bigbrownbunny

i eat my fair share of double dsad doves 💫💫 18+

[angelandherlimplimbs]

Need a Langdon and Robby fic where it's Robby just absolutely grieving the fact that despite how Langdon "let him down" and "betrayed his trust", Robby wants him back in the ED anyway because that's his boy!! That's his eldest son!!

Pls recommend fics like this I BEG 😭🙏🙏🙏

[angelandherlimplimbs]

The concept of Brendon Park having shitty handwriting (just like every med doctor I know) and Emma (a new nurse not used to shitty doctor handwriting) trying her absolute best to read it out to little avail

(inspired by the time I was a newgrad nurse at a hospital with handwritten charts and almost died trying to figure out the medication orders from a doctor. Was too terrified to ask the guy myself what he meant lol)

[lunesiprincesa]

I wish we have more headcanon about Brendon within The Pitt canon. Like how he got into PTMC, what's his relationship with Robby, Jack, Garcia, Emery, so on so forth. Like Robby clearly isn't too bothered by his demeanor, and Garcia seems to respect him, if I compare to how she interacts with Langdon and Robby. Like i need someone to analyze that guy.

[angelandherlimplimbs]

I have a few hcs actually based on what we DO see in the thirty seconds of his screentime lol:

- He and Robby are friendly to an extent. In that one little moment where he enters, they exchange nods with each other. Typical "hey bro" kind of nod between men. Park doesn't have this offhand moment with Garcia, just Robby. Especially when later on, we see Robby doesn't mind Park's snark towards Dennis (who Robby clearly favors)

- and honestly, if Park is good with Robby, he's also probably good with Jack. Jack and Robby are literally just a "buy one, take one" deal in that hospital lol. We also see that type of thinking when Robby asks Jack what Jack thinks of Al-Hashimi and Jack's opinion on liking her seems to sway Robby's own distate even for a bit. Jack would be a little off about Park's sarcastic and brute humor but Jack probably realistically won't mind.

- PARK IS RESPECTED HEAVILY in the surgery department for even the snarky Garcia to be in her best behavior around him (when we also literally see her go "did you use a meat cleaver on him?" To Al-Hashimi the same season) but also, not so much as feared that Garcia is portrayed to be scared of Park (Garcia even feels lax enough in her tone when stating "sliced through like a guillotine" compared to how Whitaker talks about the leg and how it was transported, which indicates Whittaker is trying his BEST to stick to professionalism and not be too comfortable). PARK IS RESPECTED, NOT JUST FEARED.

- and since we saw Garcia dial down her behavior around Park when she clearly has no qualms being a bitch to Al-Hashimi and Robby, I like to think this applies to Walsh too since both Walsh and Garcia seem to be on the same wavelength on ego: she might absolutely also tame down her snarky retorts around Park the Shark.

- he's not as mean as people think, HE'S SARCASTIC and it comes off brunt and mean because his immediate energy in the room is egotistical. His lines were "of saline, genius." and "I'm not blind." verbatim and if he was actually trying to be rude, it'd be much harsher (a sarcastic "genius" isn't really that mean for a surgeon lol, especially since we have the context that surgeons in the Pitt see themselves as above the ED peps)

- PARK ABSOLUTELY SEES HIMSELF AS ABOVE ED PHYSICIANS AND STAFF. Probably also agenda to push on how upstairs surgeons see themselves as "superior" but this is also probably one of the few times it's actually acknowledged implicitly: Park walks into the room and an immediate heirarchy is established where suddenly, he's top predator in there

- the ortho department in general is known to take their time during cases (like when Al-Hashimi talks about getting a consult from ortho and Garcia and Robby both call it wishful thinking that ortho would pick up a case like that on quickly) which makes me think that Park is known to be "the Shark" because he always bites for the bigger fish. More "important" cases, more rare cases. Because he came down immediately upon arrival for that tib-fib amputation that needed replantation (for his thirty seconds screentime lol) but not for the other Orthopedic cases in the Pitt. Like in the other part of the season where a resident was sent down to take pictures to relay upstairs, Park could have just done this route but nope: went to catch that big fish case himself. Maybe because it was a time sensitive case but i like to think he heard the page and said "mine"

- Park being the only one to check on this tib-fib case also implied he has a background in vascular reconstruction. He cleared it for replantation on his OWN, not asking for vascular opinion on it (which would have been needed because the leg has blood vessels that will need sewing together, Ortho is more specialized in the bone and muscle part of reconstruction). He may have a fellowship in microvascular! (Which adds to the fact that he's a big baller in that hospital lol, no wonder he's cocky as hell)

- his ID badge shows him with his hair non-slicked back!! Either that's just Lou's regular ID picture they used for the prop or it's canon Park wears his hair slicked back for the days he's in the hospital so that his curls don't get in the way. (Love to think he has satin lined scrub caps for himself)

- Lou also chose to keep his accent for Park. Could be jsut technical and all but I heard that this guy takes acting classes and he makes up his own personal hcs on the backstories.of characters he plays. Lou deciding to keep his accent could play into Park being from Cali or at least around that area. It wouldn't be too off either since Park absolutely gives that "grew up in privilege, typical man, white guy" lol

And that's all i have

[seraphk1ss]

𝑑𝑜𝑔 𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑔 .✦ ݁˖ (b.p.)

Plot | Big shark and little shark in the PTMC.

Tags | smut, controlling behavior, unethical work romance, blatant favoritism, toxic workplace, swearing, fauxcest , park is almost paternal to reader, calls her 'kid', sugardaddy park if u squint, age gap

“Good morning, Dr. Park.”

A chorus of greetings and pleasantries gets murmured in the room as he steps into the office. Ignoring the young residents under his wing – more than half of them lost causes if it had been up to him. He runs his eyes across his domain.

Brendon Park has always believed that the path of medicine could – and should – only be taken up by the cream of the crop. Life was not something you put in the hands of those who were ‘good enough’. What use does he have of overeager students who can’t differentiate a vein from an artery or the top student who buckles at the smallest hint of criticism?

Only those who are the best deserve to be doctors. And only those who beat the best deserve to become a surgeon.

“Where’s the kid?”

The newbies look at each other, confused. Clearly, not being given a heads-up of the culture and hierarchy in the Orthopedics Department.

His assistant speaks, “She is finishing up a consult in the ER. She should be here any –”

“… next time one of Frank’s idiots calls, tell them they better make sure it is compartment syndrome or I will shave off their senior resident's pretty hair.”

 There she is. The crème de la crème.

She composes herself once she finally catches her attendings’ steely eyes and the suffocating tension he likes to maintain in his surroundings.

“Good morning, Dr. Park.”

“Good morning, doctor. Rough shift?” He cocks his head as the two of you ignore the gawking, trembling residents who are here to observe the surgery and continue your conversation next to each other in the sink. “Robby told me to let you sit this one out.”

The reminder of Robby’s cautious text about ‘giving you a break’ as if he knew you better than him makes his blood simmer once more. He lets his senses focus on the cold water running through his palms instead.

“Fuck, no,” you groan, scrubbing your hands aggressively, still frustrated. “I’m fine. It’s just – I fucking hate newbies.”

He actually chuckles at that, letting your shoulders bump as he walks in first, hands raised.

“You’re distracted,” he lets his words hit you where it matters. Your pride. “Fix it before you get in my OR.”

He sees it. The side of you that mirrors him. The way the irritation sloughs off of you like a false skin, the intensity in your eyes that held the same focus he does, the deep breath you take as your chest expands like a well-oiled machine revving up to do its purpose.

Robby doesn’t know what the fuck he is talking about.

“Yes, Dr. Park.”

Everyone knew who you were.

Shark’s favorite – his little prodigy. One he snatched from the ER Department, right under Robby’s nose, to hone into his successor.

The bias wasn’t for show.

You were brilliant, skilled, and had the most potential. You graduated top of your class, beat out your peers in your first rotation as a med student, and got offered a residency program by all departments in the PTMC.

It was almost a little too familiar with his experience when he was an upcoming resident.

And now, after thrashing the other attendings, he gets to have his own perfect protégé.

A student he considers as one of the great successes in his career.

Even now, he can’t help but marvel at you as you skillfully ride his cock.

A true overachiever, through and through.

“That’s it, baby. You’re doing so well," he pats the flesh of your ass almost paternally. The small irritating voice of Jack Abbot reminds him that positive reinforcement is quite effective when done sparingly.

They say surgeons are narcissistic to a fault. That they’d fuck themselves if they could. Maybe that’s why he loved fucking you so much – his mini me.

You’re the perfect specimen. The perfect woman.

“Does it feel good, Dr. Park?”

After all, surgeons would fuck themselves if they could.

And his little me wasn’t any different.

He tried to stay away. Swore to himself that he would not derail your career in any way. Women have it hard enough to get into male-dominated fields as it is, much less if you were to become a pariah because of him.

It would be unfair and cruel to be a bump in your career – and your belly, god forbid – when he swore to himself you would be the one to soar alongside him.

Instead, he focuses on more wholesome approaches. Or as wholesome as he could manage.

If he couldn’t have you, he had to monopolize you.

Controlled your schedule, made sure any and every surgery that comes your way went through him first because no one gets to overwork his student but him.

"Cancel all her consultations this Friday. We're doing the spinal fusion."

His assistant visibly stiffens, rapidly scrolling through his schedule. "Doctor Abbot requested her assistance for --"

He glances at him in bored disapproval. "Abbot isn't her attending isn't he?"

The young man nods. Capable but expendable, and he is smart enough to know it. "No, Dr. Park."

"Good. And tell him he can find his own senior resident to torture," he swivels his chair, done with the conversation. "This one's mine."

He had you moved into a condominium near his – lied through his teeth about the hospital paying for it too. Some bullshit about wanting their star resident to focus on her work.

"It should be for move-in next week," the realtor eagerly rattles as Park signs the lease, making sure to verify that it was his other bank account in the contract lest you be smart enough to check it and figure out your nice new condo didn't come from the good graces of the hospital.

"Quite an investment, doctor. Should be worth double by next year. Are you planning to flip it?"

Park signs on the last line.

"'s for my kid."

It eventually escalated to gym sessions together, then the same tailored diet plan because he refuses to let his successor survive on questionable food, and eventually syncing your health apps so he could oversee your fitness and sleep schedule.

'Bedtime.'

You actually stare at your phone like an unruly child.

'Can't sleep. I'll just study for the case tomorrow.'

Before you could flip another page laid in front of your table a call was already blaring through your phone. The shark emoji gave no doubts as to who was calling.

To his hypocrisy, he was also in front of his study table.

"I need you on peak performance tomorrow. Bed, now."

He crosses his arms and your eyes actually drop at how his shirt constricts across his biceps. Fuck.

Whatever, you can just remove your watch so he can stop tracking your bedtime like a fucking --

"Prop your phone up on the bedside table," you press your lips together, caught. "I know your tricks, kid."

In under five minutes, you were tucked in your comforter, staring at your screen as he uses the reading glasses he refuses to let anyone else see him wear.

He doesn't look at his phone again but you knew better than to try and test him. And even though it kills you to admit it, the soft sounds of the flips of the paper was lulling you to sleep.

"Goodnight, Dr. Park."

His reply, if any, slipped past unheard. Only his gentle eyes lingered in your memory as the last thing you saw.

It satisfied the desire, for a while.

When it no longer worked, he tried for the opposite.

He put some space, gave you cases separate from his, called you ‘kid’ to remind himself that he was decades ahead of you.

This time, you saw right through him.

Smart girl, that you were. Ballsy, too.

Chasing him down to his office and demanding an explanation for his abrupt indifference after indulging you with his warped attention.

Try as she might, Gloria couldn't find anyone who would talk about what actually happened that day. All she knows is that it was not pretty. A vicious argument between two top predators of the PTMC.

One that nobody knew ended in you spread out in what was his pristine desk, a quick plan B trip to the pharmacy, and a meeting in HR where the two of you had to declare your relationship once and for all.

It was a scandal and a headache for the higher-ups. They even had half the mind to transfer you to another hospital but he had assured them that he too would quit if that ever happened – making them lose not only an esteemed student but also an irreplaceable attending. Thus, a compromise was reached and the relationship was to be hidden until you officially finished your residency.

Not that he fucking cared. He could be the picture of restraint provided they keep their filthy little paws off of what was his.

What was now finally his.

“Getting tired, kid? Hmm? Need some help? I told you, you needed more leg work in the gym,” he grins maniacally at your whine, your little claws burying into his chest in defiance.

“I can do it. I can –”

You shriek as he slapped your ass, now meeting your thrusts as he bounces you on his cock, punishing your weak efforts with brutality. Grabbing both of your wrists with one hand as he pulls you down meanly to meet his pace.

“This all my little genius can amount to, hm? Can’t even ride her attending’s cock properly?”

You whined, shaking your head. “No – Please, Dr. Park. I can do it! I swear!”

“So polite,” he smirks, settling back down and letting you gyrate weakly in his lap.

He pinches your clit cruelly, heart pounding in glee at your cry. A notification pops on his phone as well as the smartwatch he had bought for you – ten minutes till 10.

Should be enough time.

“Get on with it, kid. It’s almost bedtime for you.”

You don’t disappoint. You never do.

“Y-Yes, Dr. Park!”

[angelandherlimplimbs]

Everyone has such interesting backstories for Brendon Park in their fics, meanwhile I swear he's a typical white middle aged, used to be fratboy in college that's all "one of the boys", beers, hockey, gym bro, bit of an asshole kind of guy since the Pitt themselves stuck with the "ortho bro" stereotype

Sincerely, a nurse who's worked with a couple ortho bros lol

[twilightz0nes]

blah blah blah brendon park with a disgustingly young gf blah blah blah

[angelandherlimplimbs]

Trinity Santos and Frank Langdon that exist as polar opposites and as mirror images of each other even down to the most BASIC demographics

Trinity is a female, POC, lesbian character.

Langdon a male, white, straight character

Trinitys also a YOUNGER female in that sense. And If Trinity knows filipino enough to speak it THAT fluently (as someone who IS filipino and knows the difference between knowing the native language vs learning it from relatives), she's probably the daughter of immigrants or an immigrant herself (nothing is canon about where she was born and raised iirc). Aside from that, she's openly queer (canon girlfriend/hookup with a female character) too!! When out in the context USA and the political climate: she's at SUCH disadvantage already.

Vs.

Langdon who is male, white (is not shown to speak any other language outside english, has a low chance of him being canonically mixed with other ethnicities), and canonically married with kids and a golden retreiver. The picture of the "American dream" for men. And the fact he's blue eyed too? The only missing piece was to make him blonde and he'd have been the PERFECT depiction of the ideal guy in the standards of the USA.

And still: they mirror each other perfectly.

From Trinity and her pain manifesting through self harm (she has scars on her thighs and the scene of her taking that scalpel). Her pain is degrading to herself: she is not enough, she is alone, she's being used since all Garcia wants is sex. She confronts her pain head on and makes it PHYSICAL to validate that yes, she is in pain.

To Langdon and his pain manifesting through addiction. Where his pain is pressurizing to himself: he has standards to meet, he had a family to provide for, he has patients to see. He ran away from the physical pain (back injury) with benzos to INVALIDATE and IGNORE his own pain: no, he is not in pain. No, he's not high.

Even in the most small details of them both being brunette, light skinned, cockiness and similar humor, they are mirror images of each other.

Siblings frfr

[angelandherlimplimbs]

Do u guys want the pt 2 to brendon park angst blurb :D

Idea was like he becomes a little unhealthily obsessed from there where he tries to show he cares and how he shows it. I could do the part where "showing how he cares" a separate thing but i feel like connecting it to the first part justifies a lot of the why he expresses care the way he does.

pt 2?

yes pt 2

no, make the "showing how he cares" a separate part

Voting ended onMay 13

[angelandherlimplimbs]

Bit of angst for brendon Park because why not

(lowk exploring writing more crassly and dismissively thru his pov because he's so "ortho bro", straight guy, gym bro, came from privilege coded. Like he feels stuff and he cares but he's too old and busy to care but ofc he does cares)

Dr. Park is not lonely. To say lonely misunderstands his alone-ness. No. He's alone by design.

He can't handle what being around people brings. He can't handle emotional bullshit. No. He's an orthopedic surgeon for a laundry list of good reasons and that is reason number two. He doesn't have to be the one dealing with the high stakes emotions and tensions medicine usually has.

The emergency department handles brunt of that emotional impact. Then neurology. Then cardio. Orthopedics is pretty low on the list when it comes to having to face emotionally unstable people. At most? A patient facing amputation. Even then, he's not handling much of that because his patients are asleep.

So of course, it's not a surprise when he cannot handle the emotions he has in himself. Not the daily stress of being Chief of the Department. Not the constant responsibilities that comes with being responsible for his residents (his boys, really. They're his kids in a way. Closest things to sons he'll have in this life).

But oh well, he has a job to do. Bills to pay. People to cut into. Fuck it, right? All this sad bullshit just gets in the way of his next operation. He's not depressed. He's not weak spined. He's a man. His daddy taught him to be a fucking man. So he'll be a fucking man.

The OR power drills are too loud for him to think anyway. Thank God for OR speakers too. So what if he plays his music loud and heavy. It's his OR.

So really ... It was only a matter of time before Park's sitting on the edge of the hospital rooftop ledge with a cigarette and half the mind to jump. Like he is now after a 23 hour shift. No surprise. Fucking hell.

He's tired. He's so tired. He can feel it in his bones. If he took a bone saw right now to his ribs he's so sure he'll find his tiredness in there. like a tumor. Like some kind of bone cancer. It's eating him alive at times. Consuming the sugars in his blood, living in him like a parasite, leeching energy off of him no matter how healthy he eats or how much protein and carbs he consumes

What does come as surprise is when he hears the fire exit door swing behind him. Someone else comes to kill themselves? Shit, get in line then. Park came here first—

"you want one, Dr. Park?"

He pauses. Almost laughs when he sees her. One of his ortho department nurses. The new one with so much light and energy in her eyes that he's almost jealous. His eyes go from her face to her hands. Oh. A bag of some fast food he doesn't care to recognize before he shakes his head and moves his eyes back over the horizon.

Ah fuck. Should he still jump knowing there's someone watching? He'd be responsible for traumatizing this poor new nurse—

"that was pretty badass down there, Dr. Park. Its the first time I saw a re-attachment surgery." She says quietly. As if shy. Maybe scared to deliver a compliment to the Shark.

He takes the compliment anyway with a nod and another puff of his cigarette.

"You know I think?"

He shrugs at her little opener question. Doesn't look at her. No, he doesn't know what she thinks. But this is probably another setup to deliver a compliment that will suck ass and whatever. It's whatever.

"She could have lived without her leg."

Huh. Huh? Park pauses again.

"Even if you decided it really wasn't salvageable and you didn't want to waste resources on it, Prosthetics and physical therapy would have ensured that. She could have lived without her leg."

There's a pause. Just a breath. Park is listening to her more than he was earlier because she sounds so sincere about this that he's confused.

"But I'm pretty sure she's happy to keep it. Even if it takes a year of recovery, or expensive therapy, or forever medications. She'll be happy as hell she kept her leg....same way this department would be to keep you."

Now Brendon looks. He looks and he looks and that light in her eyes is so fucking sincere and he knows that she knows he wanted to jump before she came up.

He laughs. Gets up. Pats her on the back as thanks. Gets a peep at her badge before he goes to remember who she is. Maybe he'll have food delivered to his floor today for her.

Thank God for his Orthopedic department nurses.

[angelandherlimplimbs]

Have so many brendon park short fics here, y'all r about to get sick of me 😭😭

[angelandherlimplimbs]

Another brendon park blurb

(Brendon being jealous but in the most unconventional way)

Brendon Park is not a jealous man. No. Far from it. Because why would he be? Born and raised into privilege. Family of a long line of doctors. His successful future was carved into stone before he was even born. All he had to do was show up. So why would he be jealous of anyone? Anything he ever wanted, he got. Women? Money? Property? Praise? Attention? He's Park the fucking Shark. Top Orthopedic surgeon in the state. Whatever he wants, he gets. Snaps them up in his maws and sinks his teeth into them to mark them as his.

And then he meets her. His girl. And suddenly, he's wondering if he is a jealous man.

He's not even sure what he's jealous of. But he's narrowed it down to two things with his therapist (who, bless her, looked so fucking stressed during the hour long session they had on this)

For one: he is jealous of the warmth and life she exhibits. He knows she hasn't had the easy life like he did. No. His girl came from an underprivileged family, middle class, and had to work her way through nursing school. First of her family line to go into medical field. She carved her way into success on her own. Still carving it as it seems. She's not even at her prime yet: she's still on her way up. (And he will watch her climb her way up. He'll watch her achieve her dreams and more because she's his girl and he'll be so proud of her every step of the way)

Compared to her, Brendon has had an easier life. Prestigious schools, top college, the best tutors, nepotistic opportunities. So of course, he ended up great. What is he, if not just as hungry to prove himself as the men before him in his family? And since everything was handed to him on a silver platter, he might as well feast on it. So yes, he took every opportunity. Attended every class, learned from every tutor, admired every mentor, went to every conference, and powered his way to the top.

But sometimes, in the quiet of his luxury penthouse on quiet nights, he wonders if he'd be on the same level of success if his family were less fortunate. If he didn't get the fortune, nepotism, and wealth. If all he had on him was his determination, intelligence, and grit....would he still be Park the Shark?

He's never sure of the answer.

And then he looks at her. Her. That girl that has nothing but grit and determination in her and he can see very very clearly that she absolutely will reach the same peak he did. Even without the tools that he was handed early in life. Just her and her brains and her determination.

She's so much better than him, brighter than him. So much more full of if life and love too. How the hell does she do that? After all she's worked and powered through, she's still so kind and soft and sweet. How?

Meanwhile, kindness to him is an active decision. He has to remind himself to be nice. "Choose your words", "be nice on the kid", "praise him before telling him where it went wrong", "do this to lighten the nurse's load."

Being nice is a chore to him. An active, dragging, everyday decision he has to do. To her? It's natural. Like breathing. Why is that? It's not fair.

And then there's the other side of his jealousy. This one is easier to explain. Less stressful for his poor therapist: he's jealous of everything else that gets to experience her kindness that isn't him.

From the casual touches she gives her friends to the small acts of kindness she gives to patients. He hates witnessing that. Because to him, her kindness is precious. All pure and without selfish intent. She is helping just to help. She is kind just to be kind. She is sweet for the sake of it. So of course, Brendon wants it all for himself. Wants it directed only to him. Wants it specific to him.

Because her smiles for him feel less special when she smiles the same way to a patient five minutes later. The little baked cookies she gives him taste less sweet when he sees that her co-workers also received the same batch as him.

His therapist was a little less stressed at this second reason for jealousy. See, this is easier to explain: he's just being territorial. He just wants special treatment. Easy to identify, easy to solve.

The solution: suck it up. He can't really tell her to be less nice. So he has to suck it up and work on his own provlems.

So maybe Brendon is a jealous man. So what if he's envious of how easy positivity comes to her? So what if he wants that life, warmth, and sweetness all to himself? She's his girl. No one else's. He's allowed to be territorial. He's allowed to sink his teeth into her and claim her as his. Just like everything else in his life, she'll bear the marks of his teeth.

[angelandherlimplimbs]

Another brendon park blurb

Park has never wanted kids. No. He doesn't have any and never plans to have any. The fact is he already has "kids" that he watches over and teaches at the hospital. They just wear scrubs and not diapers.

He's got a little metaphorical nursery daycare going on in the Orthopedic floor where he takes care of his residents, fellows, and even his nurses because he'll be damned if anyone in his department goes neglected.

But point stands: no kids, no little sister, not even a neice he cares for.

So he's not very sure why his feelings of protectiveness for her comes from. She's not in the ortho department. Not his resident, not his intern, not his nurse. Fuck, she's not even an OR nurse! She's from the ED — one of Robby's kids. They doesn't even talk much outside consults. 

But still, Park notices her during the rare moments he's down in the ED. Pretty girl in her navy blue scrubs, baby pink underscrub, the little ribbons and clips she likes to wear in her hair, and the pink sneakers she always wears for work.

He remembers how they first met. Well, "meeting" is a stretch. "Lashing" is a better word.

He remembers the harsh words he told her the first time he actually met her: during that consult gone contaminated because a dumb ED med students fucked up limb handling. It really wasn't her fault. The Med student came forward and admitted fault. He just had a temper that day and she was right there.

She cried after that, sniffling like a little kid infront of him with her red little nose, glassy eyes, hiccuping breath, and flushed little face. Poor pretty girl. He had to apologize to her and soothe her little crying self in the breakroom. Ressuring her that he was sorry, it wasn't her fault, and she was doing a great job because turns out? It was her first day on the job! Good thing he decided to apologize then, despite the reputation he has, because she doesn't deserve that lashing from him.

It's been six months since then. And he's only grown more attuned to her.

She's a good nurse if he were to base on the few consult cases he handles that she's working on. Good but not Great. Well, not yet. Maybe it's because down here in Robinavitch's nursery, so many ED staff are left neglected. It doesn't help either that he sees how the other nurses (primarily male) treat her. She's left out and isolated. Probably because she's too quiet. New. Young. Introverted as a motherfucker. Difficult to estimate.

He's also witnessed how that one male nurse has been with her. Short, clipped answers to her soft and polite questions. Such a meanie to her — ignoring her most times when she needs help.

So Park settles with that explanation. That he wants to adopt out the pretty pink nurse that always has stars in her eyes at every moment. Doesn't want her falling into burnout because Robby's a shit chief of ED. So Park starts circling a little. Asking about her, accepting more ED consults when he knows she's on shift, giving the offhand compliment to her.

And within the span of the first three weeks, she's suddenly the shark's favorite pup (as per his own Ortho residents that notice how he's been eyeing that one nurse). Not her fault. It's just that she's the one nurse he makes the effort to be nice to. So what. Sue him then.

Brendon Park may not have kids. But now he's found a little girl to fuss over. Funny how the universe still gave him his babygirl. 

[angelandherlimplimbs]

Brendon Park blurb

One thing that Brendon Park knows as well as he knows himself is force. Especially force from brute strength.

He's known it all his life: From being the biggest kid in the playground, to being a problem child in elementary, to being a bully in highschool, to being a jock in college.

And now through medical school — as an orthopedic surgeon. The one place he absolutely needs force to set limbs back together, hammer screws into bone, and break fractures more to heal them better.

He knows how to use the force found in brute strength too. Cultivated it in himself and others: gym thrice a week, proper diets, proper post-op care to regain muscular strength. He knows both because it's his job. As an orthopedic surgeon, he needs it to reconstruct the fragile bodies in his OR tables. And reconstructing things is second nature to an orthopedic surgeon.

Second nature. Never first.

First nature is always to destruct. To tear, to break, to force apart. Shoving kids in the playground, breaking noses off those dumb geeks at school, breaking defense lines in the playing field, and breaking into bones with power tools in the OR. Only the latter is the one thing he does to do good.

So when he forces himself to be gentle with her when he lifts her pretty dress away, he finds that at this exact moment— he hates that breaking things is first nature to him. Hates that fixing things is second nature.

He wishes they weren't innate to him at all in that very fucking moment. He's her first time. He gets to pop her cherry.

Don't get him wrong, he's elated! It's such an honor to be trusted this way. There's an intimacy in it in a way. Like a patient trusting their surgeon to put them back together, his lover trusting him to break her down.

But he's grounded by the fact that his sweet girl is crying, whimpering and sniffling because of course, it hurts.

And he has to remind her with soft kisses that it will get worse before it gets better. And it does get better, because why would he ever lie to her?

How he wishes that knowing how to be just right with things came innate to him. Because for the first time in his life, he wants to just hold something. Just hold it very gently in his hands and keep it (her) from slipping away.

It's alright, he tells her (and himself). It doesn't matter anyway. Things have to get worse to get better. She'll have to bleed a little on his sheets for it to feel better.

(lowk inspired by the fanfic lost cherry by dachande on AO3, check em out and give kudos!!!)

[angelandherlimplimbs]

Amo Empool outfit hcs

Tw: SA and all the other traumas this poor girl has went through in her backstory

- if you look closely, the black dress she wears during her time in her tower is actually the same dress she wore as a little girl in her flashback! Same orange ribbon around the chest too Just cut along the center to make it fit her better while she grew. either it was cut or it implies M*ster tore it right down the center at some point and hadn't been repaired since

- the long sleeves on her dress were probably added for warmth at first because her childhood black dress barely covers any skin back then. Also like to think that the feeling of the long bell sleeves grew onto her because it felt more "princessy"

- also like to point out that she has a ribbon tied around her neck in her Penta outfit and how lambs are plenty portrayed to have ribbons around their necks too. In her new Cleaners uniform, she now uses it as a headband type accessory! Being a sacrificial lamb will never leave her but it no longer defies her solely as a person.

- I think that this situation isn't because "she had nothing else to wear there" (because iirc, M*ster is a trafficer who got her all these stuffed animals, toys, storybooks, etch. which could be considered a luxury in their world of scarcity) more of a "she had other choices of what to wear but she constantly chooses to wear the dress she used to as a child" because she feels more comfortable in it. I think it has something to do with her trauma keeping her stuck in the same age she got sold as (which is probably 5-8 years old?) alongside her referring to herself in third person.

- there's a couple shots in the anime of what her hair looks like from the back and from what I could tell, it's like a pixie cut only with the front pieces long. I think this is because having full long hair is too much of a maintenance and so it was cut short in the back but the front locks are left long to give the illusion of longer hair.

- I think her abuser chose to never give her safety shorts nor a bra to wear at all :( but in her cleaners uniform, we see that she no longer has the plunging neckline! :)

- in her new outfit as part of the cleaners, I'd like to point out that the silhouette is almost the same. Showing off her corset piercings paired with long and exaggerated bell sleeves.

- those roses on her belt in her cleaner uniform are stylistic choice entirely! Alongside the frills and dainty blouse, furthuring that she has a lolita-like style

- also like to point out that her bangs are now more even lol

[angelandherlimplimbs]

Zodyl Outfit HCs

- the sleeves of his coat are too long for him, those grey ties are to keep the sleeves up and away from his hands. They look like zip ties tbh with how they stick up and have no visible buckles/knots, but that would also be too time consuming to do every day to shower/wash/sleep/clean? Unless he has that on 24/7. Then they probably ARE zip ties

- coat also has obvious stitching on it (wear and tear probably) but I'd like to point out that the stitching aking the wrists part is to fold up the sleeves since they're too long on him

- his shoes, similar to Jabber's, are tied in place instead of laced up! They're probably made from a stiff cloth and the soles are tied on by the ropes and has this kind of cuff/tie/taping? going around at the ankle

- i personally HC that the quilted purple fabric that he has (that all raiders use) was part of a tent/shelter that ties to the Raider history (or at least as part of Zodyl's history). It's probably how they identify each other outside of just the purple lamps (because it'd be way too difficult for a gang group to use purple lamps to indentify each other compared to just having a part of their uniform as ID)

whos outfit to analyze next?

Amo

Zanka

Voting ended onJan 11

[angelandherlimplimbs]

Saw this on twt and needed to say I have my theories about Jabber's outfit design.

His shoes having a strap that wraps around? They're too big for him probably or already falling apart and he needs to tie that strap to keep them on when he moves

His pockets r obviously DIYed from the same material as his top. It was probably a long shirt but he decided he needed pockets on his pants more than the full abdominal coverage. But we see that he DOES have a black little undershirt to cover his abdominal area anyway.

The vest being quilted (because of the lil criss cross lines) probably for warmth

His shirt being all ratty af too because who has the resources to patch those hems? Not him probably. It's cropped too so I really do think he made those pockets from the shirt cutoffs.

The lil tail thing is obv a belt probably because of the DIY pockets. Maybe the addition of pockets changed the fit and there's no belt loops on the thing. I feel like he tied that around his waist to keep his pants up and called it a day

And his hoodie being the same material as his tail/belt!!! Smthn to keep his head covered. Personal HC that it's also because he sometimes needs to cover his dreads because they can be a defining feature for him sometimes and he needs to hide them quick when he's on some missions that need stealth/hiding.

I love Gachiakuta's character designing because absolutely NONE of it is random at all ohmylawrd

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Wendigo

Being out on the frontier ain't easy, 'specially not for a woman. And when a stranger wanders in from the plains, you know things ain't never gonna be easy again. 5.4k words. Originally published October 2022.

IT'S MORNING WHEN YOUR DADDY DRAGS A DEAD MAN INTO THE HOUSE.

You're curled up in front of the fire place, half dreamin' and half reading, when they stagger through the door. You notice your daddy first, breathing hard with the effort of keepin' the man up.

"Pa? What happened?"

Snow is thick on his shoulders and trapped in the brim of his old Stetson. But your daddy don't seem to care.

You get to your feet slowly. It's then that you notice the stranger.

A real tall fella, bent over like he ain't got much strength left in him. The winter was cruel to him and what's left of him is all bone, bone and hunger and aching need.

"Get the door to your room open."

Your daddy ain't askin'. That's his rancher voice - all hard steel. Your daddy is commanding you.

You stand still, too shocked to move. It ain't normal. Your daddy never talks to you like you're just one of the cowhands.

"But daddy, I don't want a dead man in my room."

You're whining, you know it. But you can't stop yourself. The stranger is covered in snow and bleeding too. You don't want him on top of your nice clean sheets, don't want a dying thing in the place where you sleep.

"Ain't dead yet. And he ain't gonna die, not if I can help it."

The stranger looks carved outta hunger and little else. Dark clothes and mean looking spurs, he ain't the type of fella you invite into your home.

"But why my room daddy?"

Your father is already dragging the man down the passage, his boots real loud against the wood floor. You follow behind them, your book still hanging from your fingers.

He doesn't wait for you to catch up. Just leans the fella against the wall for a second and opens the door to your room himself.

"But pa-"

Your daddy ain't hearing it. He spears you with a look to tan leather, a real mean glare that shuts you right up.

Your pa ain't ever cruel - not to you. You can't understand it. Why is he getting all worked up about a stranger? Ain't one man just as good as the next? Why go through all this trouble for someone you don't even know?

He drops the stranger on your bed and you flinch. When he speaks, his voice is still hard.

"He's half starved and half frozen. It don't look good and I want you to stay right here with him."

"Me? I ain't know a thing about him!"

Your daddy ignores you, dusting the snow off his hat 'fore putting it back on again. "Feed him and keep him warm, 'til I'm back with the surgeon. You hear me?"

You're staring at your daddy. He's gone mad, you're sure of it. The stranger is just another mouth to feed and you ain't got the food, not with winter already here.

Your daddy is tough and your daddy is smart - he tamed the west, made something out of the wild frontier. You don't like this starved man in your home, but if your daddy's asking you...

You nod slowly, shifting your eyes to the stranger.

"That's my girl." Your pa's voice is kinder and he grins at you. Then he's out the door.

In the silence, you finally take a good look at the man. He ain't much older than you really, but there's a hunger in his face you ain't got.

He's mighty handsome too, but it ain't...

It ain't a safe kind of beauty.

He's got plenty of scars but that ain't what makes you wary. 

There's something cruel in him - in the lines 'round his eyes, in the set of his jaw. He's winter lean. 

What was your daddy thinking? Leaving you to care for a wolf?

You take a deep breath. You can handle this. He's just a man, a man like any other. Ain't no kinder and he ain't no crueler.

But you ain't sure where to start. Lookin' at him is like lookin' straight into a grave. He ain't got no colour to him and his breathing is too slow to be normal.

Well, if you were sick and near dying, you'd wanna be comfortable, right? Get him all tucked away then get something for that hunger, that thirst.

His Stetson is covered with snow but underneath the ice, it's midnight dark. Slowly, you take it off. You're waiting for him to open his eyes, flinch, scream, anything.

But he's still as death and the hat comes off easy.

Underneath it, his hair is a dark blonde. Long enough to brush his jaw and still littered with snow.

The strands cling to his forehead and you smooth them away without thinking. His skin is real cold. Hell, he's probably frozen straight down to the bone. 

You sigh quietly.

His gun belt has two revolvers, both of 'em a bright silver. They ain't just for looking pretty either - the metal is covered in fine scratches from years of use.

You reckon it ain't a good idea to sleep with guns on and you reach forward, your fingers brushing the buckle.

He grabs your wrist.

He moves fast, faster than you've ever seen a man move. You try to jerk away, but he still has some strength in him and his grip is iron. Tight enough to bruise.

"The hell you doin' girl?"

The stranger's voice is deep but rough with thirst, a coyote learnin' to speak. You're frozen - you ain't expected him to be so strong or so fast.

You swallow and slowly drag your eyes up to look at him.

"Takin' your belt off."

It's his eyes that you notice first. Yellow gold and dangerous, he looks like he wants to eat you alive. Coyote eyes your daddy calls 'em.

"Oh really?" His eyes rake you up and down, lingering without an ounce of shame. "And you haven't even asked my name yet."

He ain't a gentleman and there's something in the way he smiles that makes you go cold. It's staring straight down the barrel of a gun, the way he makes you freeze.

"I ain't got a chance to ask your name on account of all the near fainting."

He laughs. It's deep, like his voice. But it ain't a kind laugh. The stranger don't have no kindness in him at all.

"I 'spose that's fair."

He's still holding your wrists but his grip ain't as tight.

"It just ain't a polite thing, touching a man's guns while he's sleeping. You get that darlin'?"

He lies down again and finally let's you go. Talkin' ain't done him no favors and his breathin' is real shallow. His eyes are closed again and you stand up, all slow and cautious.

"I'll get you something to drink."

He don't respond and you hurry away, your back burning the whole time.

Water is everything out on the plains and with winter outside your door, even the well has started freezing. You don't wanna feed the stranger, don't wanna quench his thirst. What good has ever come from having a coyote at your table?

But your daddy told you to do something and you listen to your daddy, 'specially out here. You listen to him 'cause otherwise you'd be dead and gone long ago. Buried out on the prairie like so many others.

Life ain't easy out west and the land belongs more to ghosts than people.

When you return, the stranger's eyes are still closed. Most folks look harmless in their sleep, like their dreams are all they care 'bout. But that ain't true of him.

Being near him is being near a bear just as the snow melts. Any moment, he'll open his eyes and chew straight through your heart.

You clench your jaw and reach out your hand. Your fingers rest on his forehead, then his cheek. He's still icy to the touch and you ain't sure how he keeps breathing.

"That feels real good sweetheart." His voice is low.

He opens his eyes slowly, and when they settle on you, he manages a smile. His teeth are sharp and his lips are bloody, like he's been chewing at them for a real long time.

"I brought you some water."

He sits up slowly but his eyes never leave you.

"Much obliged darlin'."

He reaches for it and his fingers brush yours. You flinch - his touch is cold as the grave.

He drinks slow but his muscles are tight and you know it ain't easy. He's fighting with himself for every sip - the desperate, thirsty part of him just wants to gulp it all down. He would drink a river dry, if you gave him the chance.

When he's done, he looks at you and he smiles. A twisted thing that never touches his eyes.

"You got some food too?"

"I do."

But you ain't eager to share it with him. What was it the ranch hands always said? Don't feed the wolves unless you wanna feed them everything you've got?

Your daddy was wrong to bring him here - wrong to offer him hearth and home when the men were lean and the crows were watching.

You don't move and he watches you. In the quiet, your heart starts to race. What's going through his head, that makes his eyes so dark?

"You ain't much like your pa, you know that?"

His wolf eyes look straight through your soul. You fidget with your dress, tryin' your best to look uninterested.

"Your daddy is a better man than most. But you...well, I reckon he spoils you."

He licks his lips and you realize the bleeding is worse than you thought - he's teeth are red with it.

He continues, "Your daddy ain't taught you enough about the frontier."

Who does he think he is? Lyin' in your bed, drinkin' your water and lecturing you?

"You ain't know a damn thing me."

You're scared of him but you're bitter too, and anger is easier to stomach than fear.

You don't mean to snarl at him, but your blood is up and you ain't good with your temper. Your cheeks are red hot and your heart leaps right up your throat, 'til you can almost taste your own blood. 

"Get your own damn food if you want it."

You turn to leave but his hand grabs the back of your dress and he yanks you toward him. He's strong and you ain't expecting it, ain't got any time to dig in your heels. 

You land hard on the bed, right next to him.

"I ain't done talkin' sweetheart. Ain't your daddy ever taught you any manners?"

He's voice is real close to you ear and he has a growl to him that makes you freeze. He smells of juniper and pine, of icy cold winter.

"Let me go."

You try real hard to sound brave and mean, to sound like your pa when he wants something done. But you ain't your daddy and the stranger is too close and too cruel. Your voice is quiet and afraid, a girl begging a monster.

You hate yourself for it.

"Why would I do that?"

His other hand curls around the back of your neck and he leans toward you, 'til you can feel his breath on the shell of your ear.

"You've got a real temper in you girl."

His voice is rough with somethin' you can't recognize. Hate? Anger?

He ain't a man to be disrespected, ain't someone to take an insult.

You should apologize, say your rage got the better of you. Say you won't let it happen again and that you're real sorry. Ask him to please let you go.

But even in your fear, your pride won't bend. How dare he touch you so easily? You don't belong to him - he ain't got a damn say in how you behave.

You swing around, your nails coming up to scratch his face, dig his eyes out, make him bleed.

But you ain't learnt from the last time.

He's faster than you and he catches your hand in his. His grip is tight and he's skin is rough, calloused from years of gun slinging.

He's face is just next to yours and the dim morning sun casts him in shadow.

"Temper, temper."

He chides, his gravel voice rumbling through you.

You're going to bite his face off, just lean forward and-

And he's smiling.

Not a cruel smile neither. All gold eyes and real deep dimples.

He's dangerous, you know it in your bones. But his smile is all honey, all sunrise gold.

There ain't a lot of men out here, and none who smile at you like that. None who look you straight in the eyes like you're all they've ever wanted.

"Let me go, please."

You ask politely this time. He's too handsome and he's too close and Lord help you, your hearts gonna run right outta your rib cage.

He hums softly. "Ain't happenin' girly. I let you go and you're gonna run right out that door and leave me to freeze."

You want to get away from him, it's true. He's twisting your soul 'round his fingers 'til you ain't sure whether he wants to kiss you or eat you alive. 

You shake your head. "I'll stoke the fire. My pa said to keep you warm."

He laughs, a real throaty laugh. "You always do what your daddy says?"

"Of course."

Why did it have to be him? If your daddy was going around saving strays, couldn't he have found someone else? Anyone else? 

The stranger is a mystery and you hate it. 

His grip tightens 'round your neck. "You ain't gonna run off?"

"Ain't that what I said?"

He's quiet for a real long time. You start thinking he ain't even considering it - he's just gonna keep you here with him 'til your daddy gets back. 

And then he let's you go.

"Alright sweetheart, let's see you keep your word."

You stand up slowly, keeping your eyes on him the entire time.

Your room is the only bedroom with a fireplace and when you've put all the space you can between the two of you, you finally turn your back on him.

You stack the firewood carefully, feelin' his eyes on you the whole time.

"You ain't scared of me, are you?"

You flinch. 

"Why would I be?"

Your voice comes out real calm. It's easier when you ain't looking in his eyes, when he ain't spearing you down with the heat of his stare.

"I ain't sure. I promise I'm real nice darlin'."

You make the mistake of looking at him. He's smiling at you with those sharp teeth and he don't seem nice at all.

You drop your eyes real fast. Your cheeks feel all tingly and you ain't sure why, ain't sure how he does this to you.

Ain't you 'sposed to like men who are kind?

Not this stranger, not a man made cruel from years of hard living. And still...

"You got a name stranger?'

"I do."

You wait but he doesn't say anything more. He's giving you a taste of your own medicine and you loathe him for it.

"How did my daddy find you?"

"Is that really the question you wanna ask me?"

His voice is better, less harsh. But that don't mean he's kind. Don't mean he's good. 

You fiddle with the kindling, staying quiet. 

" 'Cause I think what you really wanna know is 'why.' Why your daddy brought me here, why he wants to save me."

You turn to face him. How did he know? You ain't that easy to read. Hell, most of the ranch hands can't even tell if you're in a good mood, much less guess what you're thinking.

Who is this man?

He has you full attention again and he smiles, runs his hand through his blond hair. 

" 'S what I was sayin' earlier. You ain't know enough about the plains. You can't survive alone out here. You've gotta take care of folks, gotta keep them fed when they need it. Your daddy knows that."

You raise a brow. "And what happens when you don't?"

He laughs but it's bitter as sand. "Hungry folk are dangerous folk."

But ain't he half starved already?

You turn back to the fireplace, finally striking a match. The fire catches quick and the light rims you in gold. 

The stranger watches you - on your knees and haloed in warmth, you're a sight for sore eyes. All those long months on the plains, always tryin' to be one step ahead of death and here you are, a just reward for all his suffering.

You ain't got a clue how hard life is, ain't got any idea how the nights stretch long and lonely. But he'll teach you. 

He'll make sure you learn the danger of hunger unsatisfied. 

"Come sit with me." He says quietly.

You stand and shake your head slowly. Being in here is stifling, makes you wanna crawl right outta your skin.

Is it fear or want? You ain't sure.

"Come sit with me. I don't bite." He ain't smiling no more.

You swallow and cross your arms, fold a little into yourself. He ain't anything you're familiar with. Folks don't order you 'round - not when you're the boss' daughter.

"I don't trust you." You say simply.

He's sitting on the edge of your bed, his revolvers glinting in the cold winter sun. He's a desperado, you ain't got a doubt about it.

"What am I gonna do to you girl? I just want a little company."

He taps his fingers 'gainst his knee, watching you with sharp eyes.

"You ain't got a clue darlin'. Out there, folk shoot 'fore they offer conversation. Is it so bad that I wanna talk to you?"

"Then talk. I can hear you just fine from over here."

He shakes his head slowly. "You grudge me food and water. And now you won't even talk to me. You always this charmin' sweetheart?"

You bristle. He's the one who ain't got any manners at all, not you.

"Fine." You snarl and stalk forward, stopping right in front of him. "Happy now?"

A smile is crawling 'cross his bloody lips. "Still ain't working on that temper, are you darlin'?"

"I ain't your darling! And I ain't got a temper neither."

He reaches out slowly and his hands come to rest on your waist. He don't hold you tight but his fingers are long and they dig into you just a little.

You freeze, not expecting him to touch you. His voice is real low, just shy of a growl.

"Don't me want to call you my darlin'? You'd better stop me then."

You slap him.

You're quicker than him for once and you hit him hard enough to twist his head, the sound cracking through the quiet. Your palm stings and it runs straight up your arm.

He touches his cheek gingerly, his other hand getting real tight 'round you, clawing straight into your back.

Oh no.

You're done for. He's gonna grab one of his guns and end you right now, shoot you straight through the heart. Or maybe he'll do it with his bare hands, just choke the life outta you. Or -

He laughs.

"God damn girl, I bet you've got a mean right hook too."

He grins and rubs his cheek.

"You're a real hellcat, ain't you?"

His other hand is still curled 'round your waist and you step away, pull yourself free of him. You don't trust his good mood. Don't trust his smile when his eyes ain't got no joy in them.

He ain't eager to let you go but there ain't much he can do to stop you - nothing gentle at least.

You've had enough of him - of his entitlement and his anger, of his values that mean nothing to you. You spin on your heel and aim for the door.

"I wish he left you outside to starve."

You ain't gotta share a damn thing with him. Who cares if he dies? What's yours is yours. You ain't gotta give him food or shelter or kindness. Ain't owe him.

Your daddy was wrong. You gotta look out for yourself first.

"Sweetheart I-"

You leave 'fore he can finish, shutting the door and leaning against it. Just tryin' to slow your heart.

He ain't a pious man and he ain't thinking holy thoughts 'bout you.

The first thing you notice when you turn around is the dimness. The fires burnt out, sure. But the sun should be shining through the glass.

You walk into the living room and stare out the big bay windows, your mouth fallin' open. 

The clouds are thick and dark, real storm clouds blowing in from the plains. And the wind has gotten stronger too. You watch it kicking up puffs of snow and hurling it past the glass.

A blizzards blowing in, you're sure of it.

But it's movin' fast, faster than you thought possible. When the stranger came in, there weren't even a breeze.

God, is your daddy gonna be okay? Maybe he's reached town already. Maybe him and the doc are drinking together and waitin' for the storm to pass. Your daddy's tough - he'll be fine. Right?

"You okay darlin'?"

You whirl around, your heart in your throat.

The passage behind you is real dark and you can just kinda see the stranger, a blurry silhouette. He's standing strange and his arms are real long looking. Has he always been that tall?

"I'm...fine."

There's something 'bout his voice you don't like.

Somethin' in it that makes you take a step back. And then another and another, 'til you're pressed right against the window sill. It digs into your back and the chill goes straight down to your spine, dulls its teeth on your marrow.

"What I tell you 'bout leavin' while I'm talking?"

You can just make out his yellow eyes. They're catching the light and glinting like an animal's.

He continues, "You're real slow to learn, ain't you?"

You frown, your heart stuttering inside you.

"No. 'Course not."

He laughs and it runs down your neck like ice.

"You're really somethin', you know that y/n?"

When did he learn your name? You sure ain't told him.

His voice is low but it has winter's bite to it. He talks to you like cowpokes talk to girls after a real long time out in the plains - all hunger and need.

"You're just the kinda girl I like. Selfish, greedy, gotta learn her place."

His eyes trace your body and he smiles at you, that mocking half smile that ain't got an ounce of kindness in it.

"Now come 'ere."

He lunges forward but you're ready for it and you dive outta the way. You land hard on your knees but you scramble up, your blood screamin' in your ears.

Gotta get a weapon or somethin' - he's still stronger than you, even if he's half starved.

Your daddy keeps a Henry rifle 'bove the fire place and you aim for it, movin' fast.

But the stranger ain't no ordinary man. He grabs you from behind and you both go crashing down.

His body is pressed right up against you and he's cold as ice.

"That blizzards keepin' you right here darlin, ain't no running."

His voice ain't human. It's the cracking of bone, the tearing of flesh, the hound dog howling. His voice is hunger and nothin' else.

His hands are pressed into the floor next to your waist and his teeth brush your ear. Even starving, he's lean with muscle and you can feel the hardness under his skin.

His breath is cold and it smells of wintergreen.

He's gonna bite straight through your throat. Rip you apart. Have your heart right between his teeth.

But you ain't dying today.

You snarl and try to buck him off, but he doesn't budge. His weight is pressing you into the floor and you can't take a full breath.

Your ribs feel like they're 'bout to snap inwards, shards of your own bone driving straight through your heart.

You struggle under him and he laughs.

"Keep doin' that sweetheart. I love feelin' you squirm."

His voice is husky and it ain't like anything you've heard before.

The dead fire is right next to you and the embers are still hot, still have some burning red streaking through them.

You reach out and grab one. It's scalds your palm and your whole hand is nothing but white hot pain. But you ain't gonna let that stop you.

You twist around and press the burning ember right in his face.

He shrieks like an animal and leaps back, light on his feet like he don't weigh a thing.

"Fucking hurts." His voice is a hiss, a rattlesnake under your skin.

You scramble up and yank the rifle down, swinging around with your finger on the trigger.

The stranger is in front of you and there ain't nothin' human left in him. He's crouched down on the floor and his limbs are too long - sticking out like an insect's. He ain't got no lips neither. Just ragged, bloody skin like he's eaten straight through them.

Corpse pale and cold as the frost, the stranger in your home was always a dead man.

His teeth are sharp and long and Lord help you, he has so many teeth.

He lunges toward you.

He's fast, faster than anything alive. But you ain't done fighting yet.

His body is in the air when you fire the first shot. The bullet hits him straight in the head and knocks him back.

Black blood sprays across the floor, across the furniture, across your face.

He crashes into the dining table, his spine shattering against the table legs.

You don't wait to check if he's still alive.

You aim for his chest and empty your daddy's rifle. Put bullet after bullet straight into his heart. The sound is thunder and when the firing stops, your ears are ringing.

His blood pools around him, thick as oil. The wendigo is still.

The wendigo is dead.

The blizzard is startin' in earnest now and the snow outside the windows is coming thick and fast. Your shoulder aches from the rifle's recoil and you can't get the shaking outta your fingers. You sink down to your knees, your breath ragged.

They were just 'sposed to be stories.

You keep your eyes on its body, scared of even blinking.

With a heart of ice, it's born in the cold, lean months.

The wendigo devours.

The wendigo is ever hungry.

But the wendigo is dead.

You wait a real long time. Until you heart ain't as loud and the blizzard rages, until the whole house is freezing. The wind screams and the wendigo doesn't move.

You're safe.

You close you eyes. You let yourself breathe. The gun slinger is dead and he ain't gonna hurt you, ain't gonna touch you.

You were right - ain't nothing good ever comes of strangers at your table.

The winter grows angry, but you're safe and you're warm. And the stranger ain't ever gonna have you. You smile. You open your eyes.

He's gone.

He was dead and now he's gone.

You jump to your feet, holding the rifle like an axe. The quiet stretches around you, nothin' but your own breathing to break it.

Where is he?

You keep perfectly still, squinting into the dark corners of the room. The light is scarce and every shadow hides him.

"You ain't getting away from me sweetheart."

You whirl around but he's quick as a cat. He grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you toward him.

He ain't gentle and he shakes you 'til your jaws rattling. Holds you like a kitten.

He's pressed up behind you and he dips his head low, 'til his lips are right above your pulse.

"So selfish but so warm..."

You scream, try to pull away. But he ain't movin' and all you do is rip some of your own hair out.

He laughs, laughs deep and cold.

"You gotta start listenin' sweetheart. What I just say 'bout getting away?"

He uses your hair like a leash and tosses you straight across the room.

The floor hits you hard and knocks the air clean outta you. Pain spikes white hot right through your ribs.

He's stronger than any man has the right to be. He threw you clear across the room without even tryin'.

He don't wait for you to get up neither. He just grabs your jaw and drags you to your knees. His fingers dig into your cheeks.

He's human again but that ain't a kindness.

His nails - his claws - leave bloody scratches 'cross your skin.

You look up and he's staring down at you with those strange, hungry eyes.

Coyote gold. Wolf gold. Killer gold. 

His pupils are blown out wide, 'till they're all black rimmed in honey. He's staring at you and there ain't nothin' but want in him.

"Your daddy's a good man. He knows the way of the west. But you..."

He smiles that sardonic grin of his. Your bullets ain't left a hole but blood is running down from his hairline. It creeps down into his mouth and his smile is red and cruel. 

"You need to learn a lesson girl."

He pulls you up and you scream. You claw at him, dig your nails in deep 'til your fingers ache.

He holds you like a prize and his eyes drop to your lips. And then lower still.

You're crying, tears on your tongue bitter as poison. It ain't fair. You just wanted to keep yourself safe and fed and warm. You shouldn't be punished for it. 

He runs a thumb across your cheek but there ain't no kindness in it.

"Awww, am I scaring you darlin'?"

He said your daddy was a smart man, a kind man.

Would he have let you go? If you were generous or selfless or good?

He smells of the forest and your head is swimmin' with it. His thumb traces the outline of your lips and his smile is all teeth. He'll shatter your bones like glass if he wants.

He presses his lips against your cheek and whispers to you, his voice cruel as the snow.

"I'll be gentle sweetheart. I promise."

It's then that you realize.

A man's got more than one kind of hunger.