#even if the meds continue to pan out on the first try getting better is gonna be kinda like. messy and complicated.

[kirby-the-gorb]

[noturlondonboy]

No More Excuses//Katelena

Chapter 17: Abdominal Muscles = Kate’s Roman Empire

Pairing: Kate Bishop x Yelena Belova

Chapter Summary: Kate has a classic gay moment over Yelena’s abs, and they talk about the prospect of Yelena staying longer

A/N: I really like this chapter I think they’re adorable

Chapter Warnings: none

Kate is the first one awake for once, and the stillness of her apartment is welcome. Her eyes crack open to cold sunlight coming from under her curtains, making the room glow a soft gray. Lucky is tucked under her arm. There is no sizzling of a frying pan, no clicking of nails from Fanny, no blood on Yelena to worry about.

She lets out a content sigh and melts back into her bed, snuggling closer to Lucky, scratching his head eepily. They stay there for another hour or so, drifting in and out of sleep until Lucky decides he's ready for breakfast and Kate's bladder refuses to be ignored any longer.

She rolls out from under her covers with a groan and makes her way downstairs, humming at the snow falling in thick flakes outside the windows. There's a blonde lump on the couch, limbs sprawled out and soft snores floating from her mouth. She must be beyond exhausted.

Kate walks to Yelena in a sleepy haze and tucks a few strands of messy gold hair out of her face as she admires the brush of thick eyelashes over soft cheeks and pink lips parting slightly, the slope and rounded tip of her nose, the strong arch of dark eyebrows and smudged eye makeup.

Dear god. Yelena Belova was pretty.

Kate rubs her eyes with the palm of her hand and trudges to the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day, even though she has absolutely no idea what she's going to do with herself. That's her main problem now, she supposes. Prior to the insane holidays that she had, heading back to school after winter break would've been the next step, but that was no longer an option, and her mother was in jail. A literal criminal. Not only that, but the other people she may consider family were either living in a different state or completely off her radar. (Where the hell is Jack?)

Normally, this would send her spiraling. No support system? No therapy appointments? Meds running low? No busy work? No learning? No people?

Bad news.

But now, with Yelena here... How long did she plan on staying?

"Forever?" Kate whispers to herself, hot water dripping from her lips as the showerhead pummels her with a boiling stream. The scalding liquid blocks everything out and loosens up the tight muscles in her shoulders and neck, pooling in the dips of her collarbones and waist before hitting the floor. Maybe. Maybe forever.

That would be okay.

--------

The first thing Kate sees when she gets out of the bathroom is Yelena hanging from the lip of the floor of her loft bedroom, and she lets out a startled shout before realizing that her friend is in the middle of a workout routine.

"Good morning- Kate Bishop!" Yelena huffs out, smiling at her in between her pull ups. She's in form fitting blood red leggings and a black sports bra, her arms and abdomen on full display. The cut on her neck already looks significantly better. Sweat is shining on her skin, but Yelena just keeps at it, muscles working hard.

Kate tears her wide eyes away and can feel her stomach burning as hot as her face, but she goes back into the bathroom with the excuse of brushing her teeth.

Yelena watches her go quizzically, having still not received a response, but says nothing and continues with her exercise. She could have stopped a minute or so ago, having reached her usual amount of reps and sets, but the familiar burn in her body was a welcome distraction from the sight of Kate Bishop with wet hair hanging loose over her shoulders.

Kate doesn't come back out of the bathroom until she's sure that Yelena isn't suspended in the air in the middle of her apartment anymore, but she hasn't changed because she still needs to shower. And Kate is in the way.

"Good morning," Kate squeaks out, trying and failing miserably to keep her eyes from glancing at Yelena's abs. Jesus Fucking Christ. Did they sculpt her out of fucking marble in the Red Room?

Yelena smirks at her and drags the length of her forearm over her forehead, sweaty strands of blonde hair sticking to her skin. "Hello, Kate Bishop. Is it alright if I use the shower?"

"Oh- yeah! Yeah, of course. Always. You don't need to ask."

The blonde shrugs. "I just wanted to be sure. Sleeping on your couch is one thing; using your shower is another."

"Oh. Well. I mean... I don't care. Or- I don't mind, I mean. Yeah, you're, um... you're totally welcome to anything in my apartment at any time, really," Kate garbles out, mentally slapping herself in the face.

Yelena tilts her head. "Thank you, Kate Bishop. You don't need to do that."

"I know," she replies weakly. But I want to.

"I've been meaning to ask you, I suppose."

"Yeah? What?"

Yelena opens her mouth and then closes it after a moment, struggling to find the right words. How does she say this? "Could I- would it be alright...?" Shit. What is she doing? "I still have business here in New York. I don't know for how long, yet," she says, pulling words out of her ass and lying straight through her teeth. (If avoiding Valentina could be counted as business.) "Would it be too much trouble for you if I stuck around a little longer?"

Kate's face brightens up immediately, and she's already nodding eagerly before Yelena is even done speaking. "Yes, of course! Please, stay! That's- that's totally fine with me, it wouldn't be a problem at all!"

(These fucking dumbasses.)

Yelena grins shyly and shrugs. "Thank you, Kate Bishop. I am sorry that I did not ask sooner. I apologize for staying around as much as I have been."

"Oh no no no, I don't mind at all, I promise," Kate hurries. "You'll be doing me a favor, honestly. I could, um. I really could use the company. And so could Lucky, I think."

They all could.

"I'll make it worth your while, Kate Bishop," Yelena promises, putting a warm hand on Kate's shoulder and squeezing gently before making her way into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her.

How is Kate supposed to tell her that she already has?

Translations: none

Kate Bishop counter: 6

This chapter’s meme:

[factual-fantasy]

Thank you! I’m very glad you like them! ♡ඩᴗඩ♡

As for their story? Ohhh boy uh.. how do I explain this...

Okay uh.. let me attempt to make this as comprehensive as possible. Also this basically turned into a mini fic.

You know those tf2 sfm channels on YouTube? The ones that make videos that usually look like this?

Well, I had this idea one night while trying to sleep..

Imagine that there was another one of those silly channels, just making dumb videos using the tf2 mercenaries as its characters. No story or timeline, just silliness with every episode that was made.

Well, as the episodes go on the idea is that you begin to notice something.. odd. Sneaking around in the background of the videos is a Red Engineer. An Engineer that doesn’t move around like the other ragdolls do, he is well animated and moving as if he is alive. It appeared that he is trying to avoid being seen by the camera that is filming the tf2 ragdolls

As the episodes progress further you begin to notice something else too. A Blu Solder doing the same thing. Sneaking around behind the scenes trying to avoid being seen by the ragdolls and by the camera.

As the episodes go on FURTHER, eventually the Blu Soldier and the Red Engineer’s outfits change and they are seen lurking around in the background together, seemingly as a team. Time progresses and they begin to grow beards and the Engineer ends up wearing the Soldiers coat.

So about 10 episodes in, and these two have been sneaking around and have not been spotted by the dolls or the camera yet. But one fateful day on episode 11, they slip up. They end up getting too close and the camera gets a good solid look at them. The moment where they were caught was this picture.

When they were spotted, the viewer got to get a good look at them both. It is clear that the Engineer is wounded, made apparent by the blood on his clothes, his sickly pale complexion, and the fact that the Soldier is helping him stand. We also are able to see that the Soldier is wearing clothing from other mercenaries. I.E Pyros gloves and Snipers vest.

After they are spotted, the Soldier scoops up the Engineer bridal style and books it. The camera attempts to peruse them but looses them. The camera appears to get frustrated, making strange sounds and then the video ends.

In episode 12 everything is different. Its not some silly video his time. The video starts with the camera activating and staring at a wall. The camera floats closer and begins to peek through some of the slats on the wall, peering into a hidden room in one of the tf2 maps, the camera sees backpacks and weapons. It appears to be a little hide out full of supplies.  

The camera lowers to the ground and peeks through the lower slats. Its spots a wounded and sleeping Red Engineer, who is laying on some bags stuffed with who knows what on the ground.

Then foot steps could be heard. The camera pans up and tilts to the left while looking through the higher slats, its now able see a kind of hatch like door off to the side of the room. The steps get louder and louder until stopping at the door. The door creaks open and the Blu Soldier comes climbing in. He’s covered in blood and is carrying a duffle bag that resembles the one Scout wears.

The Soldier walks over to the Engineer silently and plops down beside him. He takes off his bag and sets it aside. Then the Soldier tries to gently wake up the Engineer. He softly nudges his arm with his knuckles to stir him, but the sickly looking Engineer does not wake up.

“Engie?“ The Soldier asks. He then lightly shakes his shoulder. “Wake up Engie, I brought you stuff.“ Still no response. “..Common Engie..” Concern beginning to creep its way into the edge of the Soldiers voice. He shakes him a wee bit harder, which finally wakes him up. When the Engineer finally woke up the Soldier smiled. “There you are!” He says. The Engineer mumbles something inaudible.

“I’m back! Feeling any better?” The Engineer mumbles something inaudible again, but then mumbles what sounded like a question, something about a medic? “Unfortunately the Medic blew up.” The Soldier starts. “But I did find a med kit, so its basically the same thing.” The Engineer sighs and the Soldier opens the bag and brings out a med kit. “There’s got to be some kind of pain killers in here right?” The Soldier asks. The Engineer mutters, “hopefully” in a gravely voice.

The whole time the camera is staring intently and zooming in on certain things. Like zooming in on the Soldiers bloodied shirt, and zooming in on the med kit as it is passed to the Engineer.

Soldier hands the med kit to the Engineer and begins to search through the bag some more. He takes out a round canteen filled with something, and something small wrapped in a cloth.

“Did you see anything unusual?“ The Engineer croaks. The Soldier stops. “..Sort of.. I didn’t see any movement today. They were all face down on the ground again. That’s where I found the medic, on the ground..“ The Soldier then frowns under his dented helmet. “..And I didn’t see the camera today..” The Engineer pauses making a concerned expression, but then shakes his head. He then pops some pills and chases it down with what ever liquid was in the canteen, probably water. Hopefully water. Which then prompts the Soldier to hand him the item wrapped in cloth. “So the Medic thing didn’t work out today, but hey, at least I found a Heavy!“

The Engineer unwraps the cloth to find a sandwich. A sandwich that is 100% identical to the ones Heavy makes. The Camera zooms in on the sandwich and a slight whirling sound is heard from inside the camera. The Engineer kind’a looks at it.. and then splits it in half and hands one half to the Soldier. He’s about to protest but the Engineer speaks up, “Take it, you need it.” he said in a sickly voice.

The Soldier pouts and gingerly takes the quarter sized sandwich. “..But you need it more than I do..” He laments. The Engineer pushes the Soldiers hands towards himself, encouraging him to eat it. “You haven't eaten in days Sully, I’ll be fine with just half.” He says, his voice sounding worse and more gravely.

The two of them then sit and talk for a while about their situation and what to do next as they eat. By what they are saying, it becomes clear that these two are sentient, and are the real mercenaries that somehow got transported into an sfm channel and are trying to survive. They talk about their next goal being to “wake up” a medic to tend to the Engineers injuries, and then to “continue building it”.

You see, the Engineer months ago magically woke up in this weird world all by his lonesome. He knew right away that this wasn’t his home and that these strange dolls were not his friends. So he tried to hide from them but eventually he accidentally bumped into a ragdoll Blu Soldier.

If someone from the real tf2 world touches one of these ragdolls, they turn into the real mercenary and regain their consciousness.. With only one catch.

Lets say you take a scout ragdoll and drop him from a tall building. He’ll fall but get right back up without taking any damage because haha funny whatever. But then after that what happens if a conscious mercenary touches him? He’ll wake up and become real. Which means that his legs will then instantly snap and break because his real body is feeling the damage that his ragdoll body took.

These ragdolls are used in every episode and are tossed around a lot. After waking up the Blu Soldier without incident, Engineer thought that he could just touch one of his team mates and they'd wake up. So he found a Red Sniper and grabbed his shoulder...

In which the Sniper Screamed out in pure agony and literally blew up. His ragdoll had taken so much damage that his real body just fell apart the moment he was given consciousness. The reason why the Blu Soldier didn't blow up when he was touched was because he was a newly loaded in ragdoll, he was brand new, untouched, undamaged.

Cut back to the present. The Engineer is talking about needing to find a ragdoll Medic that is undamaged, so that when the Solder touches him he wont instantly die. The Engineer trails off at the end, beginning to sound exhausted all of the sudden, Its as if simply talking is draining all of his energy. The sudden exhaustion concerns the Soldier. He reaches his hand out and places it on the Engineers arm in worry. The Engineer looks even paler than he did when he first woke up, and it seems like he is becoming very distressed. The Soldier rubs the Engineers arm gently to try and comfort him. At this point it is made very clear to the viewer that the Engineer needs a medic, and fast. 

Engineer was building a machine that might just be the key to getting them both back home.. but their progress was halted when the Engineer was somehow severely wounded. If he can just get a Medic, then maybe he could recover enough to get back to work and get them back home..

The Soldier swears to his sickly friend that he will bring him a medic, but he also apologizes for how long it might take. He mentions how its really hard to get to a medic, because the medics are always too close to the camera. At that moment the camera makes a noise outside which grabs the Soldier’s attention. The Soldier grabs his fully loaded rocket launcher off the floor and stands up, looking for a fight. The camera than takes off in the other direction and the video ends.

Now, remember that one comic I made? Well Sully went out to try and find a medic, and he almost had one!.. But then he bumped into a Red Scout, This Scout’s ragdoll body had taken damage to its arm, but he was alive. The first mercenary other than Soldier himself to be alive upon being awoken. Scouts screaming in pain grabbed the cameras attention. Sully decided that he couldn’t just leave him here, so he grabbed Scouts good arm and ran off with him, disappearing into the map somewhere.

Later on the Soldier finally manages to snag a healthy Blu Medic. Both the Scout and the Medic are filled in on what’s going on and they both understand what’s happening. The Blu Medic begins to care for the wounded Engineer and overtime he begins to recover.

Sometime later while out looking for supplies, the Red Scout runs into a Red Demoman who is surprisingly brand new and undamaged. He takes the pristine Demoman back to base and this ensues. The Engineer and Medic weren't too pleased because they were concerned about there not being enough rations to feed everyone.

So far, that is as far as the story has developed. I have considered adding more mercenaries and stuff to the team but I think that’s plenty. There's a little more to the story, like how they get food is by waking up broken heavies and looting their sandwiches off of their corpses. And how they get water is by doing the same thing to Snipers. It kind’a branches off from there but I think that’s as long as this explanation is going to be.

I hope you understood this all and it all made sense. And I hope you liked it too! Would you guys like to see more of these characters? Drop me an ask or a comment and we’ll see what happens! :}

[bettsfic]

how i got an agent, or: my writing timeline

when i started writing, i had no idea how publishing worked and i had a lot of misconceptions about it. but i just signed my first literary agent so i thought i’d share what my experience has been getting to this point, in case it helps anyone else with their own publication goals. i’m also including financial details, like submission fees and income, because “i could never afford to pursue writing as a career” is something that kept me from taking the idea seriously.

for context, i write mostly literary fiction and i’m on the academic/scholarly writing path. this process looks a lot different for other genres. 

i didn’t write this in my pretty nonfiction narrative voice; it’s really just the bare-bones facts of how it went down, how long it took, how many words i wrote (both fanfiction and original fiction), and how much it all cost. 

background

2002 - 2005: read a fuckton of books, wrote some fiction, wanted to be a writer but knew it would never happen, journaled every moment of my life in intimate detail

2006: started working full-time (at a chinese restaurant) while still in high school, also started taking courses for college credit; no time to write, and forgot i had ever wanted to be a writer

2007: graduated high school, started college (psych major), still worked at the restaurant, moved out of my parents’ house into an apartment with my boyfriend; my dad got diagnosed with stage 3 colon cancer

2008: continued college full-time, quit the restaurant and started part-time as a bank teller, broke up with bf and moved in with a friend at an apartment where the rent was obscenely high; had to pick up a second job altering bridal gowns

2009: continued college full-time, started dating someone else, moved in with him, had to support him, took a third job as an admin assistant 

2010: continued college full-time, still had 3 jobs; my dad’s cancer became terminal

2011: my dad passed away; i graduated college with a 3.9 and $31k of debt; quit 2 of 3 jobs; got promoted at the bank; my bf cheated on me and we broke up; moved back in with my mom

2012: a very dark time; also, bought a house (because where i’m from, it’s cheaper to buy than rent)

2013: discovered fandom

2014, age 24

this is the year i started writing and posting fanfic. prior to that i was a compulsive journaler but had no drive or desire to become a writer, despite how much i had written when i was a teenager. it seemed like a very childish dream. at this point i assumed writing was just a phase like all my other hobbies i’d picked up and set down. 

but fandom proved to be really healthy for me, and i made some good friends who encouraged my writing and made me want to be better at it. i was really not very good at writing. i don’t think i had any natural creative talent whatsoever, or even a particularly vivid imagination. the only thing i had going for me was the ability to put thoughts into words after a decade of obsessive journaling.

i started writing in spring, and by the end of the year my total word count was 311k. i was making a decent income at the bank, insofar as my bills were covered and i had health insurance. i still had a significant amount of credit card debt from college that i was trying to pay down, and which was eating up all my extra income. 

2015, age 25

i continued writing through 2015 and went to visit @aeriallon, whom i’d met in fandom and who told me i should consider applying to MFAs. i was miserable at the bank and knew i wanted to go back to school, but i didn’t think there was a chance in hell a grad program would accept me, since my writing wasn’t very good and i hadn’t so much as taken a single english class in undergrad. she told me to just look around and do a few google searches to see what i found. 

when i started searching, i assumed i would probably be more compelled toward an MEd or MSW programs and go the therapy route, which is what the plan had been in undergrad before my dad died and my life got derailed. i never wanted to be a banker, but i’d got a promotion into commercial finance that paid decently, so i took it and told myself i’d work for a year before going back to school. but then i kept getting promoted and one year became many.

i ended up being more drawn to creative writing MFA programs because they seemed to want people with weird backgrounds like mine. also the classes sounded fun and the programs were funded. i didn’t know how i would be able to afford my mortgage payment or sell my house on a fraction of the income i was making at the bank, but i figured i’d apply and see what happened.

it took 6 months to get a writing sample ready to apply to MFAs. it was the only ofic story i’d written as an adult, and in retrospect i had no idea what i was doing because at that point i didn’t read literary short fiction. but i got the sample as good as i could get it and completed my applications. i applied to 6 schools and got accepted into 1. 

in 2015 i wrote 250k. i can’t find my application spreadsheet from that year, but i probably spent between $300 and $400 on application fees. early in the year, i had finally managed to pay off my credit card debt and save a little bit of money.

2016, age 26

the school i got into was within driving distance of my house, so i didn’t bother moving. i tried to quit the bank but my boss convinced me to stay on 2 days a week working from home. i agreed to it, because my grad stipend wasn’t enough to cover my bills, and i was counting on what little savings i had accrued to get me through the program. i still had no drive or interest to publish. i mostly just wanted to go back to school so i could learn how to be better at this thing i really enjoyed doing.

in the MFA, as you might imagine, i had to read a lot of stuff and write a lot of stuff, and was encouraged to begin submitting some of the short stories i wrote for workshop. i was not particularly into the idea, considering it seemed like a lot of work for little reward, and also i didn’t think my stories were very good.

i also started teaching english comp. i hated it and decided that after the MFA, i never wanted to do it again. haha. hahahahahaha

in 2016 i wrote 343k. i didn’t apply/submit in 2016 so i didn’t pay any fees, but my grad stipend was $14k for the academic year, plus the income i was making at the bank.

2017, age 27

i did a complete 180 and decided i loved teaching more than anything else in the entire world, and i was willing to do whatever it took to become a teacher. i realized that to become a teacher, i needed to publish. begrudgingly i started submitting to literary journals. i also applied to summer workshops and got into tin house, which i highly recommend if that’s something you’re interested in. at tin house i met my dream agent, who seemed really interested in my work and encouraged me to query her as soon as i had a book done. 

a lot of personal drama happened that year. i was still working at the bank in addition to teaching a 2/2 and taking a full course load. in summer i had a long overdue mental breakdown. 

2017 was a rough year. i wrote 149k. this is the year i started keeping a dedicated expenses spreadsheet. i spent $174 in submission fees. tin house tuition with room and board was a little over $1500 + travel. i thought it was worth it because i met the agent i thought i would later sign, but that didn’t pan out. (i made some great friends though!!) tin house was definitely an unwise financial decision; i paid for it out of what little i managed to save in 2015.

2018, age 28

early in 2018, i went from teaching comp/rhet to creative writing, which only cemented my desire to teach writing as a career. i realized i was far better at teaching writing than writing, but i knew i had to keep writing to keep teaching (shocked pikachu.jpg), so i kept submitting to journals. i got my first story accepted. i didn’t receive any payment for that publication. i quit the bank early in the year (finally! after 10 years!) and was terrified about money, in part because my student loan payments were coming out of deferment and i was still paying off my hospital bills from my breakdown. 

in spring semester, i won a few departmental awards (totaling $500ish) and got a second story accepted (again, no payment). i also got accepted to another workshop which i will not name because i hated it. i graduated in may and defended my thesis in july. the thesis would later become my short story collection, zucchini.

in fall, i stayed on at my school as an adjunct, and started writing training wheels which would later become an original novel called baby. 

i wrote 450k in 2018. i paid $373 in submission fees. i was also nominated for an award for one of my publications but didn’t win. the workshop i went to was like $4000 with room and board (it was a month-long workshop). i got 75% of it covered with scholarships and i paid for the rest of it out of my savings, and even though i’d intended to drive there, my mom ended up buying me a plane ticket. again, i met a lot of big-wig writers i thought for sure would help me get an agent. i told myself i was networking, and that publication was all about Who You Knew. but that turned out not to be true for me.

as an adjunct i made $3200 per course, and i taught 3 classes in fall. in winter, i got my shit together and started applying for creative writing PhDs, mostly to convince my family i was doing something with my life, with no expectation that i would get in. in winter i applied to 2 schools. with application fees and the GRE, i ended up paying well over $500.

2019, age 29

in spring semester, i taught 2 classes while i revised training wheels into baby. when i had a completed manuscript, i finally pulled the plug and used all my networking contacts to get my dream agent i’d met at tin house. i queried her, and a very popular and well-regarded author i’d met at the other workshop emailed her on my behalf to tell her good things about me. i thought for sure i had it in the bag. this author also touched base with a few other agents whom he thought would like my work.

i didn’t hear back from any of them. not even a “no thanks.” i set down querying for a while. 

i got a third story picked up and published around this time, and i was paid $25 for it. they also nominated me for an award, and i don’t think i won? but i can’t find out who did win so idk.

my grandpa passed away and i decided to sell my house and move in with my grandma so she wouldn’t be alone. i got rejected from both PhD programs i applied to and decided to get a “real job” instead, and began applying for random positions that offered health insurance, because i knew i was drastically undermedicated and it was becoming a Problem.

near the end of spring semester, i moved out of my house, put it on the market, and was interviewing for a community development manager position for a nonprofit. at the same time, i found out about another university that was taking late-season applications, and i applied. five days later, i got accepted. one day after that, i got a job offer for the nonprofit. since i had no idea how long it would take for my house to sell, and being unable to afford both rent in a new city and my mortgage payment, i deferred my PhD acceptance for a year and decided to work at the nonprofit for a while. the risk was that i could only defer my admission, not my funding, so there was a chance that the following year i wouldn’t get the same funding package.

i lasted one month at the “real job” before i had another breakdown and ended up quitting. 

my house sold for well under the asking price and i received only $4000 in equity once it was all said and done. that’s a lot of money to me, but considering that i’d been paying on the house for 7 years, i was expecting a lot more.

i had a year to kill until the PhD so i decided to take a break from teaching and apply to artist residencies instead. i applied to 8 residencies and got accepted into 4, but only ended up attending 3, because the 4th was outrageously priced and there was no indication of the cost when i had applied.

in winter i picked up querying agents again. i queried 10 agents every other week. i also got a ghostwriting gig writing children’s books that paid $800 a month.

in 2019 i wrote 417k. i spent $441 in submission fees (to residencies and contests, not agent queries. never pay money to query an agent!!). i ended up teaching 3 classes fall semester.

2020, age 30

i started out the year driving across the country going to residencies. the first cost $100 (no food), the second cost $250 (A LOT OF VERY GOOD FOOD), and the third paid me $500. i was at the third when the pandemic hit.

the query rejections started rolling in. i gave up in february after 60 queries. of those 60, i received 7 manuscript requests for baby, but the consensus was that it was too long and plotless (you got me there.jpg). at the second residency completed and revised zucchini and decided to begin querying with that instead. i could only find a few agents who accepted collections so i only queried 16. i got one request for the manuscript but then didn’t hear back. i gave up in april shortly after the pandemic hit. 

when i figured the collection, like the novel, just wasn’t publishable, i started submitting to contests which is the more standard route for the genre. i submitted to 12 in total and was a finalist in 1. i was rejected or withdrew from the rest.

the PhD program reached out to ask if i was still interested in starting in fall, and i said i was, so they put me in the running for funding again and i was accepted. the stipend was $17k per academic year.

like most of us, i got totally derailed in spring and stopped doing basically everything. the ghostwriting gig started paying $1500 a month and i also started my creative coaching business, which slowly but surely began to supplement my income. i also received the $1200 stimulus. 

when school started, i quit the ghostwriting gig. i had no intention to continue querying either book, but i saw a twitter pitch event called DVpit (diverse voices) and decided to participate. for those who don’t know, a twitter pitch event is where you tweet the pitch for your book and use the hashtag, and agents scroll through the tag and like tweets. if an agent likes your tweet, you query them. 

i got one like, so i followed up with the query. the agent asked for the full MS and a couple weeks later followed up with the offer for representation. we talked on the phone, she sent me the contract, i asked for a couple changes, and then signed! 

so far this year i’ve written 375k and paid $518 in submission fees. i’ll give more details when i do my end of year roundup next month. oh, and i finally paid off my student loans.

totals

word count: 2.3 million

agent queries: 77

agent MS requests: 9

agent rejections: 28

agent no responses: 44

short story submissions: 86

short story acceptances: 3

short story income: $25

total submission/application fees: $1472

my (final) query letter

honestly this query letter probably isn’t very good which is why i got such a minimal response, but it got the job done eventually.

Thank you for expressing interest in ZUCCHINI through this year's DVpit event.

ZUCCHINI is a collection that views sex through an asexual lens. It poses inquiries into constructs like gender, sexuality, and love to dissect the patriarchal/puritanical foundations from which our social perspectives often derive. Being a collection about asexuality, each story portrays a relationship that develops from forms of attraction other than physical.

In one story, a grieving widow purchases her first sex toy; in another, a woman uses sex to cope with the death of her abusive father, and later in the collection faces the long road to recovery; an administrative assistant seeks out a codependent relationship with her boss; a masochist hires a professional sadist to lead him toward self-actualization; a woman begins to recover from her sexual assault by staging a reenactment on her own terms; and lastly, two lifelong friends in a queerplatonic relationship decide to get married. Asexuality is an under-acknowledged identity within the LGBTQIA community and is often misunderstood. In seven stories, ZUCCHINI dissects the notion of attraction, explores the intersections of sexual identity and trauma recovery, and conveys the experience of intimacy without physical desire.

Three stories in the collection have been published in literary magazines. “Lien” appeared in volume 24 of Quarter After Eight and was nominated for the PEN/Robert J. Dau Short Story Prize for Emerging Writers. “An Informed Purchase” appeared in the summer 2018 issue of Midwestern Gothic and won the Jordan-Goodman Prize in Fiction. “The Ashtray” appeared in issue 16 of Rivet Journal and has been nominated for a 2020 Pushcart Prize.

Complete at 53,000 words, ZUCCHINI is a collection in conversation with Carmen Maria Machado’s HER BODY AND OTHER PARTIES, Lauren Groff’s FLORIDA, and Samantha Hunt’s THE DARK DARK.

If ZUCCHINI is of interest to you, I would be happy to send you the manuscript. Per your guidelines, I've appended the first twenty pages below, which is the entirety of the first story.

what comes next

i’m going to spend january revising the collection per my agent’s feedback. when i send it back to her, she’ll shoot it out to the first round of publishers. my understanding is that the goal is to get multiple offers on it so that it has to go to auction. if there are no offers, she’ll do another round of submissions, and so on, until we’ve exhausted our options. if that happens, we’ll reassess, but by then hopefully i’ll have another novel finished.

meanwhile, i’ll be continuing the PhD which entails teaching a 2/2, workshop, and 2 lit seminars per semester. i’m also still doing my creative coaching, writing fanfic, and working on my original projects. in summer, i’ll finally be moving to hopefully start going to school in person next fall. 

the PhD is a 3 year program with an optional fourth year. i don’t see myself finishing in 3 years so i do plan to take the extra year unless something comes up. after the PhD, i’m not sure what i’ll do. a lot will probably change by then so i’m trying not to commit to one idea. i might apply to post-doc fellowships and tenure track positions, or i might leave the country and teach overseas, or i might move to LA and try to get in a writer’s room somewhere. i’ve got a lot of options.

overall thoughts/stuff i learned

first of all, you don’t have to go through all of this to publish a book. you could feasibly just write a book and query agents. the only reason it took me this long is because my PTSD brain was sabotaging me every step of the way and i didn’t start taking anything seriously until i found something i was willing to fight for (teaching). i went the MFA/literary route but other, faster routes are just as good. maybe better. probably better. actually if there’s any chance you can go a different route, you should take it.

reflecting on all of this, very little of it has anything to do with talent or being a good writer. nor does it have to do with being at the right place at the right time. i’ve only made it this far because i took very small steps over and over again, and during that walk met people who could help me -- the authors who have mentored me, the editors who accepted my stories, the agent who signed me. and as i got further along my path, i started being able to help other writers in the way i was helped. 

i don’t believe i’ll ever be a great writer. the best thing i can say about my writing is that it’s competent and accessible. everything i write sets out to do something and most of the time it gets the job done. i don’t imagine i’ll ever be able to financially support myself with publishing, and i’ll certainly never be famous or well-known, but i’m good enough to keep making progress. i’ll probably continue to find opportunities that are adjacent to writing and that will keep me afloat, pending my health and provided the country doesn’t devolve into civil war. 

probably the most important thing i learned in all this is that having a wide appeal isn’t the goal. you don’t write to be lauded or liked. you have to stay as true to yourself and your interests as you possibly can, so that the people who come across your path can see you and help you. you’ll need those people; no one gets anywhere alone. if you pander, if you’re too concerned with praise and success or being adored, you won’t make it very far. the rejection will eventually kill you. 

with all that said, my advice to you is this: never stop writing. the ability to share our stories is the single most precious thing we have. you can’t let anything stop you from telling your stories the way you need them to be told.

[knockknockchicagopd]

A SERIE WITH HANK VOIGHT. CHAPTER I.

❚❙ WORDS: about 1.1k

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that it makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted.

❚❙ GIF credits: to my amazing @sonsofeorl.

❚❙ Tag list: @melblacc @rebelwrites @skyofficialxx @sesamepancakes @scarletsoldierrr @mondefantastique @that-chick212 @enbyamaro @inlovewith3 @ocetevasgirl @sophie-writes @destynelseclipsa @jadakiss13. If you want to be added to my tag list, send me a message.

You hate paperwork, but being in your first year of residence that's your main task at the hospital. The real doctors always take advantage of your situation, alleging that you're too intelligent to lose your time taking some classes for medical examinations. So they let you complete their reports and medical records.

Will sticks his head out of the frame door, knocking it to earn your attention. With a heavy sight, you raise up your eyes from the screen of your laptop. The smile curving up his lips makes you now that he needs you. He is something like your sponsor and, sometimes, he gives you the opportunity to attend patients with superficial wounds. You don't ask getting up from your chair, infected by the grin on his face.

Following him quickly through the main hallways, he guides you to a treatment room in the Emergencies, wearing your white coat ready for whatever. Will opens you the door to find three men there. You don't know any of them.

“What 'we got?” You ask going straight to the sink to wash your hands, before wearing a pair of gloves.

“Something simple. Clean shot. Bullet stuck in the right shoulder. Two inches and a half deep”.

In silence, you grab a small glass bottle with lidocaine inside to place it over the removable tray and start to prepare everything you need to heal the man grunting on the stretcher.

“Wait, wait, wait”. The older man sits up with a sarcastic grimace. “Have you lost your damn mind, Halstead? A kid ain't gonna remove that bullet from me”.

Not even looking at the doctor, you frown pressing a hand on the older's bare chest to push him down.

“My hospital, my rules”.

Hearing some giggles behind you from his companions, you raise both eyebrows tilting your chin. When he understands there's no other option, he tries to relax with a hissed fine. Putting the motion lamp over the open wound, you don't lose time on disinfecting it, being thanked that he's suffering a brief hemorrhage. The hole is big enough to not need to open it with a scalpel, studying it while injecting the lidocaine and waiting some seconds till the med makes its effect.

Counting down from ten to zero, you grab the tweezers leaning closer to slide it carefully inside the wound. Two inches and a half. It's easy for you to find the bullet, catching it slowly and pulling your hand up until you have the piece of steel out of him. Inspecting it, you make sure that the shoot has been really clean and there's no shrapnel, before starting to stitch up.

It doesn't take you more than a minute, being an easy task for you, seeing sideways Will proudly crossing his arms on his chest. Covering your small piece of art with a couple of gauzes, you force a smile to the man with his brown eyes glued on yours.

“Come tomorrow morning to check how it's going. Doctor Halstead will prescribe you meds for pain, and it would be good if you use a sling for a week, sir”.

Turning off the motion lamp and taking off the gloves from your hands to throw them into the trash, your sponsor offers you a fist to crash it with yours.

“Good job, (Y/L/N). Take a break of fifteen minutes, I cover your back”.

“Thank you”. Showing him a satisfied smile, you lead your steps to the outside of the room, stopping on your tracks under the frame. Turning around and grabbing a shape-heart lollipop from your coat pocket, you leave it over the stretcher. “For being a good boy”.

You can't help but waver him, narrowing your eyes.

“I ain't exactly a good boy, sweetheart”.

“And I'm not exactly a sweetheart”.

He spits a chuckle, kissing his teeth not being able to put his eyes off from you and that aura of cockiness that follows you everywhere.

“Gentlemen, Doc'”. Your head bows down with a short nod, before continuing your steps to the cafeteria.

Being sure that your work for today is already done and you have all your medical records organized over your desk for Will, you say your goodbyes and leave the hospital. The cold breeze of Chicago oblige you to zip your jacket over your chest, keeping your hands inside the pockets, prior to starting walking your way back home. You have always loved November's weather in your hometown, but you're starting to hate it since your car is in the workshop because someone had the brilliant idea of ripping your tires.

Closing the door behind you and leaving your bag in the entrance, you take off your jacket to hang it in the coat rack next to Matt's.

“Hey!” You shout, not sure where your housemate is.

“Kitchen!”

Stretching your arms over your head, you continue to the mentioned place, sitting on the marble counter highing five with the fireman.

“How was your day?” He asks turning the meat in the pan to the other side and season it with salt and pepper.

“Hm… interesting”. You reply pressing your lips and tilting your head. “Yours?”

“Quiet, actually”.

“Yeah, it's surprising when we don't get any patients from fire accid— what's that?” Your words are interrupted by your curiosity, pointing at the bucket of red roses in a jar over the dinner table. “Another old lady who fell in love with you, casanova?”

“Actually, I'm not the one who stole a heart today”.

Raising an eyebrow greatly taken aback, you put down yourself from the counter to grab his open beer. Having a sip, you hold the small paper card handwritten.

“I lost the lollipop, sorry”. You can't help but laugh softly like an idiot, under Matt's attentive look. As soon as you turn at him, you clear your throat erasing the goofy gesture from your face. “Halstead let me take care of a bullet wound. The guy was an idiot, so I laughed on his face giving him a lollipop. I think he was a cop”.

“Look at you… hanging out with the elite of Chicago”. Teasing you with some tickles, he places an arm over your shoulders. “How is his name? I must know him”.

“Dunno, he didn't say it. Will either. But he has to come back tomorrow for a revision”.

“Yeah… for a revision”.

“Aw, you jealous, Casey? How sweet…” Palming his chest and joking on him, you try to feign feeling touched. “Don't worry, no man will take your best friend's position”.

“I feel much better now. Should we order a pizza to celebrate it?”

“Please. I'm starving”.

“Let me guess…” Placing himself in front of you, walking backwards to the living room, Matt points at you with a forefinger. “Cheetos and Arizona tea for lunch again?”

“Who told you? Gabi or Sylvie?”

“Severide went to the hospital, and he had a glimpse of you in the cafeteria”.

“I knew you couldn't be this smart”.

[redinkofshame]

Some late night ramblings Re: gender and toddlers bc I can't sleep.

I mentioned a while back that my kid's pediatrician asked if he could tell boys from girls and how much it upset me, like, can you?? (<-- I regret not saying it. I should have.) At the time I said no, he thinks everyone is a boy.

I soon realized I was wrong; he doesn't think everyone is a boy, he just only knows/uses he/him pronouns. Boys are he/him, girls are he/him, inanimate objects are he/him. I've been working on it with him every time he gets it wrong (but it's not working at all)

Ignoring for a minute that I don't particularly like that my 3yo can correctly (or as correctly as anyone else) say 'that boy won't play with me' or 'that girl took the ball'... (Like, how can he tell? They’re just kids...) Even though he can't grasp pronouns I'm glad that he's exposed to gender neutral on a regular basis thanks to the librarian that does toddler time at the library, Mx. Jude. I feel like it's scary to tell parents your proper pronouns because so many people are shitty but I'm glad they did. I guess I should write a comment card or something? Or is that patronizing?

I've been working on my own pronoun use, too. I try to remember not to assume and to use neutral terms unless I know otherwise. Kinda hard to unlearn a lifetime of cis stuff but I try. Sometimes I mess up in my head at work -- hard not to make assumptions when speaking with a nurse named Angela -- but I (think) I always remember when leaving a note saying who I spoke to be neuter about it. 

It’s already paid off. Kiddo is in swimming lessons and his teachers rotate all the time so I was introducing him to the week’s teacher. I don’t know if I would have caught myself if it wasn’t easy to see that the teacher was wearing clothes that came from a different department than their AGAB but it slowed me down enough that I remembered to use a they/them, despite my brain telling me I could just assume their gender and sexual preferences based on a glance. I’m really glad I did bc when I tell you their eyes just LIT UP and being called they/them by a new parent. 

So much so even my mom saw it, I think. Or maybe she picked up on me continuing to use those pronouns when talking about them later? I don’t think I ever mentioned them again though. I do know that I saw mom use the correct pronouns weeks later when we saw them again, in that way where she had to slow down before she said it to remind herself to use they/them. I know it’s a struggle for her. It’s hard to re-learn! She’s very good about Mx. Jude in front of kiddo but sometimes will slip when talking to be about them. 

I probably slow down the same way, though I try not to. It doesn’t come naturally yet. But I’m glad that I’m working on it. And I’m glad people from my mom’s generation are too. 

I grew up with Fox News playing like 24/7, except when we were in the car: then it was Rush Limbaugh. I believed all the rhetoric. But occasionally something someone said would seem Too Unfair to me, and if was coming from my mom I would say so. One time a butch woman (I think. Who knows.) was spending, like, a long time primping her hair in the Target bathroom. Mom muttered something like ‘she’s spending an awfully long time on how she looks for someone who doesn’t care how they look.’ and I was like ‘who says she doesn’t care?? Just because YOU don’t like women with short hair doesn’t mean SHE doesn’t like it. You don’t know she cut it just to say ‘fuck you’ society.’ (though, now that I’m older and wiser, more power to them if they did. I also like to imagine they were getting ready for a date or talking to a cute cashier.)

She used to say It’s okay to be gay but they shouldn’t be *married* they can just have ‘civil unions’. It took me YEARS to stop believing that, but when I did I found an excuse to bring it up again so I could say something about it. 

And folks? It worked?? Like I didn’t notice at the time. I don’t think she really responded either time and the subject moved on. But even she still remembers that time in the Target bathroom because it left such a ‘o shit the kid’s right’ imprint on her, and it’s made her think about some things more critically.

But now we’re at a point that my mom will text me about how my kiddo loved playing with Mx. Jude today, just casually in a text. I didn’t even know where she learned that Mx. was a thing. She didn’t learn it from me.  (I’ve since gathered she probably learned it from the teacher.) I’ve never really talked her much about gender outside explaining why some people go with bi and some pan and some other ones out there. 

Which! Side note. When her teenaged nephew came out as bi to her sister, and then the sister talked to mom about it, mom was able to explain ‘just because someone’s attracted to multiple genders doesn’t mean it’s always all genders equally; sometimes it is, or sometimes people will still have some preference to girls or boys but are still bi’ because apparently of all the things I said to her about it that one was like a lightbulb for her. I have no idea why it mattered in the conversation tbh, only that she later said she was happy that she understood that now, thanks to me. 

I hope this isn’t patronizing to mom, and I don’t want anyone to think ill of her bc she’s super amazing and caring and works so stupid hard for this family. But it’s just great to see that other former Fox-News watchers can just learn to teach themselves to be progressive. 

(Dad’s changed a lot too but not in an anecdote-able way, not as socially, so idk how to describe it. Definitely thinks more critically though.)

 One more before I resort to sleep meds I guess. My cishet BFF just informed me that her spouse is a transwoman. She’s wanted to tell me forever (like 6 month I think) but they weren’t out about it yet and it wasn’t her place to tell, all I knew was that her and spouse were in therapy about something she couldn’t talk to me about yet. 

I focused more on her reaction to it when I was talking to her, because I know how much she hates secrets and has wanted to talk to me about it and I wanted her to tell me all the things she’s been holding back. And also their family’s reactions because they suck. (The reaction is that everyone thinks her wife is going to hell, even the wife’s mother.) But the first thing I asked was how to spell her wife’s new name. 

When the conversation was over and I had her permission to tell others I informed my spouse and mom, because they also know my BFF and might talk about her spouse and I didn’t want them to accidentally misgender/deadname her. 

My mom’s first question was how to spell her wife’s new name 😂 (and then if she was using she/her pronouns or smth else).

Idk. It’s exciting. I’m happy for all you funky little queer folk. I’m sorry my ass is taking so long to catch up. I’ll make sure my kiddo is better than me. Forgive him for misgendering over half the population currently (and most inanimate objects).

[vintagedolan]

mixtape | track one

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist |

Six. There were six different lines, tiny plastic tubes that hung down from the side of the bed, making the shape of a U in the air. Too many, but still, one less than yesterday.

“Is it alive?”

“No.”

“Is it a vegetable?”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“But is it a vegetable though?”

“No.”

“Aw shit.”

Indiana looked up from her hands then, brows furrowing at the small figure who had huddled herself under the thin cotton covers. You’d think, with how expensive hospital bills were that they could at least afford a real fucking blanket for their patients. Especially the kids.  

“C’mon now, watch the language.” She said. It was a half-hearted reprimand at best.

“You told me I could curse!”

“I told you that you could curse about your meds, there’s a difference.”

“Bullshit. I should be able to curse about anything I want to.”

“Bekah.” It was her mom voice – an instinct.

“Indiana.” The younger girl mimicked the tone as best she could.

There was a beat of silence then – well, as silent as a hospital room ever could get, that is. The monotonous song of machinery beeps, the muffled car horns outside on the streets, and nurses footsteps outside never truly faded.

“If the nurses hear you cursing in here they’re gonna say I’m a bad influence.” It was almost time for rounds and meds, 7pm on the dot - they’d be there any minute.

“Speak of the devil,” Bekah grumbled, eyes flitting to the door that was swinging open, the nurse bumping against it, her cart hitting the walls right on schedule.

“Hi miss Bekah, how’re we feeling this evening?”

“Shi-“

Indiana threw her a look, the kind she imagined her mom would give if she were there. Bekah sunk back into the pillow, rolling her eyes.

“-very. Shivery. It’s cold in here.”

She earned a thumbs up for that one and a wink that made her smile.

The nurse – Jennifer, Indiana realized – was as sweet as ever. She was one of the nicer ones, always let things slide, always let her stay 30 minutes after visiting hours if she really wanted to.

“That’s probably just the meds from earlier darling, they always make you a bit chilly.”

“Can’t wait to take more.” Bekah sighed, wiggling up in the bed and moving her shirt down, her collarbone prominent under her dark skin. Next to it sat a small bulge, surrounded by medical tape, two small tubes peeking out from underneath. They’d done a good job at making it subtle, unnoticeable if you weren’t looking for it – Indiana’s mom’s port had never looked like that. She wondered if it was because the technology had improved in four years, or if they were just more careful about it when the patient was young.

Because it’s okay for an adult to have cancer, but a kid? That’s where we draw the fuckin’ line.

“Is it food?”

“What?” Jennifer asked, quirking an eyebrow as she continued to hang the bags on the IV pole.

“None of your business. Indiana, is it a food?”

“Now now,” Jennifer tutted.

“No, it’s not a food.” Indiana sighed, knowing better than to try and keep Bekah’s attitude in check. That was a battle she’d lose before it began. “Keep trying.”

She paused while the nurse took her time in getting her meds set and ready, attaching them to her port. She didn’t even flinch at the needle, the brown skin of her forehead as smooth and perfect as ever, not a worry line in sight. The game picked up as soon as Jennifer walked back out of the room.

“Is it something you- something you wear?” That was always the first sign that the meds entered her system – the ‘brain fog’ as she called it. Bekah sucked in a deep breath, her seemingly tiny chest rising up as she tried to settle herself. 

Indiana’s eyes flickered over to the IV bag – the clear liquid looked harmless enough as it dripped down. She knew it was anything but – just Bekah’s hair was enough to attest to that. She wore it in a wrap mostly these days, but she’d seen what was underneath. Her beautiful curls had started to fall out only a few weeks prior, and it was only a matter of time before they were gone completely. If she had to guess from what she’d seen when she fixed the knot of her wrap, the last of it would be gone after today.

“Yes, it’s something you wear.”

“So it’s clothes.”

“Not necessarily. You wear other things,” she explained, scooting her chair a bit closer to the bedside, reaching a hand out.

In the three years that Indiana had known Bekah, she was always amazed at how strong she was. It had impressed her from the first time she’d mustered up the courage to sign up for the volunteer program at the hospital two blocks away from her college apartment. Bekah was twelve then, a spunky young girl with big headphones over her ears and thick rubber bracelets on her thin wrists.

“Stop looking at me like that,” was what she’d chosen as an introduction. She’d looked up at Indiana with accusatory eyes, wide and dark and annoyed in the middle of the overly colorful pediatric wing hallway.

“Like what?”

“Like I have cancer. Don’t treat me like I’m sick and I won’t act like it. Capeesh?”

She’d only been able to swallow and nod, somewhat embarrassed but mostly just in awe.

So, when Indiana got matched with her as her ‘buddy’, she tried her hardest to do as she’d agreed to. Or at least, she did her best to be subtle about it. She could sneak in her moments of worry at times like this, when Bekah’s eyes were scrunched closed and she didn’t bat away the hand holding hers.

“Damn. The BBJ is not making me feel very BB esque today,” she grumbled, breathing deep in through her nose. Indiana’s other hand inched towards the bedpan resting on the table – the nausea usually kicked in right about now, and her deep breathing was always a tell that her stomach was churning. BBJ stood for ‘Bad Bitch Juice’ which was just the fun term for chemo that Bekah had come up with during one of her rotations a few years back. The nurses hated it, gave Indiana dirty looks when she let her say it around them.

“Bed pan at the ready,” Indiana reassured her, making sure it was in reach in case it got to be too much.

“Just keep playing the game, it’ll distract me. What do I know so far?”

“It’s not alive, it’s not a vegetable or a food, you can wear it but it’s not clothes.”

“Makeup?”

Indiana shook her head, doing everything to avoid reacting to the way Bekah was squeezing her hand. It was so tight that she felt her bones were probably touching each other in a way they weren’t meant to.

“Shoes?”

“No.”

“Do you wear it on your head?”

“I mean… technically?”

“That’s a cop out answer.”

“Don’t dwell on it, just keep going.”

She saw it coming before it happened – the turn of Bekah’s face, the way her body jolted just barely. It’s a good thing it wasn’t her first time, or she wouldn’t have gotten the bedpan under her fast enough to catch her vomit. She held her breath, tried not to listen to the sounds of retching so she didn’t get sick herself, holding steady until Bekah’s stomach was empty and she’s laid back against the pillows, exhausted. Indiana followed the motions, got up and walked to the bathroom, dumped the contents down the toilet and flushed it, left the plastic basin on the floor for the nurses to get later and washed her hands. By the time she made it back to the side of the bed, Bekah’s eyes were closed.

There were three marked stages of a chemo session with Bekah: the ‘this doesn’t affect me’ phase, the puke phase, and finally, the sleep phase, which seemed to be fast approaching. Even with her eyes closed she felt Indiana join her at her bedside, and she sighed in defeat.

“What was it? I don’t wanna ask more questions.”

“Earrings.”

“That’s two things, you cheated.”

She could have argued, but you just don’t argue with a kid with cancer if you don’t have to. It’s an unspoken rule.

“You’re right. You win.”

Bekah seemed content enough with that, but her eyebrows scrunched up again like they always did when she was focusing.

“Where do you get earrings in your teeth?”

“Huh?”

“Earrings in teeth… there was a guy… yesterday… earrings.”

Indiana just held her hand as she rambled, drifting off as she turned her head into her pillow. Not that she knew personally, but she’d never seen anyone be comfortable during a chemo treatment. But there was a peace that took over when their body decided that it was too much to handle in the realm of consciousness and they drifted off into their dreams.

So she was happy to look at the bed after she picked up her backpack and see that Bekah’s was asleep. She closed the door on her way out, moved to the nurse’s desk to sign out like she always did. The nurses always smiled at her, sitting back there in their colorful scrubs and big headbands. This time, it was Valentina who beamed up at her.

“Indiana, honey, how’s school going?”

“It’s going.” It’s killing me. “Just one semester left to go!”

“Don’t you overwork yourself now, we need you around here,” she threw a wink with her long lashes, opening her mouth to say something else before her phone rang. “You have a good one honey, we’ll see you next week.” Valentina picked it up, another call to another room for another sick kid.

 With as many times as Indiana had made the walk, she was pretty sure she could do it with her eyes closed. Straight, past the forest murals, press the button on the left to open the doors. Then it was the ocean hallway on the left- the blues were peaceful, little sea turtles and fish floating on the walls. At the end, by the jellyfish, was the last door of the pediatric wing. Somehow, it always felt colder past that point, inside the ‘real hospital’. The nurse’s scrubs were plain blue there, the walls taupe and bland with paintings of trees and lakes instead of Winnie the Pooh and Dory. Indiana’s shoes squeaked against the polished floor on her way to the elevator, picking up her pace. She didn’t like this part. It was too familiar, too many memories of walking down the same hallway for much different reasons. Past that it was down two floors, out and to the right to get to the front doors.

As soon as she walked out into the New York city street, it was a breath of fresh air; if you could ever consider city air fresh. Still, she always preferred the smell of exhaust and cigarettes over the bleach that stung her nose inside the hospital. And if she sniffed hard enough and the wind was right, she swore she could smell Jet’s Coffee all the way from the small store that resided three blocks down the road. 

Want anything from Jet’s? She texted Charlie, hoping for a quick response from her sister as she hurried down the sidewalk, pulling her shirt sleeves down over her hands in a bid to ward off the brisk late September air.

Nah, Devin’s making dinner. Should be done by the time you get here. 

Also, where tf is your strainer?

Bottom cabinet by the oven, she answered, shaking her head.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her sister. She did, with her whole heart. The same went for her sweet almost-brother-in-law Devin- they were both supportive pillars in her life, always there with a listening ear, a warm hug, or life advice.

But god damn did she miss having her apartment to herself sometimes. The peace that came over her when she walked into her cozy apartment, saw the rest of Chelsea through the high windows, her view over the river? Unmatched. It was still there - the fog over the river in the cool autumn mornings, the bustling streets of people wrapped up in their coats - but now, her sister was there too, catching her at the door with the latest story of the day before she could even let out a breath. Charlie could never understand how her younger sister wanted to live alone in college, wanted a place to herself ever since she even knew it was an option. Indiana was the opposite of her in a lot of ways- the older of the two was a social butterfly of sorts who always surrounded herself with people, with loud voices and louder personalities that could keep up with her. She was wild - dropped out of college after her first semester, spent her last dime on a camera so she could grow a photography business from the ground up.

Their mom always said that Indiana was the calm to Charlie’s storm, her little angel who hardly ever cried, who just fit into the family like a perfect final puzzle piece, completing the picture. The puzzle was long forgotten now, disassembled in a box in the attic somewhere collecting dust over the last five years. She didn’t have to wonder if it would make her mom sad - she knew that it would be devastating for her if she were still there to see what had become of the Cross clan.

“There she is, the myth, the legend, thee Indiana Jamie Cross!” 

Caught up in her mind, Indiana didn’t even realize that her autopilot route home had taken her all the way into the door of Jet’s, and she found herself in the familiar lobby when she came to. The walls were charcoal gray, with the delicate little single-line white flowers painted on them that she remembered them putting up a few years ago, back when she worked there. Her old manager, Patrick, beamed at her from behind the counter, wide smile framed out by his ever growing hair.

“What’s she gonna get today, wait don’t tell me, don’t tell me. Today is a… caramel macchiato with one less pump of vanilla? Hot?” He mused, raising his eyebrows in question.

“Oatmilk, then yes, you got it.”

“Of course I was gonna give you oatmilk, what do I look like, an amateur?” He scoffed, shaking his head as she went to reach for her wallet. “It’s on the house today.”

“You can’t give me my coffee on the house every time Patrick, it’s bad for business.” 

“It’s my business, so shush and go wait at the end of the bar like a good customer,” he rolled his eyes, sending the scribbled cup down the line. She rolled her eyes and dropped a few one’s in the tip jar before she went over to her favorite chair, the big blue one by the windows where she could people watch while she waited. She always wondered what people did in small towns while they waited for things, without the bustling streets outside full of people in their own little worlds. 

Her phone buzzed in her lap. Marty. 

Hey girlie, are you busy tomorrow? We’ve got a new orientee who needs the run down, and nobody does it better than you! 

Marty’s speciality was buttering people up. Which explained why Buddies had over 200 volunteers like Indiana - with Marty in charge, it was hard to say no, even if she had planned on spending a chilled out day tomorrow with her sister and Devin.

Fine by me, just let me know what time

Awesome. He didn’t give me a specific time so I’ll just give him your number if you’re good with that.

She sent back a thumbs up as her name was called at the counter, got her coffee and headed out the door.  It was another block to get to her apartment, and when she got there the elevator ride up to the 18th floor was almost as long as the walk. She didn’t mind though. It was her own little welcome home ritual that she’d grown fond of over the last few years of living there. 

As she predicted earlier, when she opened the door, her usually peaceful space was in a bit of chaos. There were four bowls out on the counter, measuring cups everywhere, two pans out in addition to whatever smelled so good in the oven.

“Don’t start Indy, I’m gonna clean it, I promise.” Charlie appeared around the corner, already on the defense of the look she knew she was going to get. It felt a lot like Indiana was the older sister despite the three years that Charlie had on her. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Indiana mumbled under her breath, clearing a small spot on the counter and hopping up.

“It’s all in your face,” Devin teased from in front of the oven. “Scootch, unless you want me to burn you with this casserole dish.” 

She grumbled and hopped down from her much too temporary spot so that he could open the oven, deciding it was probably best to leave the kitchen until everything was done. 

Her kitchen was the only ‘small’ part of her apartment. The rest was plenty big, and she was proud of all she had done over the years to make it her own. The living room was cozy, with a dark gray couch and a reasonable (Charlie would say excessive) amount of decorative pillows and blankets. The shelves on the wall had a few house plants - fake ones, of course, and picture frames that had moved with her each time she called a new place home. The white frame that contained an old picture of her and Charlie as babies, white-blonde hair wispy as they played on the swings in their backyard. The most recent addition was the rose gold frame, a picture of her, Devin and Charlie at their engagement last July in Zion National Park - she could practically feel the heat of the sun every time she looked at it. The last frame stood alone on the smaller shelf, a wooden frame with a small heart carved in the corner. Inside, a black and white picture of her and her mom. She was about one in it, in a little crewneck sweatshirt and tennis shoes, holding onto her mom’s hands as she walked, both of them beaming. She’d been told by so many people over the years that she had “Nicole’s smile”, and she tried her hardest to not cry nowadays if anyone ever mentioned it. 

“You know, our parents weren’t glassmakers, I can’t see through you,” Charlie grumbled from her spot on the couch, gesturing to the TV that her sister was blocking.

“You know, this is my house, you could just leave,” she countered, offering her fakest of smiles.

“You know, Dad pays the rent so it’s not technically yours.”

“Alright, dinner is ready, dinner is ready,” Devin called out, knowing that Charlie had already stepped one toe over the line, desperately trying to keep her from throwing herself fully over the edge.

Charlie popped up to her feet, unfazed by the glare that followed her all the way to the island as she went on to scoop out her pasta. 

Indiana didn’t have the energy to even think about her dad, much less talk about him. Kenneth Cross was a good father when she was little. He was attentive, taught her how to play basketball, how to ride her bike without training wheels. On a paper list, he checked off most of the dad boxes. And then his wife died, and he decided the time was nigh to abandon ship with very little regard for his 16 and 19 year old daughters. But if you asked him, he’d be sure to let you know that he took very good care of his kids, even put up his youngest in a nice New York apartment so she could go to school and not have to work a job. Taking care of things meant throwing money at them, whether it was at work or at home. His best, and only, sign of affection was the direct deposit that hit Indiana’s bank account on the 31st of every month. 

Needless to say, he was a sensitive subject.

She bit back the words she really wanted to spit out and made her way into the kitchen, grabbing her bowl a bit more aggressively than she needed to. As soon as she found her spot back on the counter she stabbed into the soft noodles and shoved them in her mouth, proceeding to burn the shit out of her tongue. 

Lovely.

Devin made small talk as best he could around the awkward tension - he was an only child, and anytime the two sisters fought he tried to fill in the void with anything he could. It always baffled him how the two of them could be pissed one moment, and then back to normal a few seconds later.

“Wanna go shopping tomorrow? And don’t say you have school shit, it’s a Sunday.” Charlie asked.

“A, I always have school shit, and B, I can’t anyways, I’ve got an orientation to do for Buddies.” 

“There’s no way you actually have that much school work to do, I think you’re just trying to avoid us,” she countered. 

“CJ she’s gonna be a doctor, that shit ain’t easy,” Devin piped up, eager to boost his almost sister-in-law up. Indy tried to ignore the little pang of jealousy she always felt when he called her sister that. Charlie Jo. CJ. She’d had her own fair share of nicknames over the years, shortened little versions of her name that everyone liked to use. But Devin was the only one who was allowed to call Charlie CJ, and there was something about the intimacy of it that had Indiana wishing someone was there to give her a cute nickname, just for them.

She held out until Charlie started in on the dishes that she promised to do and then she was headed to her room, social battery depleted. Despite her sister’s doubts, she did always have some form of school work that she could be working on, slowly chipping away at the constant stream of assignments and notes.  She liked to break it down into sections, tackling a certain class each night of the week. Saturdays were her ‘easy’ nights, reserved for reviewing her medical terminology notes and quizzing herself on new terms.

As nerdy as it seemed to anyone else, she actually found it fun. 10 year old her would have thought it was the coolest thing that she actually knew what choleodechojunostomy meant, though she was pretty sure she was never going to actually need to know. 

She was halfway through the abbreviations portion, stuck on the ‘G’ of esophagogastroduodenoscopy when her phone buzzed against her leg. She expected to see a text from Charlie asking her to join in on whatever movie they were watching in the living room, but instead she was met with a new number and an unfamiliar area code - 818. 

Probably spam. She left it alone, moving back to her cards, flipping between as she mumbled them quietly to herself.

“PRN. Pro re nata.”

Buzz

“EEG. Electroencephalography. TIA”

Buzz

“TIA. Transient-”

Buzz

“Jesus,” she huffed, grabbing her phone and swiping it open to her texts, all from that same 818 number.

Hey, Marty gave me your number, I’m your new orientee :)

My name is Grayson btw, probably should have started with that 

She told me to figure out a time with you but I’m p flexible so just let me know

And idk how to get to the pediatric part of the hosp so if you could meet me somewhere else and show me how to get there that would be awesome

Why he couldn’t have sent it all in one text she had no idea, but at least he was nice. She typed back quickly.

Hey! I’m Indiana. We can meet by the front doors if that’s easier, how about 9:30?

She didn’t even have time to pick up her next flashcard before the typing bubble popped back up.

Early riser, I like it. 9:30 is chill, I’ll see you then. Have a good night :)

You too :), she answered, quickly saving his contact as ‘Grayson’ before putting her phone back down on her comforter and diving back into her flashcards. She had 200 more to get through by the end of the night, and all she really wanted to do was get under her covers and go to sleep. By the time she reached the end of the stack, the definitions were just as hard to understand as their latin based counterparts. As soon as she flipped over arthralgia to reveal joint pain, she was moving the pile to her desk, pulling on a t-shirt and curling up in bed.

..............................................................................................................................

Indiana had never been a breakfast eater. She was always too eager to get to school, occasionally running out the door with a granola bar in hand at most at her mom’s request. The trend continued as she got older, though now she used her morning coffee as sustenance for the first few hours of the day. Which was why she found herself walking right back through the glass doors of Jet’s again, a mere 12 hours after her last visit. It smelled like fresh beans and vanilla soy as soon as she made in over the threshold - a comforting smell, familiar and warm. Patrick beamed at her from behind the espresso bar. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a day off.

“I’m paying today, no arguing,” she called out, giving him a serious look until he mouthed ‘fine’ at her over the bar. Satisfied, she pulled out her phone, surprised to see a text. Grayson.

I’m by the front doors on the left. I know im early so no rush :)

She checked the time at the top of her phone. 9:10.

I’m getting coffee and then I’ll be there

Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, contemplating. Was it weird to buy coffee for someone you’d never met? She sent another text anyway.

Want anything?

The bubbles popped back up as she stepped up in line.

Biggest cup of the strongest stuff they’ve got please. I’ll shoot you a Venmo for it

She liked his response and slid her phone back in her pocket before she stepped up to the counter. The barista was a new face, someone that had been hired after she had left.

“What can I get started for you?”

“Can I do a 16 ounce vanilla oat milk latte and a 20 ounce dark roast please?”

“Absolutely, that’ll be-”

“Give her the drip for free,” Patrick interjected. “We don’t charge past employees for drip coffee.”

The barista looked a bit flustered but took the dark roast off anyways, quickly spouting off the total and taking the cash that Indiana handed her. She turned around and poured the dark roast, passing it over with a smile. An older man was sitting in the blue chair when Indiana made her way to the other end of the store, so she settled by the bar instead, watching Patrick pump syrup and steam milk in a bit of a sequenced dance. She missed being behind the bar sometimes, but not enough to justify going back and getting talked down to by shitty customers. 

He finished her latte in record time, only having a spare moment to blow her a kiss before he was right back to the next drink. She didn’t mind - the thought of Grayson waiting on her made her nervous. She tried to remind herself that she wasn’t running late. It wasn’t her fault that he liked to show up twenty minutes early to things and she only liked to show up ten minutes early. Ten minutes was reasonable and showed dedication - twenty was a bit excessive. 

The cups kept her hands warm for the three blocks to the hospital, her pace a bit quicker than usual. She kept her eyes peeled for someone who looked like a Grayson once she made it. A tall, lanky man passed by her, headed towards the doors, but he didn’t seem like he was looking for anyone. She remembered the text. Front doors, to the left.

Sure enough, there was someone sitting alone.

He took up about half of the bench, his shoulders broad under a charcoal gray sweater that went well with the olive green of his pants. He looked well put together - a bit intimidating, but nice enough to send someone a have a good night text. He looked like he could be a Grayson. He must have felt her watching him, because he lifted his eyes from his phone and looked directly at her, taking in the two coffee cups in her hands with a smile.

“Indiana?”

His voice was deep, a bit commanding. It made her hesitate for some reason, panic just barely. “Uh yeah, that’s me.” Stupid.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Grayson.”

[hockeyboysiguess]

Put Me In, Coach

a/n: fluffy friday! more friends to something more stuff. some very mild swearing but nothing else!

“So let me get this straight.” Pierre-Luc drops the dish towel from his shoulder to the counter as he continues, “you spilled an entire beer on him, closed a car door on his hand, your ex showed up in the middle of dinner crying about wanting you back, and he broke his nose walking you home because you forgot to warn him about loose tile on the second step? That is literally the absolute worse date I’d ever heard.”

Luc’s hand rested on his stomach as he laughed, bending over in half as the image of the train wreck of a date you’d just had came into picture for him. You let your head fall to his counter as you let out a deep sigh. There was literally no way your dating life could get worse at this point though Luc laughing at you wasn’t exactly helping the situation.

“Look, here’s the good news.” He’s still laughing, but he is trying to be supportive more than anything, “I don’t think it can get worse for you.”

“You said that after the last one where my leftover container of pasta from the restaurant catapulted itself on the dashboard and windshield of that guy’s new car,” you whined as you picked your head up off the cool counter. “Face it, Luc, I’m supposed to be single right now. I need to just swear off guys until the luck from that mirror I broke in high school wears off.”

“I don’t think the mirror has anything to do with this,” he told you. “Maybe this is the universe telling you that you’re looking in the wrong direction.”

“I’ve looked on Tinder, Hinge, tried to get on Raya but don’t have the Instagram followers for that,and even let my roommate sign me up for JDate even though I’m very much not Jewish. I feel like I’ve looked in every direction,” you replied.

Luc practically snorted as he gathered the words to reply to you, “Yeah, let’s see you got left, right, and stooping very, very low covered there.”

You let your shoulders fall down as another deep sigh escaped your lips. You grabbed your wine glass that you were grateful PL has realized you were going to need before you came over so it was already poured and waiting for you when you arrived. Luc spun around to grab a spice off the counter behind him and you seized the opportunity to steal a bite of sautéed onions and peppers from the pan. Buying Luc his new favorite cookbook for his birthday has been sort of a gift for yourself, not that he’d realized that. That was your secret.

“Hey!” Luc shouted, giving your hand a smack as it travelled to your mouth, but not hard to prevent you from tasting his creation. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“Oh, so you think I’m pretty?” You raised an eyebrow at him in response to his words.

“I mean,” a faint blush rose in his cheeks and he cleared his throat as he searched for the right response, “I mean, you think I’m hot and I have proof of that so, yeah.”

“You cannot keep bring things that up, PL,” you groaned, making him laugh brightly. “I was drunk and it was for a drinking game at a party full of mediocrely attractive men, okay? God, give a guy one compliment one time and he never forgets it.” 

Luc laughed as he took a taste of the dish. He smiled to himself, clearly please with how it had turned out. He poured the pasta into the vegetable mixture and stirred it all together. He knew you well enough to know that you had to be served first, otherwise you became intolerable. 

“And there you go, you little food thief,” he said as he dropped the plate in front of you

He slid into the seat at the breakfast bar next to you just as you shoved an entirely too large bite into your mouth. Pasta portions had never been your specialty. Luc laughed at the image of your cheeks puffed out with pasta. 

“Is good,” you mumbled through your full mouth, trying to get the situation under control. “Real good, PL. Keep cooking for me and I’ll keep showing up.”

“That’s the goal,” he told you. “You’re the prettiest, best smelling company Columbus has to offer.”

You rolled your eyes at him as you reached for your wine again, knocking the last few sips left in your glass into your mouth as you looked at Luc. He knew you’d be wanted more, so he already had the bottle ready to pour more into your glass by the time you set it back on the counter. You smiled at him and he smiled back. His eyes met yours and that color that was in his cheeks earlier returned. You gave him a curious look and he just smiled shyly and dropped his head back toward his plate. 

“I nominate you to do dishes,” he declared once he’d finish his last bite. “You’re not the best cook in the room, but you are a champion dish washer.

“I know the rules around here,” you reminded him, waving him off with your free hand and you scooped up the last remaining onions off your plate. “You cook, guest cleans.” 

“Cook,” Luc faked horror, “I’m a chef, I’ll have you know. A proper chef. Calling me a lowly cook is an insult and I take it as such. You should kiss the chef to apologize. But anyway, chef gets to pick the movie.”

You rolled your eyes at him as you yanked the plate from the counter. You still smiled though. He was still trying to make you feel better about the disaster that was your love life and he’d keep trying with bad jokes and endless pasta dishes until you were unembarrassed enough to try and go on another date again.

“Do you think it’s me?” you asked him as you put the last dish on the drying rack. “Like, am I just a walking, unloveable disaster or what?’

“You can’t actually be serious right now. The only unloveable thing about you is that you eat all of my leftovers.” The joke didn’t land like he’d hoped, so he tried to be a little more serious. “Of course it’s not you. You’re just maybe a little accident-prone and definitely haven’t met a good guy yet, but you’re very lovable.”

“This dude was in medical school and volunteers at an animal shelter in his free time.” You sighed as you dried your hands. “He was a good guy, PL, and I broke his nose.”

“Technically, the stair broke his nose,” Luc said with a smile, trying in vain to cheer you up, which did not work. He came over to stand next to you on the opposite side of the counter. “Look, I know it’s not you. You’re funny and brilliant and hilarious and you’re an incredible person. Broken nose and all, med school, puppy-lover boy would be lucky to be your guy, okay?”

You nodded softly and Luc wrapped you up in his arms, pressing you into his chest. You wrapped your arms around his waist, letting him hold up your weight for a few moments. PL pressed a soft, unexpected kiss to the top of your head after smoothing out your hair. 

“Besides, I mean, a girl that doesn’t get your nose broken and ruin your suit jacket every now and again doesn’t sound like a lot of fun. Sign me up for fun.” 

You laughed into his chest and his laughed into your hair. He was warm and strong and you let yourself fall into him for a few moments, before unraveling from his arms to reach for your wine glass. 

“Sign you up, huh?” you joked, echoing his words in a playful tone as he grabbed his glass from next to yours

“Put me in, coach,” Luc retorted playfully, a soft smile playing at the edges of his lips

“Are you flirting with me, PL?”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you desperately wanted to grab them out of the air and shove them back in before they could reach his ears. Your mind was racing. You couldn’t figure out where those words had come from and why they’d come out sounding like you hated that idea. Did it sound like you hated if he was flirting with you? Did you want to hate the idea of him flirting with you? You didn’t hate it, the idea of him flirting with you. You definitely didn’t hate that idea, but did that mean you wanted him to actually be flirting with you right now? Was he even flirting with you at all or did you just make that up? Did you really have this much time to think right now, or was your mind really moving this quickly?

“You finally noticed, eh?” he laughed, but it was a hollow sound and the smile that came with it was false, falling from his face the second he stopped willing it to be there. You’d definitely said it with some level of disgust because you’d never seen him look so rejected before. “And you’re clearly not into that so I’m just gonna go ahead and cut that out before this gets any more embarrassing for-”

You, the forever clumsy, over thinker probably should’ve tried to speak. Instead, you just reached for him and crashed your lips into his. Crash being the defining word there as you hadn’t quite managed to get your wine glass all the way onto the counter apparently in your efforts and it hit the floor, shattering into hundreds of pieces. You yanked away from him in surprise at the sound, but his hands found your face, tilting you back to him. 

“I don’t give a shit about the glass,” he told you, a genuine PL smile forming on his face as he spoke. “Just let me kiss you and you can break as much of my shit as much as you want, whenever you want, okay?”

“Put me in, coach.”

[adiwriting]

Sunday Mornings 9/?

You can blame this one entirely on @cosmicclownboy​ and her obsession with Malex+Dog that has led to a lot of long conversations on the necessity to get Malex a dog. If anyone has any requests for this verse, let me know! I’m currently accepting prompts. 

Gif by the lovely @manesalex​

Week 9

Alex is in the bathroom shaving when Michael comes in, fully dressed and full of an excited energy not usually reserved for their lazy Sundays together. 

“What’s up?” Alex asks, looking at him through the reflection. 

“Hurry up, we’re going to the Mexican Market today,” Michael says with a huge smile on his face, which confuses Alex even more than the fact that his boyfriend is already dressed. Usually, Alex is the first one ready and Michael is the one to drag his feet. 

“I know,” he says, looking down at his phone to check the time. It’s barely nine. The market is open until two. “What’s the rush?” 

“I just want to get there before things start selling out,” Michael says, bouncing on his feet. 

“Like what?” 

They’ve already pre-ordered a tres leches cake and an order of pan de elote from their favorite booth that nearly always sells out immediately upon opening. And if they are planning on eating their body weight in tamales from Mr. Hernández today like they’d planned, he’s not sure why they need to get there well before lunch. 

 “Just… stuff,” he says vaguely before waving him along. “Let’s go.” 

Alex rolls his eyes and laughs. 

“Alright, fine. Can I at least finish my face first?” He’s only halfway done. He’ll look pretty ridiculous if he goes anywhere with the right side of his face completely shaved and two days worth of stubble on his left side. 

Michael reluctantly agrees before walking back out of the bathroom, explaining that he’s going to make Alex’s coffee so they can save time. Which is really a win in and of itself because Michael’s coffee is always better than when Alex makes it. 

Alex does his best to hurry through his morning routine, but there’s honestly only so much that he can do. Michael sits on the bed patiently watching him. Or, perhaps not patiently, but at least he doesn’t say anything to rush him along. Instead, he continually glances back at his phone as his leg bounces up and down anxiously. Alex works through his PT exercises as quickly as he can. He would skip the entire thing, but after missing it yesterday, he can’t afford to do so again. Michael wouldn’t ask him to, he’s the one always lecturing Alex about making sure he does them. 

Eventually, Alex is dressed and Michael is breathing a sigh or relief as they both climb into his truck together. Michael’s fingers tap at the steering wheel, and Alex would be worried about the anxiety radiating off of him if it weren’t for the smile on Michael’s face. He’s proud but trying to hide it. Whatever he’s got up his sleeve, Alex is going to enjoy it. 

Michael surprises him often. He’s always saying something romantic off the cuff or doing something so amazingly charming without realizing it. But rarely does Michael actually plan surprises for Alex. So, rather than ask the million questions he has running through his head or try and guess at what is going on, Alex decides to just go with it. 

They pull into the parking lot of the Pony, happy to see that it’s crowded. The market has been growing steadily each week and has been a much needed financial success for Maria and many of the local vendors who pay for a booth each week. They circle the lot a time or two before they find a spot all the way in the back. They get out of the car and Michael takes his hand happily as they walk towards the booths together. 

“We should stop by and say hello to Mrs. Delgado,” he says, gesturing over towards the row of artists. Their elderly neighbor has just recently started selling some of her pieces and Alex wants to ask how it’s going. Michael hums noncommittal though, and pulls Alex in the opposite direction. 

He trails after Michael, who is clearly on a mission. He waves sadly at several of their favorite booths, promising to come back later, since Michael clearly isn’t stopping for anything. And then, just as he’s staring longingly at the esquites, Michael stops suddenly and Alex walks right into him. He follows Michael’s gaze to find he’s staring into a makeshift pen of puppies. Three to be exact. 

They are adorable and immediately pull at Alex’s heart. 

He kneels down to get a good look at the puppies, who all jump excitedly at the pen, trying to reach Alex. He glances around and notices that there are several pens set up, all with dogs in them. The booth is one from the local shelter. 

The man in charge of the booth encourages Alex to pick one of the puppies up. As if Alex is going to say no to that. He’s never met a dog he didn’t immediately want to keep. 

Alex picks up the smallest of the bunch. He’s black with the tiniest spot of white around his nose and forehead. He’s just so inexplicably soft. The puppy licks at his jaw as Alex laughs, pulling the dog even closer to his chest. He’s in love. It’s been less than a minute, and Alex is head over heels in love. 

“What are we doing here?” he asks, turning to look at Michael, who’s smiling at him fondly. 

“That,” Michael says, pointing at him. “That look you have right now is what we are doing here.” 

The puppy begins to squirm in his arms, trying to get him to play, so Alex brings his attention back to the dog. “What do you mean?” he asks. 

“You’ve been down for the last few weeks,” Michael says, moving over to pet the dog as well. “And while we wait for your meds to even out, I figured dogs are supposed to be soothing or something, right?” 

Alex pauses, looking up at Michael confused, but trying not to get his hopes up. “I thought you didn’t want a dog.” 

“I don’t,” Michael says. “But that doesn’t mean we can hang out with them for a day, right?” 

It might. Because now that Alex has one in his arms, there’s no way in hell he isn’t taking it home with him. He’s utterly perfect. 

Michael comes over to kneel beside Alex and nervously pets the dog in his hands. Alex watches as Michael’s smile grows as his shoulders start to relax. He’s seeing the appeal. Alex helps Michael hold the dog himself, and while he’s distracted, Alex snaps a picture. He can use it later when they inevitably get into a debate over whether or not they should get a puppy. Michael clearly is, despite all of his protesting, a dog person. 

While Michael is bonding with the boy, Alex takes it upon himself to pull his sister out of the pen for some love. She’s another black one, but has more white to her face than her brother. 

“How old are they?” Alex asks. 

“Fifteen weeks,” the man says. “All of them have been cleared by the vet and are ready for adoption.” 

Alex’s eyes move to Michael who immediately shakes his head in a half hearted protest. 

“Puppies are so much work.” 

Alex holds his puppy up to his face, making sure that Michael can see the puppy’s dopey smile. “Look at her,” he says. 

Michael rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face tells Alex that he’s making headway. They are coming home with a dog today, the only question is, which one. 

Michael puts his dog back in the pen and picks up the last puppy. Another boy. This time tan with a much wider stripe of white up his nose and around til about his shoulders. 

“What kind of dogs are they?” Michael asks the man. 

“Pitbull.”

Michael freezes and Alex thinks for a moment he’s going to say something negative, but instead he turns to give Alex a really sad look. “So they’re not gonna find a home, right?” 

“Depends,” the man says. “We were able to adopt out five of their siblings earlier this month, but these three weren’t as healthy and took a bit longer to perk up. We haven’t had any takers yet. But you never know. Not everyone believes the rumors about pitbulls.” 

That seems to relax Michael momentarily. 

“What’s the deal with their mom?” Michael asks. 

“Ah, that’s the tragedy,” the man says. “She was brought in pregnant. Traumatized. We have no background on her. She doesn’t eat. Doesn’t socialize well. She was alright with the puppies, but not great with others.”

“So what happened to her?” Alex asks, putting his puppy back in the pen and watching her run around with her brother. Michael hasn’t let go of the boy in his hands. He’s holding it close to his chest as the puppy closes his eyes and relaxes completely into the touch. Alex sneaks yet another picture of what he’s sure is about to be their dog with the way Michael is holding it so protectively. 

“They’re putting her to sleep in a few days,” the man says. 

“Why?” Michael says, standing up so quickly that the puppy in his arms whines, and Michael naturally goes to calm it. Alex is surprised how much watching Michael play daddy to this puppy affects him. 

“She was clearly abused. The vets don’t think she’ll do well in a home.” 

The look Michael gives him is one of clear distress. 

“She’s violent?” Alex asks, standing up as well. 

“More antisocial than outright violent,” the man shrugs. “Incredibly undernourished. If she doesn’t start eating, she won’t last. She had a hard time nursing.” 

Alex’s heart breaks. 

“We’ll take her,” Michael says. 

“What?” Of all the things Alex expected Michael to say, that was the last. 

“You haven’t even met her,” the guy says, equally as shocked. “She might not even make it that long. Wouldn’t you rather have a puppy?” 

Alex isn’t going to lie, though it sounds crazy, it feels right. But still, they should probably talk about this. 

“Can we have a moment?” Alex asks. 

“Sure.” The guy walks away to go talk to a kid who’s eyeing one of the other pens. 

“So they just separated the puppies from her mom and left her to die?” Michael says. He’s clearly agitated. Alex grabs the puppy out of his hands and drops him back into the pen with his siblings, just in case Michael’s powers get away from him. 

“I mean, it’s sad that she’s dying, I agree she needs a home,” Alex says, reaching out to put his hands on Michael’s hips. The touch seems to ground him. “But you knew these guys were eligible for adoption. Where did you think their mom was?”

“I don’t know,” Michael shrugs, defensively. “I didn’t really think about it. So they’re just gonna kill their mom?” 

Alex doesn’t like it either, but this is more than that. The look in his eyes is more distressed than some animal rights issue he’s only just learned about merits. The hurt in his eyes is personal. 

Alex gets it. He knows where Michael’s head is at and Alex empathizes with him. Of course he’s identifying hard with the situation. 

“Alex, we can’t let them do this,” he says, the question clear in his eyes. And Alex agrees. They’ll take the mom in. It’s the right thing to do. He nods his agreement. 

Michael steps out of Alex’s reach and waves the man back over. 

“We’ll take them all,” Michael says, causing Alex to do a double take. 

“What?” he asks. Clearly they are not on the same page here. That’s not what Alex was agreeing to. 

“I mean, we can’t just let them be orphans,” Michael says, waving at the pen with the three puppies. Their three puppies, apparently. 

Alex looks down at each of them, they are all jumping at the pen trying to get out. Each one of them perfect in their own way. Alex looks back at Michael looking for any sign of doubt on his face, there’s none. 

This is the craziest thing they’ve probably ever done, but also the best. 

“We’re taking them all,” Alex says. 

“I’ll make some calls,” the guy says with a laugh as he walks away. 

Several hours later, after a trip to the shelter followed by a chaotic trip to the pet store that Alex hopes to never repeat, they are home and debating names. Mom is in their bedroom, hidden under their bed and they’ve decided to leave her there for now as she adjusts to the new environment. Alex is laying on the couch with the boys curled up on his stomach. Their sister is curled up on Michael’s lap and sleeping. They’ve been debating names since they decided to take all of the dogs home. Alex is dead set on Luke, Leia, and Han for the puppies and Padme for mom, but Michael has problems with naming a pair of siblings after a pair of soulmates. As if it would be the first time Star Wars was incestious. 

Michael pulls out his phone and takes a picture of Alex with their puppies. It had taken less than a few hours for MIchael to go from ‘I don’t want a dog’ to ‘I’m a proud doggy dad and am going to post about them endlessly on Instagram.’ 

“They’re perfect,” Alex says, running his hands over both of his boys. In a single day, he’d become both a father and a grandfather and he’s surprisingly okay with this. He’s always wanted a dog, ever since he was a kid. Now he has four. 

“I don’t even care what we name them, so long as they never grow up,” Michael says.

And that’s how they end up settling on the names: Bell for mom, and Peter, John, and Wendy for the babies. It’s kind of perfect actually. Alex has always felt like Michael and he were the lost boys. Now they all have a home. 

Tagged: @callieramics​ @redstalkingdeath​

As always if anyone wants to be tagged, let me know!

As a special treat- meet the newest Manes-Guerins

^^ Special shout out to @cosmicclownboy​ for the last gif <3

[they-callme-ami]

Playing with Fire, Part 3 (Tobias x Fem!MC, SMUT)

If you couldn’t tell by the title, this is gonna be smutty and have smut. You have been warned.

Wordcount: 1973

@kingliamsbitch @theeccentricbibliophile @aylamwrites @matsuosdique @this-person-is-busy @jaxsmutsuo

The two of you were inside of Tobias’s townhouse...in his living room...you were on the couch, on top of him, kissing him deeply...he flipped you two over and grabbed your thighs, picking you up in his arms and heading towards another room...the bedroom.

“Hey...before this...continues...do you want to have sex with me Casey. We can just keep kissing--or stop immediately now.” He asks while caressing your cheek softly. Your heart swelled with joy...it was sweet, seeing him so vulnerable like this...so caring...focused on what makes you feel safe and comfortable.

“Yes, I do… do you? This is a 2 person job y’know..” you smile and he grins.

“I do….so...so bad.” he rasps against your throat. The two of you continue to kiss, your fingers running along his arms slowly as your legs stay around his waist, not wanting to let him go just yet….

“Move….move your arm...” you giggle. Tobias pulled away and licked his lips before biting his lower one, smirking.

“That’s not my arm.” He whispers, moving your hand to his….well, his not-arm. Fuck.

After that revelation and a quick pep talk to yourself, you managed to lay back on the bed.  Before you began to remove your outfit, Tobias stopped you.  He simply kissed you again, and peppers kisses down your shoulder while unzipping...unbuttoning...unlacing… stripping you down to your bare body...all on display for him. 

“It’s crazy...I’m a doctor...studied anatomy for years...but seeing you...laid out for me like this….no textbooks could have prepared me for such a woman.” He whispers and his hand slid between your legs and you gasped. His hand began to rub your entrance...he lifted his fingers up and smirks at you, licking your wetness off them. 

“It’s completely unfair I paid so much for dessert…especially since you’re much sweeter.” and with that, he pounced.

Tobias currently had your ankles against his pillow, legs spread wide as he was going to town on that pussy...he was definitely starving for you.  His tongue teased your sensitive nerve and ever so slowly dragged down your folds, and sunk in with a moan.  You squirm and try to move as he builds a rhythm: tease your clit with his tongue and make circles around it. Lick slowly down, and sink inside of you, while those hands kept you spread at the right angle to get all the way inside your pussy. Then, spelling his own name ever so expertly...T...O...B...I...A...S. Finally he’d start pulling out and repeating the process all over again...and again... It began to get too much as heat pooled in your lower regions, your hips bucking as you tried to push him away by his shoulders. 

“Don’t run away from me…” He growled and reached his hand up. “Suck” he commanded, holding his pointer and middle finger up before you complied, wrapping your plump lips around them and began to suck and lather them up.  His fiery hazel eyes were on you the whole time, watching you intently before you pulled them out.  Before he could protest, you held his hand and slid your tongue around his fingers while gazing down at him, running your tongue ever so slowly up his pointer...alluding to a certain action you’d perform soon enough. Big fucking mistake.

“Ah! No no--oh God Tobias I’m sorry---fuck--I--” you were now at his mercy, one hand holding both of yours while the other had a total of now 3 fingers inside of you--jackhammering and reaching all those spots while he made you keep eye contact with him.

“Wanna play like that, hm? You seemed real eager to tease me...what’s wrong, didn’t you want this Casey? “ He punctuates by fingering you faster, nearly reaching that spot and his thumb rubbing your clit.  “Don’t say sorry now, just take it...maybe if you’re nice and say sorry again, I’ll let you cum.” He says, giving you that shit-eating grin that made you want to hit him...but you were not gonna last unless you apologized.

“I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry--oh God please please please I wanna cum--!” You whimpered and blubbered out a desperate plea for your release. He kissed you to shut you up and fingers you deeper, hitting that spot inside you finally and well--you definitely got what you deserved.  Your hips rocked and bucked up against his fingers as you panted and whined, shakily coming down from your high.

Tobias pulled his fingers out and licked his pointer and middle clean, then held the ring out to you...and you cleaned it off.  Once you finished, he stood up and began to pull off his own clothing.  You gasped softly when he removed his top half, showing off his tone body, but when he removed those slacks and boxers….well, let’s just say Med school anatomy classes didn’t prepare you either.  But, you weren’t a quitter , Mrs. Top of the Class 2015.  You crawled forward and grasped his shaft in your hands.

“Well...you definitely have more than your career to be proud of.” You joked and even Tobias laughed a bit--breaking the tension.  “Real talk--if you try to thrust down my throat, I will cough and pull off. That isn’t a threat, I will legitimately choke...” You mumble but lean forward and slowly take the tip into your mouth.

“Shit….Casey…” Tobias moaned out your name, leaning against the wall while your hands were wrapped around the base, moving up and down, and your mouth moved in sync as well. Your tongue swirled around him as you moan, giving him exactly what he wanted and looking up at him while you did.  You gagged a bit at first--okay, a LOT at first--but had managed to take him in and out, and deepthroat him...he was definitely bigger than any you had previously...You took him all the way down with a soft gag and managed to slurp him up and move back to the tip, pan ting and jerking him off.

“I think...we both deserve a better dessert...~” You cooed and held your mouth open while your hands moved up and down, faster and faster, waiting--until you felt his release in your mouth, on your tongue...He panted and let out a raspy groan, fists balled up and eyes closed from the intense feeling.  Once it was over, you slowly drag your tongue up the shaft with a moan.  “You are definitely doing wonders for my ego y’know.” Tobias looked down at you and picked you up, pinning you back down to the bed...he had you on your hands and knees, and stood behind you.  Showtime.

You awaited for Tobias to put on protection, and he slowly rubbed his tip between your wet folds...when you gave him the okay, he began to thrust in--much to your satisfaction.  You let out a moan and grip the sheets, your eyes rolling back a bit.

“You okay?” He leaned down to ask and kissed your shoulder, and reached forward to gently squeeze and play with your breasts, his fingers circling your nipples and kissing you again.

“Yes...go deeper….I need you Tobias…” It was like a switch flipped on inside him, as his hands reached for yours and he pulled your arms back.  He began to thrust inside your pussy, his dick reaching deeper.  Oh yeah, he was definitely going to ruin you in all the right ways. Tobias tugged your arms back to pull you into every thrust, grunting as he slammed against you--his hips rocking and hitting against your ass with each thrust.  You moaned again, louder this time, and already felt yourself start to cream around him.  

“O-Oh---Tobias--h-harder! God--I---” He silenced you, going harder inside.  You fell forward a bit, your chest and face squished against the pillow while he kept ramming into you without remorse, the sound of your wet pussy and his hips clapping against your along with those desperate, needy moans.  It was unlike anything you’d felt before...it didn’t seem like Tobias would stop anytime soon.

“On your back….I want to look at you while I make you cum…” He pulled out, much to your disappointment.  You laid on your back, legs spread for him...strands of hair pressed against your sweating face...And Tobias back on top, wrapping your legs around you and sinking back in.  He fucked you slower this time, giving you deep thrusts as he hit your deepest parts with nearly every thrust...nothing could ruin this...and then….your phone rang.  You took a glance at the caller ID….Dr. Ramsey.  Before you could react, Tobias grabbed your phone and pressed Answer, holding it to your mouth while he fucked you.

“Casey? Are you busy, I wanted to know if you were available tomorrow. I know it’s your day off today and tomorrow after that double shift--but Baz and June are gonna drive me up a wall unless--”

“E-EtHAn--I-I’m a l-little b-bUsY r-right-now--”  you tried to hold back your moans, which was hard considering Tobias was making you lose control.  He only smirked and began to kiss and suck on your nipples, your hand rubbing his head as you attempt to refocus.  “C-Could you call me later E-Ethan? I-I just a-a-am t--tOo b-busy!  You cover your mouth to hide a whine while Tobias kept going. He then grabs your phone--

“Ethan, hey, it’s Tobias.  Casey is kinda drunk and all loopy.  She somehow managed to uber herself to Mass Kenmore when my shift was over, wanting to get Aurora to join in on the ‘fun’ but she called in sick. Since it’s kind of late...she’s crashing here. Too drunk to think.” He lied right through his teeth while your arms wrapped around him and held him tight, nails digging into his back.

“Oh….uh, that’s nice of you. Alright then. Just tell her to forget it, make sure she gets home safe tomorrow.”

“Will do...I’ve been taking care of her...for hours…” He smirked and winks at you before hanging up.

You whimper.  It was all crashing down at once while Tobias looked down at you. “Let go for me Casey.  I want you to--all around me...take it and cum for me…” he growls, nearing an orgasm himself.  Your legs tremble around him, but you hold on tighter and tighter.  You let out a loud, euphoric moan and felt your orgasm erupt as your body spazzed, tears roll down your cheek as you screamed out Tobias’s name...it felt like you nearly blacked out as he came after word, groaning loud and let out a moan in your ear--filling the condom and panting as it was over. The two of you, sweaty and shaky, held each other….you kissed him deeply, before giving into the exhaustion.

When you opened your eyes and woke up, you looked around...you saw Tobias asleep next to you, strong arms holding you close, the ceiling fan on.  You smile and hold his face, stroking his cheek and he slowly opens his eyes and grins.

“So….you’re still here...glad to know that it wasn’t a dream.”

“Tch--I could barely walk if I wanted to….” Your stomach growled a bit.  Tobias sat up and pulled on some boxers...he walked around to your side and picked you up, bridal style and you laugh, giggling.

“Tobias-- put me down!”

“Not till I make us breakfast. So you just shut up and let me be romantic and cute for once...dummy.” he teased and carried you to the kitchen….he sat you down and you looked at one another. Yup….you wouldn’t live without those fiery eyes in your life anymore.

[writingwithadinosaur]

“Under the Knife” - Part 3

“Under the Knife” - Part 3

My Masterlist - Here

Story Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Hannibal Lecter x Reader, Will Graham x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 1,700-ish

Key: Chunks of text in italics are (Y/N)’s thoughts. Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Talk of Murder, Talk of Crime Scenes, Talk of Murder Victims, Cursing

Summary: You are Will Graham’s sister who works with him at the FBI. When you get offered a job promotion, life starts to change. Some changes for the better; Some for the worst.

Tag List: @fruitloopzzz @theeactress @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @all-by-myself98 @sj-thefan​ @fuck-your-bad-vibes-dude​ @ntlmundy

Author’s Note: This is my first Hannibal piece and I am proud of it. There aren’t too many stories for Hannibal, so I figured I would add to the collection. This does take place in some happy medium where they are all alive and work together. Sort of a happier season 1 era.

This is beta-read by @theeactress​, but please let me know if there is something that we missed or that we should look at again! 

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

<3

- DreaSaurusREX

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

“As most of you know, this is (Y/N) Graham, she will be our profiler for this case.”

“Oh good. Another Graham.” Beverly commented over her clipboard, writing down something involving the case probably. Jack gave her a chastising glance and she held her hands up in defense.

“(Y/N) this is Beverly Katz, Brian Zeller, and Jimmy Price.” Jack introduced you very quickly to the science-ier part of the team very quickly before jumping right into work. “So, tell us what you got so far, (Y/N).”

You opened your small notebook and began summarizing your notes from last night’s reading.

“Alright. So far I’ve been able to see three patterns: the ways they were killed, the time frame, and the fact that all of the victims that were dismembered were doctors. The strongest thing I can think of is that this killer was wronged by doctors in some way. I’m not sure if it's a doctor in the general term or if there is some specific way that ties these three doctors, and our killer, together. That was something I was going to work on today. 

The way that the bodies are taken apart is very particular. From what I could tell from the photos in the files, all of the cuts seemed to be straight lines all the way through. Which means that this guy’s gotta have access not only to the tools that can do this sort of stuff, but also whatever drug he got in their system to make them lay still while he... worked. So I’m assuming the murder weapon is nothing with a jagged blade or saw-like teeth until we get to the bone. Do we have any reports on striation patterns or anything that could help us with what was used?”

“It’s like you said, the cuts were almost completely straight lines, even through to the bone. The only things we could think of were surgical tools.” Zeller spoke up. “The skin and muscles were cut similarly to how a surgeon would with a scalpel. But the bone is where it gets tricky. You can’t cut like this through bone with just a scalpel.”

“Unless you have plenty of time and you're very persistent.” Beverly joked; you were the only one that slightly exhaled a laugh through your nose at her quip.

“Alright, so the killer has a medical background.” Jack tossed into the air. You nodded.

“Possibly. But why would a doctor be going after other doctors?”

“Maybe they’re taking all his patients?” Beverly shot out. You just nodded and looked back at your notes to see where you left off.

“The uh.. The most concerning thing is the time frame. They were all killed two weeks part from each other. Dr. Everet was almost 6 weeks ago, Dr. Chaseten almost 4, and Dr. Loriet about 2.” 

“Which means we could have another dead doctor within the week.” Jack solemnly spoke as he realized the gravity of the situation. “Alright, you three keep looking over everything to see if we missed something. (Y/N), start working on possible correlations between the victims and the killer. Let’s get this son of a bitch.”

And that’s how the next two days went. Researching, thinking, and trying to get into a mindset that you weren’t totally sure of yet. 

You had checked in with Will like you promised and said that you were fine but you were going to be very busy for at least the next few days. Hannibal had called you after your first day and could hear the slight exhaustion in your voice. He asked you to have lunch with him tomorrow and you very quickly agreed.

But the next day, you spent more time than you thought flipping through the databases to try to find any correlation between Everet, Chasten, and Loriet. The three of them never worked in the same hospital, clinic, or even the same city. Their wives didn’t know each other. Their neighbors didn’t know each other. They didn’t have any sort of communication with each other. They were all different types of doctors. Everet and Loriet went to the same med school, but they graduated 3 years apart.

So what the fuck am I missing?

You kept looking back over the crime scene photos. You couldn’t understand why the doctors were mutilated and positioned so intricately, but the others were cast aside. The focus has to be on the doctors. They must have done something to ‘wrong’ the killer. So what the hell did all three of you do to make someone want to murder? 

Your train of thought was interrupted by a knock at your office door. You let out a slightly aggravated sigh.

“Jack, I told you I will let you know when I-- Oh! Hannibal! Hi!” You looked up from your computer screen to find Hannibal standing in the doorway with a bag in his hand. 

“Should I come back later?” 

“No! No. Come on in. I probably should take a break. I feel like I’m going in circles anyways.” You looked at your watch and saw it was almost 3:30 PM. The last time you looked at the clock, it was 10:30 AM. “And I missed our lunch meeting.” You put your head in your hands and groaned in annoyance with yourself. “I am so sorry, Hannibal. I--”

“No need for apologies, my dear. I figured Jack had put a lot on your plate, so I thought I would bring lunch to you.” Hannibal made his way into your office and shut the door behind him. 

“You really didn’t have to.”

“When was the last time you ate, (Y/N)?” Hannibal questioned you, looking you dead in the eye after he sat down in one of your office chairs. 

You weren’t entirely sure. You started to speak but then stopped yourself, really trying to remember when you ate last. I know I had ½ of my breakfast at 7:30 this morning. Did I have my granola bar? Does coffee count as a meal?

“The fact that you have to think about when your last meal was, is a bit concerning. But nonetheless, I am more than happy to remedy that. ” He smiled one of his rare but small smiles and began unpacking whatever culinary art he brought. You tried to condense some of your piles of papers and folders so you had enough room to put food down. 

Hannibal had brought a home-cooked meal for the two of you to enjoy. A ginger salad with fresh pan-seared scallops and even some infused water that he had marinating in his fridge overnight. This was so much better than the PB&J you had packed. 

As you began to dig in, Hannibal couldn’t help but look at some of the crime scene photos and your notes. 

“So what are we calling this killer?” 

“‘The Virginia Scalpel.’” You said with slight annoyance. “He has a medical background and is within a reasonable distance from all of the vics. Yet, we have no idea who he is.”

“Does the killer have to be a medical professional? Maybe they just have very steady hands.” 

“True. But there is almost no way that a regular guy could cut through muscle and bone that cleanly without surgical tools or the knowledge of how to use them. Not to mention the fact that he would have some serious explaining to do on how he got the succinylcholine or whatever paralyzer he plans to use next.” You rub your eyes gently, feeling the strain from the computer screen hitting you. Hannibal could feel the stress radiating off of you. 

“Do you want to talk about this case?”

“Not really. But I’m not sure what else to talk about. This has been my life for the last 3 days, the killer could strike again any day now, and I still don’t know why these three doctors were targeted or who will be next!” 

You started to fidget with your ring unconsciously and a bit aggressively, a sign to Hannibal that your anxiety was starting to catch up. Despite the physical signs that you needed a break, you continued to glance over an open file near you while you took another bite of food. He leaned forward in his seat a bit as he closed the file that you had been rereading for what he assumed to be at least the tenth time.  

“(Y/N), you need to breathe.” You just nodded and closed your eyes to try to help your deep breaths relax you faster. “How about we go for a walk? Get the blood flowing.”

“I would love to. But I feel like I can’t afford that break right now.” You shook your head slightly as you reached down for a stack of papers you had bundled and put on the floor earlier. You didn’t see him get up, but Hannibal was standing, adjusting his jacket before holding a hand out to you.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” You looked from his hand to his face before standing up, shrugging. A small walk around the building wouldn’t hurt, right?

Before your hand could land in his, your phone rang and you felt your heart sink, dreading what could be waiting for you on the other end of the line. Both you and Hannibal looked down at your phone and saw the caller ID: “Jack Crawford.” You took a deep inhale and hit the answer button.

“I really hope you’re calling just to bug me to work faster, Jack…” You tried your best to control your voice. You looked up and Hannibal was watching, trying to listen in and gauge how you were going to react.

“Afraid not. There’s another Scalpel vic. I’m texting you the address. Drop whatever you're doing and get down here.” Jack hung up before you could say anything, leaving you in a bit of shock. 

Dammit! What the hell am I missing?! Someone else is dead--Another doctor is dead because I don’t have any answers yet. How can--

“(Y/N)?” Hannibal’s hand on your arm broke your stream of internal chastising before it could get too bad, but you did unintentionally jump at the contact. He instantly raised his hands up and let you process for a moment. “There’s another one, isn’t there?”

You just nod. A second later, your phone flashed a message from Jack with an address. 

“Guess my ‘walk’ is going to be to a crime scene.” You try to joke despite feeling a tinge of guilt spreading through you. Hannibal tried to walk you to your car but you kindly denied him. You wanted to be alone as you prepared yourself for your first real crime scene. 

[faofinn]

Ok, Who Had Natural Disasters On Their 2020 Bingo Card? - Whumptober Day 27

@whumptober2020

Christmas was, unsurprisingly, one of Finn’s favourite times of year. Alongside the food and social side of it - Fao had often managed to get leave - there was also the childish excitement of presents. The fact it was his birthday only made things better.

They often stayed at Fao’s house, the brothers going down a few days before to get things set up before their parents joined. Finn loved it, time alone with his brother was a rarity (not that he resented Jess or Ely’s presence) and having the place to themselves was just an added bonus. Despite the whole place and multiple bedrooms, Finn still ended up in Fao’s bed, often dragging his duvet in before they’d even unpacked.

It had been a cold winter, the snow already lying a few inches on the ground. Sleet and hail had battered them as they’d driven down, ominous and foreboding. Inside though, they’d soon started a fire, getting it set up and roaring as they waited for the house to warm up.

They’d had an easy night, the pair only heading to bed in the early hours of the morning. As usual, they’d snuggled together, Finn’s curled into Fao’s side and watching the flurry of snow out of the window. The wind hadn’t let up, howling as it battered the house, almost rattling the windows.

Fao fell asleep first, exhausted and more than slightly tipsy. Finn stayed awake for a little longer, letting Fao’s heartbeat softly lull him to sleep, trying to focus on that instead of the storm outside. It took a while, but eventually followed, arm draped over Fao’s chest and tucked under Fao’s duvet.

When morning broke and Fao’s alarm rang out, neither brother moved. There was an uninviting chill to the air outside of their duvets and both snuggled closer.

“Mornin’.” Fao’s voice was still rough with sleep and he cleared his throat. “Sleep well?”

Morning.” Finn echoed. “‘s cold.”

“Yeah? You’ve got all the blankets.”

Finn grinned sleepily. “Yeah.”

“You’re always cold. Spare a thought for poor old me and my ancient bones.”

“Yeah.” Finn pulled the duvets closer. “At least you admit you’re ancient.”

“Am compared to you.”

He laughed. “Nah, just ancient.”

“Sure, sure.”

"True."

“Can we stay here all day? I don’t wanna move.”

“Neither do I. I just want to stay snugged.”

“Yeah. When’s Mum coming up?”

“We’ve got a few days.”

“Don’t have to move then.”

"We have to get the house sorted. And I want to make a snowman."

“You'll freeze your balls off.”

“I’m not going to be naked.”

“You're always cold.”

"Indoor snowman?" Finn joked, pushing his hair out of his face. "Are you gonna go make breakfast?"

Fao huffed. “Whilst you stay all warm in bed?”

"Yeah. Go on." He wriggled, pulling his knees up and pressing his feet to Fao's back.

Fao yelped, but dragged himself out of bed, throwing on a hoodie. It was absolutely freezing, which had been fine under the duvet and blankets but not now he was up. He slunk off to throw something together for breakfast, using the opportunity for a smoke. He didn't make it fully outside, but he at least had the back door somewhat open. Tomas and his dad had smoked in the house, so he wasn't exactly bothered by it, but he doubted Finn would appreciate it. He made tea and started on pancakes, and called up the stairs to his brother. 

“Finn! I've made tea and I'm about to cook pancakes. Get your fat arse down here!”

Oddly enough, there was no response. Usually Finn was all too eager for food, claiming he was still growing even in his early twenties. Everyone had doubted that, but when he'd suddenly shot up and grew several inches, he took them all by surprise. 

Even asleep, Fao's calls would usually rouse him, especially when it promised food.

The silence really did worry him, and Fao took the pan off of the heat before he headed upstairs, fearing the worst. He hoped Finn had just fallen asleep and hadn't heard him - the house was big, after all - but there was always the other possibility. 

Of course, things couldn't be simple. Finn was buried under the duvets and posturing. He wasn't breathing.

“Fuck.” Fao muttered, dragging the duvet back. “Finn?”

His younger brother groaned slightly, his muscles contracting and staying tense.

Fao rushed closer, kneeling on the bed beside him. He clearly wasn’t breathing, body tense and stuck. He swore under his breath, half English half Gaelic, and hurriedly looked for Finn’s meds. The blister pack in the bedside drawer was empty and he had no idea where Finn had put his supply. 

He tried to check his phone too, and of course there was no signal. Stupid fucking countryside. Weather didn’t help either. 

“Fuck’s sake Finn, you never bloody make things easy, do you?” He swore at his brother. Where were his bags? He’d probably buried his meds in there. But did he have time? It was that or nothing. He had barely any kit anyway, they were fucked without hospital. And especially fucked without midaz. 

He finally found Finn’s stuff, and his meds. Thankful the packet was full, he fumbled to get the dose out. It hurt him to see Finn like this, it wasn’t fair. Nothing had set him off, nothing had changed. 

His midaz didn't change anything, Finn continuing to seize despite them. Sweat collected on his brow and there was a blue tint to his lips as he forced his head back into the bed. He couldn't keep it up much longer.

Fao swore again. He'd not even shown a flicker of resolving, just as tense and slipping into cyanosis. He grabbed a second dose of midaz and gave it, though he knew he shouldn't. He had no other choice, Finn wasn't breathing anyway. What harm was it going to do? Couldn't exactly make things worse. He needed far more resources than he had. And he needed to not be in a freezing cold house in the middle of a snowstorm. 

The second dose finally did something, Finn's body finally relaxing and his chest able to rise and fall. It took a moment for him to breathe, exhausted and sore. He still wasn't with it, his body barely functioning anyway, but he continued to breathe heavily, trying to resolve his hypoxia. 

Finn wasn't the only one breathing heavily. Absolute relief washed over Fao as his brother took that first proper breath, and he sat there for a good few minutes with his hand on Finn's chest, feeling the rise and fall. 

It occurred to him then that Finn's phone might have service. He was reluctant to move, but he could see it on the other bedside table, and scrambled up to get it. One tiny bar. It was enough, it had to be. 

Hands shaking with adrenaline, he called for help. But the weather was getting worse, and he had no idea if they'd be able to get to them. 

"Emergency. Which service?"

“Ambulance.”

"Ambulance. Is the patient breathing?"

Fao was back with Finn on the bed, his free hand on his chest once again. “He is now.”

"Is the patient conscious?"

“No.” Fao took a slow, deep breath, trying to fight the rising fear. 

"Okay. What's your address?"

Fao gave it. “He’s had a bad seizure, wasn’t breathing for a decent amount of time. He’s had to have a double dose of midazolam just to stop it. I’m a doctor but he needs a hospital.”

“Okay, I’ve arranged an ambulance, help is on its way. He is breathing now, right? I need you to keep an eye on that and let me know if anything changes.”

“He’s breathing.”

“That’s good. Does he have seizures normally? Is he epileptic?”

“He is, but this was worse than his normal.”

“Alright, thank you. How long was this seizure?”

“I didn’t see it start. He looked like he’d been going for a while, so I gave the first midaz after a minute. It was a lot worse than normal, and the midaz didn’t make any difference at all, so I gave him another minute or so and gave the second dose.”

“So he’s had two doses of his midaz? And he would only normally have one?”

“Yeah. The two is his ‘worst-case scenario’ plan.”

"And the second dose has helped?"

“Yeah.”

“Good. Keep an eye on his breathing for me."

“I am doing.”

"That's good. You're doing really well. The ambulance is on its way, but the roads are very dangerous right now so they may take a little longer."

“Yeah, I guessed as much."

"Sorry, we are trying our best."

“No, it's okay. We're pretty rural, that weather’s shit.”

"Yeah, the service isn't too great either."

The line crackled and Fao gritted his teeth. “Yeah, I-” The phone cut out and he swore. Had the signal cut out? Pulling it back from his ear, he realised the phone had died. Fucking Finn and his inability to charge his phone. Fao nearly threw it across the room, frustrated. Now they were even more fucked. He moved to plug it in, and then the lights flickered and died. 

Fucking power was out. 

He went back to his brother, moved him into his lap and stroked through his hair. “I've got you, Finn. You're okay.”

Finn made a quiet noise, lip turning up in a slight smile. He liked the contact, registering somewhere deep down, and Fao was warm against his back.

“That's it, I've got you.”

He was already gone, breathing for himself but exhausted. His breathing had started to even out, though there was a tinge to his lips.

Fao let him rest. He wasn’t anywhere close to out of the woods, but he was breathing for himself and seemed to be relatively stable, despite the double dose of midaz. He leaned back against the headboard of the bed, his jaw tense. How the hell were they going to get out of this one?

Finn stretched out, screwing his face up. Everything hurt and he wasn't sure why. He fidgeted with his feet, rubbing his fluffy socks together.

There was a brief flash of panic in Fao as Finn stretched out, his back arching, before he realised it really was just a stretch. Sighing heavily, he rubbed his arm. “Hey, you’re alright.”

He fought against the heaviness, forcing his eyes open. Fao. A lazy smile graced his face as he let his eyes close again, relaxing against Fao.

“That’s it, get some rest. I’ve got you.”

 Content, Finn let himself sleep again (not that he had much choice). The bed was comfy enough despite his aches, and the drugs only helped lure him under. 

With the power out, the heating wasn’t working properly. The room began to chill off quickly, and Fao shivered. He knew he couldn’t leave Finn, just in case, and so had to make do with the heavy blankets on the bed. It wasn’t perfect, and in an ideal world he’d get the fire going again, but Finn was far too heavy and content in his lap. 

Finn protested at the weight, trying to wriggle out and crying out as he moved. It was cold, and the weight on him was only colder. He pressed closer to his brother, his pjs damp and sticking to him.

“Hey, it’s to keep you warm, you daft shite.” Fao said good naturedly. “Give it a minute, you'll warm up.”

He didn't want it. Why didn't Fao understand? He kicked out, twisting away from it.

“Alright, alright. No blankets? Fine. I'll keep them for me.” He grumbled, draping it over his shoulders instead. “You can freeze.”

Without the attention, he quickly lost his fight, mainly forgetting what he'd been fighting against. He shuffled about a little as he struggled to find a comfortable position. 

“Just try and sleep, you're okay.”

Finn slept until he woke himself shivering. His eyes flicked around the room, trying desperately to focus.

“It's okay, you're okay. Just cold, let's get you warm.” Fao murmured, draping the blanket from his shoulders over his brother. “That's better, hmm?”

He frowned, trying to push it away. He wanted Fao, not his blanket. 

“It's to keep you warm, Finn.”

"No."

“Yeah, just a blanket.”

He groaned, pushing it off. Nothing was focusing or falling into place and the panic only rose. 

"Off."

“You’re alright, it’s okay.” Fao reassured. 

How could it be alright? His face screwed up as tears fell, clumsily raising a hand to scrub at his eyes.

“Hey, hey. You’re okay Finn, I’ve got you.”

“Cold.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a blanket here for you?”

“No. You.” Finn finally looked at Fao, frowning. 

“I’m here, yeah.”

A small smile made its way to his lips. “Hug?”

“Hug and blanket, yeah?”

“You.” He murmured sleepily, trying to push himself up onto Fao.

Fao wrapped his arms around him, aware his brother was freezing cold. With no power and the weather getting worse, he had no idea how long they were going to be stuck. Finn needed a hospital, but now the phone had died who knew how long it would take for an ambulance. If they even got one at all. 

[jaehyun-eclipsed]

Before I Met You | Eleven

Updates: Sundays

Pairing: NCT (Jaehyun, Lucas, Mark, Jaemin, Johnny) X Reader/OC

Genre: Romance, Angst, Coming of Age

Summary: Four. There were four people before I fell in love with you… Here are their stories.

Author’s Note: I apologize that my updates have not been at the time I had originally designated. I’ll still be posting on Sundays (except this week since it’s after Sunday. I’m sorry!), but there will no longer be a specific time. Thank you! 

Before I Met You Masterlist

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Sunday evening, I open the door to my house and walk in to hear chatter and laughter amongst my housemates. My new home was previously a frat house, but had been renovated to serve as general student housing. There were fifteen separate rooms – one to three people in each room and shared common rooms and a kitchen downstairs. The color schemes of the dining room and living room were atrocious interesting – dark blue walls opposite tan and mustard yellow ones with a series of white trimmed windows. The dining room was paired with dark brown dining room tables, a pool table, and several granite-top bar tables. The living room was no better with oddly color-blocked couches and chairs and an ancient piano that desperately needed to be tuned. The dim yellow lighting throughout the house created a nice atmosphere for relaxing, but was absolutely horrendous for late-night studying. Perhaps the lighting was purposely horrible to make it so dark you couldn’t see how terrible the design choices were. Despite this strange mesh of interior designing, it still managed to create an all-around cozy environment.

The first week of classes had just ended and I was returning from a dinner outing with my former roommate.

As I head towards the spiral staircase, I briefly look to my left to see three boys playing pool and some others doing homework in the main dining room. I recognize one of the boys from our move-in meeting; he was quiet, but had a very soothing voice when he spoke. His name was Ren – Ren-something?

My room has a much simpler design compared to downstairs; grayish walls with the same white trimmed windows as downstairs, a mini-fridge, microwave, and simple wooden furniture staples for two people. Though boring, at least it didn’t give you eye strain.

The light in my room is on when I enter and my new roommate, Jia, is sitting at her desk watching a Chinese reality show and eating dinner.  

“Hey!” she greets. “Where did you go?”

“I went to dinner with my roommate from last year,” I say. “What are you eating?”

“I ordered some Chinese food.”

Jia is an international student from Beijing, double-majoring in statistics and business. She came to the U.S. when she was fourteen to attend high school on the east coast. As a result, she’s been quite sheltered, a lack of life experience and hints of naivety evident when you speak to her. Having been sent here for school, she was expected to work hard to get a good education and hopefully, a well-paying job. That’s what her focus has been all her life: jumping academic hoops.

As I place my purse and jacket on my desk, I grab my water bottle and head back downstairs to the kitchen to refill it.

As I step foot into the dining room to get to the kitchen, the three boys shooting pool immediately stop playing and look up at me. I pause upon making eye contact with the boy who caught my eye at our meeting and hesitate for a moment before offering a half smile. He stares at me, remaining expressionless. I quickly look away, regaining enough composure to continue walking towards the entrance to the kitchen. But as soon as I have my back to the three boys, a wave of discomfort pulses through my body. I can’t explain why, or how I even know considering I don’t have eyes on the back of my head, but I can feel that one of them is still watching me as I’m walking away – and it’s not the one from the meeting.      

When I reach the water dispenser, I shake my head in dismissal, attributing the sudden feeling of discomfort to a figment of my imagination. You couldn’t even see him. They just looked at you because you entered the room. That’s all.

When my water bottle is half full, I hear the three of them walk into the kitchen and begin pulling out several pans and other kitchenware out of the cabinets next to the stove. The water dispenser is on the other side of the kitchen, so I keep my back to the them, but am unable to shake the feeling of the one that was standing next to the shy boy with the nice voice. I quietly huff in frustration. Why do I keep feeling like he was looking at me? Does he… think I’m attractive? Hyojin did say I get looked at a lot when we hang out together. Maybe I’ll talk to him.

The three of them start cooking, walking back and forth between the stove and the sink that’s several feet away from me. While screwing the cap back onto my bottle, I turn around and immediately lock eyes with the boy in question as he walks towards me. He stares at me for several more moments before breaking eye contact and bringing his gaze back towards the ground.

My eyes narrow. Okay, that was kind of weird.

I walk over to the large refrigerator in the middle of the kitchen, reaching into my reusable grocery bag sitting on the second shelf to pull out an apple before heading over to the sink to wash it.

A moment later, the boy with the nice voice walks up next to me to wash a pot. I take a step to my right to give him more space, grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser and wrapping it around my apple. I continue to stand there awkwardly, over-drying the fruit while contemplating on whether or not I should introduce myself.

I decide to bite the bullet.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Renjun. What’s yours?”

“Y/N.”

There’s a momentary pause, the sound of running water filling what could have been a very awkward silence. Renjun keeps his focus on the pot.

“What’s your major?” he asks.

“Uh, biology. Yours?”

“CS and math.”

His responses are very quiet. Even in tone. Emotionless. I look at him as he rinses the soap off of the pot and his face remains expressionless. Do you ever smile?  

“Oh, nice,” I remark. God, even I’m boring.

“Where are you from?” he asks.

“Oregon,” I reply.  

“Portland?” asks another voice.

I flip around and see that the boy who had just stared at me is standing in the middle of the kitchen with a polite smile on his face.  

“Medford!” I say.

Huh! You were listening to our conversation…

I’m a bit dumbfounded when he nods and walks back over to the third boy standing at the stove, wondering why he didn’t continue to talk to me considering he was clearly interested enough to listen in on my conversation with Renjun.

My eyes flicker over to the wooden dining table near the window, a collection of bright colors having caught my eye. Coupon books. Maybe Suji will want one of these. She has a whole stash of them in her desk.

I take out my phone and look around briefly to make sure no one is watching particularly the weird staring boy while I snap a photo of the coupon book to text to Suji to see if she’s interested. While waiting for her response, I grab one of the coupon books and flip through it to see if there’s anything in particular she might want.

Pizza, ice cream, sandwiches, dentist…

I place the book back on the table and look up as the boy walks towards me; he’s staring at me again.

Opportunity has arrived.  

I look back at him, briefly narrowing my eyes in curiosity. “What’s your name?” I ask, completely skipping the formalities.

“Jaemin!” he says as his eyes shoot open in surprise. “And you?”

“Y/N.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says with a smile.

I smile back at him.

“Um –” he tilts his head and looks at me thoughtfully “– why were you taking pictures of the coupon book?”  

Shit. Someone was watching me. I specifically checked to make sure no one was, especially YOU.

I chuckle nervously. “Oh, uh, I didn’t think anyone was watching,” I murmur to myself. “I was sending a picture to see if my friend wanted one.”

“Oh!” he remarks. “I thought you were taking pictures to try and save paper or something. Like why not just take one?”

“Oh, no.” I bite the inside of my lip before smiling out of embarrassment. “Yeah, I was seeing if there was anything my friend might want.”

I guess I’m not imagining anything. You are, in fact, watching me.

“Ah.” He gives me an understanding nod, quickly choosing to move onto another subject. “So what’s your major?” he asks.

“Biology. How about you?”

“EECS.”

“Oh, nice.”

He looks at me quizzically, apparently surprised by my lack of being impressed. Most people were fascinated when they met an EECS (electrical engineering, computer science) major as that was the hardest major to be accepted into at the university. It was also one of the most rigorous majors, which led to an onslaught of jokes about EECS students only showering once a month and being too nerdy to get into a relationship.  

“Yeah, you always wonder what people’s responses will be, you know?”

“Yeah…” I say slowly, offering a courteous smile that doesn’t fully reach my eyes.  

I’m guessing he wasn’t satisfied that I don’t seem impressed.  

“Are you pre-med?” he asks.

My eyes widen in horror. “Oh dear, no.”

“So what do you plan on doing?”

“Research. I never wanted to go to medical school.”

“Huh, interesting. Why?”

“I don’t like blood.” I crinkle my nose. “I also don’t really feel like being in school forever. Granted, I have to go to grad school and will be in school forever anyway.”

“True.” He chuckles. “So what do you think of this place?” he asks, referring to the house.

“I actually really like it!” I grin at him. “Despite the questionable design choices, I like it. It’s quiet.”

“Yeah, it’s quiet, but I think it’s kinda… antisocial.”

“True.” I shrug. “I don’t know, it kinda works for me. If I want to talk to people, I can. If I don’t, I can do that too. I don’t talk to that many people… not the friendliest person,” I say with a small smile.

He looks at me skeptically. “You seem pretty friendly to me.”

“Depends on who I’m with,” I reply with a shrug.  

“Ah, yeah, oh –” He quickly turns his head towards Renjun, suddenly realizing that he hadn’t been helping out his roommates with their dinner preparations. “Hey, Renjun, do you need help?”

“No, it’s fine,” Renjun curtly responds.  

He nods once and turns back to me. “So what are your plans for the rest of the night?”

“Uh, probably just catch up on some work.���

“You’re so productive.”

“I’m trying to keep up with everything to do better this semester.” I frown. “But the problem is that I’m really bad at physics.”

“Oh, I’m taking physics too!”

“Are you in the one specifically for engineers?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, okay,” I reply. “I’m in the other one. I’m just frustrated because we’re doing kinematics and I used to be really good at it in high school and now it’s like I’ve completely forgotten how to do it.”

“That’s what happened to me with circuits. I did it in high school, but I can’t seem to do it anymore.”

I smile at him, unsure of what to say as he leans in towards me, putting his weight on the back of a kitchen chair.

“I could probably help you with physics sometime,” he offers.

Oh! Well that’s nice of him. I could use the help.

However, there’s an… unsettling feeling in my chest. Suspicion – that’s what it is. Suspicion that this isn’t just a friendly offer for help.

“That would be very helpful! Thank you!” I respond, trying to keep my tone even to avoid giving away my intuition.

“Do you just do work in your room?”

“Uh, sometimes. I hate the chairs we have in the room, so I normally just work on my bed or I go downstairs to the piano room.”

“Ah, yeah. I should probably go downstairs or something because I don’t get anything done in my room.”

I pause for a moment, contemplating on whether or not to say my next immediate thought. My goal for this year was to make new friends and I had begun to develop a habit of offering open invitations for people to spend time with me. In a split second decision, I reasoned that this was no different. It’s not like I was interested in the guy. It’s also somewhat of a personal experiment to see if my intuition is correct: that he actually is interested and would take up my offer.

“Well, if you want company, I’m almost always in the piano room! I usually go down there because if I work in my room, I just watch TV,” I say.

“Oh, what do movies do you watch?”

“I actually watch television shows, but I’ve been watching the Justice League until my shows come back.”

“And what shows are those?”

“Uh, NCIS, Castle, The Blacklist, and The Flash.”

“Oh. So superheroes, some mystery and action.” He nods in approval. “Those are shows I’d be into if I watched them.”  

“Oh nice! Yeah, it’s pretty easy to get distracted and just watch in my room. It’s very relaxing.”

“Well, it’s quiet.” A smirk forms on his face. “So it fits with your personality, right?”

The corner of my mouth raises in amusement. “Right.”  

I take a good look at him. Jaemin is tall, relatively slim, and fairly attractive. Though, it’s interesting. He looks young and innocent, but there’s something about his eyes. They’re playful, but there’s mischief behind that playfulness. He’s quite charming and that look in his eyes is enough to tell you that he knows it too.

“Which room are you in?” he asks.

“202.”

“Oh, I think that’s down the hall from me. I’m in 206. But yeah, whenever you need help, just –” he makes a weird gesture with his hands “– knock on the door.”

I nod, but a thought crosses my mind. “Actually –” I pull out my phone from my back pocket and hand it to him “– why don’t I just get your number? Then I can just text you and won’t have to worry about bothering your roommates.”

“Hey, Jaemin.” Renjun places a plate of food on the table. “This is yours.”

Jaemin gives me back my phone and smiles at me. “All right, well, I’m gonna go eat dinner. It was nice meeting you!”

“Yeah, you too!”

I take a bite into my apple and walk outside to sit on the porch, dialing my dad’s number for our nightly call.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” I sing. “So I met this guy. His name is Jaemin and he seems pretty friendly.” I click my tongue. “Though, I got this weird feeling that he thinks I’m cute or something because… he kept staring at me and then later he offered to help me with physics.”

“What’s his major?”

“EECS.”

“Are you interested in him?”

“No,” I say. “He’s cute, but he’s not really my type. It was really weird though because I walked into the dining room when he and his roommates were playing pool and they all stopped playing as soon as I walked in and watched me until I left.”

“Are you going to take him up on his offer to help you with physics?”

“Yeah, probably. I actually do need help.”

“It’s nice of him to offer, but he probably does have something for you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Guys don’t just offer to help you in physics if they’re not interested.”

I chortle at my dad’s response and with a slight hint of sarcasm, respond with, “Are you sure? You don’t think he’s just being nice?”

He scoffs. “Nice? Uh-uh, sorry, I don’t think so.”

I continue giggling when he asks if I’m going to work downstairs tonight.

“Yeah, later after I clean up a bit. I told him I’m usually downstairs so I guess we’ll see if he shows up.”

When I arrive downstairs, laptop and books in hand, both of the work tables have been claimed by other residents. I turn to my right, figuring I’ll work at the coffee table instead. To my surprise, Jaemin is sitting on the couch, hunching over his laptop and a notebook he placed on the coffee table. There’s a flash of amusement in my eyes, but I bite back a smirk when Jaemin looks up and waves.

Well, well, well, what do we have here? Looks like the personal experiment has given us some confirmation…

To say I didn’t feel a sense of satisfaction from Jaemin actually taking up my offer within a matter of a few hours would have been a lie. It’s flattering.

I walk over to where he is and set my things down before sitting on the floor across from him. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he greets. “Doing work?”

“Yeah, I’m going to the marina with my roommate tomorrow so I need to finish up some things before Tuesday.”

While waiting for my laptop to boot, I grab my phone to send a text.

Me to Dad [8:56 PM] Guess who came downstairs?

Dad [9:00 PM] Does that mean he’s interested? 😉

Me [9:01 PM] I guess so?

“I think you have the right idea,” a voice says.

“What?” I ask, looking up at Jaemin in curiosity.

“Sitting on the floor,” he replies as he starts moving from the couch to the floor.

I open an internet browser and habitually log into Facebook instead of my physics homework assignment. There’s a message notification from Hyojin regarding some video she saw.

“Hey, Jaemin!” Renjun’s voice calls from the doorway. “Want one?”

“Oh sure!” Jaemin stands up and begins walking over to Renjun. I hear a loud smack when Jaemin catches something with a plastic wrapper. “Thanks!”

As I type a response back to Hyojin, a teasing voice elicits an embarrassed smile from me for the second time that night.  

“That’s not studying.”

I look up at Jaemin as he glances down at me. A playful smirk has formed on his face, bringing back that mischief in his eyes.  

“Want some?” he asks, holding up a small bag of chips.

“No, thanks.”

There’s a comfortable silence between us as we complete our individual assignments. I seemed to be having an easier time making acquaintances this year. The first week of school, I had made a personal goal to talk to five new people every day and I am happy to say I achieved it. I was learning to take the initiative with introductions and with the couple people who introduced themselves to me first, I realized that everyone is just as afraid as I am to talk to someone. But really, it’s not a big deal. No one thinks you’re weird. Unless you start your interactions by shamelessly staring at them like Jaemin. Mark will definitely be interested in hearing about this.  

I huff in frustration as I fail to obtain the correct answer to my physics problem for the second time. I had three chances; so I needed to get it right this time.

“Hey, Jaemin?” I call.

When I look up, I meet Jaemin’s gaze. He’s staring at me with a blank expression, as if he’s in some kind of trance. It’s unsettling to a degree – the way he’s looking into my eyes, like he’s trying to read me with a precision equivalent to breaking down the walls of my mind and learning every secret that’s behind them without any difficulty.

Um… I tilt my head and narrow my eyes at him. “Jaemin?”

“Hmm?” His eyes widen and he shakes his head as if I’ve pulled him from some reverie. “Sorry, what’s up?”

“Is there –” I press my fingertips against my cheek “– is there something on my face?

“What?” His voice is a tad loud. “No, no! I – I just zoned out for a second.”

Right…

“Uh huh…” I remark skeptically. “Um, can you help me with this physics problem?”

“Yeah, of course!”

I flip my laptop around for him to read the question. A small smirk creeps up on my lips as I watch him scribble equations into his notebook. I feel so smug.

Oh, you definitely think I’m cute and you’re not even trying to hide it. Mark is definitely gonna want to hear all about this.    

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Before I Met You Masterlist Masterlist

[babygirlwolverine]

Positive 20 Questions Tag Game

1.) Name 4 fictional characters who showcase your personality the best, with explanations if you want.

- Tinkerbell (Peter Pan): I very much relate to her, because I also am possessive over the people I love and also need attention all the time or I die hahah. But also she’s sassy and spunky and goes after what she wants, and I love that. She’s persistent and determined and willing to take out anything in her path. And I think all of those things sum up me pretty damn well.

- Dean Winchester (Supernatural): not only have I seen the connection, but my sister and several friends have also told me how similar I am to Dean. The way I bottle things up and avoid dealing with my emotions. How I would die for the people I love because I care for them that strongly that I couldn’t bear to live in a world without them. I’m sarcastic and witty and sassy just like Dean is. Just like Dean, I put up a tough guy front and act like things don’t both me, but really I’m an emotional teddy bear who doesn’t know how to deal with all the things I feel. I also tell ridiculous and stupid jokes and puns and normal get eyerolls from my sister for it, but it’s totally worth it.

- Tony Stark (MCU): I could go on and on about how similar I am to Tony. From wearing my heart on my sleeve to trying to make the right decisions and screwing things up in the process. Just like Tony, I’m sarcastic and smart. But also like Tony, I have a ton of mental baggage. I struggle and suffer with anxiety and panic attacks, too. Just like Tony, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for the people I love. And I hope, like Tony, I learn from my mistakes and try every day to be better and work harder. A lot of my mannerism is just like Tony, the way he uses sarcasm and wit and banter as a front to cover how vulnerable he is. I do the exact same thing. I’m no where near as smart as Tony is, but I’d like to think in difficult situations I let my brain switch into puzzle solving mode just like he does.

- Riley Poole (National Treasure): Riley is my smol bean. I swear he is me in male movie persona. Nerdy and sometimes a little slow on the uptake, but wicked smart in areas most people aren’t. Dedicated and loyal to my friends/family no matter what else is going on. Not always the main hero, but the relatable one everyone loves. Able to do things people don’t expect of me, and to do the things people do expect of me on top of that. Always in the background, working my ass of, just like Riley is. And always seeking the approval of my loved ones, just like Riley. Brave and smart and full of quippy one liners and great comebacks.

2.) Aesthetic?

-  pastel colors, flowers, hippie vibes, glitter and sparkles, sunsets

3.) Favorite musical/play? (If you’ve never seen a musical or play, one you’d be interested in seeing?

- The only musical I’ve ever seen is The Very Potter Musical (oops). I’m not really a musical or play kind of person. I much prefer movies and TV shows. But hey, I can still sing a ton of the songs from AVPM and said references to it so many times even my parents know them.

4.) What is the best compliment you’ve ever received?

- either “for some reason you remind me of Marilyn Monroe highkey” or it was this client I was working with as a vet tech assistant and she said to me “you are the best technician I have ever had work with my dog. You are going to be a wonderful and compassionate doctor and I’d love to be your client in the future” and y’all like she literally complimented me so much she even told my boss how much she adored me and my work ethic and I literally went into the back of the clinic and cried after she left because I’ve never felt so strongly that I’m meant to be in the veterinary field.

5.) How many times have you been in love?

- twice. Once was with the girl I had my first kiss with (actually there was many many kisses with her). She was my first love. I mean I really fell for her. She was a lot of firsts for me. And my first boyfriend. He led me on though and played me even though I fell for him and he knew that. So that sucked. 

6.) Embarrassing story or fact about yourself that makes you laugh now?

- When I was 9, I was running in the playground at school and tripped over this tree stump that was like kept there by the school for some reason (I can’t remember). But I tripped ad badly tore up my left hip. I mean like blood everywhere, massively bandages, the whole 9 yards. It healed over and there’s no scar now, but it was super embarrassing to trip over it in front of my entire class and to really badly hurt myself, and this was all like a month after I had just moved to the town and just started school. Way to make a fool out of myself from the very beginning.

7.) Favorite Disney/Pixar movie?

- Peter Pan. See my above answer about why I love Tinkerbell. Peter Pan is also my favorite because I love the idea of being able to escape some place and be young forever and forever free and happy. The idea of being able to just enjoy the simple things in life without the weight of the world on your shoulders.

8.) Favorite flower or plant?

-  Plumerias. They are just absolutely beautiful and they smell amazing and their colors are vibrant and beautiful and I just love them.

9.) What’s your favorite holiday?

- Christmas, without a doubt. My mum adores Christmas and she instilled that same love in me. The music, the lights, the decorations, the cheer, the happiness, the gift giving. All of it. It’s just such a happy time in my household and it’s what I look forward to all year because it’s just warmth and happiness radiating in my family.

10.) Name three things that made you laugh or smile this past week.

- @deanscastiel79 sending me messages every day to check on me and to see if I’m okay. Nothing makes me happier than someone noticing if I’m being quiet or if I’m MIA and checking on me and sending me things to make me smile.

- Just seeing the amount of likes and reblogs my destiel fics are getting. And the amount of followers I’ve gained since I started posting destiel fics. I’ve literally gained more than 25 followers in a couple weeks. It blows my mind. And seeing like the notes continue to climb on my fics and then having someone reach out to comment and personally message me to tell me how much they liked one of the fics I wrote. It makes me smile so much my cheeks hurt.

- My puppy, Rocket. He’s the biggest goofball in the world. But he’s so damn affectionate it’s unreal. The amount of love and cuddles and kisses he gives me almost hourly every single day literally fills my heart to bursting. On my worst days, he’s the only thing that can make me smile. He makes me feel loved.

11.) What song would you play to introduce yourself to someone?

- Rare by Selena Gomez. Because you know what? I am rare. I’m special and unique and proud of who I am. And maybe not everyone can see that, but that’s fine, because I can and will find people who do see that and who cherish me and treat me right. “I don’t have it all, I’m not claiming to, but I know that I’m special.” My favorite lyrics of the song. Because I know I don’t have it all, but I do have so much to offer the world, and I’m ready to share that with the right people.

12.) Name something that truly makes you feel peaceful even at your most stressed moments.

- I’m a Maladaptive Daydreamer. When I’m most stressed, I’ll let myself go into one of those daydreams until I feel calm again. I let those characters ground me. Either that, or spending some time with Rocket (my puppy mentioned earlier). Because there’s nothing that makes me feel better than puppy cuddles.

13.) What do you, did you, or would you study at college?

- For my undergraduate, I studied and got degrees in Biology and English (Concentration in Creative Writing) with a minor in Chemistry. I’m currently in grad/med school studying Veterinary Medicine and earning my DVM (Doctor of Veterinary Medicine).

14.) This is kind of a weird one, but which outfit of yours makes you feel most like yourself?

- It would either be high waisted shorts and a crop top/tank top/hippie shirt or a summer dress.

15.) What is a quote you live by?

- “Grateful for where I’m at. Excited about where I’m going” and “It always seems impossible until it’s done.”

16.) Name the funniest playlist name you have.

- My playlists don’t have weird names. I just have playlists for different artists. I have a playlist called “Soft Songs” for when I’m stressed or need music to sleep to. I had started a playlist called “Down and Dirty” for when I was writing smut fics and needed some inspiration, but the app on my phone wiped it and I was too lazy to remake it again. Maybe I will when I have some more time on my hands so I can have some inspiration to write some destiel smut fics.

17.) Make a reference to an inside joke you have with someone you love with zero context.

- “Why are you looking at me like that?” “Because you’re Skipper Sophie.”

18.) What is a message you would give your younger self if given the chance?

- Don’t let anyone tell you who you can and can’t be. There is always light at the end of the tunnel, and there is always people who will love and support you. And if your gut tells you something isn’t right, trust it.

19.) Who is your favorite family member? (If you have no good blood family members, feel free to mention someone in your found family)

- My sister. She’s the one person I can go and talk to about anything and everything. We can talk for hours. She always has my back. She boosts me up when I need it. She’s my inspiration and my support system. I don’t think I could live without her by my side. She’s my rock and I love her with everything in my heart and more.

20.) What’s a secret dream of yours?

- To publish a book. I know I’ve gone down the medical path as a career, but someday I would love to write my own novel and have it published.  

tagging: @deanscastiel79 @singingninja4 @themarvelavenger @seekinsideanimus @fadinglight123 @nonthebinary @pizzamanhedelivers @proudace @beatmetothesnitch @s-l-u-m-p-i-e @vcastiel

[megalony]

Protect you- Part 3

Here is another part of my bodyguard! Ben Hardy series, I hope everyone is enjoying it so far and thank you all for the lovely feedback it is appreciated.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction

Series taglist: @onceuponadetectivedemigod @coldmuffinpartycloud

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Setting down the tea towel in his hand, Ben rested his hip against the cupboard beneath the counter in the kitchen as his arms folded over his chest. His stance didn't look relaxed, but then again Ben never looked nor felt relaxed. He looked like he was thinking or analysing, ready to strike if needed which was the way he liked to be.

He let his eyes lock on the girl sitting on the sofa who was capturing his attention but not fully, he always had to keep his mind working, keep the ball rolling just for precautionary reasons. But she did look like a beacon of light to Ben and he could do nothing but admire her.

The blond scanned his eyes over her as he watched her work. There was a rather large stack of papers sitting on her lap which were joined together by a hole punched into the corner with a treasury tag looped through them. This allowed (Y/n) to easily highlight words or sentences, add a hyphen, comma or full stop here and there. She used red ink for mistakes, green for added words or phrases and black for general notes in the margins. There were small rectangle sticky notes on some pages in the right-hand corner placed very carefully and neatly in all different colours to code what they were for.

(Y/n) had her highlighters and pens lined out on the coffee table in front of her laptop which was open on a thesaurus page for when she couldn't think of the right word. Ben found himself internally smiling when she would pull back, tip her head back and spin her finger or hand in a circle in the air when she tried to think. She would quietly mumble the sentence to herself to try and get her brain to find the word she was searching for before ultimately turning to the computer for help.

It seemed like a fulfilling job to have, being an editor because (Y/n) got the satisfaction of helping to write and perfect a novel without having to go through writer's block or creating the characters or the plot.

(Y/n) could make the phrases make sense or add punctuation to make them easier to read. She could highlight the good parts and highlight lines that just needed tweaking. She could feel happy that she was reading yet improving the story at the same time which readers never got to do. Plus she could work from home. She could get up whenever she wanted or sleep whenever she wanted as long as she got a substantial amount of work done so that she didn't go over the due date.

Ben also noticed another nervous habit that (Y/n) had.

She seemed to be under the impression that if she had both earphones in at the same time, she would be in danger. That maybe someone would come through the door and she wouldn't notice or that something would happen without her notice. So she wore one at a time, switching every now and then to stop her ears from feeling the fuzzy, uneven way they did when you listened to music through one ear for too long. She didn't seem to realise that Ben had ears to and that if something happened he would most likely be the first one to notice.

"Want something to eat?" Ben questioned when he moved to stand beside the sofa she was perched on, looking rather comfy.

Leaning forward, (Y/n) paused the music playing from the laptop before turning her attention to Ben. A small smile on her lips as she glanced to the time before thinking over his offer. He noticed that when she was engrossed in her work, she seemed to forget that she was meant to eat and drink.

"I guess I'd better since it's past lunchtime." (Y/n) spoke quietly as she put the lid back on her pen before setting the stack of papers into her satchel that was resting by her feet. Ben watched in amusement as she packed her pens and highlighters back into her case before pushing herself to her feet. Following him through into the kitchen as he went to the fridge, scanning through the food they had stocked up on a few days ago.

"Pasta?" Ben questioned when his eyes set on the sauce in the fridge, reminding him of the pasta in the cupboard. He grabbed the sauce when he heard (Y/n) already getting two pans out and the pack of pasta.

Both of them stood side by side so their arms were lightly brushing against one another as they started to make dinner. the atmosphere feeling calm, normal even when (Y/n) turned the radio on to play quietly in the background. When the sauce and pasta were cooking on the stove, (Y/n) grabbed some plates ready as Ben took out the cheese from the fridge for later.

Turning his head, Ben looked at (Y/n) when she perched herself on the counter, her hands resting on her lap as she started to twirl the ring around her finger like the first time they met. He studied her for a moment as he leaned back against the counter behind him next to the stove. Watching as she looked down at her hands but lifted her eyes to look over at him as if she was plucking up the courage to ask or tell him something. Ben knew this situation was different for her and maybe it was hard. He doubted she found it easy to trust or talk to people and yet here she was with a bodyguard. That can't be easy for her whereas for Ben this was normal this was business as usual for him.

"Everything okay?" Ben asked, his head tilting to the side as (Y/n) looked up from her hands.

"C-can you tell me about yourself?"

Ben brushed a curl away from his eye as his brows rose at the question he wasn't expecting. This wasn't the same as the other jobs Ben usually did. The people he normally looked after had more people around them meaning that Ben wasn't particularly close to them. He was always around them and he protected them from any threat but Ben didn't get personal. He knew who he was protecting them from, what their routines were and any meds of problems but he didn't know them and they had no reason to know him.

With (Y/n) it was different.

(Y/n) didn't hang around with many people or work with people, she didn't have a busy life going here, there and everywhere. Ben was the only person around her at the moment and he knew about her and her life which didn't normally happen with his clients- not that he minded at all. He just wasn’t used to talking about himself, he didn't normally get personal or friendly because it could take his mind from the job. But recently his life was spent with people for such a long time and he didn't get out with friends. Making a friend this way wasn't so bad or so different. It might do them good to get a little closer, there were no rules holding them back.

"If you shouldn't, I- I get it-" The longer it took for Ben's response the more (Y/n) thought he was trying to think of a kind way to tell her there were boundaries between them.

"No, no it's okay... I just don't usually find myself talking to the people I protect about personal stuff. It's nice. What do you want to know?" Ben rubbed his hand along his sharp jawline before he turned so his side was facing (Y/n). Allowing him to stir the sauce and pasta around so they didn't stick to the sides of the pan.

"Just... your life. What you studied, any places you've been to... why you chose this job. Maybe if I... I know I can..." (Y/n) knew what she was thinking but she couldn't find a way to say it.

Her life had been plain, then frightening and then back to worrisome plain again. She didn't travel, she didn't have friends apart from Joe and about two people she wasn't really in contact with anymore. She had this job all her life, only went to college and not university. (Y/n) was too afraid to have hobbies or go out very much but Ben was different. He had a different and intriguing job and life, he had done more than she had and she wanted to experience that through his memories.

"You think if I tell you, you won't have missed out." Ben spoke in a rather soothing tone that showed he understood. Watching as she bowed her head but nodded all the same. "Well... I took photography and drama at college, photography at uni which I really enjoyed, that's where I met Joe. I used to play rugby with a few mates at the weekend, that was when I used to work at a club as a bouncer. It was alright, but I wanted something different... protecting people seemed interesting to me. Just after uni me and three of my mates went on a sort of 'boys holiday'. We went to LA and then Vegas, I didn't like the heat but Vegas was really fun. You ever gone anywhere, love?"

Ben continued to stir the pasta and sauce for a moment longer before turning so he was fully facing (Y/n). Resting his hand beside her on the counter as he watched the unhappiness flood her eyes as she shook her head.

"Family holidays to Scotland or Dorset before... everything happened. I couldn't face university. Joe bumped into me at a coffee shop but I just stay home other than seeing him. How long have you been doing this?" (Y/n) didn't want the conversation to dwindle to nothing but it would if they continued to focus on her. She wanted to know Ben's life, she wanted to live it and see what he liked and what made him choose this life.

"Ooh... about four years now, since I was twenty-four. I like protecting people who need it. It's satisfying, empowering." For the first year or two, Ben had to build up his career. He went from stopping people from entering clubs or throwing them out to walking in front of beside someone who needed helping. But that meant he took any job he could get and some of those were people who really didn't need protecting they just didn't want to bother with the media. When people took him seriously and saw he was good at his job he took on people who were helpless, who were vulnerable and needed that extra help to get through the day or to get someone to leave them alone.

"What's the longest you've worked for someone?"

"Five months, when I was starting out. I don't have a time limit, if someone- you, for example, need me then I won't leave you. It's my job to protect people no matter how long for." If someone needed Ben to stay he could never just quit but if they wanted him to go then he would leave then and there because there was no point following them around and guiding them when they weren't in danger anymore.

"Doesn't that... screw up relationships and friendships?" (Y/n) knew what it was like to ruin a friendship but Ben was different. He was normal, he could have friends and he could go out without fear. Surely being someone's bodyguard for weeks or even months on end would ruin any relationship he tried to have or friendships.

"Relationships, yes. Friendships, not so much. Friends are different, they don't rely on you in the same way. My friends know my job and we still meet up or call. I've made it work once, it didn't end because of my job but others have. I don't really mind, this is what I want to do. What about you, love? I'm guessing staying in here doesn't always help you either?"

Ben couldn't always be there when a partner needed or wanted him to be. He protected people and a lot of the time that was twenty-four-hour protection, it was hard being in a relationship when he worked those kinds of hours and for long periods of time. But Ben loved his job and he didn't want to stop just yet, a relationship wasn't needed anyway, he was fine as he was. But he guessed with (Y/n), she stayed at home, she worked at home, she felt safe here. Going out into the world and being with someone would take her out of her comfort zone which Ben guessed she didn't leave very often.

"I... I've never..." (Y/n) pressed her lips into a thin line as Ben's eyes went wide but he didn't laugh or smile or taunt her like she was afraid of. He looked... sad.

"No one?"

"I didn't really leave home... people at school knew about the trial and at college I was that kid that went to the tutor's office or had a panic attack. I don't go out, kinda hard to meet people from in here."

Moving his hand, Ben rested his palm over the back of (Y/n)'s hand as a small but sad smile pulled at his lips for the first time since they had met. He couldn't help but feel it was a sad shame for her, she was beautiful, clearly intelligent and yet she felt the need to hide away for her safety. Those men were in prison and yet she still didn't have that safety or confidence to go out and meet people.

He wanted to help her change that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Glancing his eyes from the dimmed screen of the phone in his hands to the door, Ben narrowed his eyes as he saw (Y/n) standing in the doorway to his room- well, her spare room. Looking back to his phone Ben noticed it was half eleven at night. (Y/n) had gone to her room about an hour ago and Ben hadn't heard her moving around for about half an hour. It seemed to be normal that after two or three times of her moving around the room or looking out the curtains, Ben would head in and stay with her until she fell asleep. He would either sit in the old leather armchair by her bed or lean against the wall and look out the window to calm her down.

He thought she would have been asleep by now.

"You alright, love?" He questioned as he turned on the side lamp before locking his phone and setting it on the table. He pushed himself to sit up as his eyes analysed (Y/n).

She was gripping the door handle with her left hand as her right hand was pressed to her lips, showing she was biting down on her thumb out of old nervous habit. Ben could see there were fresh and old tears marking her features and her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. Either she was too afraid to sleep or she had tried and it hadn't worked very well.

(Y/n) felt stupid, she felt childish like a toddler who was going into their parent's room during the night because they were afraid of the dark. But she didn't know what to do. It got so hard when nightmares or flashbacks plagued her mind. Sometimes she would cry, sometimes she would sit and stare at the walls until she felt like she was going insane. Other times she could rock herself back and forth until her mind was so exhausted she had to lie down and everything slowly turned black. But tonight was different. Ben was in the next room and screaming or crying would alert him. Going insane always felt awful and she wanted help.

"I... I don't know w-what to do." (Y/n) pressed her lips together to stop her lower lip from wobbling but a shudder ran through her as tears soaked into her features. She didn't have to explain for Ben to know she was having a rough time sleeping and both of them were unsure what Ben could to do help but they both knew he would try.

Moving his hand, Ben waved her to come over to him rather than standing a few feet away hiding as if he was going to shout at her or tell her to go back to bed. (Y/n) chewed on what was left of her nail on her thumb, feeling like a child as she closed the door before slowly padding along the grey speckled carpet before sitting on the edge of Ben's bed with him. She didn't know what she was expecting Ben to do, wave a wand and make everything okay, hug her, talk to her and calm her down. Just to calm her down and make her feel safer than this.

"Nightmare or no sleep?" Ben questioned as he thought of the best way to go about this.

Slowly he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to see if the touch was alright before he tugged her so she was laying down. He moved the cover over them both before turning off the lamp which was beginning to hurt his eyes from being in the dark for a while. Ben knew this wasn't strictly professional, he was meant to protect her not cuddle her but at the same time, he could still protect her from her fears.

Keeping his arm around her waist, Ben lifted his head as he watched (Y/n) burrow her head into the pillow. Her hand moving to take his own, their fingers interlocking.

"Nightmare." (Y/n) whispered, feeling Ben's breath fanning against the back of her neck.

"I'm afraid I can't stop them from happening, love. But I can stay and try to chase them away with you." Ben couldn't lie, he couldn't tell her that no nightmares would plague her when she was with him here because that would be lying. But he could promise he wouldn't leave her and that if she tried to overcome this, he would try and help.

(Y/n) pulled Ben's arm that little tighter around her, feeling his chest pressing a little closer to her back as she felt her brain calming down significantly than to when she had been sat on her own in the dark.

"I'll protect you."

[elatedmarvel]

Exclusive: The Man Under the Mask

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: An special peak into the life of James Barnes now. 

Work Count: 1390

AN: Sorry I didn’t post this earlier this week, I’ve been trying to finish my med school apps and then I had two job interviews. This is sort of a companion piece to the Steve exclusive. This idea was already kinda of in the works when I posted that, and then @breatheeagainnn gave me the extra push to get this done. Hope you enjoy!  

Warnings: none, its a fluffy one ya’ll

It’s a cute and quiet coffee shop. Cozy enough to be quaint, but not too much to make it claustrophobic; easily missed in the hustle and bustle of New York City. When I enter, the barista is writing some homemade chai special on the board and guitar strums sound from the speakers. In the back corner booth, Sergeant James Barnes waits for me. 

As a reference, this journalist usually shows up 15 minutes early to any pre-agreed upon settings to scope out the place. Mr. Barnes already has coffee and pastries set up and ready for our interview. It turns out, it’s a habit he developed as a child and has been cemented. “My ma used to be early for everything too. We’d get a good lecture about the importance of punctuality if we were ever late. Guess it’s kinda stuck.”  

When first reaching out to Mr. Barnes, he graciously allowed me to interview him in person, contingent upon the fact that the meeting was not in his apartment. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but ya know, you can never be too careful” he teases. The real reason is more simple than that, the Barnes clan has recently moved to a roomier place and the home is a disaster zone. He chose the spot, and I showed up. If I had not been looking for him, it would be easy to miss him. Though the man is enormous, he blends in well. It would be hard to discern him for any other well built man. 

James Buchanan Barnes, more warmly referred to as Bucky, seems to be very acclimated to this century. On his left wrist lays a Stark watch, and an airpod case is set next to his Stark phone. He’s always been a bit of a technology nerd he reminisces. “I used to want to come home from the war and work at an auto shop until I could afford college. I always wanted to be an engineer or scientist. Obviously that didn’t pan out, but I’m taking classes at Columbia now.” Mr. Barnes was a straight A student in his grade school days, and once he was caught up in lingo and history, college has been a breeze for him. He says he owes all this to Tony Stark and Bruce Banner who had connections and allowed him to enroll in the prestigious school.

While James is working towards a degree, he’s still loyal to his job in the Avengers. He has taken up the position of coordinator for all east coast operations, and continues to fight alongside them. “But only in world-threatening situations” he adds, “I made a deal with my wife that if we had kids, I would take a step back.” Now his job includes recruiting and developing training programs, as well as mentoring the next wave of heros and heroines. “It’s the perfect job for me. I get to scope people out and see how they would be most useful to us, and get them ready for real combat. A lot of times, I’m giving people a second chance at life, and it’s exhilarating to be able to do for them what other people have done for me. Plus, I get to travel a lot.” 

Though he jets from country to country, his roots have remained in New York City. His new penthouse home overlooks central park. “I could never leave the city like Steve did, I’d miss it too much. I did try to find a place in Brooklyn, but my wife and I both work in the Avengers Tower and this is a lot closer. But I definitely try to bring the kids out there as much as possible.” 

He laughs when I ask him how he feels about his high roller life now. “It’s strange to think I grew up in the depression. The truth of the matter is that as long as I have enough to provide for my family, we could be living in shoebox apartment for all I care. It’s just a nice feeling to be able to give my children more than I had.” 

Speaking of family, Mr. Barnes met his lovely wife through a mutual friend, Captain Samuel Wilson. “I lost a bet, and so he got to set me up on a blind date. Turns out, it was the best thing that had ever happened to me.” His wife, a psychologist specializing in trauma, worked with Sam Wilson at the VA, and now with the Avengers Initiative. “When we met it was like boom, this is love. She’s it for life. Convincing her was a little harder than that, but she came around eventually” he jokes. 

“We met, fell in love, and were married within a year. It’s still crazy to me that it happened that fast. I never pictured myself as someone who would do something like that, but I knew I couldn’t live without her. I’m just glad she felt the same way.”   

His love for his wife is obvious, he spent a whole 10 minutes in the interview gushing about her. “She’s a huge reason I started to take therapy more seriously. She’s just so amazing. She never yelled or got upset with me on my hard days. She would take my hand and guide me through it. I’m here today and where I am because of her, I know it. I’m so glad she gets to help other people the way she’s helped me. It’s inspiring what she does, and she’s so good at it.” 

With busy jobs, the Barnes’ weren’t necessarily looking to have kids when they did. “We’d been married for two years when we found out she was pregnant. We had talked about kids right when we got married, and decided that it would happen when it happened. We’re both busy and love our jobs, but honestly there never would have been a good time. I think the kids came when we were ready.” 

Not only was it a surprise pregnancy, but a surprise baby as well. Twins Rebecca and Grant Samuel were born in the spring last year. “They’re almost a year and a half. It’s amazing to see them grow. I watched Steve’s kids a lot when they were younger, but it’s so much different when it’s your own. I mean they could just be wiggling around on the floor and I’d be so proud of them. I don’t think I stopped crying for a whole day when they were born. It’s a miracle on top of a miracle. They get a lot of love.” 

The youngest Barnes’ seem to be a staple at the Avengers Tower. “Thank god Tony fought for that daycare when Morgan was born. My wife and I get to see them so much more, and so do their aunts and uncles. They get daily cuddles from Aunt Natasha and Uncle Sam.” With such busy lives, it seems the maximum amount of children has been reached. “We both love out jobs so much, I don’t think it would be fair for either of us to quit. And it wouldn’t be fair to another baby if we had one, we’re already spread thin. We don’t even have time for a cat so, two is a good number and we’re sticking to it.” 

Some days Sergeant Barnes can’t believe his own life. “It’s crazy to think about my life now as opposed to before. I wish a lot of the times that I could go back and tell my 1940s self that it all ends up ok. That you’ll be happier than you ever thought possible. That broken and lost man finds a home and a place.” For a moment, James looks wistful and simply smiles down at his coffee. “I think I would gladly take all that stuff that happened to me again, if I get to end up back here again.” 

A few clarifying questions are asked, and pleasantries are exchanged-- James leaves to pick up his children. In those last moments, it’s hard to think of James Barnes as anything but an outstanding citizen, who has done more than his share to help better the world. A far cry from the scared, young boy that went to war; James has finally found his purpose and light in life. 

Tag:

@captainchrisfics