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If you want to know whether your villain works, ask if they think they're the hero of a different book. Not "do they have a point," a point is easy, anyone can have a point. Ask if, in their own head, they're the one doing the noble hard thing while everyone else is too weak to understand it. That's the version that scares people. Not evil for evil's sake. Conviction.
If you ever find yourself in a horror scenario, remember to blush really hard when the ghost/demon/monster appears. If you do that fast enough you might be able to shift the genre.
like 2 years ago there was the trend of "rawdogging flights" and during dinner my dad (very online) (non-native english speaker) was like "oscar have you heard of rawdogging" and i said "um. what?" and he went "they're doing it on planes"
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Happy that people are smashing flock cameras i just hope it doesnāt stop there and people put up the same resistance when they try to regulate it into safety features
Fancy smart cars track you. Pings to satellites for gps. Your paired smartphone streaming music
In the usa backup cameras have been required on all new vehicles starting in 2012. More and more features require internet to work, including potentially life saving services. Can the driver call 911? Can the car alert medics to your location? If the driver needs help what should the vehicle do?
Itās easy to see how āalways available 911 serviceā or āautomatic crash detection with locationā could be argued as mandatory safety features. Even gps could become required
The reason Flock cameras became a flashpoint is because they are vocal about being a third party selling your location, and they are building easy to search collections of data. Could a subpoena surface cell phone pings and a spotty web of cameras to general show where you drove? Yes, but that takes effort and a legal paper trail. This is a net catching all who pass, allowing the data to build patterns, where the patterns become the source of legal action, instead of searching for information relating an existing legal matter
Flock cameras are uniquely bad, but are just a single star in a horrible constellation of data mining
There is going to be such an industry in ghost cars (if not already). People maintaining old beaters just for privacy. Motorcycles are going to get real popular again. Lots of exploiting loopholes (dealers driving restored classic cars for privacy not clout)
when i was on a reverse engineering kick for a while, i thought about getting dash computers from a parts yard to try it out on them in pursuit of this sort of thing, alas, expensive
The unnaturally bright-lit room was set up for an ACL in record time, with Dr Shaan prepping monitors, and surgery residents on stand-by outside the sterile field for theĀ big bad ortho shark.
an: Part3! yay! Im trying to write ahead and schedule posts in advance. we'll see how it goes hehe. have some PTMC Dr Park and enjoy!<3
"Set up OR 3 for Dr Park, Please," Charge nurse Mariette said as she sped by behind you, "ACL reconstruction."
"Yes, Captain," You offered a lazy, two-finger salute and picked yourself off the lounge room counter.
She huffed a laugh, adjusting the beaded chain holding her glasses, and waved a hand to hurry you along.Ā
This was the third surgery you attended with Dr Park since his first gym session. Brendon, you thought privately, was a name that didĀ notĀ suit this surgeon shaped like a stone fortress. Brendon was a name exclusively referring to that dry-witted, eye-rolling man who packed up the equipment with you and put it away when the training ended.Ā
You went to find Dr Shaan, anesthesiologist and pet mom to 10 animals of 6 different species. Meeting her in the right direction to the patient's room, you went through the surgery details together.Ā
"How's Mustang doing?" You asked.
"Back on the wheel in no time, thank god," She sighed, "thanks for asking, though."
"Of course!" you nudged her shoulder with a wink, "Hamster parents stick together."
"That's not a saying," she laughed.
"It should be."
You verified Hamdon Gerard's patient details, surgical sight on his right knee, and medical history together, then Dr Shaan headed to her office as you split to the elevators to head to Scrubs.
Scubs was the nickname of an older scrub nurse who's long experience in nursing made him a treasure trove of dad jokes and disproportionate wisdom. He was also an extra on the show Scrubs, but only few know that.
"Care Bear!" He welcomed you into OR 3, having almost wrapped up with his instrument inspection.
"Inspector Gadget!" you giggled, bumping your elbow with his.Ā
The unnaturally bright-lit room was set up for an ACL in record time, with Dr Shaan prepping monitors, and surgery residents on stand-by outside the sterile field for theĀ big bad ortho shark.
Since it is yours and Scrubs' role to call time out and confirm every single name and purpose before a surgery, you knew Brendon couldn't yet recognize you by your voice. Since he usually,Ā regally, walks in after everyone involved is already kitted and masked up, you also knew he couldn't recognize you by your figure, or eyes.Ā
You've worked with Dr Park for a while, long before you metĀ Brendon. You understood how intimidating he was to residents and fellow doctors, how humiliating it is to have prompted a glare from the shark. However, you could also acknowledge that his ire is almost always triggered by incompetence. He cared about the patient outcome as a priority, which makes any mistake register as an insult to himself and his work.Ā
That also means, that he has never actually been mean to nurses, was not allowed to say shit about their work, especially under the burning eyes of one Mariette Hale. Nursing students, of course, can make mistakes, but it is exclusively Mari's role to reprimand them. As a result, you felt exempt, Ortho Shark cannot hurt you, because you're a nurse, and you're good at it. You absolutely took advantage of that in the gym by teasing him annoyingly, though he wouldn't know that by seeing you in the OR.
You bounced on your heels, eye squinting with your smile under the blue mask.
Dr Park walked into the OR like he does everything, intentional in every step, studious with his eyes, and impossibly large in both legend and figure. All kitted out in that signature blue that was so clean it smelled like antiseptic, Park stood at the right side of the sedated patient and scanned the raised knee thoroughly.Ā
For an ACL, the joint intended for surgery must have full range of motion, which you and Scubs applied by securing the leg up off the bed, and rubbing the area withĀ chlorhexidine before draping. This was a common type of surgery, almost memorized by the entire staff present.
"What's that?"Ā
But the residents, as they usually are, wereĀ new.Ā
One of them, a lanky young man stood at the back of the main circle, outside the sterile field, and eyed the black bands that circled the patient's thigh. You blinked for a moment, but you were used to excellent students going blank during first experiences. Sometimes you know the textbooks cover to cover, but your eyes were not yet used to the same information visually.
Someone huffed a suppressed snort behind you.Ā
Dr Shan hid her face behind the vitals monitor.
Brendon's face did not move, he stood still as stone while a fellow nurse tied his gown behind his back. His eyes flickered to her as she scurried away, then slowly to the resident. Park gave the stare a few seconds for it to achieve the intended effect, then turned back to fixing his gloves, "Why do we place padding on pressure points?" He droned.
The residents, all three of them, held their breath.
He did this sometimes, if the mood fit, place the answer in another, harder question, and wait for them to stammer.Ā
Because the residents were right beside you, as your role is also to be outside the sterile field, and because you couldn't deny the urge, you tapped your finger soundlessly on the young man's forearm, "to avoid nerve injuries," you whispered with a smirk.
Dr Park's sharp eyes snapped to you, once and then twice. You were smiling under your mask, but it took extreme effort not to giggle audibly. Small beeps off the vitals monitors were the only sound in the cold blue room for what felt like minutes.
"Timeout!" Scrubs tapped his pen on the keyboard beside time, the metallic clink echoed, and immediately started declaring names.
The OR nurse at the back of the room caught his eyes twice in the past, but Brendon hadn't heard her voice before. More than that, there was a rare nudge at the back of his mind about how she looked right at him. You do that too.Ā
For someone who was an entire head shorter than him, Brendon found your eyes right on his face every time he looked during that first session. He explained it away though, you were teaching so you had to be looking, he was learning form so he had to look too. Couldn't explain why he kept thinking about it days after.Ā
Park kept remembering your eyes during shift, during surgery, and it frustrated the perfectionist ortho surgeon in him. That line at the top of your cheeks that creased right under your eyes when you smiled, and that slight quirk of your brow that jumped when you thought you're funny. It was flashing through his head in moments when he was, famously, intensely concentrating.Ā
Of course, nothing drastic happened, Brendon was just that good a surgeon. But internally, his thoughts were occupied and scattered between the hospital and the gym.
"Greetings! Big B-"
"Nope," Brendon abruptly interrupted before that stupid nickname came out.
You laughed breathily through the speaker, the sound echoing over his kitchen tiles, "Ok, sour spot, I'm calling about tomorrows booking."
"Something came up?" He asked.
"For the big man, yes," you said, rambling about howĀ both of you match the description so maybe BigMag, you know like a BigMac?-
"Ok," he interrupts again, lips pursing against a smile, "you need me to reschedule?"
"I'm been tasked to check,Ā good sir," you enunciated slowly, audibly grinning, "If you'd like to go over the basics with me on the same booking, fully approved by Coach, or reschedule to fit his next opening?"
Brendon hummed, thinking over his options.
"I know it's repetitive, but it's good for your form," You softly added, prompting him pull his phone closer to his ear, "But if you feel like the dailyĀ homeworkĀ is enough and you don't want to waste your time on an extra session, keep practicing and Coach will happily-"
"No," he said, suddenly feeling like he kept interrupting you, "Sorry, I mean, I'll keep my booking for tomorrow."Ā
Your voice sounded smiley, "Great! I'll see you then! have a good night, Brendon."
"You too."
Three week ago itĀ wouldĀ have been a waste of time, and he never liked wasting his time. Brendon had always found aimless meandering and pointless small talk to be like time stolen, preferring to achieve something, be on the way to something worthwhile. During residency, this belief got so strong that he'd spent some nights in the on-call room so he doesn't waste time commuting to work.
As he got older, steadier in his position, it mellowed out, because he learned that some tasks require time and patience. He still had some conflicts about driving out more than 20 minute distance on workdays, because most of the time the "get-together-for-a-drink" was not worth the trip.Ā
For some reason, this extra class as you called it, seemed to fall under "worthwhile". It's possible for it be just a repeat of the first session, form, movement, and muscle memory training. It's possible that he would be learning nothing new by the end of it. Still, Brendon wanted to go. He didn't even fight himself on it for a moment.
an: thank you sooo much for being here! let me know what you think! <3<3
Your legs swung as you sat on a press bench, and your eyes sparkled like you were having the time of your life just irritating him.
an: Thank you for the feedback on Part1! just a PSA, I'm going on vacation for about two weeks, so enjoy this post and please be patient with me :) Happy reading!
He'd seen those eyes before, Brendon was almost certain of it.
He had spent the last five hours on shift standing on his feet in an operating theater for a finger replantation and his back and shoulder blades burned. Brendon convinced himself that since he already packed gym stuff in his car, there was no reason not to go directly after work. The regret sank in by the time he gave his information at the front desk and received his locker combination, because the car ride tugged so hard at his back he felt stiff as a metal pole.
Standing before you, this woman who's form displayed such a contrast to the giant that was Coach as you stood beside him, Brendon found himself internally pocketing away that regret. There must've been a reason he suddenly wanted this session, and he's almost sure it was your eyes.
"Your gloves and wraps are in here," Magnus nodded his jaw towards the box in your hands, "Please follow the safe wrapping method I taught you before."
There was a glint in your eye as your socked foot stepped forward to hand over the kit. His eyes stayed a moment longer on the white socks bunched up around your ankles as he picked up his kit from your grip. Aren't you supposed to wear shoes in the arena?
Your soft lips tugged into a grin when you caught his eyes go down, "It's strategic technique, very much for me only," you teased as you wiggled your socked toes, "you're not advanced enough to be without shoes in here."
Brendon glanced from your face, your smile, to your feet and back to the kit in his hands, "Didn't it rain a few hours ago?"
Coach snorted loudly and nudged your ankle with his shoes. Your leg immediately buckled and you gasped, stepping back to avoid his foot.
"Wrap and warm up," Magnus nodded at Park, then turned to you with a smile, "watch for form, come find me in 20."
Clearing your throat and glaring at his monster-sized shoes, you turned to a side bench to pick up you notepad. "So," you twirled your pen between two fingers while Brendon wrapped his knuckles, "How many sessions exactly have you done?"
"About four," he drawled while clenching and unclenching his fists, "two of which were cut short."
"Oh?" you were sectioning your notes and you looked up to find his eyes on yours, "Family?"
Your tank top tightly wrapped you in a burnt brown color, overlayed by a see-through black shirt that was loose and boxy. Brendon took in your black shorts, stopping where they stopped mid-thigh, "Work."
You hummed and adjusted your posture, your eyes going back to the pad on your arm. He expected you to ask what he does for work, but you payed more attention to his hands, the way he wrapped his knuckles, and the flex of his fists.
Sitting back on the bench, Brendon adjusted his shoelaces, tucking them in. As he leaned back up, his eyes caught a discoloration along your right leg. Right under your knee was a faded scar, it went down all the way to your socks. Almost imperceptible if he didn't have an eye for it.Ā Was that what go you here?
A lot of Brendon's patients found new passions and hobbies after their injuries, or during physical therapy. One of them recommended Magnus to him, not for injury healing, but for his professionalism, directness, and clear-cut fitness plans. Brendon found the coach to be pleasant company without the silliness of small-talk.
The surgeon stood up, prepared to start, and tucked away questions aboutĀ yourĀ injury. It was none of his business what happened your leg, you've met barely an hour ago.
The eyes, pretty and playful, were still eerily familiar, but Brendon forgot all about that immediately under the frustrations of being corrected every two minutes for the last 10.Ā
"Brendon, where is your swing coming from?" pen tapping at your lips, you walked a wide circle around him.
Brendon rolled his eyes. For some reason, he was expecting to already be good at this, he wasĀ goodĀ at most things for most of his life, and he had to consciously take a step back and listen. Your smile didn't leave your cheeks even as his frustrations appeared.Ā
"Ok," you placed your notepad on the floor, and stepped closer, waving you hand at him to step behind you.Ā
Then you took the stance, the one he'd practiced at home. It looked so different on your body, confidence and power overwhelmed that playful first impression of you. Feet shoulder-width apart, with your heels a bit off the mat. Knees soft and weight centered, chin tucked in. Hands up, loose fists, and elbows right at your ribs.Ā
He's memorized it like the rules, like textbook homework, like med-school. Looking at you from the back, how the ripple of muscle moved in waves on your shoulders and upper back, how the tight hem of your shorts dug into the middle of your thighs, even your hair seemed to sway exactly how you wanted it to, curling half-dried strands dancing down your nape.
This is what Brendon was looking for. The undeniable control of it, he craved the centered contentment you seemed to emit from your entire body.
His eyes also caught the open-back gap in your shirt, but he was trying to forget about that for now.
"You understand the stance very well," You said as you instructed him to copy you, "But you keep losing it with every movement. You have to step back into position fluidly and intentionally."
Then you challenged him to a game of the most tedious step drills, in which you pointed to a spot and he stepped, then reset into stance. Forward, back, left, and right. After a few, you added a freeze command and it made you actually giggle when he wobbled. Brendon thought he was too focused to be effected by the sound, he wasn't.
You added shadowboxing to the drills and joined him in synchronized movements, like it was a choreographed dance. Brendon watched as slowly your comments got braver, teasing as you instructed. He couldn't believe he was finding this amusing, fighting his face to remain stoic. No one usually plays with words around him this much.
"If you cross your legs one more time, I'll sign you up for the ballet studio. Camille can handle you."
"You gasped like you forgot to breathe. You did, didn't you?"
"A jab has no business turning your entire body, turn your back foot and swing at the hips."
"If you want to break your wrist, I'd recommend rotating your fist at the laaast second."
"Magnus used to smack my hand with his mitt if I left it forward after a jab. Snap back into guard immediately or I'll tell on youuuu."
Your legs swung as you sat on a press bench, and your eyes sparkled like you were having the time of your life just irritating him. Brendon quipped back occasionally, when his breath allowed it.Ā
You clapped once and bounced off the bench, "Ok, BigBren-"
"DoĀ notĀ call me that," his head snapped to you with a subtle glare.
"Oops ok," you huffed as you extended your arms over your head, "let's stretch a bit."
"In the middle of a session?"Ā
"Yes, 100%,Ā sir, you move like a rusted nail," you laughed, then muttered, "long, long, and so uncompromising."
He released his stance, feeling a twinge between his shoulders, "Uncompromising is part of my job."
"Not here, it's not," you smiled up at him and whispered, "it's Magnus's but don't tell him I said that. I promise I'm funnier."
Brendon felt a smile pull up his cheeks.
"I understand you want to punch things soon," Coach nodded slowly as he walked with Brendon towards the lockers, "but that is not the sport. Your balance, your guard, is what protects both you and others."Ā
He'd been instructed to stay in stance for five minutes everyday, use a mirror and no music, until his muscles have memorized what his mind has. Coach Magnus joined you after supervising a group class, and Brendon watched as you demonstrated the movements again under Coach's watch, while he pointed out tips to keep balances, common mistakes, and breath work.Ā
This is all to be expected from a very successful trainer. You cheekily knocking down Magnus's pen every time he used it to point at your form was new, so was the giant blonde's laugh when he made you put your feet closer together, only to purposefully knock you off balance.Ā It's for teaching purposes, He'd claimed with a grin.
Something fluttered in Park's chest at seeing the natural flow of your strange relationship. It looked fun, supportive, there was no worry about offense after teasing remarks. Even in the first session with you, Brendon has been subjected to such remarks for over an hour, until he too found them funny.
Your spirit in this had not been deterred by his blank expressions or his glare. You seemed to find joy in producing any eye twitch or half-smile from his face.
"I understand," Park nodded.
"Good, now we may need to focus a bit on that before adding an opponent or getting the mitts, but you're a fast learner once you got the idea."
Brendon huffed, thanked the coach and walked towards the showers. Pausing at the door, he turned and mentioned your name, "she work for you long?"
"Oh," Magnus laughed heartily and shook his head, "she doesn't work for me, this is just what she likes to do."
He was still chuckling as he walked back into the gym.
an: I know nothing about boxing so i made up some stuff and looked up some stuff. also, I made up the gym names and it was so fun. Magnus was something for the plot but omg I love him.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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The man in the boxing class is the same Park. Key differences, ones you're not ashamed to say caught your breath at first sight, were the soft frizzy waves of his hair, the gentle lift of his brows while listening to Magnus, and that one specific heel bounce right before the class started.Ā
You don't think he's beenĀ newĀ to anything in years by the look in his eyes.
an: Hello! nEW SERIES ALERT! please let me know what you think! happy reading! ily!
Coach Mag:
Hello. Park. My transfer is complete. I am now working full-time at Phoenix. Call me if you can make it and I'll fit you in your usual slots.
Brendon placed his phone in his car's cup holder with his hands clenched, suppressing the urge to throw it out the window. He hated changing his gym, hated walking into a place and looking around for a couple of visits before actually knowing where everything is. Park is a man of high confidence, built on dedicated work towards a very distinguished spot in his career, he can't simply walk into a gym and look for the water fridge, or the treadmills. He groaned aloud just imagining stopping to ask someone where the sanitizers are.Ā
Couch Magnus, while sounding flat and soulless over text, was a giant Swedish kickboxing trainer who's insides were as soft as a collagen surgical sponge. Brendon has worked with him for a while, starting a few months ago when he needed something physical for his frustrations to target.Ā
Magnus was bouncing between two fitness clubs for years by then, one of which was close enough to Park's house that he could just walk to, leaving him no excuse to slack on a commitment. Phoenix Fitness, however, was a 15 minute car ride that Brendon didĀ notĀ think was worth the travel time. It might be now, since his coach was exclusively there.
At least he received and read that text before heading home, before packing to walk to his Boxing class. Small mercies, BrendonĀ hatedĀ wasting his time.
You've been coming to your shift in different shoes than when you leave.Ā
The idea was to put on running shoes after logging off, run directly towards the gym, get warmed up on the way, save gas, all that good stuff. It's been working for a few weeks, before Pittsburgh decided to open the floodgates right on top of your head in the middle of a crosswalk. YouĀ didĀ do this to break a sweat early, you thought, guess soaking wet on arrival also works.
The socks squished against the shoe soles when you stepped through the glass doors and you cringed, scrunching your nose tight. You ran through remedies for the situation and you got hung up on the lack of extra shoes. Always packing extra clothes and socks, you have not once thought about shoes.Ā
"Fucking-"
"Hey!" your curse got interrupted by Magnus as he stomped his way over from the lockers, his white-blond head tilted, "Did you fall into a puddle?"
"Hey there, MrĀ I'm so big I can make short people jokes at everybody," you retorted, not pausing as you dropped your duffle on the wooden bench and dug into the shelves for a towel, "the sky has descended upon my head, so I'm working barefoot today."
The man snorted, and walked past you into the training arena, pushing open the glass door.
"IĀ amĀ of above average height, you know," you yelled behind him.
"I don't," Magnus shrugged, "I know I can pick you up with a finger and a thumb, though."
You scoffed dramatically and rolled your eyes, "that counts for nothing when your body is aĀ brick wall."
"Glove up and I'll show you brick wall."
"You ever look into reusable sports gauze?" you heard Mag through the pounding of your pulse in your ears, "We could stock up, then people won't have to buy things to start boxing."
How considerate. This giant fluff ball of a man, who is an immovable force against your gloved swings and sweeping kicks. Coach had just finished up your hour, and was tauntingly jogging in a circle around your prone body as you lay on the padded vinyl flooring. He loved to chat at you when all you could hear is your heavy breath.
"Why doesĀ everythingĀ have to be reusable?" you whined and turned your head to the other side, cheek against the plastic-y floor, "are you gonna wash hundreds of wraps so they can be reused?"
He sighed as he passed your head in surprisingly light steps.
"It's too late to save the planet anyway, a dozen boxing class kits won't tip it over the edge," mumbling, you pushed your hands under you and sat up on your knees.
"Afternoon is for light taps and lying down on a bouncy canvas, not for your pessimistic-" His phone blared a buzzing noise from the floor behind you and he stopped mid-sentence.
"Bullshit?" you fake-whispered as you watched him answer a call, " were you about to sayĀ bullshit?"
"Coach Magnuson," he said, his hand waving at your face dismissively ,"Park. Yes."
Your head tilted curiously. Magnus doesn't usually book a slot after yours on weekdays, so it must be one of his clients from FitFlex gym.
Coach's stomping steps passed by you, heading to the front door. You dropped your head to your chest, took a deep breath while wiggling your arms, then stood to head to the showers. While exiting the first glass doors and walking left towards the lockers, you heard Magnus talking with his client at the reception desk.Ā
"I'm gonna need your name and phone number please," Amy from behind the desk politely said.
You looked down at your fists, finding one end of your dark green wrap and starting to release it. For a reason you couldn't identify, your ears stayed at the reception desk as you slowed your stride. Tilting a shoulder back while opening the door to the lockers, you peeked behind you just as the client said-
"Brendon Park."
His presence was always so palpable, It's surprising you didn't recognize him sooner. You blinked down at your sneakers, your body halted with a hand to the door. Brendon Park. Magnus saidĀ Park.
It would've been fine, made no difference, if you hadn't agreed to assist Coach on his classes.Ā
The distinction was in his jaw, the outer ends of his eyebrows, and his earlobes. The semi-permanent scowl knotting his forehead. The shoulders that were bit too wide for the sleeve seam on his shirts. These were all Dr Park. Park The Shark.Ā
The man in the boxing class is the same Park. Key differences, ones you're not ashamed to say caught your breath at first sight, were the soft frizzy waves of his hair, the gentle lift of his brows while listening to Magnus, and that one specific heel bounce right before the class started.Ā
You don't think he's beenĀ newĀ to anything in years by the look in his eyes.
"So, friend Park has covered a few sessions of basics," Coach walked beside you from his office towards the arena, "training was staggering due to scheduled so progress is good but not."
"Not? still beginner, you mean?" you looked up at him.
Magnus hummed and held open the door for you. You walked forward carrying a boxing beginner's kit containing complimentary items to support training,Ā including disposable boxing wraps.
Brendon. Park? you weren't sure what you could call him in your head. You weren't even sure this man existed outside the hospital, outside Park The Shark, until today. He sat on a bench at the edge of the training area, ready in anĀ unfairlyfitted sports top and shorts. You slowed your pace while he was looking down, not yet alerted to you and coach arriving.
He'll know.Ā
Dr Park will look up and know, you thought.Ā
Your relationship with boxing, fitness as a whole actually, was an incredibly private, separate-world for you. The OR nurse part of yourself was never mentioned here, she usually takes a backseat and pretends she doesn't work in healthcare. The athletic, loud, and frankly powerful part of you was an entirely different person, and you weren't sure how to feel about anyone from PTMC knowing about her, let alone Dr Park.
You shouldn't have pulled your wet hair in a ponytail, you had no way to hide.
"This is my assistant trainer," Magnus introduced you, prompting Brendon to look directly at you, "She will be helping me organize the contents of your sessions, as well as assist during demonstrations and mock duels."
His face did not do anything for a while. His gaze swept over your face, then scanned over it again, blinked then nodded, "Brendon Park."
Right as your mouth was about to let out the wordsĀ I know,Ā you realized heĀ doesn't. He couldn't recognize you. It was that, or he has theĀ most controlĀ over his face muscles out of everyone in the world. Park has never seemed to like acting.
You, instead, blurted out your first name, your voice a tad quieter in a way that made Mag throw you a glance, and smiled, "Welcome to Phoenix, Mr Park."Ā
From your knowledge of him within OR theaters, you expected him to say "It's Dr Park," but he shook his head minimally, "just Brendon's fine."
That tone, the surrender of such a high title, rested your nerves and you settled back into the gym vibe you love. Your smile widened as you offered him your hand in a fist, "Brendon."
His hand came up to copy yours, and the moment your knuckles touches, you saw the curl at the corners of his lips for the first time.Ā
Fuck, he has dimples.
an: All of this is made up lol I know nothing about boxing. I've written ahead a little bit, I'm going on vacation so I might set up some posts during my travels. I'm not promising anything though bc it takes me a while to find the pictures lol. I love it but it takes a while to get the right feel :)
I really hope you like this! please comment if you'd like a tag for this series! thank you for reading! xoxo
Author's Note:
Hi! This is my very first fanfiction, so yeah it's trash.
English isn't my first language, so I apologize for any grammar or spelling mistakes.
This story is my own interpretation of the characters, so some of them may be a little out of character (OOC).
Also... there's a chance I might delete this later if I end up cringing at it.
But enjoy!
Well, what can you say? You're gonna be late. First day at your new job. Great.
But it's not your fault. Your car gave up on you, so you barely made it to the hospital on foot. You changed into your scrubs and headed toward the Emergency Department.
You never thought Emergency medicine would be for you. Psychiatry had always fascinated you, but every time you stood in an operating room during medical school, a part of you wondered if surgery was where you belonged.
Apparently not.
You stepped into the elevator and pressed the button, hoping it was the right one. The doors opened, and the first thing you saw was a tall man, probably in his 50s. He had salt-pepper hair, and the look on his face told you he wasn't in the right mood.
"You are Dr. Y/N Y/L/N?!"
"Yes, sir."
"What did you just say?" he asked.
You looked at him, confused.
"Um... yes, sir?"
"I'm no 'sir' to you. I'm Doctor, and I am your attending."
Oh, fuck.
Great.
He looked down at his watch and sighed.
"You're 23 seconds late."
He shook his head and walked away.
You, on the other hand, stood there totally dumbfounded, trying to process why he was being such an ass. As you watched him walk away, he turned back to you.
"Are you coming?"
You jogged a little to catch up with him and followed him.
As you walked, he showed you around the department with little interest, pointing out the nurses' station, his office, the trauma rooms, and everything else.
You told yourself that maybe he wasn't that bad after all. Maybe he just hated when people were late. I mean, not every attending takes the time to show you around the department, right?
But that excuse for him died faster than you expected.
"You remember all of it?" he asked.
As you were about to answer, he continued.
"Although I don't know why I'm even asking. Some girl like you isn't going to survive in a department like this - nor in any department, for that matter."
You had absolutely no idea what to say.
You just stared at him, with your mouth open like fish.
He smirked.
"Exactly. Just like I thought. Dumb as every other."
What the fuck is this?
"Come with me to my office. I need you to sign some paperwork."
You followed him to his office, wondering what kind of human being could be this rude.
How are you gonna survive this? With this person? No, this can't be true. It's just a bad dream.
But it wasn't.
The office was large, with a big window at the end of the room. The walls were white, and so was all the furniture. There were two desks, one by the window and the other by the door.
At the desk by the door sat a big beefy man with dark brown hair slicked back. As you stepped into the room, he looked up at you and your attending.
"This is Dr. Brandon Park. He's one of our senior residents. You'll be working with him from time to time."
Park looked at you and nodded, and continued with his paperwork.
Another ass, you thought.
What did I just sign up for? Why didn't I choose that damn psychiatry?
Your attending sat down at his desk and pulled out the paperwork. You stood in front of him with your back to Dr. Park.
He handed you the papers and expected you to sign them.
Oh no.
You had forgotten your pen.
It was in your bag. In changing room.
"Um... sorry, Doctor. Can I - can I borrow your pen?" you asked.
He looked at you as if you had asked him for his car.
"Tell me, Doctor... did you earn your place here, or were they just trying to fill a quota?"
Park was uninterested in the conversation between you and his colleague, but that sentence caught his attention.
As he looked up, he didn't see your face, but he saw your attending smiling and shaking his head. As he was about to hand you the pen, before you could even take it, he dropped it onto the desk. The pen fell onto the floor.
You hurried to catch it and pick it up, but it started rolling toward Park.
You took a step and crouched down to pick up the pen. As you stood up, you locked eyes with Park, and he saw the unshed tears in your eyes.
He looked at his colleague, who was sitting in his chair, laughing his heart out at you.
Park wasn't a man of many emotions, but this was a bit too much. Even though he could be mean and cocky toward students, he would never humiliate someone this way, especially a woman.
You turned back to your attending and stepped up to the desk once again. With shaky hands and tears in your eyes, you signed the papers assigning your attending as your supervisor. When you were done, you straightened up, placed the pen on the desk, and thanked the man opposite you for lending it to you.
"Well, don't thank me. We'll see just how long you survive in this department. But I don't think you'll be here for long. Most women don't make it through their first year."
"Especially the ones like you."
And that was the wake-up call for Park.
He rose from his chair, enraged, and walked straight toward you.
You turned to him as he approached, becoming even more frightened. He gently moved you aside before walking over to the other man and yelling at him.
"What the hell did you just say? Who the hell do you think you are?ā
"Brandon, just chill. Look at her. She's just some rookie. She doesn't even have half the knowledge we have."
"That, or anything else you just said, doesn't give you any right to humiliate anyone in this department, especially a woman."
"Oh, don't be such a fool, Park. Just because she has nice eyes and a good pair of tits doesn't make her anything special, so chill out."
And that line was the last drop for Park.
He grabbed his colleague and dragged him through the door and across the entire department toward HR.
Everyone was looking at them as the other doctor begged Park to let him go, saying it wasn't such a big deal. But Park was furious. He let go of his so-called colleague, pointing a finger at him.
"If I ever hear that you've said things like that to anyone in this department or anywhere else in this hospital, I guarantee you'll never work here. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes," he said quietly.
"What?" Park yelled.
"I said yes."
"Good. Now make your way to HR, tell them exactly what you did, and then come back to apologize to the young doctor you just humiliated."
The man ran faster than anyone in the ER.
When Park snapped back to reality, he realized that absolutely everyone was watching him. Even some patients had come out of their rooms.
Then he looked toward his office.
You were standing there on shaky legs, silently crying while covering your mouth to not make a sound.
He started walking toward you.
The closer he got, the more you backed away.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
As he approached, he held out his hand.
No.
You were not okay.
"Hey, it's going to be okay."
The nurses, the doctorsāeveryone who knew Park personallyācouldn't believe what they had just witnessed.
Brandon led you back to his office and closed the door to avoid the stares of the others.
He sat you down in his chair and brought you a glass of water.
Then he crouched down to your eye level.
There was silence.
You didn't know what to say.
You were shocked.
You were scared.
"I'm so sorry for what happened. I should have done something sooner. I just... I'm sorry." he said.
"No, no. It's not your fault. I-I don't know how to thank you for everything you did. Iā"
"Why did even you do that?" you asked suddenly.
He fell silent.
He didn't want to answer.
"My dad... he was almost the same as that idiot. He treated my mum horribly, and there was nothing I could do because I was just a little boy. And I will never, ever let something like that happen here in my department, at this hospital."
You were stunned.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Parkā"
"Don't call me Dr. Park. Not after all of this."
He looked you in the eyes and held out his hand for you to shake.
He's been sleeping on the Henderson's couch because Claudia refused to let a concussed kid go home to an empty house. And he's sick.
It's kinda a problem.
He's sneezing a lot (broken nose) and coughing all the time (broken ribs). His eyes are watery (bruised) and he wheezes when he breathes (annoying).
It wouldn't be a big deal - Steve looks like he has a weak immune system - but they were in the tunnels. In the Upside Down. And now Steve is sick with who knows what.
Dustin can't tell his mom about his worries because she'll take Steve to the hospital and the hospital will call the CDC, and then Steve will be disappeared by the government forever.
So he goes where all sick people go when they can't go to the hospital.
He goes to the vet.
Veterinarian Carmen isn't picking up when Dustin is putting down and keeps asking about Mews so...
Dustin goes where sick people go when they can't go to the hospital or a vet's office and - "Uh, no. I don't sell to six year olds."
"Iām thirteen."
"Still no."
Eddie Munson is a drug dealing, according to what Max heard from her asshole step-brother, and a drug deal is just an...unconventional pharmacist. Dustin needs medication for an unconventional problem so.
"If you don't come with me, I'll tell Chief Hopper that you tried to give me drugs. Iām friends with him so, you better listen."
That works!
(The threat does nothing. Eddie is just curious about whatever this is and has poor judgment)
Dustin makes Eddie drive him home - They talk about D&D. Eddie is actually a kinda cool guy - and then he brings him inside to the living room where - "Holy hell, is that Steve Harrington?"
"Yes," Dustin answers. "Cure - Hey, Steve. Buddy, you're at my house. Do you remember this time? I'm your best friend, Dustin. Remember?"
Steve blinks. He sees Eddie, "What the hell?"
"I got a - guy," Dustin says. "He's going to cure your infection."
"My what?"
"Your - oh my god, he's been like this since he got knocked out," Dustin informs Eddie. Steve frowns. "You can take over."
"Hm," Eddie says, looking around at the framed photos in the room. "Yeah, I can cure this."
Steve sputters questions but he's ignored as Eddie opens his lunchbox and pulls out a bottle of pills. He holds them up with a shake and grins.
Dustin doesn't, "Benadryl?"
"Yeah," Eddie grins even wider as he points to a photo of Mews. "Your buddy is allergic to cats. I assume you got one around here."
āLolā hasnāt meant ālaughing out loudā in like 15 yearsā¦ itās just a word now and more importantly itās the perfect way to end a sentence lol
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