into the rearview mirror to see what was going on.

“Cole, sit down and buckle up. It's snowing too much for you to--” The car skid on a patch of ice. Time seemed to slow. The car spun as Hank struggled to control it. Without warning, the vehicle rammed itself into a nearby tree. The sudden impact caused you to hit your head on the car's interior. Your ears rang violently, and everything seemed out of focus. It didn't take long for the darkness to overtake your vision and consume you.

The first thing you noticed was the yelling of your parents. The second was the smothering smell of cleaning supplies. You started to open your eyes, but it felt like the lights were trying to blind you. A steady, hammering sensation radiated from the front of your head. You began to toss and turn in an attempt to get comfortable. Your parents noticed your movements and quieted. “I'll go tell the nurse that they're awake,” your mother sighed. There was no doubt that she just needed a moment to escape. Hank nodded, pulling a chair closer to the bed. He gently touched your shoulder.

“Hey, kiddo, how ya feelin'?” You turned your head to face him. It took a couple moments to process his words.

“Lights are...” You paused, taking a breath. “too bright.” Hank glanced up at the overhead lights as he stood from his seat. He switched them off before sitting next to the bed again. You slowly opened your eyes, squinting at him. “My head hurts.”

“Yeah, you hit your head pretty hard and got a bit of a concussion, but the doctor said you'll be fine.” You furrowed your brows, eyeing the few cuts across his own face. He shook his head with a scoff. “Don't worry about me. I just got a few little scratches. I'm fine.” You continued to survey your surroundings.

“Where's Cole?” Hank looked away. “Dad?”

“He was thrown from the car when we hit the tree. He's in surgery right now, but...” He sighed. “He's not in good condition. They've got one of those plastic bastards operating on him right now.” A heavy silence filled the room. Neither of you spoke for several minutes.

“That's why you and mom were fighting,” you whispered. Without you having to say anything else, he realized you had picked up on more than he would have liked. Your mom blamed him for what happened to Cole. After all, he was the one driving. Hank opened his mouth then closed it. He wanted to disagree and tell you that everything was okay, but he couldn't. You were right.

Cole didn't make it through the surgery. The android surgeons assured your parents that they did everything they could, but it was no use. Hank wrapped his arms around your mom as she wept. He'd be lying if he said he didn't weep alongside her. When he opened his eyes, the world had lost all its color. They knew the day was coming, but they never expected it to come at a time of such tragedy. They stayed together for a few more weeks, mainly for your sake. They wanted to tough it out at least until you got a little older, but things at home just got worse. They fought more often, which usually turned ugly. They would scream at each other until they lost their voices. Your mom would throw things at Hank, who would then turn and climb into a beer bottle and shut out the world around himself. Then, one day, she just left without a trace. She mailed in her letter of resignation to the DPD, and that was the last bit of contact anyone had from her. You and Hank never heard from her, but then again, you two never really tried to track her down either.

There's no doubt that life was rough after that. You and Hank had an unmeasurable amount of grief weighing down your hearts, but you two tried to tough it out. You had to be strong. You had to be strong for each other.

You always had a fascination with your dad's job as a detective. Every time you walked into the DPD, your eyes would fill with wonder. It didn’t take you long to decide you wanted to follow in his footsteps. As soon as you were able, you joined the department's K9 unit. You loved the dogs and spent most of your time training them. You were quickly able to get even the most stubborn dogs to listen to your commands, which earned the respect of a few of your peers. Several of them, however, still made you the butt of all jokes since you were one of the youngest in the department. The worst one was Gavin Reed. He loved to get under Hank's skin, which often led him to you. Unfortunately, that often left him with a bloody nose and you with bruised knuckles.

You sat at your desk, staring at the mountain of paperwork littering your desk. You groaned, running a hand through your hair. The german shepherd laying next to your feet lifted its head. A grin twitched at the corner of your lips as you reached down to pet it. A steady stream of officers trickled in to start the day. You noticed an android make its way over to Hank's desk. It poked around his desk, analyzing everything. Curiosity getting the better of you, you pushed yourself away from your paperwork and approached the android. You always found the bots intriguing. You thought it was interesting that they made them colorblind to be 'more relatable to humans.' 

"Hey, you must be the android CyberLife sent to help investigate the deviant cases," you chirped before introducing yourself. The android looked at you and tilted its head slightly.

"Yes, I'm Connor. I have been assigned to help Lieutenant Anderson with the investigations." You couldn't help but laugh, which seemed to confuse the poor android. "I do not understand what is humorous."

"You're his partner? No wonder he's been so grumpy lately," you said with a grin. "He's not very fond of androids." Connor furrowed its brows with a nod. As you turned around, you spotted Hank walking into the bullpen. "Speaking of the son of a bitch, there he is." Hank rubbed his face.

"Give your old man a break. It was a rough night." He stopped in his tracks. Hank's face paled as his eyes widened. "God.. I saw you get shot in the head last night." You turned to face Connor. The android seemed unfazed.

"My predecessor was unfortunately destroyed. CyberLife transferred its memory and sent me to replace it. This incident should not affect the investigation." Hank looked disgusted, while you grinned.

"Interesting, so every time you get destroyed CyberLife produces another android that looks and sounds exactly like you as a replacement?" Connor nodded. You crossed your arms with a hum. "How many models have there been before you?" His LED indicator flashed a different color. He opened his mouth, but someone interrupted him.

"Hank! In my office!" Fowler boomed. You shot Hank a look.

"Well, he looked pissed."

"Yeah, wish me luck," Hank grumbled as he trudged into Fowler's office. You glanced back at Connor.

"I'm gonna get some coffee if you want to tag along. I know androids don't eat or whatever, but you might just want to explore the place a little bit," you said with a shrug. A small grin tugged at the corner of its lips.

"I believe it would be beneficial for me to be aware of my surroundings." You smiled and looked at your desk. You whistled, and the dog sat up in attention. You pointed to the floor beside your foot. The dog bounced up from its perch and quickly scurried up to you. As you continued to walk towards the break room, the dog paused to stare at Connor before following you once more.

Gavin sat at one of the small tables, talking to another officer. You nodded at the two in greeting. Gavin stared at you, while the other officer gave you a small wave. They continued their conversation, leaving you to fix your coffee in peace. Gavin stopped talking for a few seconds before going on about ghosts. You turn away from the coffee machine to see Connor standing in the middle of the small room. The android looked at you, and you just rolled your eyes with a shrug. "Hello, Detective Reed," Connor greeted. Gavin approached the android, asking what model it is. You decided to answer the question instead.

"It's clearly written on the front of the jacket, dipshit."

"Fuck you."

"Only if you ask nicely," you said with a wink. Gavin scoffed, returning his attention to the android. He ordered Connor to make him a coffee. No one said a word. They all watched Connor to see what it would do.

"I'm sorry, but I only take orders form Lieutenant Anderson."

"Oh!" Gavin looked around, feigning an apologetic look. Without warning, he punched Connor in the stomach. The android doubled over. Gavin kneeled down beside it, threatening it. You set your coffee down on the counter. Storming over to the two, you shoved Gavin away from Connor.

"Alright, Gavin, that's enough."

"Oh, come on, (y/n)! Don't tell me you're actually humanizing this thing. It's just a tin can!" Gavin raised his voice, pointing at the android.

"If it's just a tin can, then why do you feel the need to assert your masculine dominance over it?" You quipped. The other officer sniggered. "Why don't you go find a middle schooler to steal lunch money from?" Gavin glared at you. He looked over at the android and shoved its head downward. Your dog broke its silence and growled.

"Get control of your dog, (y/n)." With that, Gavin sauntered out of the break room, the other officer trailing behind.

You sighed, sticking your hand out towards Connor. "He's such a dick." Connor looked up at you and blinked. Androids didn't need help getting up, but you were offering assistance as a sign of camaraderie. Connor took your hand, and you helped him to his feet. Right after he stood, your breath got caught in your throat. His jacket was the first thing you noticed, then his eyes. There were bright colors all around you. Connor furrowed his brows. His LED briefly flash red before settling on a steady strum between blue and yellow. He stared at your eyes, then your hair. His eyes roamed over your face, taking in every feature.

You quickly snatched your hand away from his. The color slowly drained from your field of vision. Your eyes were wide and frantic. It felt like someone replaced your heart with a drum. You rushed out of the break room, calling for your dog to follow. Connor watched you retreat. A message clouded his vision.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY.

~*~*~

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[laguera25]

An Open Letter to Richard Z. Kruspe on the Occasion of His 54th Birthday

When I was born, ten weeks prematurely and weighing a scant two-and-a-half pounds, the doctors told my parents not to bother naming me, as I would likely die very quickly, and even if I were to survive, I would likely be blind and helpless and profoundly retarded, unaware of, and unable to engage with, the world around me. Best to leave me be and let nature take its course. A few days of benign neglect, and it would all be over. If they were fortunate, there would be other, better children.

Fortunately for me, my parents gave the double-fingered salute to that bit of medical advice and took me home to do the best they could with very little money and no one to guide them through the strange and terrible country of life with a disabled child. I survived because my very country grandmother chucked out the baby formula that I wasn't digesting and fed me the cow's milk the doctors so solemnly swore would kill me.

There was so many milestones I missed, and of which my parents were deprived. I didn't sit up by myself until I was two. I never walked, never ran, though there are a few faded photos of me gamely pulling myself upright on chairs and the edges of coffee tables, trying to do what my brain said I ought, but my body too weak and miswired too obey. No play with other children, who were stronger and more rambunctious and would have bowled me over in all innocence. And as I grew older, no first dates or driving tests or prom dresses. No thought of an independent life.

What there was was endless rounds of physical and occupational therapy. Hours and hours on a brown vinyl mat, trying to lift my leg or raise my ass off the ground or make my hand write the words in my head. Hours and hours putting change into a slot or trying to tie shoelaces or forcing my hands into uncomfortable plastic splints for a chance at a fraction of more bodily control. While my school friends were out playing in the sun, I was inside beneath fluorescent lights, learning to button my shirt and comb my hair and brush my teeth. To hold a pencil. No time for joy, for peace, for figuring out who I was beyond this collection of aches and pains and deficiencies, just the endless tedium of learning to "be normal" and less of an imposition on the world around me.

And I did go to school. Despite the doctors' dire predictions, I was neither blind nor idiot. I was perfectly aware of the world around me, and smart. So much so that when I was nine, the school ordered an intelligence test. The score was so high that they thought it an error and made me take it again in front of witnesses. When the same score came back the second time, they wanted to move me two years ahead, but my mother, afraid it would both isolate me further and give me airs, refused. So, I stayed, face in the mat and hands in splints, learning advanced history and English, yet forced to put blocks into holes and put colored rings on a stick.

And so I lived this strange paradox for my entire childhood, the genius child that my mother crowed about to all her friends and anyone who would listen, and terrible burden who still had the coordination of a toddler, and who had ruined her dreams of ribbons and curls. When I was nine, she was convinced I could be made "normal"--or closer to it--any road, with a surgery. And so, the surgeons detached the muscles and ligaments in my legs from the bones and stretched them in an effort to relieve the spasticity. The surgeons were doing a kindness to relieve pain; by then, the muscles were so tight that when I was stood on my feet and held up, my feet rolled onto the instep and my knees pointed at each other. It was a measure of dignity.

To my mother, it was supposed to be a miracle, the cure that gave her the daughter she deserved.

I woke up screaming. The muscles and ligaments were unhappy with their new positions and weren't afraid to register their protest about this new state of affairs. They tried to administer morphine, but the levels needed to control the pain were dangerously high for a child, and so I was left to ride it out. I screamed and screamed and screamed. For thirteen hours.

My mother. who was so sure she had found her miracle, was taken into another room by an exhausted surgeon who had done the best he could, and told that at most, I might be able to walk across the room on a walker and take myself to the toilet. She screamed, too, then, at this man who had been on his feet for nine hours, trying to undo the mistakes of the hands that had formed me from the dust of the ground, and who would try to make me laugh every day when he came to check my progress. She called him a liar and a bastard and a son of a bitch, and family lore has it that she would have hit him had my father not intervened.

They tried to tell her. Kindly and patiently and incessantly, but she would not listen. God had told her I would be cured, and dammit, I would be. The day they cut my casts off and sent me home, they told her not to push me too hard, that my muscles needed time to adjust and build endurance. She said she understood, but when we got home, she ordered me to walk uphill to the house. I tried, I truly did, but it wasn't long before I hit muscle fatigue and started to cry. I want to stop, wanted my wheelchair.

And my mother, this woman who had once told the doctors who would have let me die to go fuck themselves, picked up a stick and started to beat me. "Be normal! Be normal!" Screaming and sobbing and flailing with this stick, and me screaming and begging and trying to stay upright. I don't know how long she would've kept going, but eventually, my stepfather appeared, wrested the stick away and threatened to beat her with it, and carried me into the house.

Here I must give my mother a sliver of credit even if I will carry the memory of that beating for the rest of my days. She was right, after a fashion. I did do more than walk across the room with a walker and take myself to the toilet. For a while, I even graduated to forearm crutches and quad canes, which might not sound like much, but when you were expected to do nothing, that's like climbing Everest in your underpants. My wheelchair gathered dust for years, but soon I had to choose between the demands of my education and the demands of my body. The latter simply lacked the energy to fuel both my mind and my muscles to the best of my their abilities, and since school was the only area of life in which I had ever excelled, there was no choice at all. Back into the chair I went. By the time I graduated high school, I could no longer use crutches, and by my third year at uni, even the walker was too much. These days, I cannot move myself without help, and arthritis has set in. I made my choice, and now I pay its price.

I tell you all of this to illustrate that whatever the fool doctors might have said as they clucked and tutted over my incubator, I was keenly aware of the world. Of everything I was missing while my mother insisted I just bootstrap myself out of my disability and be normal. Of her seething resentment of all that I was not. Of her wish that I was someone else.

There were two bands that got me through, kept me sane and kept me moving when all I wanted to do was just lie down and not get up. The first was Metallica, whom I discovered at thirteen, and who told me it was all right to be angry about my circumstances, to kick and scream and argue with God and call him a rotten bastard--as long as I kept living, kept getting up in the morning and trying to inch down the road. I didn't have to swallow my anger for fear of upsetting God and hurting my mother's chances of getting into heaven(my mother believes that I am a test she must pass in order to get into heaven; therefore, my suffering is irrelevant and should never be questioned, lest it anger Him. Don't ask; I don't get it.)

If Metallica was the band that gave me permission to be angry as long as I kept trying, it was Rammstein that told me it was okay to want more from life than an endless regimen of therapy and prayer and gratitude to a God that had, or so it seemed to me, sent me into the world with a ramshackle body and precious little armor or defense against the assholery of my fellow human beings and yet still expected me to praise His holy name allelu. To want joy and friends and human contact. To have a libido and ogle whatever flipped my switches. To, in short, be human, and more than just a symbol of all my mother's broken hopes.

I discovered the band through a book, believe it not. I found a copy of Tom Reynolds' <i>Touch Me, I'm Sick</i> in a Barnes and Noble I had gone into to browse and hide from a cataclysmic thunderstorm, and in it, he began to talk about a band called Rammstein and a song called "Heirate Mich." The more I read, the more gloriously improbable it all seemed, and the harder I laughed. By the time I got to the line, "As the music pounds like a collapsing factory...", there were tears streaming down my face, and I was having trouble breathing. The saleslady must've worried I was having a stroke.

And so it was that I found the key to everything that would come after. From the book to my creaking dial-up Internet(don't laugh, it was what I could afford as a broke-ass cripple on the government dole) to the CD shop, where I blew my food budget on Rammstein CDs and lived on Hamburger Helper for weeks. This is a terrible dietary choice, by the way, but at least I had Rammstein music in my ears all day, every day. A few weeks later, I put another dent in my food budget buying all the DVDs. Ah, the vigor and stupidity of youth. If I tried that foolery now, I'd be semiconscious on the floor in a day and a half. Back then, I had a more stalwart constitution.

I knew by the second song I heard that Rammstein was going to be special to me. My German, which consisted of a year of study in high school and a disastrous two years in college, was pretty poor, but thanks to snooping around Internet forums and squinting at grainy videos, I knew much of your catalogue dealt with taboo subjects. I didn't care. For all its dark subject matter, the music made me want to dance. It made me feel something other than apathy and a persistent wish for this whole mess to be over and my soul to be recycled into a body that didn't make me want to scream until I was too tired to do anything but sleep.

And I did dance. Constantly. Seldom in public because dancing in a wheelchair often looks like the Devil is trying to stick his finger up your ass, but often at home, just shimmying away until the chair developed some alarming creaks and the bolts needed adjustment. Rammstein made me happy. It made me curious. It made me want to see just how much was out there.

And, if I am honest, it made me want to see those silver MC Hammer pants for myself. The combination of those pants and the diaper rash cream in your hair was a striking look for you, if I may say so, though perhaps not so grand as the black spikes and the lion pants you wore with such swaggering panache on the Reise, Reise tour. Alas, this was not to be, as I suppose you had wearied of slathering ass cream for infants in your hair. I can't blame you, though I suppose it must've been a sad day, indeed, for the ointment companies. Still, those Hammer pants and their Reynolds Wrap, space-age splendor will always hold a special place in my heart.

Stymied in my hope to witness for myself the wonders of those Hammer pants--and those lion pants as well, as it turned out, oh, unhappy hour, long may they reign in the storage closet--I nonetheless wanted to see a Rammstein show. Not much chance of that, the morose American fans assured me. The band hadn't come here since they foolishly took the American commitment to freedom of expression at face value and Till and Flake landed in the Puritan pokey for playing Loose the Dachshund into the Badger Burrow in front of delighted fans. Besides, the band's management had scant interest in repeating that little experiment.

Even so, I held out hope. I hung out on message boards and kept me ear to the ground. You can imagine my delight when the MSG show was announced. I wasn't so foolish as to think I could attend, mind you; New York might as well have been the moon for someone who cannot safely fly, but it was fun to indulge in a bit of wistful what-if? What if I could find a way to get there that wouldn't give me a lethal clot? What if I could score tickets? What if I could afford a hotel in Manhattan where the rats and roaches wouldn't kill me in my sleep or carry me off to be devoured in the sewer system? These were all very big ifs for someone who lived in the boonies and was only supposed to spend money on medical expenses and basic bills. Besides, MSG was going to sell out before I could gimp my way to the phone.

Knowing all of this, I took to my blog to whine and moan and feel sorry for myself. It wasn't fair, I whinged to the ether. I had wanted to see Rammstein for so long, but it just wasn't possible. It was too expensive and too far and too haaaaard. And woe is me.

And then...

And then...

And then a bossy German lady dropped a punk alarm in my inbox.

I don't remember now how or why she came to my blog. Maybe she was drawn by an unconventional perspective on life and fandom and moving through the world, or maybe she just wanted to snortle at my friend and I's discussions of your sartorial splendor and the ridiculous dramas going on in the Rammstein fandom at the time. Either way, she'd been been watching my sulking and stropping for a few days, until she'd reached her limit and this woman, who had never said an unkind word to me in years, called me a coward. Just straight up said that I could either find my spine, stop pissing and moaning, and try my hardest to see Rammstein in New York, or I could keep being a coward and making excuses. But make my choice and stop sniveling because she was tired of hearing about it.

At first, I was stunned. Of all the things I had ever been called, a coward was not one of them. Then I was mad. How DARE she call me a coward when she had no idea how much pain I was in most of the time or how difficult it was to move around a world that had never been designed for me and been but grudgingly retrofitted by handymen who thought that grab bars fixed everything!

So I stewed and pouted for a few hours, but the longer I thought about it, the more I realized she was right. I hadn't tried very hard to research my options. I hadn't checked hotels or called the venue or gotten my finances in order. I had claimed Rammstein was so important and meaningful to me, but I hadn't shown it. I had assumed defeat before I'd even started the charge up the the hill and wallowed in self-pity. Sure, maybe I was right and I wouldn't be able to go, but I'd never know if I didn't square up and try.

Before I proceed, a word about the tried-and-true deutscher Fuss zum Arsch(not another aside in a letter full of them, I hear you cry as your eyes begin to glaze. I know, Mr. Kruspe, believe me, but if you speak to the world through your guitar strings, I speak through my keystrokes, and so I beg your patience. We're almost there.). If a German you have gotten to know puts their foot up your ass and calls you on your bullshit, they are not doing it to be a prick, and it's not done with the intent to create hard feelings or demolish your self-esteem. It's harsh, man, is it harsh when you're used to American doublespeak and soft-pedaling, but they're doing it because they see something in you and are trying to stop you from making a dumbass or a jackwagon of yourself. They're doing it because they want to keep being your friend.

So.

Punk alarm duly dropped and head dislodged from ass, I started making phone calls. To the banks do get my money in order. To bean counters to make sure I would have access to it. To Amtrak to discuss their booking options. I went to disability websites and forums to discuss precautions to take in case my health or my equipment gave out on the road. The best hospital for the broke-ass should I get mown down by a taxi while trying to cross the road. Emergency numbers and insurance forms and blah blah blah. A raft of bureaucracy and safeguards and double-checking, all for a concert I might not get tickets for.

But I did, because for once, my disability worked in my favor. MSG sold out in twenty-five minutes, but that venue, bless its heart, doesn't put disabled seating up for general sale. You have to call the disabled patron assistance line, and they don't release unsold disabled seats for general sale until three days before a show. So I called the magic line, and a very amiable fellow talked me through the process. Two weeks later, the tickets were in my mailbox.

I am not ashamed to tell you that when I opened the envelope and held the tickets in my hand, I screamed like a debutante that sat on an upturned spoon. It was really happening.

And yes, my German friend gave me a giant "I told you so!" But she was right, and she'd earned it. Besides, she was happy for me, too.

So I did it. I got on a train(where I soon learned that accessible or not, I couldn't use the toilet because the train swayed too much for me to keep my balance), and I went without eating, drinking, or urinating for twenty-two hours(I do not recommend this to anyone, by the by. It hurt, and it was dangerous)to get to New York. And when I got there, I stood in Penn Station and simply stared because I was somewhere I never thought I'd be. It was simultaneously everything I thought it would be and nothing like I'd expected.

There were still obstacles, of course. There always are when you have two hands and four wheels and see the world through asses and elbows. Clutching my luggage while my trusty and ever-present companion pushed me over the cracked sidewalk with one hand and dragged the rest of the luggage behind him. Finding out that the "accessible" hotel room was, in fact, not all that accessible and wrenching my knee every time I used the toilet. Being accosted by my first sidewalk screamer within ten minutes of being in the city. Meeting my first hustler.

Freezing my ass off outside the venue for four hours before the show and called not fan enough by other fans because I didn't do it for fourteen, because hey, if you were really a fan, you'd risk pneumonia to see the show, even if it would kill you. Being shunted and shuffled to four different doors by event staff because no one could agree on where the disabled fans were supposed to enter. Being let into the building to warm up by an MSG employee, only to be booted out by event staff three minutes later. Whee! Aren't the logistics of being disabled fun?

But Mr. Kruspe, it was all worth it. I've never felt an energy like that before. Whatever snitty elitism some of the fans might have been nursing outside, inside MSG, we were all fans, all people who had waited and wished for this for a very long time. The primal roar from the crowd when the band began to break through the wall raised the hairs on my nape, and you'd better believe that I joined them with all of my energy.

From the first note, I forgot my pain. It was still there, mind, waiting for me, black-toothed and patient as the grave, but I was beyond it, in a state of suspended euphoria. No pain, just joy. I watched everything as best I could despite my near-sightedmess and my rather distant seat. I soaked it all in--the music and the unapologetic bombast, and the pageantry of the fire. It was all so starkly, darkly beautiful, and according to my companion, who has all the sentimentality of pavement, when he looked over at me during "Ich Will", I was "radiant." He, who had known me for thirteen years by then, said he'd never seen me like that before, and that he would never forget it.

It was not without price. These things never are. There was another train journey and another twenty-two hours without access to a toilet, and by the time I got home, I was so strung out from lack of food, water, and sleep(because trufax, it is hard to sleep when your bladder is trying to pop out of your skin from the pressure)that I cried like a toddler on the drive home. And then I went home, peed forever, drank, ate, and collapsed for seventeen hours.

But it was worth it. It was so worth it that on the band's next go-round, I took a cross-country roadtrip to Vegas, during which I peed much more often, thank God, but I also fought ants and roaches in a hotel room in Texas and stayed in a room so gross I slept in my clothes and threw them out when I got home. But it, too, was worth it, just as it was worth it to get in the car and drive to Florida and Atlanta on the next tour after that.

I told you ALL of these things, Mr. Kruspe, to tell you this. I saw your interview in that documentary about depression in 2010. I heard you say you felt worthless unless you were creating.

I don't know what you're worth to anyone else, but to me, you are priceless, and always will be. Without you, there would be no Rammstein, and for me, there would have been no reason to try, to spread my wings and take a run at that hill. Without you, I might have given up, might have let my mother win, and maybe now, I'd be sitting in some care home, stewing in my own yellowing stink and getting a bath once a week and a monthly outing and rotting from the inside out. Without you, I might never have taken the chance, never pushed myself.

But you were, and are, and because of that, I did. Because of that, I saw New York, and moved, however briefly, among that anonymous throng. Because of that, I met the sidewalk doomsayer and the exasperated hustler. Because of that, I tried New York Pizza(and yes, I saw a rat, but he minded his business, and I minded mine). Because of you, I heard a Cajun patois in Louisiana and watched out the window of the car as the Texas plains unwound around us. Because of you, I saw the night sky on the outskirts of Vegas and was escorted back to the Strip after the show by two Native dudes who walked far out of their way and called me little sister. These are gifts I got from you because you were, and are, and they have sustained me ever since. They sustain me now that my world has been reduced to the four walls of my house as I ride out the pandemic in a country that believes people like me are an acceptable sacrifice.

I know this won't change things for you, won't quiet that awful voice in your head. Depression doesn't work like that, and even if it did, I am just a stranger you will never meet. But maybe it will give you something to hang on to, something to think about on the bad days. Christ knows you kept my head above the water when all I wanted to do was let it go under.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Kruspe. May it bring you joy and all that you need.

Guera

[moved-attre]

Here is my review of Cyberpunk 2077! It is a bullet point list of what I liked, and did not like about the game. I mean no offense in my writing, and am, of course, willing to be educated if I am wrong about anything! But please do not send me anonymous hate. I know many fans and haters of this game can be very, uh... So take it all with a grain of salt, and form your own opinions.

This is very long and likely boring so if you manage to make it to the end, I will be very impressed! Also, I may ramble or repeat myself, sorry. There’s more bad points than good, since the game is very glitchy and I couldn’t not mention the glitches I have experienced.

Obviously, this contains major spoilers! 👁👄👁

I’ll start off by saying, this is a game where you will likely not get what you expected. If you expected Cyberpunk 2077 to be a game filled with features that were never before seen, to revolutionise the gaming industry as we know it and become the most iconic video game ever made... You will not get that. If you expected it to be the worst, most irredeemable video game ever created that you’ll hate... You will not get that, either. If you expected a game that is a fairly standard RPG with some impressive graphics when played on a high spec PC, albeit with some bad glitches and a wonky story with lots of potential, then you’ve got it!

Pros:

The majority of the voice acting, such as in V, Johnny and Viktor, was very good and emotional. Viktor in particular made me tear up! And the way V manages to sound almost like Johnny with the subtle accent change was amazing!

The character’s such as Takemura, Jackie, the LIs, Johnny, Viktor, Misty (I could go on) and even many random NPCs were interesting! I wanted to know them and loved their relevant missions. The best ones were unromanceable, of course, but that’s what imagination is for.

THE ALDECALDOS! I love them! A found family, and I wish there was more to do with them other than Panam’s missions and a few side missions. I love found family, and I’m disappointed V couldn’t form their own, so I’ll take what I can get and love the Aldecaldos, even if V can’t join them until the very end. Panam had the best missions of all the LI’s, even if the last one felt very abrupt. (At least, on her friendship route.)

Night City felt alive. There was always plenty going on, it felt like a real city, and it could be beautiful.

Jackie and Corpo V’s friendship was lovely. I loved their “To this!” inside joke, and I loved how Jackie roasted V but would jump to their defence in a second. It didn’t feel forced at all.

There’s lots of environmental storytelling. The atmosphere of a city choking to death under it’s own pollution/corruption was very apparent in the areas not lived in by the rich. Lots of homeless characters, violence, drugs, absolute poverty, trash (The dump! I felt sick just looking at it, and I couldn’t even smell it! Poor V, though.) and general apathy from a lot of the residents really sold the concept.

Johnny and V’s dynamic was the best part of the story! I hated him at first, but slowly came to enjoy his commentary and advice. His interactions with V were very funny at times, and thoughtful at other times. He was an interesting perspective for the player to consider, while still being an asshole you could dislike for much of the story. He has some really emotional scenes and I played a V that viewed him as a friend, so it was really nice hearing him call V the closest person he’d ever had. They became so devoted to each other! CDPR did good with this element, but I can’t help wishing for more. The dynamic had so much more to give, and a romance/happy ending could have worked.

And to add on, the mission where Johnny takes over V’s body to go on a bender was great! I loved all the moments to play as Johnny in V’s body. All the symbolism between them was so good. Every mission matters, and you can replay to look closer at details! He also comments on other side missions with no personal relevance to him, which was neat.

All the enemies had unique names. A minor detail, but it made me feel some guilt over killing them. 🤣 I think all character’s had unique names, which is such a nice detail.

The soundtrack was incredible, I loved every original piece and radio song. I have several saved on Spotify, which is big praise coming from me! I very rarely listen to video game soundtracks.

V can adopt a cat! 🐈‍⬛ It was adorable, and Johnny’s interaction with it made me tear up!

The size of the map was good, not too big or too small. I got about 100 hours of play in by exploring, which is pretty good to me! I got lost a few times, but always found something interesting to do in the meanwhile. I loved the Badlands especially. 

Some of the side missions, particularly the more mysterious ones involving investigating deaths and the cyberpsychos, were very enjoyable! I’m a big slut for mystery, and there were some interesting cases to figure out. I wish we could’ve done missions like that with River, though, especially once he becomes a PI.

I was complaining about the lack of aliens in CP2077, but I suppose we did get a couple space themed missions which was pretty fun. I still want to go experience going into orbit, though. 👽 Or the moon!

Separating voice and body in the CC was a good idea, even if it was handled a little strangely. I’ll talk about this more in the ‘Cons’ section below!

Act 2 was my favorite part of the game, but it blended weirdly with Act 3 and that put me off. I am nostalgic for Act 1, but not eager to replay it because it felt so slow... I’m not sure on this point! I liked Act 2 because the story picked up and I was excited for more, but the more I got wasn’t as I expected. So, yes, Act 2 was good.

The scenery is very beautiful, and sometimes the outside lighting is absolutely perfect. The Arasaka parade mission was lovely to look at. I always stop the car and watch the sunrise/sunset, and I like going out to the Badlands to look at the stars!

An addition to that, is the lighting in some main quest missions. Very noir! It made for some beautiful screenshots. (Of which I sadly can’t share because my game doesn’t record well on medium settings. 😳)

The motorcycles are fun to drive! Mainly because I can zoom in between cars and Jackie’s motorcycle has a lot of sentimental value, as well as other vehicles like Johnny’s Porsche and Jake’s car. You can open the trunk to dump bodies in, which was a cool detail., and each one drives differently!

There could be amazing attention to detail, such as making Jackie look like his mother. I expected his mother to be a randomly generated NPC, but she was completely unique. It’s the minor things like that which stood out to me the most.

The scanner was a fun tool and very useful! I liked being able to find alternative ways to do a mission, it felt more realistic than the standard “massacre everybody, pick up an item and get out” fetch quests normally seen in RPGs. I could sneak in a tunnel or a side door! Perhaps irritating and unnecessary to some, but I liked it. I love utilising every possible option.

The interface color changes if you have Johnny controlling V’s body. Another small but good detail! The game is good with the minor details.

The sex scenes were not... awful. I expected much, much worse! I expected fully animated first person porn. Instead, I thought they were fairly realistic and intended to be romantic. Still very awkward, though, and unnecessary.

When they didn’t glitch, the animations were very good. Not as impressive as I hoped, probably because of glitches, but in line with other AAA games like Horizon Zero Dawn, I suppose? I noticed Judy’s animations in particular as being good, and Johnny had lots of unique ones too!

The clothing options are very fun, I like the holographic items and “Bitch” clothes, hehe. Also including Hijabs! 🧕 Great idea, and more games should do that.

The diversity of the NPCs was welcome. I enjoyed seeing Native American, Asian, Black and Latinx NPCs who weren’t there just to suffer! They would occupy important roles in the story, such as Fixers or friends/romance options for V, so they were pretty much unavoidable! It felt very natural, and they helped Night City feel more realistic.

Adding to that, the different cultures included were interesting too! I liked the Haitian characters in Pacifica.

The photo mode is pretty good. Not as good as I expected, the camera angle presets were useful but the filters weren’t very good. I liked that the photo mode could be used in cutscenes, though! It was standard, and I hope more bits will be added in for it.

A lot of the glitches are hilarious, but I recognise not all will share that opinion so I’m just adding this down here. The T-Posing NPCs are a highlight for me. Call that the Skyrim effect.

Cons:

No NB gender options/No pronoun options. Would they/them have been so difficult to implement?

No body or height sliders. There’s so many fat character’s in the game! Why can I not make my V fat? Or muscular?

Gender restrictive hairstyles and clothes. Come on, guys, it’s 2020/2077! Aren’t we beyond gender restrictive appearance options?

No tattoo parlours, no plastic surgeons and no hairstylists for V to change their appearance. I don’t understand why a CC was included at all, since we spent the majority of the game in first person. It reminded me of Far Cry.

The main story started off strong, albeit slow, picked up in Act 2, then felt very rushed in Act 3. The point of no return was very abrupt! 

The celebrity cameos felt very gimmicky. The one exception to this is Keanu Reeves, who did a very good job as Johnny. Genuinely brought tears to my eyes at times... but Grimes was just embarrassing! Why was she there! A talented VA could have done Lizzy Wizzy much better, giving her actual emotions instead of just monotone “boredom”.

I don’t know what the point of owning apartments is. You can only sleep in V’s bed, what is the point of looking in the mirror? V has no use for their terminal in their apartment, they never get any messages after the first time they meet Johnny. It was so unnecessary, especially when there’s several across the map. I can access the stash of weapons and clothes from my car! Why would I ever need to go home? Judy gives me her apartment and I’m like, girl, I’m never visiting unless you have a mission to give me.

Also, there are no penalties for not showering or sleeping. I wanted character’s to comment on that! Call me stinky or tell me I look exhausted!

V doing side missions makes no sense, and no explanation is given for why we can do them. Why would V, who is dying and has precious few days left to live, be driving for hours on end to deliver packages and shoot random criminals? When they could be figuring out how to survive the biochip! Who the hell would care about a some extra money or buying every available car for sale, when they’re dying of something that could be preventable?

Some side missions were either very poorly done or obviously majorly glitched, since it felt like they skipped important parts and I was often very confused at the end of them! For example, the Corpo V side mission was so short! I expected to be able to hunt down Abernathy and get revenge for V and Jenkins, but instead, I shoot some random assistant I don’t even remember? And that’s it? Done in 2 minutes! If that! What is the point of that? I didn’t even have fun! Also, what happened to Garry? I wanted to save him but V just never follows up on it.

And, I wish we got closure with T-Bug. The fact that V never bothers to find her body and give her a proper burial was just poor form. 

The endings were not... good. There are technically 6 different endings, all wrapped up into 3 parts. In my opinion, the best ending is the one where V kills themselves and has a very “Arthur Morgan watching his last sunset” vibe. It made me cry. Another good ending is having Johnny take over V’s body forever, as you can really see how much Johnny has changed as a person thanks to V’s influence. But they still felt very... eh and the story just never got that boost it needed, ending before it could take off. In the “best” ending, the Nomand ending with Panam, V ”survives” but has only another few months to live. So they die off screen. Satisfying? Uh, no. Not at all. There’s no possible ending where V has any hope of survival, but I much preferred being there with V until the very end. I disagree with the people calling Johnny’s ending the “bad” ending, because it really isn’t! I ignore all of this of course, and my V is living happily ever after.

I kind of hate that CP2077 has this illusion of options when some are clearly intended to be chosen more than others. Judy and Panam have the best endings in term of romance. Why bother with River and Kerry? Kerry is more of a fling than an actual romance, and is met very late in the game at a point where you can ignore him completely and just end the game, and River’s romance is so glitched that many people can’t even do it fully, and in every ending he dumps you, so it feels like none of it mattered to him despite him being the most “domestic” of the possible LI’s...

Takemura’s ending! He died in my playthrough, because the game didn’t tell me I could save him. That really annoyed me. Also, I recognise that V is in no place to lecture him, and there is some wisdom to his quote: “You speak against corporations yet offer no valid alternative.” But, Goro, bro... anything is better than fascist mega corporations keeping most of the city in absolute poverty, while waging devastating wars against other mega corporations? I wish we could have opened his eyes a little. There’s a good, even ground between Takemura believing Corps to be doing the best for humanity and Johnny being willing to kill 12k people for a revolution. This game went a little “capitalism is bad, but the alternative is worse!” at times, in my opinion. I wish more could have been done against the corporations, instead they just kind of... exist... in the background. And I know, “Realism! “ because we live with massive corporations like Amazon in our lives and can do fuck all about them but we’re not V. V is an absolute unit who survives death multiple times... I wish there had been two paths, like do Johnny’s path and work against the system or do Takemura’s path and work with the system? Sort of like The Witcher 2?

You know how in Saints Row, The Boss has homies they can call on for help? I wanted V to have homies to help them out in fights. It felt pointless building trust with the Fixers only to not have them help out at all with fights against the NCPD/Militech/Arasaka in their territories. 

The stealth mechanics are not good. They are funny! But not very good. Often, It’s better to just attack and save yourself the trouble of sneaking only to get caught by a guard who can see through the back of his head.

The fact that you cannot get arrested and have someone bust you out of jail. Maybe RDR2 set my expectations too high, but I thought this would have been included.

I’ve read about the cut content, and I’m really disappointed they weren’t included in the game. Wall running would have been amazing! And the police hiring mercs to hunt V down? I would have loved to see it! 😔

Driving cars is terrible. Just awful. Sometimes, you crash. Other times you’re flung up into the air and break through the sky into the void, spinning for all eternity.

River’s glitched romance deserves a special mention. The relationship just drops off suddenly and you cannot interact with him properly again. It does not affect the main story at all, so you wonder, what was the point? The text messages also glitch and V will sent messages that you can’t control, leading to disappointing dialogue, like with Joss.

The romances in general were just not all that impressive. I was expecting something great, considering there was only 4 and thought they’d really affect the main story, but I’d only recommend Panam and Judy. I would have played the game just as well without romances, and they felt very unnecessary but I wanted to do one to get the most possible story content. I think we should all leave romances in RPG’s as the exception, not the norm. Some studio’s can do them well, other’s cannot. CDPR cannot, in my opinion...

Obviously the many glitches and bugs, several of which are game breaking. I usually have to reload a save at least once an hour, because an NPC won’t talk to me or I can’t move the mouse to select different dialogue options! Or my gun won’t equip, so I die.

The AI in general is very bad. Sometimes cars will stop in the middle of junctions for no reason, causing you to crash or mount the sidewalk to get past, meaning you’ll likely run someone down and get a police warrant. NPCs just walk from one end of the road and back again, over and over on a loop. It’s very creepy!

The lighting, mostly inside buildings. Everything is pitch black! Why does V not own a flashlight? The amount of enemies I’ve barrelled into and alerted because I couldn’t see is too much.

The lack of dialogue choice, it was less interactive than what I’d been told to expect. There was only two or three options, with one only ever rarely being unique to one of V’s three possible background choices and most will yield the same results with a few exceptions, like avoiding combat.

V’s personality is already decided by the game, and is not really customisable. Do not expect full control over your V’s personality, as they are very much a canon character and exist outside of your (limited) choices. I didn’t expect Baldur's Gate 3 levels of customisation, but I did expect something more like Dragon Age 2’s dialogue wheel? Nice, Sarcasm and Angry? You know?

Obviously, the seizure inducing scenes were very dangerous. I get a headache whenever I have to do a braindance, and I wish it was skippable!

Accessibility as a whole is very much an afterthought in this game, I think. The subtitles are in “speaking English”, so instead of: Hey, how are you? It’s: Heyyy, how’re ya? It is often difficult to understand, and sometimes I just couldn’t work out what was being said.

It’s nitpicky but I wanted to do a pacifist route and I realised you can’t, you need to kill certain character’s... 

The main “villains” such as Yorinobu and Adam Smasher were very forgettable, and V had no personal stake in taking them out. I honestly forgot all about them. Takemura was talking about revenge and I’m like, who? Who are you talking about? Why are we kidnapping Hanako Arasaka, again? Johnny, why would I bother killing Adam Smasher? If they’d personally murdered Jackie, then yeah, I’d understand! But all V needs is to remove the chip and I don’t know... I just didn’t feel anything.

So, to summarise: I think CDPR were out of their depth. The long, very long, troubled development process was an indication of this before the game was even released, and the story I’ve experienced in the game is proof enough. I don’t think they knew what they wanted from this game, and as a result, we have a game that is honestly very confusing and frustrating with a story that always got close to gripping, but never quite makes it. All in all, I found this game to be pretty average. When the bugs are ironed out, I will think better of it. But as it stands, if I had to score it, I would give it a 6.5/10 or maybe 7/10. Good concept, somewhat misguided execution. The best part of the game was the Johnny/V dynamic, but I wasn’t satisfied with how it ended. They needed more time together! Anyway, it will be interesting to see what happens next. 

[mass-hxsteria]

Next time (#3 in series)

1

August 2017

The phone vibrated against the table; it’s relentless buzzing distracting Leon from the conversation with the son sitting across from him. The man tried hard to ignore it, keeping himself as engaged as possible with Philip’s story. Though they had spoken on the phone a few times, too much of this morning was spent in awkward small talk, neither of them sure how to approach the unique situation they were in. Now, finally, Leon had gotten his son talking, walls slowly diminishing as they got to know each other. Leon glanced briefly at the slew of missed calls as he silenced this one, trying to be subtle about his shift in attention. He tried to keep most of his focus on Philip, despite the gnawing agony of ignoring a work call. They would find someone else. This was the first time in 12 years this kid was speaking face-to-face with his father. How could he just leave right away? They had the whole weekend planned and this was only the first day. He barely began to push work from the forefront of his mind until, yet again, moments after the last ignored call, the phone began buzzing again.

“It’s okay. Just answer it.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll just be a second.” Leon answered the call, listening to the demand as he left the restaurant. As suspected, he was asked to come in. “Is there really no one else that can cover the surgery? Or can the appointment be pushed off? I’m across the country right now. Even if I get a flight, I won’t make it in until tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning it is then. We really need you to come in. We talked about this.  You knew this was a chance when you left.”

“Right, okay, fine.” Leon sighed. He had known, but--maybe it was just wishful thinking--but the chances seemed so low. It felt worth the risk at the time that, if it happened, he would at least have had more time with his son first. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Leon hung up the phone, shaking his head, dreading going back in and telling Philip he had to leave right away. He knew having a relationship with his son wasn’t going to be easy, especially with him living in Boston and Philip and Elizabeth in Chicago. Still, he hadn’t expected it to go sideways quite so quickly. This weekend had taken weeks to plan and Philip had been so excited. Leon had too. Now, it was only going to last a few hours. If this was any indication of visits to come, he didn’t have a good feeling about it. He didn’t want to be the type of dad that only visited with his kid for a few hours a couple times a year, not after coming into Philip’s life so late.

He walked in, flagging down a waitress to ask for to-go boxes for the lunch, and pulling out his wallet as he made his way back to the table. “I’m so sorry dude, that was work. I’ve got to head back to Boston tonight.”

“Oh...” He had expected Philip to be disappointed. What he hadn’t anticipation was just how crushed he would feel himself, seeing the disappointment on his kid’s face, knowing he caused it.

“I know. I’ll come back next month and it will be longer, I promise.”

2

November 2017

Leon collapsed on the small airport chair, relaxing after hours of airport security. He pulled out his phone, seeing multiple missed calls from Elizabeth. His heart sank, there was no chance this could be good news. He opened his voicemail. “I’m sorry, Leon. I hope you’re not on the plane already; I’ve been trying to get in touch with you. My parents just came out to surprise Philip. I had no idea they were coming. They live so far, they can’t get out here much. I know you know what that’s like, but...” A long pause, a distant sigh. “Well they actually showed up.” There it was, Leon thought, the real reason she didn’t want him coming out. “Anyway, I tried to explain that he had plans with you and to let me know next time, but, well, you know how they can be. And I don’t want to send them all the way back to Florida just so he can spend half a day with you.” He leaned his head back, eyes shut. He knew Elizabeth was tired of Leon always disappointing Philip; she was the one who saw it more often than he did. What she never seemed to grasp was how difficult this was for him to. “I hope you understand. We’ll see you next time. Hopefully.”

3

January 2018

6AM Flight to Chicago - canceled

11AM Flight to Chicago - canceled

2PM Flight to Chicago - canceled

8PM Flight to Chicago - canceled

Leon tried to glance out the window, but all he could see was a sheet of ice. It was no wonder the flights were canceled. Stubbornly refusing to let this happen again, Leon began looking up routes to Chicago. Maybe the skies would be bad, but the roads could be better. 15 hours of driving time. The blizzard might add a few, but if he drove all night...

“Are you insane!?” Within seconds of Leon texting her his thoughts, Elizabeth was calling him and was, apparently, not pleased. “If it’s that bad out, stay there. You’ll get yourself killed if you try to drive out here.”

“I’ll be fine. It’ll clear up at some point.” He paused, sighed. “I can’t miss his birthday, of all days.” He admitted in a rare, vulnerable moment with his ex, unable to hide the dejection from his voice.

“He’ll understand. He’ll be disappointed, but it’s better than you doing something stupid. We’ll just make it work next time. Just be safe today. I know it’s been hard, but this will get easier.” Though short, this was the first real conversation he felt like he had had with Elizabeth this entire time; the first time it hadn’t ended in an argument. They managed to keep things civil in front of Philip, but he hadn’t yet brought himself to forgive her for what happened. She also never never quite forgave him for wanting to get rid of the kid in the first place.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right...” Her understanding tone throwing him off enough that he couldn’t help but agree with her. Still, he was starting to lose hope. In these past few months, Leon had yet to feel like anything but a failure of a father. He thought, not for the first time, that maybe he was right 13 years ago. He wasn’t cut out to be a father. Looking at the worsen blizzard outside, he briefly wondered if this was nature’s way of agreeing with him. He couldn’t bring himself to fully admit to her that’s why he was trying so hard, but he suspected she was starting to realize that herself. With a sigh, “Can I talk to him? I want to tell him myself.”

4

June 2018

Almost one year had gone by since the phone call that had completely changed Leon’s life. Despite only one truly successful visit and many mishaps, the man could easily say he wasn’t the same person since finding out he had a kid. His phone calls with Philip grew more frequent and more plans were being made. Even though things were slowly getting easier, he still always wished he had more time with his son. Thankfully, that was finally going to change by tomorrow. With Philip out of school for the summer, they had planned for him to fly out to Boston for two weeks. He was straightening up the apartment when he got a call from Elizabeth. He had expected this. The past few weeks her calls grew more frequent with questions, making plans, making sure Leon knew what he was doing before she let their son stay with him, that he was responsible enough for this.

“Hey. I’ve got everything all ready to go here. I’m picking him up at the airport at noon tomorrow, right?” He asked, but was greeted with a long pause. His face fell as he awaited the explanation.

“Philip broke his arm. He was out skateboarding with some friends and had a bad fall. He’s going to need surgery and he’ll be in a cast for a while. After that, physical therapy... I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to reschedule. With him healing, it might not be for a while.”

“Is he alright?”

“He’s in some pain, but it was a clean break. He’s a little upset about not being able to get out there. I know you were both looking forward to this. Maybe we’ll try again in August.”

“Yeah, we’ll figure it out. Just keep me posted on how he’s doing, alright? I’ll look at plane tickets and try to make it out there to help out before his surgery.” What he was most upset about was that he couldn’t be there for his kid during all this. He opened his laptop to look up flights to Chicago, but even then, what would that accomplish? If he was going to have trouble for a while, would Leon being there for a day really help at all? There was one other option: something that had been in the back of his mind for months now. He booked a flight for the next day and then switched gears, looking for apartments to rent in Chicago as well as jobs for plastic surgeons. With Elizabeth still on the line, he explained his thoughts, “I’ll be out there tomorrow. There’s something else I want to do while I’m there, but I’m going to need your help.”

To be continued...

[hooksea43-blog]

Cryotag Skin Tag eliminator.

Warts & Moles.

Content

wish To Know a Lot More about Hifu Non

recuperating From a Face Lift.

Industrial Gases.

The physicians Laser clinic.

Carer's allowance.

You need to make sure that your face is still very swollen. The facial lift will not be effective if there is not enough room for the incision to be made. You should rest your face and neck in a sling for at least a few days after the procedure. Most people feel some swelling or bruising immediately following the facelift procedure.

Patients who suffer from severe scars should discuss the option of having their facelift reversed with their doctor. Many surgeons will perform this surgery on patients who do not have obvious signs of recurrence, but those who have a larger area where the scar has formed will often need to have their facelift repeated. If you have an area of your body where you would like to have a facelift, talk to your surgeon about whether you should go ahead with your procedure. or ask your doctor for advice.

If LipoFreeze2U.co.uk’s offering is very visible the plastic surgeon may remove the scar with a laser. However, if you do not have any visible scars then a normal filler may be used. The new skin is stitched onto the scar and stitched to the original skin.

need To Know a Lot More concerning Hifu Non

Is Cryoskin FDA approved?

Is Cryoskin 2.0 FDA approved? No. But we are working on it.

Your diet and stress level will need to be monitored after the facelift. This is because your body is healing and your mind needs to also recover. You should take some pain medication to ease the pain.

recovering From a Facelift.

Industrial Gases.

A patient's skin is then reattached to the bones under the skin and a series of different exercises are performed. The first exercise involves placing the patient's hand above their head and holding it there. They will move their hand from left to right in a slow motion, and this is followed by holding their hand to the back of the skull.

Dr Shirin is a truly kind, straight and really helpful individual.

It's terrific to know that somebody of her proficiency is conveniently accessible to everyone.

Not only is it extremely tastefully done out however also spotlessly tidy.

Her technique and also her treatment has definitely raised my confidence in her work and also in myself and also has enhanced my way of life.

And also I was not disappointed, they were impressive as well as my skin felt impressive as well.

Dr Shirin, her team as well as the Elite Facility are very expert in all elements consisting of the aftercare service.

The plastic surgeon will monitor the progress of the facelift during the first couple of weeks after the procedure. hifu berkshire will check your skin for any redness and swelling and inflammation. He will also check your blood sugar levels and look at your lungs for fluid. These are signs that your body is recovering from the surgery.

The physicians Laser center.

Recovery time is very important. The surgeon will take measurements of your head and hands to see how long it will take to recover and how long you will have to stay in bed. He will advise you on the best way for you to heal. to avoid unnecessary stress during this time.

Has anyone died from cryotherapy?

Cryotherapy is very rarely deadly, but that doesn't make it inherently safe, either. And Ake-Salvacion's death is bringing to light some of its risks.

A facelift, also known as a trichotillomaniaectomy, is an invasive form of plastic surgery that can change the look of your face in a short period of time. There are several different plastic surgery procedures and exercises involved. Before you get the facelift you should decide what you want to accomplish. There are usually two types of facelift: open and closed.

Carer's allocation.

There are several advantages to having your facelastic band reversed, as opposed to having the procedure performed as a full face lift, such as a new angle is created. When a person has their face lifted the face may appear to droop and sag slightly, as the skin can be stretched to a different length and shape. A facelift on the other hand, which is a whole body procedure, will not allow the skin to be pulled apart too far, giving your face a better appearance.

Can you peel off seborrheic keratosis?

If seborrheic keratoses are treated, it's usually for cosmetic reasons. About 90% of the time I freeze them off. The procedure is similar to wart removal, but quicker. They can be scraped (curettage) or shaved off with a special cutting instrument.

The second step involves using a microkeratome to create an illusion of a younger, more plump-looking appearance for the patient's skin. Collagen and elastin mixture is injected into the area to be injected and then a thin layer of skin is taken off and placed over the collagen. Finally, a silicone or plastic filler is applied to make the area look more youthful.

You will be instructed to shave your face every day for at least six days after the facelift surgery. This can be very difficult if your face is very sensitive. After shaving the face you must go back to the surgeon's office and remove the skin that has been removed in the facelift procedure. It may be very painful but it will need to be done.

Does cryotherapy help you sleep?

Exposing your body to extremely cold temperatures in the whole body cryotherapy chamber will help diffuse inflammation and pain in the body, which will make you less restless while you sleep at night. Cryotherapy can also benefit your sleep patterns because it creates positive hormone responses in your body.

The next exercise is to tighten the muscles under the skin. This is achieved by moving the patient's fingers underneath their skin and applying more pressure to their muscles than is normally applied during a regular facelift. Finally, the patient is gently stretched outwards and held in this position.

The final stage of the procedure is to use the elastic band to lift the skin is positioned underneath the skin of the neck. This results in a flatter appearance to the area, which is more attractive to the eye. The skin has also been tightened and smoothed in this process and is now much lighter and thinner. The elastic band is then tightened under the skin and the excess skin is removed to make the face appear more even.

A skilled cosmetic surgeon can perform a facelift as an outpatient procedure, meaning that patients will return to the doctor's office the day after their procedure. However, it is important that the patient comes in for their next procedure immediately after the first, to prevent scarring from occurring. This procedure also allows them to return to work and other everyday activities much sooner than if they had gone straight to the hospital. This type of procedure is a very safe procedure, which has been proven to have no ill effect on people, so it is not recommended for people who are suffering from diabetes or certain types of cancer.

Femiwand

Once you are home, you will have to stay in bed for at least a week after the surgery to allow the stitches to heal. This process can take weeks. The best way to get through this process is to follow the doctor's instructions closely.

Can cryotherapy kill viruses?

In cryotherapy, plant pathogens such as viruses, phytoplasmas and bacteria are eradicated from shoot tips by exposing them briefly to liquid nitrogen.

The elastic band used underneath the skin of the neck is not the same type of band that is used on the facial skin of the head; however, the same techniques are used. to stretch out the skin and create a flatter appearance.

Does skin itch after cryotherapy?

During the procedure, you may feel some stinging, burning, or itching sensations. After cryosurgery, the treated area will be swollen, sore, and red. After the skin has been frozen with liquid nitrogen, a blister will form underneath the lesion.

Obagi Blue radiance Skin Peel.

The surgical technique includes a procedure called the 'trapezotomy' which involves removing the facial skin to the area around the eye. This procedure leaves the skin looking smoother and tighter. The other procedure used is called the 'mini-truelift', which involves using micro-keratome or other cutting tools to remove the top skin layers and to make it more visible.

[hayjeon]

Cut Me Open (ft. Yoongi) Part 01 [M]

→ marriedcouple!au, surgeon!au spin-off from CardioPalps → 15k words, rated for sex, possible triggers (talk of divorce/miscarriage/family issues), and medical jargon that took me 5ever to research 

→ part 1 | part 2 coming soon

A/N: So the second part is definitely on its way. It just ended up being way too long together to make it a full fic. But please, don’t think that this is how it ends! Stay tuned for the second part! 

Love. 

Neuroscience and Biology like to tell us that it’s a side-effect of a release of a hormone called Dopamine and oxytocin, the same two hormones released when the guy living under the bridge snorts up another line of coke, and when the horribly suffering and screaming woman holds the human she just pushed out of her vagina for the first time in her arms. 

Doctors like to ignore it, ignore the religious and hippie suggestions that “love can conquer anything,” because we, like many other medical professions, believe in science. 

We don’t believe those superstitions that if a man is diagnosed with a tumor but learns to love his life and fights for it, he is magically healed of his fatal diagnosis. No, we smile and nod at the patient and his family, congratulate him, and then turn around and walk away because we know that it was the chemo therapy and the gamma rays we shined into his thoracic cavity that destroyed all the stomach cancer cells along with his hair follicles. But what the patients don’t know won’t kill them. 

But, aside from love, a reason why the medical field has the third highest divorce rates in the world, is because we doctors are professional line-drawers. 

We draw lines for a living. Not the plastic surgeon, sharpie-a-line-over-your-boob kind of line, but a physical, emotional, spiritual, and mental line. Theres always the line, the one that lies between a living patient and a dead patient. There’s always the line that you mustn’t cross with the people on your surgical table, the difference between a bleeding aorta nicked by the slip of the hand weilding the scalpel and a healthy one. There’s the lines you must draw with your co-workers, the ones who you don’t dare call your friends because then everyone would know that you too don’t have friends outside the workplace. 

And then, there’s the line you draw with those who you love. Whether or not they’re sitting on your table, brain flap open for you to probe, you must draw lines. You can’t operate on someone who’s close or related to you. You can’t offer to waive fees for someone who you once respected back in high school. You can’t be in relationships with your patients, friendly or sexual. 

And you definitely shouldn’t be married to your partner, and co-leader of your department, who currently despises your guts as much as you hate performing rectal exams this far into your career. 

You wished you knew that when you agreed to this job five years ago. 

You park your car and briskly speed walk into the doors of the hospital at 7am sharp. 

Immediately, four people run up to you: Suho, your trusty secretary and friend; Gina, your head nurse; Namjoon, your clumsiest but most hardworking intern; and Jungkook, your most annoying friend, also the head of the Cardio department. 

Suho talks first. “Good morning Doctor. I just updated the board on your surgeries today, and told Chief about the updates you gave me last night on the patient with pneumonia. I also prepared your paperwork for you to sign off of regarding the updates and purchases for the neurosurgery department. I’ll come by later to pick those up.” 

You give him a nod and lower your voice as you step up into the elevator, signaling the others to take the next one that dings open as soon as your doors close. “Any updates on Yoongi’s side?” 

Suho blinks and sighs. “He...he’s hired a lawyer to take care of it. Her name is Ahn Hani, she’s supposedly one of the best in the country.” 

You groan, slumping against the railing. “Is she better than mine? Than Solji?” 

Suho nods grimly. “Unfortunately, when I looked up the statistics, Solji had suceeded in 244 cases. Hani, well, succeeded in 245. Also...I found that she’s also one of the lawyers who helped Dr. Min with his...lawsuit a year ago.” 

You roll your eyes as the elevator dings and opens. “Ah, of course, he had to involve that again. Okay, well, thank you. Please also send me some more information about the merger with the East wing nurses, I want to look more into that before the next head meeting.” 

Suho nods and walks away. Jeongguk beats Gina by jogging up to you. “Hey Y/N! Did you see what I sent you last night?” 

You roll your eyes, walking down the hall towards your office. “Yes, Jungkook, it was stupid. I’m not going to attend any event as Yoongi’s plus one, much less your baby shower. Wouldn’t you want your first baby shower to be one of peace? I don’t think you want me and Yoongi there.” 

He groans. “Please, can you guys just please put your differences aside and just come? She would really like for you to be there, I mean, you were her first resident overseer after all, she’d really be happy to see you there.” 

You huff, “As much as I love your wife, I’m saying this because I love her. She doesn’t want me there, unless you plan on uninviting Yoongi. AND--” You hold up a finger to him, when he tries interrupting you. “I know you won’t budge because Yoongi was your resident when you were an intern here, blah blah blah. So, I’ll be the bigger one here, and send you and your beautiful wife a wonderful gift basket of all the highest quality baby products there is, and spare you two from having to witness one of our fights again.” 

He sighs, and lets you walk by, as Gina scurries up to you and receives your instructions on the surgery you two were going to perform in an hour. Namjoon just hovers around and waits as he listens in on all the medical jargon. You ask him to scrub into the upcoming surgery, and he happily obliges, dropping his pens on his way out your office door. 

Jungkook hovers a bit more, looking a bit disappointed in you, but you shake your head to let him know that you have no intentions of making it to his baby shower, and close the door behind you. “I’m sorry Jungkook,” you sigh, and he nods, giving you your space. 

This was your day, work starts as soon as you walk in, a buttload of problems concerning your department, your surgeries, your subferiors, and the worst one of all, your husband. 

You sigh and change into your coat before making your way down to the meeting room, and taking your seat in the plush leather seating across from all the other men in the hospital helping run their respective department. Jungkook, filling in for both himself and his wife on maternity leave, sits a couple seats down from you, representing the cardiovascular department. Jimin is seated across the mahogany table, staring down at his notes for his upcoming surgery for his Pediatrics devision. Taehyung and his fellow are seated in the corner, discussing their Neonatal surgery division. Jin is playing some stupid game, sitting behind his “Head of Dermatology and Plastic Surgery” plaque, and the owner of the hospital, Dr. Bang waits impatiently as the rest of the department heads file in one by one. 

Suho has faithfully placed your favorite tea, chamomile, on its place and organized your meeting notes in alphabetical order right in front of you. As you flip through the contracts and articles, you bend over to get a closer look when suddenly someone slaps down a thick packet of papers over the ones you were reading. 

Frowning, you look up to see your mortal enemy. 

“What the hell?” You hiss, keeping your voice low. A quick glance at the papers he slapped in front of you was an alimony agreement. You flip through and realize that he was asking for a clean cut, no separation of property, or money. 

He takes a sip of his coffee, not sparing you a glance. “Sign it, and give it to Suho by the end of the week. You make the same amount of money that I do, you’ll be fine.” 

You roll your eyes. “Yeah right, I see what you’re doing. The house is under your name. I want the house.” 

He scoffs, facing you with a glare. “Seriously? I paid the down payment.” 

“We had a joint account! I paid the rent!” You hiss, ready to fight some more about this. 

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, shall we start this meeting?” Dr. Bang interrupts, clearing his throat. He takes a quick glance around the room to make sure of full attendance before he begins to drone about the updates regarding hospital politics. 

You and Yoongi decide to pocket the conversation, and you shuffle your papers around, placing the alimony agreement underneath your other documents. 

“I’ve scheduled this meeting because we’ve run into a few issues regarding communication within the East Surgery ward,” Chief Bang continues, frowning at the lot of you, “I’ve heard...that there were a couple of issues regarding our efficiency and the cycling of surgeries, am I correct? Dr. Park, do you mind sharing a bit?” 

Jimin’s head pops up, and he looks around bewildered. “Uh, no sir, my department is doing fine. We’ve updated our system to the new program you introduced a month ago, instead of using our beepers, and although it took some time to get used to it, I think everyone is adjusting accordingly.” 

“Dr. Kim Taehyung, you too?” 

Taehyung gives a quick nod, and so do a few more doctors. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Min?” 

You cringe at the combination of your names. Most of the other people in the hospital besides your close friends didn’t really know, but Dr. Bang certainly was aware of the state your marriage was in. He wasn’t so...supportive of the divorce, obviously. 

“We’re fine,” you clench your teeth, signaling for Dr. Bang to move on, and he obliges. Your shoulders deflate and Yoongi leans over to hiss at you, “What the hell, he knows?” 

You roll your eyes at him. “Of course he knows, he knows everything.” 

Yoongi slumps in his seat, throwing his hands up subtly. “Well there you go again, not even letting me know.” 

Ignoring him, you sit through the rest of the presentation regarding new communications, and the chief introduces a new program and a team of IT workers who’ll be handling the new system. They file in through the door, introducing themselves, and then place individual laptops in front of each of you to demonstrate the program. It was a new alert system, voice activated so that with a simple command and without having to touch your phones, all the doctors could send messages to each other, departments, schedule Operation Rooms, and call nurses. Everyone nods thoughtfully as the head of the program, Jaehyun, steps up to the podium and finishes his powerpoint. You watch thoughtfully at the new program. 

A tap on your shoulder distracts you and you turn to see Suho leaning over to whisper in your ear, “Chief Bang wants to meet with you in his office.” 

“Now?” You frown, and Suho nods, gesturing towards the door. Sighing, you stand and watch as Yoongi doesn’t even give you a side-long glance as he fixates boredly on the presentation. You walk over to the lavish glass office. 

“Chief, you wanted to see me?” You ask, lingering by the doorway. 

“Ah, y/n,” he says, smiling, “Take a seat.” You oblige, getting comfortable on the leather chairs across from him on his desk. 

“Y/n...” he trails off, thoughtfully frowning at his desk, “You and Yoongi...you...have you guys...?” The question lingers in the air and you understand what he wants to ask. 

“Ah...uh, well, today Yoongi gave me alimony papers.” You shrug, twiddling your thumbs. “He wants a clean split.” 

The chief nods thoughtfully. “Are you going to sign?” 

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know Chief, I really don’t know.” 

He leans back in his chair. “You know...y/n, it’s been what, 10 years since you’ve been working at this hospital? I met you fresh out of med school as a wide-eyed intern and watched you two fall in love and I even officiated your wedding two years after that. And I trust you two...” He trails off, and you let him finish. 

“It’s time for me to retire, y/n.” He says, and your eyes widen as you lean up. “What? A-are you serious?” You stammer, frowning at him. 

The Chief was a general surgeon, who specialized in Cardiothoracic surgery, and worked his way 20 years up to this position as the Chief of Surgery. You’d watched him age during your own stay here, and he was one of the reasons why you didn’t just up and leave to the other hospitals offering you and Yoongi a hefty salary to transfer. This hospital...it was your home. 

“Yes,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes. “I’m having issues with my vision these days and my wife, she’s...she’s getting a bit lonely, now that the children are off and married, and she’s demanding more of my time. She wants a divorce, you see, and if I don’t take time off now, then I might lose my marriage.” 

“Oh, Chief, I’m so sorry.” You offer, but he waves it off. “No, no, it’s not something to be sorry about. It was my fault...this hospital and surgery wing, I built it with my blood and sweat, and in the meantime I forgot what was really important.” 

He leans forward in his chair, grasping one of your hands. “Which is why I don’t condone this decision, y/n. I’ve watched you two, and you’re still in the stage where you can save this marriage. Me...well I’m 20 years too late. You and Yoongi though, I can still see it. I want to try to convince you just one more time.” 

You sigh. “Chief, what do you want us to do? We...we tried so much. We purposely began taking one more day off per week to make up for the lost time, and even that fell through because we’re always being called in to work. We tried to get pregnant, and we were so overworked and stressed out that it was just putting even more strain on the marriage. Hell, we even took up surgeries together, and that ended up in a disaster when we accidentally mis-diagnosed our patient.” 

You lean back, apologetically removing your hand from his. “I’m sorry Chief, but we were in love almost 10 years ago, when we were in our twenties and fresh out of med school and ready to take on the world. Now...we’ve been working ourselves to the bone for 8 years and leading this division together for 3 within those 8. We’ve...we’ve tried enough.” 

He sighs. “Well, the reason I brought you in here was I was hoping you’d offer to try. I want you two to take my position as Chief of Surgery.” 

Your eyes widen again, and your mouth falls open. “Ch-chief of Surgery? Are you serious? N-no Chief, you can’t retire like that and just leave us here.” 

“Well, I can’t make both of you Chief if you guys are going to get divorced. It’s not professional.” He raises his brows at you and you nod. 

“You two have been here the longest out of all of the department heads, and there isn’t one more person I trust more than you guys to be able to continue what I’ve done here at this hospital. I’ve made my decision to leave, and now I want you to promise me that you will try one more time.” 

“Try? Try what?” You whisper, already knowing the answer. 

“I want you and Yoongi to try and save your marriage, just one more time. Please don’t give up just yet.” He urges, and your heart sinks, as you spin the ring on your fourth finger. 

Was it even possible?

Your romance with Yoongi started out 10 years ago when you walked into Seoul National Hospital, wide-eyed and excited to start your first day as an intern. A group of you had stumbled in with fast-paced hearts and flushed cheeks as you giggled and waited for your resident to come in and give you assignments.

Your locker was placed right next to Yoongi’s locker B6 and B7. You’d greeted him politely when he walked in with a sleepy face, and he’d given you a half-hearted smile and no words as he shuffled over to his locker and began shimmying on his scrubs. Surprised at the cold response, you frowned and slammed your locker shut as you lingered by the doorway instead. 

“Alright, interns, scum-of-the-hospital-earth and from now on labeled 1 through 17, let’s get a move on,” Dr. Do Kyungsoo had snapped as soon as he walked in. 

“You’re from now one named 1, 2, 3...” He goes around snapping and pointing at each intern with a menacing pen tip. You become number 8 and Yoongi happens to be number 12. 

“Alright,” he says, frowning at his clipboard. “There are three rules you must follow before I assign you to your individual residents. One, you move when I move.” He leaves the on-call room, and everyone lingers behind, glancing at each other and wondering what the hell happened. 

His head pops back in, as he yells, “That means now!” Everyone jumps to action and lockers slam shut and scrub elastics are tied tight as everyone jogs out the door to match Dr. Do’s long strides. 

“Two,” he snaps, leading you all to a room with sad-looking bunk beds and cots. “Sleep when you can, where you can. This on-call room is your responsibility and the hospital won’t be taking care of it too often, so make sure you are fully clean as you can be with it. Don’t” he hisses, turning back and pointing his menacing pen at all of you, “Don’t even try to do the nasty in here. I’ll have you arrested for federal public indecency and then I’ll personally neuter both of you.” 

Everyone stares at him in horror, as he drops the menacing look again for a neutral one, and continues on. “Let’s go.” 

“Three,” he says, walking around a corner to a group of doctors waiting near the Nurse desk and turning with them towards the 17 of you, “don’t try to kiss up.” He glares at one particular girl who’d been trailing after his heels and asking him stupid question. “We already hate you and consider you the scum of the hospital, and no ass-kissing will change that. Save a life first, and you’ll slowly work your way up from scum to a sort of algae.” 

You’re lingering at the back of the group as one girl leans over and cringes at you. “I hear he’s called triple D, for Dr. Demon Do, because he’s tiny but is an absolute horror to work with.” 

You shudder as he begins reading off the assignments, listening carefully for your name. Each resident that’s standing by him at the desk, who you remember as Dr. Byun Baekhyun, Dr. Kim Jongdae, and Dr. Park Chanyeol, stands there with their coffee cups and smiling a lot more nicely that Dr. Do was acting earlier. 

Unfortunately, as Dr. Do rattles off your numbers at random, you don’t hear him call 8. All other three residents walk off with their interns trailing after them, and you, number 12, 9, and number 3 are left terrified as Dr. Do turns to the rest of you. 

He sighs, observing your wide eyes. “I’m sure most of you have heard that I’m called the 3D or the triple D here, because I terrorize everyone. It’s true,” he acknowledges casually, to your horror. “But, after I’m finished with all of you, you will be the best interns this hospital has ever seen. So just make sure to keep up. First assignment, we’re gonna go save a life in the ER.” 

He walks off with a flourish, and the four of you just warily eye each other as you all pick up into a jog towards the ER. 

“Number 8, go grab me some sutures for Patient Mr. Jeong in bed 4, now!” Kyungsoo yells, and you immediately spring into action, grabbing a tray, a needle, gauze, and surgical thread and wheel a chair over to the cot. 

A patient there is lying down with a grimace as a huge gash on his leg is being cleaned by a nurse. “I can take it from here,” you assure her, and she gives you a sweet smile as she hands the gauze and alcohol pad to you. That was when you first met Gina, your current and trusty surgical nurse. You loved her to bits. 

Sitting down, you scoot up and begin cleaning the wound. “Alright Mr. Jeong, I’m gonna be cleaning and dressing your wound today, alright? Later, a nurse will come by with some antibiotics that you need to take orally. You said you got caught on a nail at your work?” 

The patient nods painfully, croaking, “Yeah, I was trying to run over to get an order on time, and snagged my leg on this huge ragged nail that was sticking out of one of the walls. It was my damn fault. I’m such a klutz.” 

You smile, and after administering some anesthesia to the area, begin to pinch the skin together and begin suturing. You’d practiced so much at home with some sausages and pig skin, that doing this was normal practice for you. 

“Are you an intern here?” He asks, trying not to think about his wound. 

You nod, smiling. “It’s actually my first day.” 

He grins, “Ever see anything like this?” 

“Yes,” you laugh, “cuts and bruises are a common thing in the ER. You’re in good hands.” 

Cringing, he murmurs, “I feel a little nauseous. Is that normal?”

You finish the stitch, cutting it and starting a new one. “Yes sir, the anesthesia is probably flowing through your system, and you’re probably a little dehydrated as well. We’ll start an IV drip once I’m finished.” 

He nods, his eyes closed and frowning painfully. “I-Is it a little hot in here?” 

“Hey,” one of your fellow interns walks up and hovers over your shoulder. It was the guy you first said hi to. “Uh, did you take a look at his charts yet? Dr. Do asked me to give these to you.” 

“My hands are a bit preoccupied right now,” you say as you focus on cutting the thread. “If you’re not busy, can you read them out for me?” 

He grumbles, “I am.” But opens the file anyway and begins scanning the contents. “Mr. Jeong SaeHyun-ssi, 56 year male, came in for a cut on the upper thigh, and received stitches. What’s taking you so long?” 

You roll your eyes. “Can you just read the charts?” 

He gives you a dirty look and keeps reading. “Uh...wait...WBC count is off the roof,” he mumbles, glancing at your patient. 

“Oh shit, y/n!” He stops you as your patient immediately goes rigid and begins choking, his breaths rugged and loud as his back bows off the table. Yoongi drops the papers and immediately runs over to the other side and holds down the man as he spasms. “Fuck, it’s the tetanus!” 

You also drop your needle and tray and rush to the man’s side to hold his arm down. “What?! No! He already had an antibiotic shot and is scheduled for another dose!” 

Yoongi grunts as the man begins flailing his limbs, shaking the cot side to side, “Well, seems like that shot was a little too late!” 

“Nurse?! Please, help me hold him down!” You yell, and let go of his arm and exchange it with the nurse who anchors him to the bed, while you reach down and feel his abdomen. It’s rock hard, not from the muscles, but from the shock. “Oh my god, he was talking about nausea and fever. He’s having a seizure! Code Blue! Someone page Dr. Do right now!” 

One of the nurses who’s come by to help, frantically helps keeps the man’s legs down. “Dr. Do just scrubbed in for a surgery. We can’t reach him!” 

You panic, “Oh my god, if Mr. Jeong doesn’t get the attention he needs his airways will freeze and he’ll die of oxygen starvation.”

“Y/N! Focus!” Yoongi yells, as the monitor begins beeping like crazy, “It’s started, you’ve got to perform a tracheostomy on him or he’ll die!” The nurse reads out, “His BP is dropping by the second, Doctor.” 

“H-holy sh-shit,” you run a hand through your hair, biting your lip, “I’ve only read about it in textbooks, it’s a m-major surgical procedure and we haven’t gotten a chance to t-train, or to w-watch, I can’t--I don’t know--” 

“Y/N! You can do this! The only one in this ER who can do it right is you. Hurry!” He orders the nurse, “Bring a tracheostomy kit! Pump 100mg Phenobarbital and 2 milligrams Lorazepham.” 

“The Lorazepham isn’t working, and the Pheno isn’t working fast enough. We have to do the tracheostomy first, Doctor, or he’ll die of oxygen starvation.” Gina tells you, frantically trying to stop her muscle spasms. 

“Here,” a nurse runs up with the kit, and hands it to you. Your hands shake with it, and you stare up at Yoongi, who’s now manually pumping air into the man’s mouth, gives you a nod. 

“You want to make an incision vertically, about two fingers long, one inch above the collarbone,” He instructs, staring at you with a steely look. 

You nod, and lean in, measuring about two fingers up from the man’s neck base, and press in, cringing when immediately blood begins to flow out. Nurses rush to press gauze against the blood and Gina swoops in to cauterize the bleeding veins. 

“Alright, good, cut through the fatty tissue and the muscle wall, and then you’ll see a white-ish cartilage-like material, that’s the---” 

“Thyroid,” you cut him off, nodding as you keep cutting. “Got it.” The nurses clamp the tissue to the side. 

Yoongi nods, maintaining his pumping. “Good, now all you gotta do is make a smaller incision, no more than a couple of centimeters to allow the tube in, laterally. Avoid the trachial bones.” 

You nod, making the incision cleanly, and immediately you’re met with a whoosh of air. You scramble to grab the tube and place the outer cannula through the hole, and then seal it with the round cuff to secure it in place. And immediately, the patient draws in a huge breath of air, and the beeping begins to slow. 

“BP is stabilizing.” The nurse reads, patting you on your back. “You did it, Doctor.” 

You collapse onto the chair, breathing heavily, as the nurses surround the patient, closing up the wound and delivering the patient’s final doses of medication. 

Yoongi hands off the plastic bag valve to a nurse, and steps around the cot to stand in front of you. You’re staring off somewhere into space, and he just watches you calmly. “Are you--” 

“What the hell is going on here?!” Doctor Do storms into the ER, dressed in scrubs and removing his surgical cap. He glances over Yoongi’s shoulder to see the patient lying on the cot with a tube sticking out of his neck. “What the fuck?” he observes the procedure, and glares back at the both of you. 

“He was having seizures, and his airways were muscle-locked because of the Tetanus. We had no other choice, Dr. Do.” Yoongi says, and you just stare up at the both of them in a haze. 

“Why didn’t anyone check his charts?” Kyungsoo hisses, flipping through the pages. “Who was responsible for checking them?”

You stand, about to take responsibility when Yoongi steps in. “It was me, Doctor Do. I was supposed to bring them to y/n when you asked me but I saw her doing sutures already and helped out a patient with their Penicillin dose before I went to go get the charts. I’m sorry.” 

“No!” You frown, pushing Yoongi aside and bowing to Dr. Do, “It was me. I was too excited to be doing my first actual stitches that I forgot to read the test results after his chart. I saw all the signs, the rigid abdomen, the heated skin, and the light nausea, but I just attributed it to a first-time reaction to the anesthesia...I’m so so sorry...” You blink away tears as you meet Dr. Do’s angry gaze again.” 

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t have time to be standing here and trying to figure out who did it. A doctor must always check the background of the patient before doing any procedure, alright? Now both of you, get scrubbed.” He turns and begins ordering a surgery. 

“Uh,” you scramble up to him, “Dr. Do? What do you mean? You assigned us to the ER for the entire day.” 

He frowns at the both of you lingering by the bed. “Didn’t you hear what I said? Get scrubbed, this patients gonna have to get surgery for the infection, doesn’t he? Since he’s your patient, you get to scrub in.” 

You and intern #12 meet eachother’s eyes, mouths dropping open at the opportunity. Dr. Do begins walking briskly towards the OR and you two both scuttle after him, a skip in your steps. “Y/n,” Dr. Do comments, “Good job at the tracheostomy. It looked good.” 

You blush as the three of you step into the sterile room and begin dressing. “I’m going to go check on my patient I just helped do a tumor removal on, the both of you stay here and help the nurses prep the patient. Watch, and observe what they do.” 

He exits the room, and the both of you let out your breaths as you begin pulling on your protective gear. You see intern #12 struggling with the strings on the back of his scrub shirt. 

“Here,” you breathe out, stepping up, “Let me help.” 

He doesn’t say anything and just peers at you as he turns and hands you the strings. You tie them for him, going down his back with the other strings. “Thank you,” you whisper, “That guy wouldn’t have lived if it weren’t for your encouragement and guiding.” 

He nods, and solemnly turns around, gesturing to tie your strings for you too. “It’s fine,” he says, from behind you, and you can feel the tug of the strings. “You did good, intern 8.” 

“Y/N,” you say, and hold out a hand, and he takes it. “Yoongi.” He says, and hands you a mask to put on. You smile at him and he gives you a sort of small smile before he puts his mask on. 

“Hurry the fuck up! After this, you guys get to pay for making a stupid mistake by doing rectal exams all night!” Kyungsoo calls from inside. 

You both exhale and take a moment before stepping into the OR. 

That was how you met Min Yoongi.

Falling in love with him, well, that wasn’t hard. 

After that first time where he’d literally coached you through your first procedure as an intern, the two of you were a whirlwind, working together like a well-oiled machine. You completed each other’s sentences, pointed out each other’s mistakes, quizzed each other and were the top duo of the entire intern program within the hospital for the next year as interns.

“Yoongi and y/n,” the other residents and interns called you two, “the dynamic doctor duo, the second gen of triple D’s,” they’d laugh as you two scrubbed in on surgeries together, answered resident questions together, and even got the top marks on the intern test together. You two were unbeatable. 

And naturally, you became residents at Seoul National, and the years following that were years of excitement and big changes. You’d both followed in Kyungsoo’s footsteps to choose neurosurgery as your specialties, and just like he’d predicted, were the best damn interns the hospital had seen, and had followed on to become the best damn residents the hospital had seen. 

“Bipolar forceps,” Yoongi grunts as Jongdae, one of the promoted attending Doctors, watches the both of you perform a tumor removal with a hawk eye. The nurse gives him the forceps and he flips open the circular bone flap of the skull you had drilled. 

“Exposing the dura. Scalpel,” you request, the tool was handed to you and you lean in, making a tiny incision on the thick flap of skin that protects the brain, and Yoongi swoops in with the bipolar cautery, burning closed any bleeding veins that might distract you. “Suction,” he says softly, and the nurse sucks away any extra brain tissue that’s revealed as you take scissors and gently cut away a flap of the dura. 

“There’s the tumor,” you murmur, pointing at the white mass a few centimeters down from the skull. Yoongi leans in again with his forceps, burning away any open veins and you move alongside him across the patient, sucking and cutting away any unnecessary brain tissue and exposing the circumference of the tumor. 

Yoongi continues to cauterize the veins and the tissue, holding it taught as you cut away at the non-bleeding tissue of the tumor. And together, you both snip away at the pale white tissue, working seamlessly as a team, without Jongdae needing to step in to help. “A little bleeding there,” you point at a section and Yoongi steps into immediately cauterize the area, carefully sucking away any excess blood to clear his field of vision while you continue to cut away the rest of the tumor’s tissue. 

Finally, after agonizing minutes, the final cut is made, and no excess trauma or bleeding is shown, and everyone in the surgical ward breathes a sigh of relief as you smile and drop the tumor into the metal plate. “Finished. Reattach the bone flap,” Yoongi nods and replaces the removed dura with some material and then replaces the bone flap and drills in the metal plates that keep it intact. You then follow up with stapling together the skin of the head back, right where it should be. Once the final staple is completed, Jongdae nods at the both of you and motions for the nurses, “Please finish up here.” 

“Good job guys,” he breathes as he walks out of the ward and begins removing his protective scrubs. “That was...pretty seamless, didn’t expect any less of the both of you.” 

You smile and nudge Yoongi who just stoically nods at Jongdae’s compliments. Kyungsoo comes in with a little smile, nodding at the both of you. “Heard you performed a tumor removal all on your own. Good job you two.” He gives you a quick thumbs up and the both of you grin back as you receive yet another compliment from the devil. 

You two were attached by the hip, and after an entire six months of shy smiles and inside jokes, he finally asked you nonchalantly if you’d ever want to grab dinner together. 

“But Yoongi!” You mock him, laughing as you can visibly see him die a little on the inside at the thought of actually asking you out on a date, “We’ve gotten dinner together so many times before!” Clasping your hands in front of your heart in exaggerated mockery, you snicker at him as he rolls his eyes, toeing at something on the hospital floor. 

“I mean,” he grumbles, hands shoved into his white coat pockets, “Like something to actually count as dinner, not cup ramen shoved down our throats in a matter of minutes in the on-call room. Dress nicely, all that stuff.” 

You laugh, sauntering past him. “Alrighty then, pick me up at 6?” 

He nods without even looking at you, and you laugh again. 

That night, he’d showed up reluctantly with a bouquet of purple Irises, and you’d received them happily as you let him into your apartment. “Mmm,” you take a big whiff of the flowers and place them in a vase. “You remembered?” 

He grumbles, “Yeah, you said they were really pretty that one time our patient’s mom brought them in for her son.” You smile at him, and smooth down your dress as you pull on your heels. “Ready?” 

He finally looks at you, looking down at your black dress that accentuated your curves, and your nude heels. Your makeup was light, and natural, and your hair done nicely, different from the bun you always had when you were working at the hospital. “You...you look good,” he says lowly, and his eyes rake over your figure, and you have a thought to just ditch the nice dinner and jump him right then and there. After months of incessant flirting and sensual glances, you could eat him up right then. He was dressed in a nice suit, trading in the boring blue scrubs you always saw him in for a nice gray pair of slacks and black dress shirt, and a matching gray jacket to top it off. His black hair was tousled nicely, effortlessly, and he looked so good. 

But you swallow it down and smile prettily, whispering a quiet, “Why thank you,” and let him lead you to his car. 

You had always assumed that Yoongi was the type of guy to take you to a nice steak and wine dinner and call it quits, but actually he knew exactly what kind of person you were when he pulls up to the date night. 

“Sushi?” You frown as you step out of the car. “I didn’t know you like sushi.” 

He helps close the door after you and leads you into the expensive looking restaurant. “I have a friend who works here,” he grins gummily, “and he agreed to let us choose our own sushi, and get this--we get to cut our own and play with the knives.” 

You smile wickedly as you scramble after him. “Min Yoongi you know me so well.” 

After a night of yummy sushi and learning expensive sushi cuts from Yoongi’s friend, you leave the restaurant full and sated, a little tipsy off of the expensive sake he ordered you both. 

“How do you afford all of this with a resident salary?” You ask, frowning as he signs the receipt. 

He chuckles, “Uh, I get a little help here and there.” 

You joke, “Don’t tell me you’re a heir or something.” 

He just laughs it off and leads you outside, to where his car waits. He drives you two to another place, and you laugh as he pulls in. “Classic,” you giggle, as he parks next to the Bodies exhibit that’s been touring the area for a while now. It was an anatomical exhibit with preserved bodies, fetuses, eyeballs, the likes. He just grins at you, “You’re a workaholic, and you love bodies. Couldn’t think of something more fun to do on our first date.” 

He tucks his coat over your bare shoulders as you two walk into the exhibit and you lean into him as you both peruse the aisles of jars and showrooms. 

“Why haven’t we done this sooner?” You whisper at him, and he turns to look at you with a look so dark and earnest, that your knees begin to shake a little. Halfway through the exhibit, you stopped looking at the preserved body parts and more at him, wondering where and how the hell Yoongi had dropped into your life to become the man you’ve always dreamed of. A little aloof and grumpy, yes, but he was a great friend, partner, and cared a lot more than he let on. 

If he’d taken you to a traditional dinner, your hopes would’ve been crushed. And if he’d driven you after to a musical symphony concert, or a regular movie, like other dates have done in the past, you would’ve been disappointed that he didn’t know you better. But this first date was the day you knew you wanted to marry Min Yoongi.                                           

He stares at you for a long time before whispering back, “I wanted to make sure,” he says lowly, and reaches over to grip your hand. “It was a bit scary at first.”

“What was?”

“How alike we are.” He fiddles with your fingers, turning your smaller hands in his and gnawing on his lip. “How well we fit.” 

You step forward, gripping his hand. “Yoongi,” you murmur, even though you two are far away from the other visitors at the exhibition. “Let’s go home. Please.” You stare up into his eyes and bite your lower lip subtly, and it takes him just a moment before he’s gripping your hand and heading straight for the exit to his car. 

You can’t keep your hands off of him, giggling as he grips your upper thigh from the driver’s seat and you retaliate by leaning over and nibbling on his ear and tonguing his jawline as he presses on the gas to get home. “Don’t s-stop,” he murmurs. You two run up the stairs, laughing and grabbing butts and whatever skin you can before he’s punching the code in and throwing his apartment door open. You don’t even get a chance to admire the size and beauty of his place. 

He barely gets the door closed before you throw off the jacket around your shoulders and pounce on him, and he presses you against the door, tongue searching your mouth earnestly and swiping across your lips desperately as moans and ragged breaths are released into the darkness of his studio. He groans at your taste, and you moan loudly as his hands rake lasciviously over your breasts and stomach. 

His tongue works wonders against your swollen lips, drawing out moans and licking boldly into your mouth as you suck on his lower lip.  

He quickly works the zipper of your dress down as you unbutton his black dress shirt, not even bothering to slide it down his shoulders in your desperation, but just roaming your hands wide across his white milky torso, scrapping your nails lightly as he tongues against your exposed neck and collarbone. “Hurry!” you ask him, quickly removing your straps and letting the dress slither down your body and pool at your feet. You step out of them and jump as Yoongi catches you, pulling your thighs tight against his hips as he walks you blindly towards his bedroom. 

He drops you onto his mattress and you laugh as he grins at you and quickly undoes his pants and climbs over you, starting to kiss you at your bellybutton and tickling you as he climbs up your body. Reaching behind and unclasping your bra, his gaze grows darker as he stares down at your naked torso. 

“So beautiful,” he mutters, cradling them in between his hands and fluttering kisses all over them and tonguing at your heightened nerves until you’re breathing heavy and stuttering his name, your core clenching around nothing and the wetness making you uncomfortable. “Yoongi,” you moan, grabbing at his boxers, “please, I need you...” 

He understands quickly and obliges, looming over you on his elbows and distracting you with a kiss as he removes your underwear and swipes a finger up your folds to feel your wetness. You’re panting and moaning incoherent things, desperate for the feeling of him in you, for him to touch you, to kiss you. The pressure he puts against your clit with the swipes isn’t good enough, and you mewl for him to hurry.

“Fuck,” he breathes, groaning as he settles between your thighs, “You’re so wet. How long have you been waiting for this?” 

“Too long to remember,” you whine, hiking your thighs up over his hips and anchoring him to you. He groans and your voice hitches in your throat when he finally slides into you, fitting into you like a glove. Your jaw hangs open on his shoulder and your hands are gripping whatever you can grab, the hair at the base of his neck, the bicep that’s pressed against your cheek. 

“Holy shit,” you croak, throwing your head back at the pleasure. It’s dark and you can’t see him but his groans huskily tickling your ear let you know he’s going as crazy as you are. He presses in and out, slowly taking his time and rocking his hips against you in a way that stimulates your clit, rolling his hips against you when he sheathes in and then pressing on his downstroke when he moves out. You retaliate by leaning up and mouthing at his neck and his collarbone, sucking hickey’s into the pale unmarked skin like your life depended on it. 

You remember that night you were almost moved to tears how he loved you, held your body like fine china, kissing and drawing moans and sweet promises from your lips like he couldn’t live without them. He’d moaned your name and muffled his moans when he came by kissing you hard, nibbling lightly at your lower lip as his hand came to tangle in your hand and his hips stuttered. 

He’d murmured “God I can do this for the rest of my life,” against your lips before he fell asleep, and you’d watched him fall asleep, smoothing back the black locks of his hair behind his ear. 

He was beautiful, in a way that you’d never expected yourself to be attracted to. His skin was absolutely pale and milkish, so clean and white that you wanted to spend the rest of your life running your lips and fingers and tongue over them and marking him as yours and learning everything about every inch of his body. 

He had smaller eyes, that crinkled when he smiled, but were dark and held so many promises and loyalty in them. His eyelashes that framed them were as dark as his hair and his eyebrows, so black and thick that you couldn’t resist running your hands through them as he dreamed. 

Although a bit on the skinnier side, Yoongi’s body was beautiful as well. The arm thrown over your waist was still thick and had definition, and his torso well built and broad enough to make you feel like you could sleep on his chest forever. Which you did, at least that night.

And the next morning, he’d woken up to you prancing around in his black dress shirt, making breakfast with a sweet little smile. That’s how it all started, as cheesy as it sounds.

Dating in the workplace, was difficult, at the least. But it helped that you worked in the same hospital, and your schedules were more or less the same, being able to enjoy your days off together at home, or even just sleeping together on the same bed in the on-call room whenever you were both available. 

It wasn’t forbidden for residents to date each other, as long as the relationship didn’t deteriorate performance. And in you and Yoongi’s case, your performance soared together, conquering complicated surgeries and hundreds of patient care issues together as a pair. You both weren’t too romantic elsewhere, and it was your own personal enjoyment to be able to finish eachother’s sentences and complete the most difficult surgeries without a hiccup. 

Getting married with Yoongi was the easiest part of your relationship. Saying yes was so, so easy. 

He’d been thinking about it since the first night you shared together, and two years into your relationship and three into your friendship, he invites you nervously over to his place and cooks you an amazing dinner with wine and candles and the works, and gets on his knees, proclaiming his undying love for you. 

He wasn’t good with words, but it was moments like these that he saved whatever sappiness he could muster up with his skinny little body for all at once. 

“I think...” he begins, watching the way your eyes widen at the sight of him on one knee. “I think a lot. And it’s sometimes hard for me to just feel emotions and stuff. I wasn’t raised like that, and I never really had an experience that forced me to do anything otherwise. But you...y/n, you...you make me feel. You make me excited to see you, you make my heart race when you perform your famous whipping stitch,” he laughs as he reaches up to cup your face and wipe away a tear with his thumb, “and you make me never want to live anyway else, besides the way I’m living right now, here with you.” 

“Will you marry me?” 

You’re crying ugly tears and getting your makeup all messed up, but you nod as you whisper, “Yes,” and let him slip on the beautiful big wedding ring and stand from the chair to meet him in a passionate kiss. 

That night, with your wedding ring the only thing you���re wearing, he proclaims his love to you through his actions, through his hands and his lips and his touches, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you submit to the ecstasy of being completely and actually loved by someone so wholeheartedly. 

You felt at that moment, that you had conquered the world. You had a great job, an even better workplace, and the best fiancee you could ever ask for. He was your partner in crime, your trusted best friend, your husband-to-be. He was your everything. 

Planning the wedding...was easy. 

Both of you weren’t complicated, nor extravagant people. You simply chose a nice venue, chose steak as the dinner, a normal white wedding cake, a nice dress that complimented your figure, and you both had a great relationship with the Chief, so you asked him to officiate the wedding. Your friend took your pictures for you, and you were able to make your wedding playlist in 30 minutes in the waiting room right after a surgery. A couple of your fellow residents and childhood friends were the bridesmaids and thankfully, the ones without medical jobs that sucked out the life and time out of their days, were able to step in and plan the rest of the details of your wedding like the color of the silverware and the texture of the table covers.

No extra musical quartets to play your wedding song, no extravagant flowers besides the nice green ones decorating the tables and your bouquet, and your honeymoon was going to be a nice week-long trip in a tropical island, far far away where the both of you could just enjoy the moment together. 

Simple.  

You found and planned to buy a house, which is when you discovered that Min Yoongi came from a pretty well off family. It was a nice four bedroom place, with a big kitchen and an even bigger living room, and since the both of you were were always tired and busy, you made the finances to hire a maid and gardener to come every weekend and clean your house inside out. 

The only part was...his parents, weren’t easy. At all. 

His father was a strict businesswoman, with a degree in law and economics who’d started his own company from scratch and had built it up to be one of the biggest tech companies in the country. His mother, although not a working woman, was a daughter of another mogul who’d raised her with all the perfect etiquettes required of heiresses like her.  

Meeting her made you almost piss your pants, as you fiddled with your coat for the upteenth time that day, and Yoongi reaches over to grip your hand in a firm hold, leaning over and murmuring, “You look beautiful, don’t worry. She’s gonna love you.” 

That, to this day, was probably the biggest lie your husband ever told you. Well, in addition to the whole “til death do us part” lie he told you at the altar. But you’d go through a thousand of those lies if it meant you didn’t have to deal with his mother. 

She was a fierce-looking lady, with eyeliner sharper than you’d ever been able to master, and pearls hanging from her dainty neck that looked like they’d be shiny and strong enough for her to choke you with. She’d walked in with a piercing stare, giving you a once over at your new Givenchy dress and Chanel coat, and pursed her lips before taking a seat. Damn, an hour of preparing completely unappreciated in seconds, 3,000$ down the drain. 

Yoongi’s father was a bit more loveable, a tired old man who loved to take you camping and outdoorsy stuff that his mother refused to even talk about. You enjoyed fishing and hiking with him whenever you got the chance. But Yoongi’s mother...she was a whole different story. 

The moment she approved of your marriage, she took over. She planned another wedding, much bigger and more lavish than the first friends-and-family-only one you and Yoongi had originally planned for. She hired one of the most popular wedding planners to come in and re-do the entire thing, renting out a traditional huge church for the event and re-doing the entire sanctuary in draping colors of white and pale pink and gold. 

The wedding cake was taller than you, and the food was made by a Michelin star chef who had dozens of professional waiters and waitresses at his beck and call to deliver the plates going around. 

She invited almost four-hundred guests, all important men and women in Yoongi’s father’s business. Potential investors, politicians, local celebrities and moguls, the Board of Trustees, important managers and team leaders from the company, and even families that shared good relationships with her own. 

Immediately, your week was chock-full of scheduled facials, nail salon appointments, dress fittings, and meetings with the planner that your mother-in-law insisted on attending. 

The only thing she let you choose in the entire wedding was your underwear, which you insisted on not wearing the thong that would probably render you sterile for the rest of your life. 

But you gritted your teeth through it as she drove a whirlwind through your once-normal marriage, and you smiled through clenched teeth and did the whole six hours of greeting and nodding and waving alongside Yoongi. Little did your mother-in-law know that at the end of the night, you fucked Yoongi in her kitchen while she was out drinking with her friends. 

It was your dirty little secret.

Your once-normal house was sold quickly and she insisted on you two moving into a huge estate that was much closer to hers, and immediately hired the both of you a set of maids, gardeners, and cooks to make sure the “house was running properly” since you never “have time to do it anyway.” 

If it meant that she’d stay out of your house and not force the both of you to move in with her, you were satisfied. 

All you needed was Yoongi, and you had him through it all. He was the one who coaxed you not to panic when his mother forced you to do a chemical peel for your skin that made you want to die of pain, and assured you that it would all be over, and even offered to run away with you whenever you wanted, whenever you decided that doing this and putting up with his mother and her antics wasn’t worth it all. 

But it was, worth it all. He was worth it all. And so you insisted on just doing it. Your marriage and your happily ever after was worth all the hours and hours of scrubbing your skin clean and lasering your body hair off and squeezing into a corset for your wedding dress. 

You were determined to make sure your marriage with Yoongi was perfect.

Which was probably why when Dr. Do Kyungsoo decided to amicably transfer 5 years later from his promotion into attending status, and 3 years into your marriage with Yoongi, he chose the both of you to head the department in his place. You two were surgeons who worked well together, were happily married, with leadership skills and great relations with the Chief, and it also helped that the both of you together had incredibly high surgical success rates. 

It was a no-brainer, pun intended.

And so you step up, pack up your stuff and move into your own immaculate offices side-by-side, enjoy the perks of being the leaders of the neurosurgery department, with your own assistants and resting rooms, able to access even more surgeries and benefits. 

But also, simultaneously, 3 years into your marriage with Yoongi, was when the questions started. 

“When are you planning to have children?” 

“Are you guys thinking of expanding your family?” 

“Have you been taking those uterine enhancing vitamins I sent to your house last week?” Your mother-in-law would call you, and you’d wince, scrambling up to the fridge in your office to suck on the plastic pouch of useless Eastern medicine as you mumble, “Yes, mother. Everyday now.” 

She huffs over the phone. “Why can’t you get pregnant yet? Have you and Yoongi been trying, even?”

You sigh, “Uh, mother, I can assure you that Yoongi and I have been doing this together, and we will take it at our own pace. I promise you, I’m thinking about this rationally.” 

“Rationally doesn’t mean you agree to leading the department together with your husband. Rational means you, as a woman, let him lead and take a break so that you’re not always running around that hospital and making your uterus less elastic.” 

You don’t even bother explaining how wrong that was medically, because the uterus did not loose elasticity because you were working harder, as she continues to berate you for not taking the traditional role of a wife. 

It...it was complicated. You were raised in a family much different than Yoongi’s. Your parents were high school lovers, who’d married right after graduating college and started their family with your older brothers. After having you, and after 10 more years of marriage, they’d decided that it wasn’t worth it, and that the problems that continued to arise within your family weren’t solvable. 

So they divorced, shuttling you and your two brothers in between them for holidays, and you’d lived your life getting used to having two sets of clothes, two desks, two houses, and two bedrooms. You couldn’t complain, there were children out there with much worse circumstances than yours. But nonetheless, the brokenness of your parents marriage was probably why you were so desperate to prove to everyone that you weren’t like them. 

You wanted to be different. You saw how your mother had rotted at home, lonely and waiting for her surgeon husband to return home. He rarely called once he got promoted to Attending status, and was always late to family events. He always missed dinner, and you distinctly remember walking out into the living room late at night after peeing, and seeing your mother asleep at the dining table, a full meal laid out for him as she slept on the spot next to him. 

Staying at home, rotting away like that...it wasn’t your thing. You wanted to be great, you wanted to excel and prove how good you were, not only to yourself and your own family, but even to Yoongi’s mother. Because of your parents’ divorced status and not-on-the-wealthy-side financial state, she’d looked down at all of you when you first met her a while ago. 

But then Yoongi had graciously taken a moment with her the night after, explaining to her calmly how hard working you were, how you refused to let him help you with your debt, working tirelessly and passionately to support your parents and work off your debt and bills. Only then did she agree to the marriage. 

“...make sure that Yoongi is eating his vegetables. I know I hired you both a chef to make sure you both got your nutrients. He knows and I’m sure he’s doing a great job, but Y/n, a wife should be cooking for her husband from time to time. Go make him some chicken bone healthy soup, I hear its very good for the male body...” she continues to babble on as you see your office door handle twist open and Yoongi lingering in the doorway. 

You spin in your chair to look at him and he smiles apologetically at you.

“My mom?” He mouths, and you nod sadly. 

He walks over and leans against your desk, and you lean forward and press your forehead against his stomach, breathing in his scent. You stay like that for a moment, the smell of Yoongi’s skin calming you. Although the both of you used the same body wash and laundry detergent, there was still something so Yoongi about his smell. You could never replicate it, even though you sometimes secretly spritzed his cologne in your bedroom when you missed him a lot. Hoping that maybe his scent rubbed off on you in the process was all you could do. 

The phone is still pressed against your ear as you mumble out acknowledgements to his mother and he chuckles as he smooths your hair back with one hand. He lifts your head to lean down and deliver a deep kiss, one that makes your lashes flutter and your heart stop. 

You open your eyes to him staring down at you funny, and then a big grin stretches across his face as he holds the mute button down. “Hey,” he grins at you gummily, “let me sit on the chair.” He lets go of the button.

You frown and continue to talk to his mother as you oblige and get up out of the chair to perch against the edge of your desk while he gets comfortable. He grips the back of your head and pulls you down for another searing kiss, one that makes you smile and frown confusedly down at him. 

He just grins and presses the mute button again, “trust me,” he whispers, and begins to kiss at your jawline. 

You hold the phone away from your ear and out of earshot as you hiss, “Oh my god, Yoongi, no.” 

“The doors locked,” he murmurs as he stands up and curls over you against the table to grind his hips against yours. “Keep talking to her.” he says, and his eyes glint with mischevious intent as he continues to travel down your torso. One by one he undoes the little buttons on your blouse, kissing and licking at each new inch of skin that’s revealed. He doesn’t even bother taking off your bra, just hiking it up out of the way and immediately diving and tonguing at your nipples until your struggling to keep your harsh breathing under control and your practically dripping down your thighs. 

“Always so sensitive here,” he smirks, flicking a thumb over your sensitive nipple. 

His mother’s still droning on and on about how your gardener was the best, whatever awards he’s won and what she thinks he should do with your backyard....all while her son is currently getting comfortable in between your legs. 

He pulls up your pencil skirt and snaps the waistband of your panties against your hip, grinning up at you cheekily when he sees the dark spot that reveals your wetness to him. Without even pulling them off, he pushes the band aside and slides two fingers into you without warning, making you choke on whatever agreements you were babbling into the phone. 

“Yes, mother, I think so to---” you completely cut yourself off, literal seconds away from moaning out loud into the receiver. You immediately punch your finger into the mute button, glaring down at Yoongi. “What the fuck?” you hiss, staring at the weighted phone in your hand as you can hear the light crackling of her frantic voice on the other end. “Yoongi, oh my god, we’re gonna get caught.” 

“Not if you keep quiet,” he says, lightly kissing the skin above your bellybutton and continuing to languidly move his fingers within you, curling upwards to press against that spot that has you curling into him, gripping his hair for support, the phone still dangling in between your fingers. You keen, “Oh Yoongi,” you’re shuddering at the onslaught of such direct pressure and squeezing your eyes shut at the sensations. 

The transition from residents to Attendings had been busy, and you’d been coming home with Yoongi only to collapse onto your beds without any energy for anything else. You were starved. 

His mother’s voice crackles loud enough to draw you out of your haze. “Shit,” you mutter and turn off the mute, “Y-yes mother, s-sorry, I choked on some water there.” 

Her voice calms down as she hears you on the line again. “Oh Jesus, I thought you’d passed out or something. Don’t do that again, you’ll stress out your body and stress isn’t good for the baby. Anyway, what was I saying, oh yes. The gardener wants to install a fountain that’s made out of genuine Greek volcanic rock....” 

You tune her out as your head tips back and your eyes close to the feeling of Yoongi’s mouth close over your clit, hot and slick against the drenched fabric of your panties, and making you tremble at how quick he drives you to the edge. Your heeled feet are perched on the handles of your chair, and your clothes in a complete mess. The only thing you can focus on is making sure you mumble a “mhm,” for your mother-in-law to know you’re listening and anchoring Yoongi’s face against your core. 

He moves his tongue slowly, tracing patterns into your flesh, making you all hot from the inside out and making your thighs tremble with the exertion of trying not to buck into him. 

Clenching your jaw, you determine, is the best way of not letting any noises escape and you angle the receiver a bit away from your nose and mouth to make sure his mother doesn’t catch on the heavy breathing. 

Your breaths are labored and shuddery, trying to compensate for the overwhelming sensations Yoongi drives through your system, his hands cradling your hip and the other roughly palming your breast and raking down your body to curl into you once again and press right against the spot only he knows this way. His hair is twisted tight beneath your fingertips but it only spurs him on, and you can literally feel the smile that he grins into your core, as he becomes even more naughty at the nasty thought of you accidentally letting his name slip as a moan in a conversation with his own mother. 

But you manage to hold it in, cumming fiercely and silently, tears pricking your eyes as you curl into Yoongi’s mouth and your jaw hangs open in a silent scream as he tongues and laps at your wetness through it all. 

You’re still shaking and shuddering as you come down from it, and Yoongi waits, leaning back in your leather chair with a satisfied and triumphant grin, his lips shining slightly from your wetness, and you snap. 

“I-I’m sorry, mother, but I h-have to go. There’s an um, emergency p-procedure I have to perform! Right now! Sorry, I’ll call you later, so sorry, bye!” You ignore the frantic questions and slam the receiver down on the cart, and pounce on Yoongi, kissing him and roughly tugging at his hair and grunting in to the kiss to let him know how much you hated and loved him right now. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, tonguing at his lips that are still salty with your taste. “You’re so much nastier than when we first married.” 

He chuckles huskily against your lips. “Says the one who’s kissing me right after I ate you out.” 

You grin down at him. “Switch,” you command, and he obliges, and you put your clothing somewhat back in place before taking his seat and unbuckling his pants. He’s already hard, probably from eating you out and the excitement and thrill of doing so when you’re on the phone with his mother, and you sneer at that. 

You grip him at his base, squeezing tightly and slowly jerking him off. He bites his lip as he watches you, leaning against your desk. “You think you’re real cute huh?” You sneer, leaning forward to wrap your mouth around his tip and suck harshly, making him moan and buckle, his hands flying into the edge of the desk and in your hair. 

You detach, though, before he can get any further pleasure from it and stare up at him. “You know that if we got caught, it wouldn’t even be you in trouble, but me?” 

You reach over and grip his balls, playing with the weight in your hands and rubbing the space right where his cock meets the heavier skin. He groans, biting his lip and you smile wickedly when you feel him jump within your hands. “Fuck,” he groans, watching you with narrowed eyes. He knew he deserved it, and he was loving every bit of it. 

“Next time,” you lean forward and wrap your lips around him again, sucking harshly and then pulling away in a tease, “You’re gonna fuck me in her house, make sure that she knows it’s not me thats nasty, but its all you.” You finally oblige, leaning in and swallowing his length as far as you can, letting him settle heavily against the back of your tongue. You swallow around him and fight the urge to gag, your other hand coming to his base and stroking whatever else you can’t reach with your tongue and mouth. 

Yoongi’s completely at your dispense now, moaning and clenching his eyes shut as his breaths become labored and his hand becomes a bit too tight in the strands of your hair. But you ignore it, rubbing the texture of your tongue against the underside of his cock and moaning to send vibrations straight down his length. 

“Oh sh-shit,” he buckles, “T-too much, t-too fast y/n.” He cringes, but you keep going, bobbing your head back and forth and smoothing your tongue harshly against the spot right on the underside of his cock that makes his stomach muscles clench underneath your hands. 

He cums within seconds of doing that, groaning loudly and fisting his hands in your hair. You continue to stroke him through the orgasm, letting his cum drip down your tongue and you swallow loudly around him, making him buck forward from the extra stimulation. “Fuck,” he breathes out, grinning as you stand and wipe your lip, “That was hot.” 

You roll your eyes, walking over to your closet and stripping off your ruined undies. The offices were nice, and personal, but even better because you and Yoongi could get some actual work done together with the nice locks they provided on your doors. You kept a stash of clean laundry here just in case you needed them for surgeries and important meetings, but your underwear stash was getting suspiciously depleted faster. 

While you’re putting on a clean pair, he surveys the contents of your desk as he observes the packet of Uterine Vitamin Eastern medicine juice. He cringes as he turns over the packet and surveys the contents printed on the back, grimacing at the odd combination of multiple herbs and spices. 

“No wonder you tasted bitter when I kissed you,” he curls his lip in disgust, “what the hell is in this thing? Are you sure it’s not doing the complete opposite of enhancing your vagina?” 

You sigh, closing the closet door. “Imagine what it’s like to have your mother call me every night to remind me to take them.” Walking over, you slot yourself snugly in his arms. 

His voice vibrates in his chest, calming you as you press your cheek against it. “You know, just say the word, and I’ll tell her to stop. I can go tell her that I’m the one who has sperm issues or don’t want kids or something. She’ll stop and listen then.” 

You shake your head, closing your eyes as Yoongi’s chin comes down softly against the crown of your head. One more thing you loved about Yoongi, was that he was the perfect height for you to snuggle into his neck. “I don’t want you to lie to her.” 

His chuckle buzzes against your ear. “I mean, it’s true that we want to wait a little bit, right? With the department changes that are going on and all...it’s okay to wait a little isn’t it?” 

Resting your chin on his chest and peering up at him through tired lashes, you pout, sighing. “But if it happens, I guess it happens. I’m happy either way.” 

He leans down and pecks your lips. “Me too. I’m happy either way.” 

To think about where it all went wrong...well that’s not easy. 

You’d spent three amazing years alone with Yoongi, enjoying your time together as residents, then promoted to Attendings. And although the transition into becoming department heads together was anything but simple or easy, especially with Yoongi’s mother nagging and turning her nose up at your decision every chance she got, it was still bearable. 

But...maybe it had been the extra stuff in your lives that had driven you apart. 

Your google calendar looked like a kid had just drawn squares everywhere with different colors. Your schedule was a mess, not that Suho was anything but organized, he was great. But your schedule was chock-full of important meetings, orientations, interviews, and even hospital events that took up a lot of your time. All you wanted to do was go back to your surgeries with Yoongi, but naturally being a bit more organized and better with human beings than Yoongi was, you ended up taking a bit more of the official part of the job, while he was equally stressed out by the extra patient-meetings and demanding surgeries. 

You couldn’t complain about having to just attending meetings in person and greeting people and sipping champagne while Yoongi was having to deal with rude and stressed out patient families and even a lawsuit regarding one of the surgeries his patient claims could have been done better. Which, was ridiculous, because you and everyone in the entire country knew that Yoongi was one of the best specialists to deal with that patient’s tumor the way he did. 

And neither did he, even though he stumbled in half awake into your home at 3am in the morning with eye bags dragging down to his chin and equally so weak from not being able to eat or drink anything during his surgeries, collapsing onto the couch. 

But you still tried. You made sure that the both of you had Sunday’s off, no matter what, calling in favors from other departments to make sure that your positions were covered. 

Sundays...naturally became a routine. 

You both were up before 7am, just by habit. Yoongi would go into the kitchen and sip on some coffee silently while you went on your morning jog. By the time you got back, Yoongi was taking a nap, which is when you’d shower and get ready and leave the house together by 8:30 towards his parents’ place. 

From 8:30 to 9, you’d help his mother prepare an obnoxious breakfast, full of beautiful cooked eggs, perfect waffles, little salmon and cheese crackers, and even sometimes she whipped out the caviar. 

And together, you’d prepare for Yoongi and his father, who would just discuss a few things here and there while the women cooked. And then until 10, you and Yoongi would share coffee with his parents while his mother nagged you about children and his father would tell one of his fishing stories. 

By noon, you’d both be back home, and Yoongi would groan about how tired he was and collapse into sleep again, and you’d quietly read a book or clean until he woke up around 4, and you’d go watch a movie together. It didn’t matter what movie, but you both just sat there in the darkness watching whatever stupid indie film was popular that week in your local theatre. 

Since it was dark after the movie finished, you’d both make your way over to a small diner or something to grab a bite to eat. And then you’d curl up together infront of the tv or the fireplace and just silently cuddle. 

But at one point, the cuddling didn’t feel as warm anymore. 

Yoongi stopped bringing home flowers randomly. Instead his first words to you when he entered your office or when he came home would be something about the hospital. Sometimes, he was forced to even miss out on the precious Sunday times together because he was called in for an emergency procedure only he could do. Or you’d have to bail and reschedule your silent Sundays together in order to make it to an important hospital event. 

The sex...well it was just sex. 

You both tried changing it up here and there. But being married for three years...really had depleted a lot of your options of your boundaries and the things both of you were comfortable doing. The 15th time doing bondage and tying your hands to the bed just wasn’t as exciting as the first. Just...naturally. 

And that was probably where it went wrong. 

You accepted it, just acknowledged that things becoming like that were normal for any other couple. Great. But what your mistake was, you didn’t do anything about it. You didn’t dare ask him to attend marriage-counseling with you, in fear of disrupting the silence and peace you finally had obtained with his mother, and also, you had access to his calendar. It was impossible to do it together without his mother somehow finding out. She had his calendar too. 

Little by little, you stopped asking. You stopped pressing him to take time off for dates, to separate and designate some time for just the two of you, without having to worry or talk about work. You stopped telling him about your day. And instead, you began to resent the way he always somehow managed to turn a blind eye to the passive side-comments his mother gave you. 

It became a nuisance to hear that his partner in surgery was a beautiful new graduate who was all busty and fresh and innocent  and remarkably good at surgery, and conveniently, working right next to him. 

It also got busier. The hospital began a new TV program to raise public finds for the free clinic. The chief had brought up the idea, proposing a weekly talk-show-ish program where doctors and PA’s would sit at a panel and discuss important health issues and offer the best advice. Naturally, as one of the senior representatives of the neuro-department, and as a woman who was used to being on screens, you were asked to be on the show. 

As your life picked up faster than ever, you had totally missed that, somehow, the marriage you had dreamed of, and had protected with your life, was crumbling with every step you took in your polished Louboutins. 

And then, you took a test. Six weeks after your last pregnancy.

The two lines on the stick you peed on shined bright blue back at you, and you bit your lip as tears welled up in your eyes at the thought of finally starting a family with Yoongi. Almost four years of marriage, and you’d finally decided to stop taking the pills. You knew he wanted children, he’d always stare longingly at the children in the park or linger in the children’s toys section in the department stores. 

But it had finally happened. 

Telling him was glorious, he’d cried and kneeled and kissed your stomach until you were giggling and telling him to stop, and he was cooing promises of a family and eternal happiness and gratitude to you. 

Telling his mother...well...was pretty extraordinary. Once she knew, she gathered all family and friends, including...basically everyone at the hospital, and had announced at a brunch party that you and Yoongi were expecting. 

But nonetheless, it lead to a month of a happy marriage. Yoongi began delegating, switching his surgeries off to others to make sure that he was home to have dinner, often bringing home the same bouquets of flowers that you used to receive back when the both of you were interns. He began decorating, and even though you’d laughed and told him that it was still technically risky in the first trimester, had settled for buying a white crib and completely stocking the closet with unisex products, like shower products and carseats and diapers. 

The sex was better. Yoongi refused to do anything to you even a smidgen above vanilla, scared to do anything to the baby. 

“Yoongi,” you moan, head thrown back as he rocks his hips into you, “Spank me.” Begging had always been a secret little kink of Yoongi’s, but this time, he was adamant about not doing anything to stimulate “even any amount of pain for my wife.” 

“No,” he pants, holding his upper body above yours, careful not to drop his weight on you. “What if it hurts the baby?” 

You roll your eyes, throwing your legs around his back and pulling his hips close so they roll against your clit deliciously, and you curve your spine up into him so that your chests rub together. Moaning, you shake your head. “It...it’s okay.” You pant, and Yoongi finally finally relents....into doing doggy style. 

“Switchin’ it up,” he grins, sliding back into you with a moan, and you roll your eyes half from frustration and half from pleasure.

It was fun. It was four weeks of feeling glorious, four weeks of feeling like finally, you had your marriage back. Yoongi was back to his normal, chippy self, finally able to get some more sleep and not throwing himself into his work. Your own work schedule was now a bit more lenient, people understanding when you had to skip out on important meals or appointments because of morning sickness. Co-workers and other subordinates were gushing constantly with blushed cheeks at how jealous they were of your marriage, congratulating you with every chance you got. The mother-in-law had finally stopped hounding you, and instead showed her interest by constantly ordering catalogues to your home about baby products. It was still meddlesome, but it was definitely better than calling you every morning at 9 am to make sure you took your uterine enhancing vitamins. 

And those four weeks, you might have completely forgotten that your marriage had gone through a rough patch. No, a gaping hole and a horrible mess that you both had somehow just glazed over with the thoughts of a baby. You should’ve known that it was too good to be true. 

After a particularly hard day of meetings, you suddenly felt a sharp pain in your side, and wince as you stumble a bit. Suho is at your side, a worried look in his face. “Y/N,” he says, “are you okay?” 

Cringing, you take a breath before hesitating. Normally you would have dismissed it for a momentary cramp or a twinge from hunger. But this...you felt something was wrong. Your heart begins to beat faster as your breath becomes short. “S-Sehun,” you whisper, grabbing his arm for support. “I need Sehun, now!” 

You’re ushered into his office and Sehun comes to meet you halfway, a frown on his worried face. “Y/N,” he murmurs, “You don’t look well.” 

You’re crying, anticipating the worst. “I...” you pant, worriedly looking up at him. “I don’t feel good, I-I felt a sharp pain in my side, like a cramp, and all of a sudden...I-I don’t know S-sehun, please just check, I’d f-feel so much better if you would just ch-check...” 

“Okay, yes, of course,” he murmurs, urging you towards the table. 

You settle against the cushion, the papers rustling behind your back as you lay down and you hike up your blouse near your ribcage so that Sehun can smear the gel onto your abdomen as he turns on his Ultrasound. 

The next few moments seem to happen in slow motion. 

“Y/N...” he trails off, turning from the screen to you. His eyes are sad, his face fallen completely as you stare at him in horror. “It...it was embedded in your fallopian tube. If it had stayed there...” he breathes out at your stricken expression, “your tube would have torn open. Its a miracle that you miscarried it naturally.” 

You lay there for a moment, staring up at the blank white ceiling, the bright lights bruning into the back of your skull. And that day, you quietly cancel the rest of your schedules and trudge back home, dazedly walking into your place and seeing that Yoongi’s shoes are in the doorway. 

You pad into the house, hoping that he’d be waiting there with the news, or even if he didn’t know yet out of Sehun’s politeness, just waiting for you to fall into his arms. 

But when you walk into the bedroom, you see a lump of hair and a tired, limp Yoongi sleeping soundly. 

And the sight breaks the dam. You crumple onto the floor, shoulders racking at the sight, and you press your fist into your mouth as you attempt to silence the shudders and cries that pass your lips. The tears dribble down endlessly as you rock yourself back and forth, holding your abdomen close as you pray silent prayers and apologize, over and over and over. 

That night, you fall asleep on the bathroom floor, after hours and hours of just crying and staring at the dots of blood on your underwear.

Months later, all the sad smiles and apologies have stopped and you and Yoongi have lapsed completely back into the same routine. 

Wake up, eat, work, sleep. 

“So,” Wendy grins at the camera, flashing the audience a big smile, “Y/N,” she turns to you, “I think the rest of the panel and the audience have desperately wanted to know since the day you joined our show. What is your marriage like? I assume that being married to another successful surgeon isn’t easy. How do you and Dr. Min manage to make it work?” 

You smile nervously, curling a hair behind your ear. “Uh,” you chuckle, “I-I don’t really have any secrets.” 

Wendy laughs, just playing along to the script. “Oh, don’t tease us Y/N, we know you have a few tips! Please, c’mon, the female audience has been dying to know since your husband guested on the show with you.” 

You clear your throat, plastering on a smile. “Well...it may sound generic,” you begin, “but rule number one, never go to sleep angry.” 

Wrong. 

“Rule number two, always make time to have personal dates, and personal time together.” 

Wrong.

“And rule number three, always remember...never forget the way you fell in love.” 

Wrong.

Yoongi comes home that day, dark circles down to his mouth and not even bothered to have changed out of his dirty scrubs, the door slamming and locking shut behind him. He leans heavily against the doorway, eyes shut as he groans and kicks off his shoes. 

You’re in the living room, waiting for him, but he doesn’t even see and breezes past the area straight for the bedroom. 

You set down your tea and pad after him, watching him slowly undress as he walks, leaving the soiled scrubs behind him as he stumbles into the bedroom. He faceplants straight into your shared bed, naked except for his boxers. 

“Yoongi,” you whisper, tossing the scrubs into the laundry hamper. “We need to talk.” You grab a fresh set of boxers and a t-shirt for him to wear. Walking forward, you nudge his shoulder until he groans and sits up. 

“What.” he says tiredly, cranky as you hand him the clothes. 

Frowning, you cross your arms. “I know you’re tired but this is important.” 

He wipes his face with his hand, lingering and pressing down a bit on his eyes and temples before tiredly frowning up at you. “Go.” He breathes out, and you fight the urge to pick at his tone. 

“Today,” you whisper, taking the seat at the vanity across from the bed. “The show asked me about my marriage.” 

He just watches you, elbows on his knees as he clasps his hands infront of him. “Mhm.” He mutters.

 Swallowing, you cross your legs, blinking down at the grey of your sweats. “And...I lied.” 

Time seems to stop. You know he knows. Yoongi graduated at the top of his class. He was a genius, and was married to you long enough to have everything about your relationship engrained in his bones. He wasn’t stupid. 

“What...” he trails off, taking a moment to choose his words carefully. “What did you say?” 

You notice he doesn’t repeat the word “lie” again. 

“I told them we were perfect.” You whisper, eyes tearing up for the third time that day. 

You had finished up schedules quite quickly and had rushed home, excited and giddy that hopefully, today would be the day that would transform everything back to its rightful place. Yoongi’s schedule was clear and that would mean only one thing. 

From 6pm for an hour, you’d showered, shaving and exfoliating, and then had put on a mask while you styled your hair, and had taken utmost care to apply your makeup beautifully and choose the outfit that you’d never thought you’d be wearing again at this age. And then you’d waited. 

Sitting against the couch, you had waited, and waited, and waited, calling Yoongi to no avail. At 10pm, and the fourth hour of him not picking up nor responding, you’d given up. 

“Do you remember what today is?” You whisper, shoulders drooping with the effort. It was just so...hard. You couldn’t take it anymore. 

He doesn’t respond, and you answer him before he does. “Our anniversary. Yoongi, its our fourth year married...did...did you forget?” You ask him, eyes brimming with tears. 

His mouth falls open a little and that’s enough to answer your question that hangs in the air. “Oh Y/N,” he says lowly, eyes sadly looking up to you. “I-...I’m so sorry, there was an emergency Craniotomy and my phone was off the entire day and...” He sighs, head falling down. “I’m so sorry.” 

You notice that he doesn’t make the effort to stand up and walk over to you. 

And just like that, you realize that the few feet that stand between the bed and the vanity, and subsequently you and your husband, exemplifies the way you both grew apart. 

All the frustrations, the resentment, the hatred, the pent-up-anger comes up all at once. 

“I....I want a divorce, Yoongi.” 

[fivesoskingdom]

"You're going to get me killed." gang!Ashton (Golden Star Fanfic)

A/N: Sixth part is here, dear partners. I'm happy that you guys liked the last one, but this one is better, I promise, OK? And please, a beautiful anon said how I could make the "read more" in the app (I don't use computer), so I'm trying. Can you guys say if it works?

Summary: You're finally getting what you wanted: being away from Ashton's gang and himself. But maybe this isn't the best thing right now. And maybe, for a couple of minutes, you actually wanted Ashton as close to you as possible.

Remember: The next chapter only comes if this one gets, at least, 30 notes.

You can find the previous parts here

Hope you guys like it, don't forget to reblog, so I can know that there's someone out there liking my stuff. 💋

Ashton waited for you for about three hours in front of your house, his car parked where you could see him as soon as you got to your street. It was odd for you to see him there since he never show up before and you also realized that you didn't saw any guy walking you home today. Secretly you wished that it was Luke's day because after the hell day you got, you could use a good talk at home with some pizza.

"Last time you were here you were covered in blood. Good to see that's not happening today." you pointed while opening the door.

"Yeah, didn't got any shot in the last month." he said getting out of his motorcycle and going to you, entering your house behind you. "And the shot you took care is the only one I don't have a scar."

"Well, good to know that. I'm not a plastic for nothing." you smiled.

"I wondered about your specialty. Good to know it's plastics."

"Seriously, Irwin?" you left your stuff at the dinner table and got to the kitchen to take two glasses of wine. "Never bother to ask to any of my dear followers?"

"Nah." he smiled getting the glass of you, going to sit in the couch and you followed him. "Wanted to ask myself."

"OK, now that you know that I'm a plastics, what are you really doing here?" This was, by far, the strangest interaction you two ever had. You were sitting on the couch with your legs crossed, looking at him, he was sitting more formally, the glass of wine spinning in his hand.

"We need to talk. And it's serious."

"Please, don't say that the guy I hit wants to kill me. You said you would protect me."hearing that kind of words was never a good thing, hearing from someone like Ashton was even worse.

"He's not a threat anymore." he said and you raised one eyebrow. "He's alive, you just really teached him a lesson and I made sure to teach one or two more as well."

"So, what's so important that made you come here yourself?" you never bothered to turn on the main light, the whole room being illuminated by the little yellowish lights you had, making it all really cozy. Ashton stayed in silence for a while, pondering how and what say to you, you took your time to analize him. His face was some kind of soft, he wasn't looking scary or even mad, for once, a little scar, almost invisible, was near to his eyebrown and you knew it was new. Being a plastic surgeon made you really observant to the little things.

"Listen, I'm not going to follow you everywhere anymore." he started with a sigh.

"Oh my God, thank you!!!" you almost screamed, making him giggle, shaking his head in denial. You could, actually, kiss him because you were so happy.

"Yeah, don't get all excited. Here's the thing: Someone from Noah's gang saw us following you and now we think that they think that you're something important to us, what means that they can get you." now his soft face was worried, his lips were in a thin line. You mind started to buzz and it was nothing with the wine, your heart raced and you felt your hands sweat.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you get up, completely shocked. "You put me in danger and now you're going to leave me all by myself? What the actual fuck?"

"Can you please sit your ass down?" he asked taking a deep breath, looking at you when you didn't. "Seriously, sit." he pulled you, almost making you fall at his lap, he realized that too and took him some seconds to talk again. "Listen, stop screaming." he looks again at you "If we keep following you, they're going to get you at some point to discover why we are doing this, so Calum suggest that we follow you from far, by an app." he explained calmly, his hand never left your arm and you were starting to feel weird with his touch. "Harry, our tech guy, developed this app that will show us your live location all the time, real time. Here." he finally let your arm go to hand you a box, when you open it you see a necklace, it's golden and it has a little pendant in form of a golden star with an little A jammed. It was, actually, really cute. "This is a chip and a button, it shows me where you are any time."he shows you his app, the map showing your location at your house. "You can't take this, are you listening to me? Never. Not to sleep, not to shower, not even in the hospital. Specially not in the hospital." he gets up, going to behind you so he can put the necklace on your neck. "If you ever need anything, if you get in trouble, press the star, it will alarm my phone and the guys as well and we will be able to find you anywhere." he sits in front of you again.

"You're going to get me killed." you say with your voice below a whisper, looking to your lap. "This is insane." all your rage became fear. No, you didn't liked to be followed, no, you never thought it was necessary, but now you were being really in danger, now you could really die because of this man in front of you.

"Listen to me." he makes you look at him raising your face with his fingers on your chin. "You're not getting killed, do you understand? You saved my life and I will be in debt with you for it forever, so if you die, I'll die with you." he smiled at you, a warm smile that maybe in any other situation would make you want to get in his lap and kiss him, but now it only makes you feel sad.

"Why, Irwin? Tell me." you ask with your eyes in tears, your voice may be low, but he can hear how mad you're at him again. "I didn't asked for any of this. Now I'm going to be between two gangs?"

"You saved my life and I can't just let this go. Trust me, you'll be safe." he smiles to you and you roll your eyes, slapping his hand of your chin. "You're way too stubborn, you know that? I don't know how you remain alive." he rolled his eyes as well, completely annoyed by your attitude.

"Yeah, I won't be a problem for much longer, right? Good for you." you get up to go to your room. "You know your way out. Please don't come again, I don't wanna die."

As you started to walk away, Ashton got up from the couch and before he could stop himself, he was already right behind you, getting in your room. You saw him and was about to tell him to go, but he was faster and pressed you against the bedroom wall with his own body. Your heart skipped a beat when you felt him so close, his breath fanning all over your face since he was taller than you. Ashton's eyes were watching everything on your face, looking how you were reacting and he felt a heat over his body when you slightly opened your mouth before bitting your bottom lip. It took him all his self control to not kiss you right the way.

"I don't care what you think about me or this whole situation." he started, whispering. "I don't care if you hates me because I followed you or anything else. But I'm saying this to you: I'll never let anything happen to you." you couldn't stop your eyes from looking all over his face, absorbing every little detail from his hazel eyes to his pink lips. Didn't matter how much you kind of hated him, you couldn't deny how freaking handsome he was. But you always knew that, you knew from the day one, when you were sitting on his lap to take care of his face. Even with blood all over his body, even being so pale that you got afraid that he would really die, even so you could see how handsome he was. But being this close were a whole new level and even though he was trying really hard to not let anything appear on his face, you could read the lust in his eyes the same way he could read on yours.

"I don't know if you really believe in that."you said at his same tone, his lips turned up in a little smirk.

"I never broke a promise, sweetheart. This isn't going to be the first one." he took your chin again between his fingers and he looked directly into your eyes. "You don't know what I'm capable of doing for the people I'm loyal to."

"You never had to be loyal to me, Irwin." you shook your head a little, since his hand didn't let you move too much.

"I did. I do. And I feel that I'll always have to. Each day more." the smirk never got out of his lips. "Be good, OK? You know how to reach me." and then he kissed the conner of your mouth, getting out of the room and letting you absolutely breathless, incapable of understanding a thing about what just happened. Little did you know, that he didn't understood either, that the whole way back home he was cursing himself for the urge he felt of kissing you, more than that, the urge he felt to keep you so close to him that you wouldn't be able to move. Actually, he wanted you to move, maybe under him, on your bed that was almost screaming his name. He thought about you screaming his name and not in the way you're used to. You made him hard and you didn't even touched him. Half way home he turned around, going to the only place where he could solve his little problem for a while, making him smile when he saw the big red neon letters. "Hell on heels."

~

Tag babes: @betkaskarpetka @songforhema @my-world97 @sebshipsstenbrough

[chronically-illustrated]

Ego Activity Timeline

(July 10, 2016 - May 15, 2018)

EDITED: May 15, 2018

Since I’ve only been here a short time, I’ve had to do a lot of research to get up to speed on previous ego appearances and Antipocalypse hints. So, I thought I would put together a timeline to help out other people in the community who are in the same situation, especially since a lot of you have finals going on and you don’t have time to go digging through all of this stuff. It may also help jog theorists’ memories with things that could be linked to the current Seánanigans. I’ve spent a lot of time gathering all this, but it’s not comprehensive, so please feel free to add on!

July 10, 2016

Welcome to the Game #2

- Jackieboy Man's origin

August 11, 2016

Jacksepticeye Power Hour #1

- Marvin's origin, though he is not yet an official ego at this time

September 15, 2016

Jacksepticeye Power Hour #2

- Dr. Schneeplestein's origin

[Hints leading to first Antipocalypse – I wasn't here for this, so I don't know all the places to look, but I think the ones in Sister Location are particularly significant]

October 31, 2016

Say Goodbye

- Antisepticeye's first official appearance

December 24, 2016

Amateur Surgeon Christmas Edition

- Dr. Schneeplestein’s second appearance

March 10, 2017

Antisepticeye takeover at PAX East

April 11, 2017

Bro Average

- Chase Brody's origin

June 18, 2017

Bio Inc. Redemption #2

- Jack kills Chase Brody

- References Dr. Schneeplestein at 16:45

- In-game Chase Brody dies June 18, 2018

- Jack acts as if Chase is not an established character, but a random name he came up with

June 24, 2017

Bio Inc. Redemption #4

- Dr. Schneeplestein's third appearance

August 3, 2017

Kill Jacksepticeye

- Jack feels nauseous, leaves the room, and Dr. Schneeplestein comes in

- Antisepticeye takes over Dr. Schneeplestein while the doctor tries to save in-game Jack

- In-game Jack dies on March 5, 2018

October 23, 2017

South Park: The Fractured But Whole Part 2

- Jackieboy Man’s second appearance

October 31, 2017

Jacksepticeye The Silent Movie

- Jameson Jackson's origin, though he is not yet an official ego at this time

- Anti attempts to take over when Jameson cuts his hand

- “Still here,” “Puppets,” “Run,” and “Still watching” flash onscreen

- Jameson appears to regain control of his body and finishes the video, doing Jack's usual outro

December 5, 2017

Doki Doki Literature Club Part 5

- “imtalkingtoyou” and “irememberwhathapened” are in the tags in zalgo text; these tags are later removed

December 15, 2017

Overnight Watch

[I don't know much about Overnight Watch, but I’ve been told it involved showing previously-used footage of Anti during the night of the holiday stream]

March 14, 2018

Giant Smelly Feet

- Usual intro is missing

- At the end of the video, instead of the usual outro, the camera moves into the bathroom where Jack sits hunched with his feet in the tub, muttering in a Gollum-like voice. When he realizes he's being watched, he slowly turns his head, then lunges toward the camera screaming, “Get out!” The video cuts to black and there is no outro.

April 6, 2018

During his PAX East panel, Jack says he wants to do a story involving all the egos later this year, and confirms Jameson Jackson as an official ego

April 11, 2018

Jack posts a picture on Instagram for Chase's birthday

April 18, 2018

Postcard Incident on Tumblr

- Jack posts what appears to be a postcard that says “Wish You Were Here.” Community members determine the background picture is from a beach in Germany. As the hours pass, the picture changes several times, getting more blood-spattered and glitched with each update. The image is then deleted from Jack's blog less than 12 hours after it was posted.

[I believe it's around this time that Jack answers a question about which egos are canon during a stream and makes it clear that the six official egos are Anti, Jackieboy Man, Dr. Schneeplestein, Marvin, Chase Brody, and Jameson Jackson]

May 1, 2018

Bendy and the Ink Machine Chapter 4

- “I’m hearing something. Maybe it was the sound of my own brain eating itself alive inside my head.” (5:28)

May 2, 2018

Monster Prom

- “I thought white noise was taking over my brain and I was about to die.” (4:12)

- “There was that sound again. I thought I was going deaf.” (6:09)

- “Sorry, my brain switched off there for a second.” (7:28)

(credit to @videogames-and-stardust​ for writing this info down)

May 3, 2018

Jack posts a picture of Dr. Schneeplestein on Instagram with the caption, “Vacation's over!”

Jack renames Bro Average and The Silent Movie as Power Hour videos with the egos' names

May 4, 2018

100% REAL DOCTOR l Gastric Bypass, Liposuction Surgery

- “Dr. Jacksepticeye” parodies Dr. Schneeplestein's intro from Power Hour #2

- Dr. Schneeplestein returns, but his “good friend” Jack doesn't seem to recognize him and asks, “Who are you?” Instead of greeting Jack like a friend who's been gone for a while, Schneep responds, “I am the good doctor, and that is my chair!” It has been noted that his expression shows both anger and fear, and that Jack's face displays not confusion, but a startled look as if he's been caught doing something he shouldn't by someone he didn't expect to see.

May 5, 2018

Welcome to the Game 2

- Jack asks, “Where is Jackieboy Man when you need him?”

Stories Untold Chapter 1

- The usual intro is missing. While doing the outro, “Jack” stops and says, “What was that? Did you hear that? It sounded like somebody…” He tenses up as we hear the sound of the door handle turning, and looks over his shoulder as the door creaks open behind him. After a flash of lighting and crack of thunder, we see the desk from the game, and a staticky black-and-white image of Jack appears on the computer screen.

May 6, 2018

Barry Has a Secret

- Jack gets through part of his intro, then goes into a super creepy voice and Anti-like grin.

- At the end of the video, Jack is talking about having nothing to hide, then the video starts to fade to black as he shouts, “Hey, where are you going?” This is followed by a found-footage-style skit similar to that at the end of Giant Smelly Feet. The person holding the camera goes into the bathroom; the video glitches, speeds up and rewinds intermittently as the person reaches out to open a cupboard and finds a small plastic hand inside. Off-camera, we hear Jack's voice say, “Hey, what are you doing?” The camera turns and he is standing very close by, grinning and saying, “Hey. You weren't supposed to find that.” There are more glitches during this part as well. Just like in Giant Smelly Feet, there is no outro after Jack reaches for the camera and the video cuts to black.

Stories Untold Chapter 2

- The usual intro is missing, replaced by the SU-specific intro

- Jack's outro is interrupted as the screen starts to flash white and the facecam video appears to speed up, showing him going limp just before the screen goes white and then cuts to the image of the floating, glowing machines from the game

May 7, 2018

Stories Untold Chapter 3

- The usual intro and outro are missing

- At the end of the video, the screen goes dark and we hear, “Jack. Jack! This is Chase. You need to wake up.” We then get Morse code saying, “Where am I?”

Jack posts a picture on Instagram of him wearing Chase's shirt with Marvin's mask partially visible in the background. The photo is deleted less than 24 hours later.

May 8, 2018

Check Please

- Jack says the word “magic” several times and pretends to do a magic trick with the candle

- Jack talks a lot about his dad leaving the family and being a dad with kids

Stories Untold Chapter 4

- At the end of the video, Jack tosses and turns in bed, and we hear whispers saying, “Close the door.” Jake wakes up, looks directly into the camera, and says, “I remember what he did to me.”

Fortnite Stream

- Marvin's mask is hanging on the whiteboard in the background; Jack takes a “pee break” and removes it after viewers post about it in the chat

May 9, 2018

Try to Fall Asleep

- In the static after “Flee,” we see Marvin several times, Jameson once, and the words “You need to” appear above “Flee”

- More references to magic tricks

Colourblind Test

- Marvin's mask is hanging on the whiteboard in the background

May 10, 2018

Thanos Infinity Gauntlet Mode | Fortnite Battle Royale

- Marvin's mask is hanging on the whiteboard in the background

- Footage from before the stream on the 8th

Jack is out of town this day filming something he can't talk about but is excited to show us

May 11, 2018

Community members notice an emoji in a social media post. Jack usually uses :D, :P, etc., so it was strange to see him use an actual emoji. @viostormcaller was able to predict Chase's appearance on this day from this clue.

Tie – A Game About Depression

- This is Chase playing. We get absolutely indisputable confirmation at the end that we’re seeing Chase. He talks about one of his best friends being in a coma, which is most like Jack, hence hearing him say, “Jack. Jack! This is Chase. You need to wake up.” There is a distinct transition at 11:03 where the shirt he’s wearing changes - it goes from a black shirt to Chase’s shirt. Even before this, he’s talking about being a single dad with two kids and struggling with depression. At the end of the video, we see Chase drinking while looking at a photo of the family he’s lost. He sets his hat down next to the bottle of alcohol at the very end.

- Here is a transcript from @21antisepticeye of all the ego-related statements made in this video.

May 14, 2018

Dark Silence

- The light in the recording room flickers and Jack looks up, saying, “Oh, god” as it appears to shatter and the lighting turns red.

- Toward the end of the video, the in-game character is wandering a hospital with a flashlight when the overhead lights in the hallway start turning off one by one, the darkness coming closer and closer. Jack says, “I know where this is going” just before the last light goes out; we hear the character scream as the screen goes dark, including the facecam.

- We cut to Jack (possibly Chase) flicking on a lighter. He wanders a dark hallway, and we hear children’s cries and whispers similar to those in Stories Untold Chapter 4. A red glow washes over him, and we see Antisepticeye, silhouetted by red light in a doorway. Jack/Chase asks, “Who’s there?” and Anti turns his head, grinning, and a bright green light ignites in his right eye (left to the viewer). Jack/Chase asks, “Where are they? What do you want from me?” Anti stalks toward the camera, glitching, and the video cuts to black.

May 15, 2018

Baldi’s Basics

- The video appears normal except for the skit at the end, in which Jack has changed into Chase’s shirt. He scribbles on a piece of paper and pleads with the teacher, hunching up in fear before the cut to the Sam animation. After the animation, he sits up and smiles, which is very reminiscent of the ending scene from Bro Average/The Jacksepticeye Power Hour - Chase Brody.

Here is a recap from @lum1natrix detailing the events of May 2018 up to May 11.

Here is a playlist of all the videos with ego appearances up to Dark Silence.

To be continued!

[pumpmallet04-blog]

Hifu Skin tightening treatment

Warts & Moles.

Content

wish To Know much More concerning Hifu Non

recouping From a Face Lift.

Industrial Gases.

The doctors Laser clinic.

Carer's allowance.

Obagi Blue gleam Skin Peel.

You need to make sure that your face is still very swollen. The facial lift will not be effective if there is not enough room for the incision to be made. You should rest your face and neck in a sling for at least a few days after the procedure. Most people feel some swelling or bruising immediately following the facelift procedure.

Patients who suffer from severe scars should discuss the option of having their facelift reversed with their doctor. Many surgeons will perform this surgery on patients who do not have obvious signs of recurrence, but those who have a larger area where the scar has formed will often need to have their facelift repeated. If you have an area of your body where you would like to have a facelift, talk to your surgeon about whether you should go ahead with your procedure. or ask your doctor for advice.

If the scar is very visible the plastic surgeon may remove the scar with a laser. However, if you do not have any visible scars then a normal filler may be used. The new skin is stitched onto the scar and stitched to the original skin.

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Your diet and stress level will need to be monitored after the facelift. This is because your body is healing and your mind needs to also recover. You should take some pain medication to ease the pain.

recuperating From a Facelift.

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A patient's skin is then reattached to the bones under the skin and a series of different exercises are performed. The first exercise involves placing the patient's hand above their head and holding it there. They will move their hand from left to right in a slow motion, and this is followed by holding their hand to the back of the skull.

Dr Shirin is a really kind, straight as well as really informative individual.

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Not just is it really tastefully done out but also spotlessly clean.

Her technique as well as her therapy has absolutely increased my confidence in her job and also in myself as well as has actually improved my lifestyle.

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The plastic surgeon will monitor the progress of the facelift during the first couple of weeks after the procedure. The doctor will check your skin for any redness and swelling and inflammation. He will also check your blood sugar levels and look at your lungs for fluid. These are signs that your body is recovering from the surgery.

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Recovery time is very important. The surgeon will take measurements of your head and hands to see how long it will take to recover and how long you will have to stay in bed. He will advise you on the best way for you to heal. to avoid unnecessary stress during this time.

Has anyone died from cryotherapy?

Cryotherapy is very rarely deadly, but that doesn't make it inherently safe, either. And Ake-Salvacion's death is bringing to light some of its risks.

A facelift, also known as a trichotillomaniaectomy, is an invasive form of plastic surgery that can change the look of your face in a short period of time. There are several different plastic surgery procedures and exercises involved. Before you get the facelift you should decide what you want to accomplish. There are usually two types of facelift: open and closed.

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There are several advantages to having your facelastic band reversed, as opposed to having the procedure performed as a full face lift, such as a new angle is created. When a person has their face lifted the face may appear to droop and sag slightly, as the skin can be stretched to a different length and shape. A facelift on the other hand, which is a whole body procedure, will not allow the skin to be pulled apart too far, giving your face a better appearance.

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If seborrheic keratoses are treated, it's usually for cosmetic reasons. About 90% of the time I freeze them off. fat freezing essex is similar to wart removal, but quicker. They can be scraped (curettage) or shaved off with a special cutting instrument.

The second step involves using a microkeratome to create an illusion of a younger, more plump-looking appearance for the patient's skin. Collagen and elastin mixture is injected into the area to be injected and then a thin layer of skin is taken off and placed over the collagen. Finally, Spire Aesthetics Loughborough or plastic filler is applied to make the area look more youthful.

You will be instructed to shave your face every day for at least six days after the facelift surgery. This can be very difficult if your face is very sensitive. After shaving the face you must go back to the surgeon's office and remove the skin that has been removed in the facelift procedure. It may be very painful but it will need to be done.

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Exposing your body to extremely cold temperatures in the whole body cryotherapy chamber will help diffuse inflammation and pain in the body, which will make you less restless while you sleep at night. Cryotherapy can also benefit your sleep patterns because it creates positive hormone responses in your body.

The next exercise is to tighten the muscles under the skin. This is achieved by moving the patient's fingers underneath their skin and applying more pressure to their muscles than is normally applied during a regular facelift. Finally, https://spireaesthetics.co.uk/cryolipolysis-fat-freezing/ is gently stretched outwards and held in this position.

The final stage of the procedure is to use the elastic band to lift the skin is positioned underneath the skin of the neck. This results in a flatter appearance to the area, which is more attractive to the eye. The skin has also been tightened and smoothed in this process and is now much lighter and thinner. The elastic band is then tightened under the skin and the excess skin is removed to make the face appear more even.

A skilled cosmetic surgeon can perform a facelift as an outpatient procedure, meaning that patients will return to the doctor's office the day after their procedure. However, it is important that the patient comes in for their next procedure immediately after the first, to prevent scarring from occurring. This procedure also allows them to return to work and other everyday activities much sooner than if they had gone straight to the hospital. This type of procedure is a very safe procedure, which has been proven to have no ill effect on people, so it is not recommended for people who are suffering from diabetes or certain types of cancer.

Once you are home, you will have to stay in bed for at least a week after the surgery to allow the stitches to heal. This process can take weeks. The best way to get through this process is to follow the doctor's instructions closely.

Can cryotherapy kill viruses?

In cryotherapy, plant pathogens such as viruses, phytoplasmas and bacteria are eradicated from shoot tips by exposing them briefly to liquid nitrogen.

The elastic band used underneath the skin of the neck is not the same type of band that is used on the facial skin of the head; however, the same techniques are used. to stretch out the skin and create a flatter appearance.

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The surgical technique includes a procedure called the 'trapezotomy' which involves removing the facial skin to the area around the eye. This procedure leaves the skin looking smoother and tighter. The other procedure used is called the 'mini-truelift', which involves using micro-keratome or other cutting tools to remove the top skin layers and to make it more visible.

[sunken-standard]

Hi there! Could you possibly turn your considerable talents to prompts 27 and 57, please? (if nobody has got in ahead of me!) Tom-verse if possible, but I'm happy to leave the artistic decisions to the artist :-) Ellis

I tried for Tom-verse, but I justcouldn’t make anything fit (though, I mean, if you squint, it couldmaybe fit in there before the first ficlet in the series).  Sorry! For some reason the unicorn prompt just tripped me up (I’m evenreusing a bit I had written and scrapped for the other one becauseI’m just coming up empty).  I’m so off my comedy game and all aboardthe train to angstville, apparently.  Also, just pretend thechronology fits with the actual timeline of the show and Surrey hasthe year-round summer of LA.

“Sometimes I just don’t wantto exist”/ “You asked me if unicorns were real”

“Didyou ever wonder if unicorns were real?  Like one horse somewhere inprehistory with some kind of keratinous carcinoma or something thatstarted it all?” Molly said, staring at the 14thcentury ‘unicorn’ horn (that of a narwhal, most likely) mounted onthe wall of the study.

“Probablysomething along those lines, could have been an oryx or a rhino thatsomeone saw while in an altered state.  Between ergot, mushrooms,natural fermentation, and all manner of disease andnaturally-occurring poisons, added to the fact that there was noreliable way to record an experience, it’s amazing we as a speciesever came to any consensus about the nature of reality,”Sherlock said as he searched the club treasurer’s desk.

“Saythat at a physics conference sometime,” she said.

Officesupplies, sweets, nail clippers, cap for a memory stick but no memorystick (bugger), sticky note with password to company server(P@55vv0rd, how clever), deck of naughty playing cards (didn’t evenknow they still made those); nothing useful.  Bollocks.

“Whenhave you ever been to a physics conference?”  He paused in hissearch.  

“Never. But I’ve heard stories.”

“Whenhave you 'heard stories?’”

“Anex-boyfriend is a theoretical physicist.  That one was more schizoidthan sociopath, though.”

Ugh. Another one.  He wished she wouldn’t talk about them.  He’d muchrather pretend she wasn’t an actual woman and never had anyboyfriends at all, for reasons he didn’t care to examine at themoment.  Or ever.  He went back to rifling the drawer.

“Haveyou ever considered your time would be better spent by taking up ahobby instead of wasting it on relationships?  Knitting, taxidermy,paragliding?”

“Sexis a hobby.”

“Nymphomaniaisn’t a hobby, it’s an addiction.”

“Well,what do you know, we have something in common,” she said lightlyand, in Sherlock’s opinion, rather cruelly.

“Notan addict, I’m a user, there’s a difference.”

“AndI’m not a sex addict.  Though, I mean, I’m not a user,either, because that sounds like I’m just looking for a sugar daddyor something.  I just like sex.  A lot.  I mean, we only get so muchtime, might as well enjoy it.”

“Yetwhen I say that about any number of arbitrarily illegal substances, Iget crucified.”

“Wellit’s not like I’m going to suffer a collapsed vagina from repeatedpenetration, unlike a vein and a needle.  Or, you know, literally diefrom too many orgasms.”

Hegrunted as he popped the secret panel behind the drawer.  He reallyhoped it wasn’t booby trapped.  Good thing she was being so annoying;if he started thinking about her vagina and repeated penetration hemight get sidetracked.

*

“Isthat his girlfriend or his daughter?” Molly muttered as shelooked across the lawn to the pool.

Sherlocklooked for himself; the client’s midlife crisis girlfriend and eitherher sister or her friend (hard to tell, they both had the same dyedblonde hair and Instagram brows and noses picked from a book in aCzech bargain-basement plastic surgeon’s office) were lounging indeck chairs.  Nothing particularly striking about them; he wonderedwhy she sounded a bit bitter.  Wasn’t like her.  Best not to ask, hethought, lest he actually get an answer.  Solving the case shouldcheer her up.

“Girlfriend. And she’s got nothing to look forward to but a life ofdisappointment and melanoma.  Come on, I want to check thegroundskeeper’s cottage before he gets back from shaving thetopiaries or painting the grass green or whatever other crimesagainst nature these people feel the need to commit for the sake ofappearances.”

*

“Wow,is that…?”

“Youasked me if unicorns were real.  Apparently they are,” he saidas they approached the groom, busy saddling a white pony with a pinkmane and a rather realistic horn somehow affixed to its head.

“Huh,”Molly said.  Then, as the pony lifted its tail and did what allanimals do, “The internet lied.  That was supposed to be arainbow.”

Sherlocksmirked, then schooled his face before addressing the groom. Wouldn’t do to look happy while questioning the main suspect.

*

“Sothe groom was actually the birth mother and she was helpingthe ex-wife steal from the client?  I will never understand richpeople.  Kinda sad for the little girl, though,” Molly said,looking out the window of the train.

“Alwaysis,” he dismissed, but not rudely.  He hoped.  

“Imean, I kind of sympathize with the ex-wife, especially after seeingthe girlfriend.  A woman gets to a certain age and she’s just…disposable.”

Helooked at her askance; that uncharacteristic note of bitterness wasback in her voice again.

“Isthis about Tom?  You broke it off with him, why are you still upsetover it?”

Surelya few months was more than enough time to get over him.  She barelyblinked before moving on from other boyfriends.

“It’snot about Tom.  Well, maybe some of it.  I’m just tired ofstupid men always coming out on top in these things.”  

“Hardly'on top’ in this case.  His nine year old daughter already resentshim, which is unlikely to change, he can’t perform for hisbarely-legal fiancée—yes, I found a ring while looking for thememory stick—without the help of a little blue pill, and she’lltake him to the cleaners in the divorce settlement within five years,provided his hypertension doesn’t kill him first, at which point thedaughter gets it all anyway.  That is, if there’s anything left bythen.  He has a mountain of debt and he’s made nothing but poorinvestment choices since his ex-wife left.”

“Youknow about investing?  I thought you hated City boys and the entireconcept of money.”

“Iknow a bit.  Mrs. Hudson knows more.  She did successfullylaunder the earnings of a not-insignificant drug cartel for thebetter part of twenty years.”

Theway Molly’s lips pressed together and her eyebrows rose as she tippedher head indicated she really wasn’t very surprised.

“Evenso, ’s still not fair, is it?”

“Verylittle ever is,” he said.

Hedidn’t like Molly being so pessimistic.  It was out of place with theorder of things.  He’d much rather she talk at length and in greatdetail about her vagina and its numerous exploits if it meant shewasn’t so… down.

“SometimesI just don’t want to exist.  It’s still a man’s world and being asingle woman over thirty sucks.”

Nothinghe could really say to that without sounding like a completearsehole.  Just because he didn’t voice any opinions on it didn’tmean he was blind to the struggles competent women faced.  Hell, heknew what it had done to his own mother, and she’d been relativelylucky in the stable, supportive partner area.

“Well,you’ve always got me?” he said, more in the form of a questionthan a statement.  He squinted to make it look like he really wasn’tsure if that was the correct protocol for offering support; hecouldn’t let her know he meant it so sincerely that he refused tothink about the feelings it stirred and what that might mean.

Sheglanced at him with an expression on her face he couldn’t read, thenlooked back out the window.  "I suppose I could find a worsesidekick,“ she said after a few moments.

"Sidekick.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Well,yeah, obviously.  I did solve the case, after all.”

“Youdidn’t solve the case.  You found the memory stick, and that was justdumb luck.  I solved the case.  He made the check out to me.”

“Itwasn’t dumb luck.  I knew they had cats, and I know where toy-sizedthings end up when there’s a cat around.”

“Yes,and if you want a sidekick you should get another cat.  I’ll just beyour… consultant.”

“Consultantpain in my arse,” she said, her lips twitching up a bit at thecorner.  It was a start.

“Theysay 'follow your bliss…’” he said lightly, which earned himone of those impish smirks that gave him a mild, almost pleasant formof indigestion.

Sidekick. Honestly.  Though he supposed there were worse fates than playingsecond fiddle to Molly Hooper.