#okay technically there is also a presentation on monday but that barely counts

[stxrrywildflower]

fight

pairing - spencer reid x reader

summary - you and spencer fight, things get said that neither of you mean

warnings - mentions of case, cursing

word count - ?

requested by @reidswords

“what the hell was that?” spencer shouted.

from the moment you had stepped off of the plane, you knew that you and spencer was going to get into an argument. it was pretty much inevitable. you had practically seen the steam come out of his ears on the flight home.

the moment you two had stepped into his apartment, he had snapped. the two of you had been together for a little bit over a year. however, you didn’t leave together yet. at that moment, you were almost greatful you didn’t.

“i was doing my job,” you responded calmly, pinching the bridge of your nose with your fingers.

“doing your job? y/n you almost got killed,” spencer spoke back.

his words were partially true. there was a hostage situation on the case. you had taken off your vest, leaving all your weapons before moving into the building. the unsub inside demanded that an agent enter the building or all the suspects would be killed. you had taken a risk, and ultimately, it had worked out. hotch was unhappy with your actions but congratulated you on your efforts. spencer, however, was less than thrilled.

“i took a risk. if i didn’t, the hostages would be dead right now.”

“we almost had him. we could have gone in without risking your life,” spencer argued back.

you let out a breath, your hands moving in front of you as they began to shake. “why can’t you just drop this.”

“how do you think the team would feel if you died today. how do you think i would feel?” spencer pleaded.

you went back to placing your gun and badge in your bag. you had a feeling you weren’t going to be here long.

“for a genius, you are pretty fucking stupid sometimes. you don’t have to constantly be looking over my shoulder and neither does the team. i can handle myself so back off,” you seethed.

“why are you so defensive lately? even before the case you have been closed off and i just don’t understand it,” spencer spoke.

“maybe some of us don’t enjoy being open with the team all the damn time.”

spencer rolled his eyes. “you’re on a team of  behavioral profilers. how do you expect to hide anything. why did you even bother joining the team in the first case if you are just going to act like this.”

you scoffed, “so you’re saying in not good enough to be on the team?” spencer cleated his throat as he threw his head back.

“god you’re being so difficult! i never said that so stop putting fucking words in my mouth,” spencer yelled before adding, “besides, i was on the team first.”

“oh and what is that supposed to mean? you’re barely an agent. we all only use your intelligence,” the second the words came out of your mouth, you regretted it. but, with your stubborn ego, you didn’t really care.

spencer’s face shifted. his eyebrows furrowed together as his mouth moved into a frown. “leave,” he spoke softly. this time, you rolled your eyes before grabbing your bag and heading to the door. you exited the apartment, not before slamming the door. he was suddenly happy that it was the weekend.

morgan and emily walked into the bau on monday morning, each sporting a coffee cup in hand. garcia met up with them in the hallway before walking in with the other agents. surprisingly, rossi was in his office and hotch had yet to arrive. you and j.j. were also absent. spencer, however, was sitting at his desk, his head resting in his hand as he scribbled away at the stack of reports on his desk. a coffee cup that was already empty sat just beside him.

“hey kid,” morgan greeted, frowning slightly when spencer barely gave him a smile. “what’s up?” morgan quickly added.

“can you please just leave me alone for a bit? i have a lot of my own as well as yours, emily’s, and jj’s paperwork to do,” the tone of spencer’s voice wasn’t angry but almost desperate. morgan nodded before grabbing his and spencer’s coffee cups and going to the kitchenette

you and j.j. were next in the office. spencer’s eyes didn’t even flicker over to where you sat at your desk, coffee cup in front of you. he did, however, notice that you could barely finish a file. after finishing his remaining reports and dropping them on the now present unit chiefs desk, spencer returned to the bullpen.

“i can take some of those,” spencer offered to you in a low voice.

he didn’t stick around to hear your answer but instead grabbed the files and returned to his desk. derek, emily, and j.j. all glanced at each other. something was definitely wrong. despite just getting up to get coffee, derek stood up, motioning to the other two agents to follow him.

“okay something is wrong,” emily spoke as soon as they were out of earshot.

“i know. spence looks like he haven’t slept,” j.j. responded. “and y/n could barely finish one file,” derek added.

“you think they had a fight? the last case was pretty rough,” emily asked. just as derek was about to respond, garcia appeared, holding a case file in hand. her face was more solemn than usual when presenting a case.

“how bad?” j.j. asked.

“north carolina. possible 20 victims,” she spoke. derek groaned as he followed the technical analyst up to the conference room, the other two agents right behind them. you were already sitting around the round table, looking over the file, same as rossi.

spencer and hotch were the last in. the genius had most likely dropped off the paperwork before walking in with his boss. instead of sitting in his usual seat next to you, spencer opted for a seat next to emily. even rossi and hotch looked at each other, also noticing this change.

after the briefing, the team was on the jet thirty minutes later. you were in the seat closest to the window next to hotch with emily and rossi across from you. j.j. was up getting coffee, still listening to the team talk, while derek was sitting on the couch.

“it’s possible that this unsub is a young sexual sadist, it isn’t exactly uncommon,” hotch told his team.

just then, the entire team looked at spencer who was sitting in the arm of the couch, expecting some form of a statistic. “what no statistic on that?” rossi asks.

spencer shook his head and shrugged. “it’s not important,” he simply says.

while this went down, your eyes remained glued on the case file. however, you snapped out of your thoughts when hotch said your name.

“y/n and reid i need you to go to the latest crime seen, see what you can find out.” you flinched at your orders. “actually hotch can i go to the police station. i think there’s a geographical profile and i can work on that,” spencer asked.

hotch briefly glanced over to his team who were visibly confused. “sure. emily you go with y/n instead.”

the rest of the case was torture for the team. it was obvious something happened between you and spencer. while the case had gone well and the unsub was caught, the two of you barely worked together at all. it was a complete difference than the previous cases.

on the plane home, you were sitting across from j.j. in the two single seats. you were farthest away from the team we you peacefully slept. emily, hotch, and rossi were in the group of four while derek was in the other two single seats with spencer.

“what’s going on kid,” derek spoke softly, keeping his voice to a whisper.

spencer glanced up from whatever book he was reading, “what are you talking about?” derek rolled his eyes. “come on, you have barely spoken any facts during this case, only two to be exact. to state the obvious, you and y/n have barely been around each other.”

the older profiler noticed spence flinch at your name. “and well that,” he added.

spencer sighed deeply before marking his page and setting the book down on the table. “do you remember a week ago when y/n went in to the hostage situation and almost got killed?” spencer asked. upon seeing derek’s nod, he continued, “well we kinda got in a fight afterwards. i really don’t want to talk about the specific details but it was bad. i said some things i regret and i’m sure she did too. but i just don’t know.”

“ah i see. all i can tell you man is that you two need to talk to her. it will be a lot better,” derek offered.

spencer smiled weakly before picking up his book once more. derek stood up and made his way over to j.j. he crouched down next to her and told her the same information he had just been told.

when you had woken up an hour before you were due to land, j.j. have you the same advice as derek did. you had pressed your lips together as she told you to talk to him. after much mental contemplating, you had made the decision to follow the advice and talk to him.

the team had to go back to the bau before they cold head home. once arriving, everyone went to their desks, grabbing their paperwork and bags since they left in a hurry. you, however, had other plans.

“hey,” you spoke, a nervous smile on your face.

spencer glanced up from where he was sitting. “hi,” he responded, equally as nervous. “um, if you don’t have any plans, do you maybe want to come over? we kinda need to talk.”

the genius nodded, “i would like that.”

then minutes later, the two of you exited the bau building as you waved good he took your coworkers. derek turned to emily and j.j. who raised their eyebrows. “fingers crossed,” emily had said.

once arriving to your apartment, your hands shook as you fumbled with your keys. finally, the door opened. you went in first, followed by spencer.

you first placed your gun and badge on the table by the door before kicking off your shoes and putting your bag on the table. “do you want anything to drink? i was going to make some tea,” you offered.

“tea would be really nice.”

as you poured the hot water into two mugs, spencer spoke up from behind you, “i’m guessing j.j. spoke to you?” you tensed up slightly before nodding, “yeah she did. i’m guessing the team noticed.”

“look spencer, i’m just going to go on a slight rant. just don’t say anything until i’ve finished okay? okay. i am so sorry for everything i said. everything i said i regretted and i know i was just caught in the moment but what i said was so fucked up. i should never have gone to criticize your intelligence. i really am sorry,” you rushed out, tears begining to form in the corners of your eyes.

“hey hey, it’s really okay,” spencer started, moving around the counter towards you.

“no it’s not! it’s really not,” you responded.

“look, we both said things we regret. what i said was also out of line but let’s move past this. if you can forgive and forget, so can i. okay?” spencer asked.

you nodded, biting your lip to hide your frown. then, you stepped forward, holding your arms out towards your boyfriend. he chuckled slightly before doing the same, pulling you into a tight hug. as he ran your hand through your hair, you pinched the fabric of spencer’s shirt between your fingers.

“i love you,” you whispered, just loud enough for spencer to hear.

“i love you too,” he replied.

[percywinchester27]

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-5)

Word count: 5.5K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: None

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23​​​ I love you, babe <3

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

“Y/N! Y/N, open the door!”

You hurriedly stepped out of the bathroom in a t-shirt and a towel wrapped around your waist.

Kevin was standing in front of the bathroom, not even a little concerned about the state of your dressing. 

“We’re taking bets about whether it will rain this week or not,” he announced. “You have to cast your vote.”

You looked around the room. Meg’s door was locked from the outside which meant she wasn’t here.

“Who let you in?”

“I have a key to your apartment,” he said matter of factly. “So does Cas.”

“Vaguely concerning, but I’ll allow it, since you’re not trying to rob me. Only tempting me with the vices of gambling.”

Kevin looked delighted at the retort. “Aha! So you do have a cutting edge humour. I’m winning 5 bucks over that from Jack.”

You rolled your eyes and walked into your bedroom, finding your drawstring pants and pulling them on.

“If it makes you feel any better, you now have a key to our apartment also as well as Cas’s.” Kevin jerked his head towards the kitchen counter where a new pair of brass keys shone in the light. “On this floor, we all like to keep the keys handy in case of emergencies.”

He plopped down on the sofa. “So about the rain…”

It looked like he really had broken into your apartment to ask for your bet.

“It’s September. It’s never going to rain,” you said.

“And you’re sure about that?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Should I be checking the weather forecast? And how much are we playing for?”

“You can check the forecast,” he said sagely, “It’s allowed. I have to warn you though that basing your vote off it has proven disadvantageous in the past. And we’re not playing for money.”

“Do I get to know who sided with what?”

“Not till you’ve put your bet in.”

“Dang it!”

He wiggled his eyebrows making you laugh. “Okay. I’m sure. I’ll go with what I said. It’ll not rain.”

“Oh, and Y/N-” he smiled evilly- “You should know that if it rains, you’re going to have to get wet in it! You have Pam, Cas and Jack siding with you so far.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the thought of drenching in the rain. “It’s not going to rain, so I’m safe. What happens if I get it right?”

“The losing party has to be a company to judgy Judy and sun bath all of Sunday. Lotion will be provided.”

“This is ridiculous,” you laughed.

He stopped at the door. “Only when you lose.”

You spent the weekend catching up on your reading and familiarising yourself with the syllabus. When that was done, you set to work on your assignments… and when that was done, too, there were always job applications. Sustenance was unfortunately a necessity.

Come Sunday evening, Meg dragged you to the downstairs to the get together. It surprised you just how much everyone liked having you around, especially since you contributed absolutely nothing to the conversations. Pam pulled an accurate impression of the undergrads on the second floor and everyone laughed. 

It was a homely feeling.

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

Sam was already ready and going through the papers on his desk when you entered the lecture hall. He did not look up from them as the class slowly filled up. You didn’t necessarily make it a point to sit with Madison but somehow for most Civil Procedure classes she happened to sit next to you. You liked her well enough, however those girls who came with her said such awful things sometimes that it made you wish you were anywhere but around them.

Today Madison came in before any of the girls and took her seat next to you. 

“Hi,” she said, drawing her laptop out.

“Hey!” You smiled at her.

“Thanks for sitting besides me,” Madison said. “Having you around makes me feel so calm, and helps me concentrate.”

“Really?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” she said, then smiled apologetically. “You know how the girls are… they’re always so jittery and gossiping. But you… you just have such a steady energy around you.”

Strange. To you, it didn’t feel like you had energy at all.

“You know what I mean, right?” Madison said. “I feel like I can tell you anything, share things with you and you won’t judge me or tell on me. I feel like you wouldn’t turn me away if I ever asked for your help. You are just such a nice person.”

“Madison…” you said, touched. 

She shook her head. “You can just call me Maddie, if you like.”

She wasn’t necessarily right about you being a ‘nice person,’ but you certainly wouldn’t judge her… you of all people after everything you had done. And when it came to helping out another, it was just the decent thing to do, especially for someone you called a friend. It didn’t make you a nice person. It just made Madison’s other friends not so good at friendship.

“Alright then, Maddie,” you smiled. “We shall sit next to each other for as long as you want.”

Madison beamed. Not her usual girly laugh, instead a smile that reached her eyes in all their seriousness. You wondered what sorrow she’d had to live through. 

“Maddie!” Rebecca came up from behind and sat next to Madison. “I missed you over the weekend. Oh, we’re sitting with Y/N again?”

“Yes,” said Madison too sweetly. “She’s my friend. Try not to steal her answers though, Becca.”

Behind her Lacey giggled.

You had to cover your face, too, to hide the grin.

Sam called the class to attention, smiling at everyone. It was breathtaking and painful in equal parts.

“Before we begin,” he said, “It’s been brought to my attention that I’m the only one who hasn’t set you guys an assignment. We can’t have that happening now, can we?”

There were a few groans, and Sam gave everyone a teasing look. “It’s not something that’ll take up a lot of your time. I’m not setting you an essay, just a 500 word brief. Before we get into that, I need to know you guys better. Everyone who has a pre-law please raise your hands. About fifteen to twenty percent of the class raised their hands. 

“Impressive,” Sam said. “Sociology, political science or any other law allied field?”

Majority of the remaining class raised their hands.

“And how many of you guys have worked in any capacity in law fields? Have actual experience?”

About ten to twelve people raised their hands. Slowly, you put your arm up as well.

At the edge of your vision you sensed Rebecca glaring at your hand. 

Sam sweeped his gaze over the class. Maybe he hadn’t expected you to be one of the crowd, because for a split second the startlement was clear on his face. He blinked twice, then looked away.

Split second of eye contact was enough to make you weak in your knees. Bring back a flood of memories, of having looked so deeply in those very eyes. 

He paused, cleared his throat and said, “I suppose this will be somewhat easier for those of you who have a pre-law background. For your assignment, you have to pick the most dicey, interesting or unusual Civil suit or petition you can find, and describe in brief how the written content and consequent presentation saved or screwed over the case. Go crazy with the type of case, as long as it’s civil and filed in the states. The law library has a complete and updated archive of all judgements and petitions in public domain for your reference.”

Giving you a stink eye, Rebecca raised her hand.

“Yes… Miss Staten, is it?”

“Yes, Rebecca Staten,” she said, practically gloating. “Do you specialise in Civil cases? And if so, can we pick one of yours?”

Sam’s eyebrows twitched a little and he brushed at the hair near his ear. To anyone else it would have meant nothing, barely noticeable. You knew better. It was discomfort. He was uncomfortable with the question. Seeing him, you felt an instinctive spark of annoyance towards Rebecca, which was absolutely ridiculous. It wasn’t your place to feel anything on Sam’s behalf. Not anymore.

“I don’t specialise in Civil… I do predominantly take them up, but that’s certainly not it. In fact, my most distinctive case isn’t even a Civil one,” he said. “Rest assured, if you want to make the most of the assignment, none of my cases would be of any help.”

“Makes me wonder…” Madison whispered next to you.

“You have until Wednesday to hand it in. It does not have to be technical, so it shouldn’t take much time,” he announced. “Back to the class now. We’re working on Trial components and rules…”

After the classes for the day ended, Madison caught up with you.

“Where are you headed?” She asked.

“The library.”

“Oh, excellent, I was heading there, too,” she said happily.

“Where are the others?” It made you feel like a wretched person, but you didn’t think you could take anymore of those girls.

Madison wiped her brow. “They wanted to head out to San Francisco for the night.”

“But it’s a Monday,” you spoke unthinkingly.

She gave you a look which made it clear that she shared your opinion.

“I thought you’d want to research Mr. Winchester's assignment. Do you mind if I join?”

The thought of working with someone for once was actually pleasant, “Of course I don’t. It’ll be fun, Maddie.”

She smiled at your use of her nickname. “Alright then.”

The Robert Crown law library was smaller and very modern in comparison to the Green library. It was all white walls, beige minimalist furniture and compactly placed bookshelves next to rows of computers. The appearance didn’t fool you in the least. You knew from having read and well, from having heard about it so many times from Sam that it was extensively stocked with information on thousands and millions of suits, petitions, litigations and what not. It had every possible book that you would want to refer to while building a case, by-laws, constitutional laws and so many other rules and regulations. 

The two of you picked adjacent computers and began sifting through the cases. The sorting system itself boggled your mind, let alone the data within. Soon you were lost in a sea of cases, just reading through them instead of researching for the assignment. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” muttered Madison besides you.

“Mmmm?” You asked absentmindedly.

When she didn’t reply, you looked over. Madison was staring intently at the screen.

“You know when Mr. Winchester was talking to Becca earlier?” She asked, without taking her eyes off the screen.

“Yeah?” You remembered vividly.

“He mentioned how his most distinctive case wasn’t a Civil one?” Her voice was low. “I got curious and looked it up.”

You didn’t even know what to say.

“Turns out he was downplaying it. This looks like a huge deal.”

Despite everything, you gave your swivel chair a push and moved next to Madison.

“What’s it about?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

“It’s complicated and over two years old. Looks like it’s a matter of twin homicides in conjunction with multiple matters of abuse and a custody battle. It says he was working with Simpsons and associates in LA back then.”

“LA?” 

“Yeah.” She added guiltily, “I pulled out his public profile in accordance with his registration with the Bar Council. It has his whole bio-data.”

You knew you shouldn’t look. God, you knew it and you looked anyway.

“Stanford… Yale… and there’s a small town in Kansas where he was registered for a year. Then one year in NY, Four in LA, and two at Griswold Acton.”

New York… So he did go there. The thought pierced you like a shard. 

“I think... I think I’m gonna go back now,” you said quietly.

Madison looked at the watch. “Shit! It’s already past 7! Yeah, we should hurry.”

“Hey, Y/N,” Madison said, as you walked along the curb, “The weekend after this one, I’m throwing a party at this bar a few blocks away. And I really want you to come.”

“Is it your birthday?” You asked, feeling awful that you were asking after being invited.

“Yes, the next day. I’m doing this the night before so we’ll be together when the clock hits 12. You’ll come, right?”

You hesitated.

“It’ll be fun, really. I know the girls can be a bit too much sometimes, but there’ll be other people.”

That was even worse.

“It would mean a lot to me,” she insisted.

“Okay,” you acquiesced. “Only if you let me get you a present.”

She looked like she wanted to protest, but then gave in. “Okay.” She threw her arms around you. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You wandered back to the apartment, racking your brain about what to put in the assignment. Nothing came to you.

Weird dreams interrupted your sleep that night, homicides and custody disputes. You kept yelling that the child was yours and like in the old 70’s movies, the judge banged the gavel calling for order.... Then, the scene shifted. You were trapped, your hands and shoulders bound. There was glass around you. Shards of glass, blood and icy water, numbing your senses, dulling your pain as it soaked your hair and drenched you to the bone. You wanted to scream for help, but cold also made you sleepy. You wanted to ask the judge… tell him to hand you the child, but there was no judge… just cold and hammering rain.

You woke up chilly. Drenched in sweat, but still very cold. It was just a dream… not reality. Just a dream. You rolled over and sleep found you again.

“You look like you came back from the dead,” Meredith said first thing next morning. 

You ignored her and took your seat in the row ahead of her. Unfortunately, that put you right next to Brad. 

Sam was on time as usual. He ran through his papers as the tech set up his laptop.

“He’s alright, really,” Brad said, making conversation. “Girls seem to swoon on him because he is the youngest faculty member and all. But he’s just average as a teacher.”

“I think he is fantastic,” you said, jutting your chin out, voice unnecessarily sharp.

Brad raised an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t like the other girls.”

“If by other girls you mean the ones that worked hard to get into Stanford and know how to appreciate a good teacher, then I’m exactly like the other girls.”

“Ooohhh, feisty,” he murmured under his breath. Sam called the class to attention and you chose to ignore Brad completely for the rest of the lecture, then made sure that you sat by yourself for the rest of the day.

The deadline for the assignment was tomorrow and you had no clue what you were handing in. That did not help with the anxiety.

On your way to the library, you dropped by at the Student’s employment office- without much hope- to check on that application anyway.

The girl at the desk ran through your profile once again as you gave her your name.

“Y/N,” she said in a monotone of someone who was bored out of their mind. “I actually have a hit for you here. I should warn you, it's a tough gig-”

“Tell me!” You interrupted before she had even finished the sentence. 

She peered at you over her spectacles. “The odd hours librarian’s post at the Law library. You had an upper hand over the other applicants because you are a law student and live close by. You also have experience as a librarian before.”

“Yes, I want it!”

“Chillax, woman,” said the girl. “It’s an odd hours job. That means the night shift on three days and alternate weekends. It’s an 8 hour shift and 5 shifts per week. Twenty an hour.”

“Done.” You thought back to last night. It wasn’t like you were getting any good sleep anyway. Might as well make money out of it. 

The girl shrugged. “It’s yours then. You start this weekend. I’ll hook you up with the other librarian peeps. They’ll let you know about your shift.”

You thanked her and happily walked back towards the Law building. At least one thing seemed to have worked in your favour. One minute you were walking ahead, next you were on the floor, all your things knocked out of your hands. 

“I’m so sorry.”

You looked up into stunning hazel eyes. They were as familiar even now as if you had looked into them every day of your life.

Sam froze, having just realised that he had walked into you.

Up close he looked tired and definitely a lot thinner.

“Oh, God. Y/N!” Madison, who happened to walk by, reached out to help you to your feet.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Numbly, you nodded. 

Sam methodically picked up your books and wallet, stacked them in a pile and handed it to you.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, quietly, eyes trained on the books in your hand.

You shook your head.

He acknowledged it with a jerk of chin and left without another word.

“What an ass!” Brad muttered coming up from behind. “First he knocked her down and then didn’t even apologise. I don’t get why y’all idealise him so much.”

“Oh, shut up,” Lacey said. “Y/N was the one who walked into him without looking. Ruined his perfectly good suit with her chapstick smear. And he did apologise!”

You excused yourself as quickly as you could, still feeling the tingle on your skin where his fingers had lightly brushed yours, senses still filled with the smell of his cologne. Even after all these years it was still the same. 

You had bought that cologne for him. He still used the same one.

Tears pressed your eyes as you entered the vine covered gates of the apartment. 

At the lift, you ran into Cas.

He looked pleasantly surprised at the sight of you, which was weird because you both did stay on the same floor.

“You look… are you okay?” His voice was coloured with concern.

You had to stop running into people when you were upset. Had to.

“No, no, I’m fine,” you tried to assure him. “I was heading home.”

“Yes, home,” Cas sighed, absentmindedly. “I miss having a roommate sometimes. Conversation is what makes it home.”

You had reached your door.

“Hey,” you said, making an impulse decision. “Do you maybe wanna come in for a mug of coffee or something?”

He looked startled again. “Yeah, I would love that.”

Meg wasn’t home. You weren’t surprised. 

“Please make yourself at home,” you waved towards the sofa. “I’ll be right back.”

You quickly dumped your bag and books on your bed, swapped the shoes for your comfortable slippers, tied your hair in a bun at the top of your head and made a beeline for the kitchen.

Cas was in the balcony, looking at the front yard. 

“You guys have a fantastic view from here,” he said morosely. You felt bad for him. His was the only flat on the floor that didn’t have the yard facing balcony.

“Why didn’t you ask Pam to sublet you this one after the last tenant moved out?”

He shrugged. “I don’t spend much time at the apartment anyway with the night shifts and emergencies at the hospital. Besides, mine’s a small one and I don’t have a roommate, so it's easy to clean after.”

“Is it too much work at the hospital?” You asked sympathetically, then realised how dumb the question was. It was a hospital. Of course there was too much work.

“Sometimes,” he answered truthfully. “The ER duty is dreadful because a lot of times you just can’t save a life. OPD days are so much better.”

You nodded thoughtfully.

“What about you? How’s law school treating you?”

You told him about how everyone was just so different from you. They had social circles and Monday night outs and were worried about internships for status as opposed to just wanting a job or actually learning. You told him about how there always seemed to be an ulterior motive to everything that they said or did.

It sounded like a rant even to your own ears, but God it felt good to unload. Cas was probably bored out of his mind. You let it all out anyway.

“And then- then they judge people based on their appearance. Just because I wear a sweater all the time doesn’t make me drab. I’m just really sensitive to cold. Just because a professor is young and good looking, doesn’t by default make him a bad teacher.”

You had to stop to take a breath, and were immediately possessed by a sense of embarrassment. Why were you putting this on a very tired Cas?

Cas, however, looked deep in thought. “Hmmm…” he said. “Correct me if I’m wrong. You don’t have any immediate family, do you?”

You shook your head. “I have no family left.”

Cas didn’t ask you the why or how come.

“Maybe that’s why,” he said, face resting on his palms. “You don’t live for anyone but yourself. You don’t have to put on a show like them.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means that you are being motivated by a desire to learn, to become a better person and to help the world become a better place. Most people are motivated by power, or money or just wanting to create an impression. No wonder you don’t fit in, Y/N. You stand out.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Cas put his hands up. “I mean it. Besides, you have us. I can tell for a fact that people here really like you. So who cares about the rich ass kids? They’re the reason lawyers got a bad rep.”

You giggled.

Then you remembered the coffee pot. “Oh, damn!”

Cas chuckled as you went to grab the pot and fix two coffees.

“What’re you thinking about the weekend?” Cas called from the balcony, “I think we’re on the losing side.”

“It’s September. It’s not raining.”

“That’s what I said last week. It rained.”

“Oh, no!”

Cas took a mug from your hands. “Thank you.”

He took a sip. “The forecast is never useful. Wish we could sue them for it.”

You put your mug down.

“CAS! You are a genius!”

“What?”

You rushed to your room to grab your computer, then settled on a chair, quickly typing the words out.

“I knew it!” You shouted in vindication. “I remembered reading about it.”

“Errr….” Cas hovered over you utterly confused. You turned the laptop so he could see.

“Look! In 1988 a woman did sue Chicago’s famous newsman over a wrong weather forecast!”

“Are you serious?” He put the mug down and sat next to you, reading the article.

You pointed at it excitedly. “See that’s what it says.”

“They dismissed her, right?”

You grinned at him. “She settled outside for a sum of half a million.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Cas whistled.

“Oh, this is perfect for the assignment! Thanks, Cas.”

“My pleasure,” he said, somewhat bemused.

He read over your shoulder as you wrote the brief extract, pointing out how it was a trend setter of it’s kind when it came to dragging news media to the court. The woman had missed a flight which was cancelled as a precaution to the bad forecast and viola! It never rained. 

“This look good?”

“It’s perfect!” Cas said.

You dropped the file into the mailbox, then paused when it came to actually typing a mail, fingers trembling.

This was Sam you were writing to. He used to be your Sam.

You did it nevertheless. You typed his id and the thumbnail of his profile appeared. He wore a tan turtleneck and was smiling at the person holding the camera. Who could it have been?

“Is that the young professor you were talking about?” Cas asked offhandedly. 

“Mhmm.”

“I can see why he gets that sort of attention,” Cas chuckled.

You saw it, too.

Sighing internally, you hit the send button.

Cas high-fived you. “There are very few things in life as satisfying as a last minute submission,” he said, then looked at the watch. “I better go now, I’ve got an early morning shift.”

“Oh, wait for a bit,” you said, rushing to the kitchen counter, and pulling out a jar of cookies. “Here, have one. I got a job today, as a librarian. My Gran used to say that one should always offer sweets while  breaking a good news.”

“Oh, congratulations!” Cas took a bite of the crumbly choco-chip cookie and moaned. “Oh, these are wonderful!”

You thrust the entire jar in his hand. “Here, take them all. I just like baking them…. not much of an eater.”

“You made these?” His voice was incredulous and you blushed. 

“My Gran used to run a small bakery from our house. I grew up watching her do what she loved the most. The smell of baking comforts me… and let’s just say I needed to be comforted lately.”

“Well, these are excellent!” He didn’t even resist for the sake of formality and took the jar.

You walked him to the door. “Hey, Cas. Thank you for tonight.”

It had been the first time since you had moved to the city that you actually felt like you had talked because you wanted to, shared what you really felt. It was the first time you had truly rejoiced that the bubble was gone and you could be happy in the company of another person.

Cas didn’t ask why you had thanked him. Oddly, he understood.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, where it lay heavy and comforting. “I had a great evening. If you ever want to share anything or you know bake too many cookies, I should tell you that I live right next door.”

You giggled. Cas tightened his grip on your shoulder for a moment and let go. He waved at you once more before closing his door. 

Later, as you lay in bed, you thought through the day and just how your emotions were all over the place. One minute you were distraught and the next, excited. The way that Brad annoyed you, no one ever had except for that one idiot in high school. You were used to having people rely on you. Even when you worked as a paralegal all through last year, your boss had been happy with your work, your colleagues were polite… but no one had remotely elicited any sort of reaction from you. It had been the same through all those years of pre-law. It hadn’t ever bothered you that you weren’t a part of the group. In fact, now that you looked back on the years, everything seemed so hazy, like you were looking at your memories through a heavily fogged glass.

In fact, that one year spent with Sam was clearer than the seven years spent after. You could recall every moment lived with him as if it was merely yesterday. And yet things that had happened a month back felt like they had happened ages ago. 

Deep down, you knew the reason for it. With Sam you had been happy… happier than you had ever been before. It was the last time you had been happy, too. So did that mean you were beginning to be happy again now? 

Re-learning it one step at a time?

You rolled, mulling the thought over in your head and fell asleep dreamlessly after a very long time.

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

“Oh, the sweet release of Friday!” Madison moaned. “I can’t wait to fall into bed. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

“I actually have plans for tonight,” you told her, “So I’m not expecting to see the bed anytime soon.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t show up to Brad’s party, but you have plans tonight?” Lacey wiggled her eyebrows. “Is there a special someone?”

It was Jack. You were going bowling with Jack and whoever else was free. You had protested the plan by explaining how awful you were at bowling. It had only delighted Jack more. Apparently, he sucked, too, but he really wanted to impress the girl who worked at the bowling alley. If he came off looking better than you, maybe, just maybe he’d have a chance with her. It seemed like a very very unlikely event, but you didn’t have the heart of telling him that. In fact, to your surprise you found yourself really excited for the evening.

“Just a friend.” You shrugged.

Lacey looked like she was about to press her point when Madison interrupted her.

“Oh, did any of you hear from Mr. Winchester? Regarding the assignment?” 

You threw her a grateful look for changing the topic.

Madison had received a reply on Wednesday evening with a positive critique and so had Rebecca along with a few more people. 

It was all Rebecca needed to go on and on about the assignment, and how Mr. Winchester loved her work and remembered her name. You were a little disappointed that you never received a critique… but were you even expecting a reply from Sam? You had accepted that he was going to ignore you.

Sam did not mention the assignment at all. He made a few timed jokes about how everyone hated the last class on a Friday including him and he’d make it a point to let everyone off fifteen minutes early. The lecture was as captivating as usual. He spoke with such passion for law that even the most monotonous topics became suddenly interesting. You wouldn’t have cared if he had even extended the class, but he kept his promise and ended it about ten minutes early.

“Before you all leave for a much deserved weekend,” he said, “I want to congratulate you all on an assignment well done. Most of you had the most interesting topics picked out for the note. It certainly made for entertaining reads. I was hoping at least someone would bring up the several instances when Red bull got sued and I wasn’t disappointed. Four of you did. I’m sorry I couldn’t reply back to all of the emails, but there was a particular one that I’d like to bring to your attention. A 1988 lawsuit turned to a petition after a woman sued Chicago’s famous newsman Gary Holster over the wrong forecast.”

You could barely believe your ears.

“Mary Johnson was flying from Domestic Chicago to LAX along with 122 other passengers. And after predictions of a heavy storm, the flight was cancelled. Of course. it barely even rained. As a result, Miss Johnson lost a prospective job and the opportunity at a better life. What started as a snowflake of a suit, snowballed into a petition with over 76 plaintiffs after a newspaper published her story tagging it as ridiculous. The other passengers reached out to her, expanding into a full-fledged writ.”

He paused and took a deep breath. “All of you should take a look at the case as well as Ms. Y/L/N’s note. It was a particularly smart choice to pick this case because I had asked for weird and unusual… and the exact oddity of the case was what made it a national sensation in the late 80’s.”

Sam looked up, with precision, straight into your eyes. “Good job, Ms. Y/L/N.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest. The corner of your eyes stung.

Behind you Lacey muttered, “Oh, look, yours isn’t the only name he remembers, Ms. Staten.”

“Have a great weekend!” Sam wished before leaving the room. The class immediately broke into a babble and some people turned to spot you in the crowd. A few of them even came up to you to congratulate on an assignment well done. You promised to forward the assignment to the class group so everyone could see it. As it turned, out a couple of people stayed in the building next to yours. 

While leaving, you did notice Rebecca staring at you with ill concealed dislike and something close to suspicion.

“Y/N!” Jack was waiting for you in the front yard, which was officially nicknamed the meadow. He was sitting next to Judgy Judy with a satchel slung across his body.

“Hey, I’m going to run upstairs and drop my bag.” 

He sprang up from the parapet and eased your bag off your shoulder. “Don’t bother. We can just drop it off at Pam’s. Watch.”

He slid the shutter to her ground floor flat window and with extreme expertise pushed your big inside from in between to bars.

“Genius!” You lauded.

Jack grinned, “Pam is home and sleeping. By the time we get back, she’ll be up, ready to handover the bag.”

“Truly epic.”

“You guys don’t have too much fun without me!” Kevin yelled from his balcony where he was sitting with Cas. He looked bummed.

“What’s up with him?” 

Jack waved at Kevin and said loudly enough for him to hear, “Nothing. Kev’s just pissed that the weather is clear.”

Kevin cursed. “That dumb reported said it was going to rain. I’m gonna sue her!”

Next to him, Cas gave you a pointed look and winked. You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face.

Jack offered you his arm and you took it, feeling a strange happiness settle within you. Hand in hand you walked out. For the first time in years you didn’t know what to expect of tomorrow or even the next moment. The feeling was worth living for.

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

A/N 2: Heads up! There’s still sometime before we find out what exactly went down between these two, but in the present timeline, it’s mostly just uphill from now. 

I had a very, very hard day, today. Hoping it will be uphill for me, too, from now on :)

PLEASE let me know what you think of this story?

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[djchika]

Alex Appreciation Week Day 5: wanna go for a ride (smut/fluff) | music

(aka a snipper from what appears to be a Pretty Woman AU)

-

When Alex left Roswell for the last time, he’d prepared for a life destitute. Possibly a hand to mouth existence, but one that wasn’t bound by his dad’s rules. Surrounded by found family and good friends. 

What happened was the opposite. Bank was all Alex had. No one he called family, barely any friends. Just a shit load of money from a dead father who forgot to remove his estranged son from his will. 

Funny how life worked out. 

- 

Manes security was the crown of the Manes empire. It had been built on his father’s unwavering, paranoid insistence that the human race needed to defend themselves. Against what exactly? Alex was never sure. No one else knew either, but they still bought into the belief. 

The company started with simple security solutions that branched out to tech which led to multibillion-dollar government contracts. His brothers were all happily ensconced in the family business while Alex had jumped ship the moment he could. 

Or so he thought. 

- 

“What the fuck do you mean he left it to me?” 

“Technically he left it to his sons, but Flint signed away everything to do with the company when he started his own business, Gregory insists he’s retired, and after his breakdown Clay gave Gregory special power attorney and Gregory’s saying Clay doesn’t want it either.” 

“Well, I don’t want it! Jim, are you hearing yourself? I can’t take over my father’s company.” 

“Your father had the entire board of trustees under his thumb and he kept a lot of secrets. Without one of you to figure things out they’re going to strip it for parts and sell to the highest bidder. You might not care for your father’s legacy, but the Manes Group cuts a hundred thousand paychecks across several businesses. That’s a lot of jobs on the line.” 

Fuck. 

- 

That had been five years ago. Five long fucking years of going from a quiet life running a small music shop near the home town to living full time in New York city. 

Nothing about his new life vaguely resembled his life in Roswell.  

Well, except for Kyle Valenti. 

“It’s two in the fucking morning. Go home,” Kyle ordered from where he was leaning against Alex’s office door. 

“Should I even point out how hypocritical that is considering you’re here too?” 

“That’s because you’re a slave driver.”

Kyle was lying through his stupid perfect teeth. Alex worked hard to make sure they were one of the best employers in the country thankyouverymuch.

Besides, Kyle wasn’t even technically his employee. Their firm, Valenti, Valenti and Son had been the company’s firm even before Alex took over. 

“I’m going home after this. Leave me alone.” 

“As your legal counsel I highly recommend sleep before signing any of those.” Kyle said, nodding at the stack of papers on Alex’s desk. “I’ll be back Wednesday. I already had Jill pencil me in to your afternoon so we can start discussion on the Long deal.” 

Alex clicked opened his calendar. “My Monday’s surprisingly free we can do it then.” 

Kyle walked over to Alex’s desk, leaning down just so he could point at Alex’s laptop monitor obnoxiously. “That’s because Monday is the day before Christmas Eve and you declared it a company holiday.” 

“Right,” Alex said, pushing Kyle away. “See you Wednesday, then.” 

“Are you sure—” 

“Yes, I’m sure I don’t want to go home with you for Christmas. Yes, I will be fine spending Christmas by myself. Asking me a dozen times isn’t going to change my answer.” 

Alex appreciated Kyle’s concern, but going back home provided complications he didn’t want to deal with at the moment. 

With a sigh, Kyle straightened and started towards the door. “Fine. I’ll see you in four days. You also have four days to get me the present you forgot to buy me so you won’t feel bad that I already left your present at your place.” 

Presents. Shit. He remembered signing off a list from Jill, but Kyle always insisted that didn’t count. Maybe he could get him something online. 

Seeming to read his mind, Kyle turned and pointed a finger at him. “You better make an effort of going to a store for me, jerk.” 

That was how Alex ended up asking the driver to see if there was a shop anywhere that was still open. 

That was also how Alex literally fell into Michael Guerin. 

- 

“You looking for something? Wanna go for a ride?” 

The familiar low drawl had Alex’s heart beating wildly in his chest. He turned quickly, misjudged his center of gravity and only avoided a complete pratfall because Michael’s arms were suddenly around him keeping him steady. 

The shock he was feeling was clearly mirrored in Michael’s face. 

“Alex?” 

- 

The last time he’d seen Guerin was the last of summer after high school. He was being shipped off to West Point, while Michael was supposed to be on going to UNM on a scholarship. 

They’d been friends in the way that two queer kids in a small dessert town naturally gravitated towards each other. Something had bubbled beneath the surface but they’d left it to simmer. Neither wanting to risk the tentative solace they found in each other.  

A long series of almosts that never culminated to anything. 

Alex had graduated, gone on a couple of tours, got blown up and opted for an honorable discharge. 

Michael had apparently graduated, found out working with any sort of system didn’t fit him, and chose to travel the country in his truck, picking up odd jobs where he could. 

When he meant pick up. He meant pick up. 

- 

Michael gave a low whistle when they entered Alex’s apartment. It was disproportionally huge for someone living alone, but it had come with the inheritance and he’d never gotten around to looking for a new place. 

"Always knew you were loaded. I didn’t think you were ‘bring out the guillotines’ rich.” 

“I’m not. Or I wasn’t. This was all my dad’s. I’m always afraid I’m going to find a room I didn’t know existed and find out someone’s been living there the whole time,” Alex admitted. 

Michael smirked as he made himself comfortable on the leather couch. “Still not a fan of horror movies?” 

“I learn from them. There’s a difference,” Alex corrected as he slipped off his tie, coat and shoes already discarded. “Drink?” 

“Yeah, why not.” 

Alex poured them each a glass, watching as Michael surreptitiously took in the rest of the room. He wondered what Michael assumed of him based on it. He’d never gotten around to looking for a new place and he’d definitely never gotten around to redecorating. Nothing outside of the bedroom was his aside from the baby grand he’d gotten himself as a gift a couple of years ago. 

“I see your horror movie education never taught you not to let strangers into your home,” Michael said when Alex handed him a glass of whisky, neat. 

“You’ve always been strange. Hardly a stranger.” 

He sat down next to Michael, taking a long drink from his glass as Michael did the same. The liquid flowed smoothly down his throat, warming his body quickly. It also served to quiet the butterflies that were fluttering oddly in his chest. 

“You never know what’s going on in people’s heads.” Michael smirked, eyes roving over Alex’s body. 

Back in high school, with his bad boy reputation, the almost trademark smirk had been charming and innocently dangerous. Now, the slow smirk was backed with a confidence in his sexuality that was outright devastating.

Or it would have been if Alex didn’t see right through him.

“Are the lines part of the package?” 

“Depends, is it working for you? 

Alex raised an eyebrow before downing the rest of his drink. Michael seemed to take that as an invitation, moving both their glasses to the coffee table before straddling Alex smoothly. 

It was his teenage fantasy come true. Michael was different, the cut of his jaw sharper, a dark beard where there used to be smooth skin, but the warmth of his eyes was still the same. The pull that tugged at Alex’s chest just as strong. 

“Do you have rules against kissing?” 

Michael shook his head with a laugh. “That’s not a thing.” 

The kiss Michael gave Alex was surprisingly soft. A tentative press of lips on lips that belied Michael’s previous confidence. Alex tongue darted out, licking against the seam of Michael’s lips until they opened up for him. He tasted like whisky, like the first burst of summer rain. 

It barely lasted a minute before Michael pulled back a little, eyes searching Alex’s as if to make sure he was okay. 

Unwilling to examine the sudden knot behind his ribcage at that look, Alex surged against him kissing Michael slow and deep until they were both gasping for air. 

“Sure this is a good idea?” Michael asked breathily even as his hands roamed, touching Alex’s chest, his neck, his hair.  

“Nothing but a business deal, right?” 

“Hmmm,” Michael’s hands moved to the buttons of Alex’s shirt, undoing them one by one. “Preferences? Hard nos?” He leaned in, sucking kisses into Alex’s jaw and down his neck.  

Alex groaned when Michael’s mouth latched on to his pulse point, sucking gently. He could feel himself getting harder, Michael’s own erection pressed up again him. The sweet friction was making it hard to concentrate on what Michael was saying. 

“You’re not going to make me sign a release are you?” he managed to ask finally. For all he knew there might be paperwork involved. He’d never actually slept with a hooker before. 

The laugh that rumbled out of Michael’s chest, drew a smile on Alex’s face. “No, but it’s gonna cost depending on what you want.”’ 

“Consider me your booking for the night then double it.”

He didn’t even care what that amount was. Michael was worth it. Using his father’s money to pay for him was just a fuck you cherry on top. 

Michael smiled, slow and filthy. “Works for me.” 

(to be continued....)

[shipping-receiving]

Fictober 2019 Day 27: “Can you wait for me?”

Rating: T | Word Count: 3413 Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones Relationship: Jaime Lannister / Brienne of Tarth Tags: Alternate Universe – Office Notes: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7

(read on AO3)

//////

All of a sudden, Brienne thinks she might have a boyfriend.

They haven’t talked about it—the word. The status. But she thinks she might have one.

It’s been just over a week since her very first date. Her very first kiss. Her very first time having a man over to her apartment for the purpose of kissing. Her very first time being at his apartment, which wasn’t supposed to be for the purpose of kissing, but became a location at which they had kissed, nonetheless. People don’t have boyfriends within a week of doing all those things, do they?

But it feels like she might have one.

She’s not seeing anyone else, obviously. And she knows he’s not, at least not in the past week, because—well, they’ve been together almost all the time. Unless he went on dates after work last Monday and Tuesday. Or in the middle of the night. Or after they had breakfast on Saturday, or before he was at her apartment on Sunday afternoon. Or maybe on Sunday night. Or those couple of times he went out for business meetings. But one of those times he took his assistant. He could be dating his assistant? But Peck is dating Pia in accounting, isn’t he?

Anyway, she supposes all those scenarios are plausible. But it sounds quite tiring for him, in her opinion, if Jaime is really doing any or all of that. And he probably wouldn’t have sent her sad face emojis on Monday evening, when she left for the gym in a hurry, right after work. She just—she needed some time to herself, to internalise everything. When she checked her phone after, she found that he had also texted her, I have a gym in my building, if you ever need to use it. That isn’t something you’d text someone if you were dating people in addition to that someone, right?

Then, on Tuesday morning, she had actually given Jaime advance notice about going over to Margaery’s that evening. Which is something they do now, apparently—tell each other about their schedules. It’s not that she was avoiding him per se, though she did feel guilty when he sent her a sad face emoji again, the one with the single tear. But Brienne just needed someone to be there in front of her—so she could externalise everything, this time—and Margaery told her Loras wasn’t going to be home that evening. So Brienne went over, told Margaery all that had happened since, Gods, since two days before, and sat through an indecent amount of shrieking in the process. She had to make Margaery promise not to do any of that shrieking without Brienne present, not even to her brother, and not to Renly.

She especially couldn’t do any of that shrieking in the office.

On Wednesday, and Thursday, and Friday, however, Jaime was all—See you after work? or Going to the gym tonight, wanna join? or Come by later. I’ll cook dinner. She had said yes to all of those things, even the last one, though she had been very suspicious of Jaime’s culinary skills considering he only had a single almost-empty container of milk on Monday morning. But he managed, something simple that still tasted wonderful, more wonderful because he had cooked it specially for her.

And then there was wine.

And then more kissing.

And then she slept on his couch this time, in the clothes she lent him when he slept on hers. He hadn’t asked her to share his bed—she had this feeling that he wanted to ask, even though he didn’t— but he had offered to sleep on the couch so she could have the bed all to herself. She said no, I couldn’t possibly, and he said please, you’re my guest, and they went back and forth about it for far too long, until she decided to just lie down on the couch and not move. He laughed in defeat, and had the concierge send up an extra blanket.

In the morning, he drove her back home. They had breakfast together for the very first time.

At the office, though, for this first week after their first date—Brienne didn’t know what to do. How to act. Jaime still came by her desk, but now there was something different to his smile, the way he said her name. It was this, this undercurrent of—I know. I know what it feels like to have your lips on mine. And she knew the same, could barely look in his eyes because she knew. It was because she knew that she felt she could no longer dance with him. She stopped walking by his office.

By Wednesday, he’d noticed. When he walked by her cubicle, smiled at her, said her name, it now had an undercurrent of—Where have you been? Dance with me, Brienne. What’s wrong with a little dance? But he didn’t bring it up on Wednesday evening, or Thursday evening, or Friday evening.

When she woke up on his couch, realised it was a Saturday morning, she felt awash with an immense relief. It was ridiculous, this relief of Saturday, as if she had survived some perilous ordeal. But it was just five days of—of working in the same office as the man who might be her boyfriend. The man who is also, technically, her boss. On the scale of ordeals, this was hardly perilous at all. But she felt the tension leave her body all the same, at the realisation of the significance of a Saturday. There wouldn’t be a need to step into the office on a Saturday. There wouldn’t be a dance. Jaime was there by her side, anyway—on Saturday morning, on Sunday afternoon.

The second Monday after their first date, Brienne decided Mondays would always be her night to go to the gym on her own. She told Jaime so in no uncertain terms. She wanted to see him, she did—out of his suit and his slicked back hair—yet something in her told her it would be good to have that one night to herself, every single week. She would go to the gym where she actually had a membership, not to the gym in his apartment building. Although she had to admit that his gym was really, really, really nice.

But today—today is Tuesday. She’s sitting at her cubicle on a Tuesday morning, has no plans with Margaery tonight, has no plans with anyone. And now she has the option of having plans with Jaime, who might be her boyfriend.

Right on cue, he texts her: Do you have plans tonight?

No, she types, then thinks. She follows with, Movie? They haven’t gone for a movie yet. That’s something people do on dates, isn’t it?

Sounds good, he replies. She notices he’s typing his next message for a while. When she receives it, it says: Which cinema?

Which cinema? There’s one just down the street, and another about fifteen minutes walk away. She’s seen colleagues at both of those. They could go to the one that’s nearest to her apartment, but he’d have to drive all the way there in traffic. And where would he pick her up? Would she wait for him outside his apartment building? There’s also the one that’s about halfway in between here and the office. It’s not too far from the train station. Would she take the train, and have him drive there? That seems safe, but also—she doesn’t think Jaime would be pleased about that. They could take the train together, she supposes, or maybe—she’d leave first, and he’d follow—Gods, does he even know how public transport works? She actually doesn’t know the answer to that question. Would he get lost?

And just like that, one question became a hundred. She’s still holding onto her phone, looking at different cinemas on the map, trying to work out all possible permutations of watching a movie with Jaime in public, when he walks by her cubicle.

“Brienne,” he greets, and pauses at her cubicle. He doesn’t—he’s not supposed to pause. His eyes dart to her phone.

“Jaime,” she replies, keeping her voice steady as she can. Margaery’s chair is rotating towards them—Brienne can see it out of the corner of her eye—and she glares at Jaime. Keep walking, she tries to communicate with her eyes. He looks at her for a few more seconds, then walks away.

She immediately opens her messaging app and types, I’ll let you know later. I’m looking up the timings. Deciding on the venue is part of looking up the timings, isn’t it?

Jaime starts typing, stops, starts typing again. But when his message arrives, all it says is, Okay.

Then, Brienne gets an important email. And another, and another. She has to reply to all of those important emails. It’s just a cinema—it’s just movie timings—but isn’t there so much to do? She has so much to do. She has to eat lunch at her desk, she has too much to do. Next thing she knows it’s four-thirty in the afternoon, and her phone vibrates with another text from Jaime.

It’s looking like I’ll have to work late. Don’t think I can do a movie, but would still like to have dinner. Can you wait for me?

Well, I guess that solves the cinema problem, Brienne thinks, though she knows it doesn’t. The cinema problem will continue to exist. They can’t just—avoid movies. But what would it look like—the employee going for movies with her boss, whom the employee had punched? The employee who didn’t lose her job after, because of that boss? Which cinema? is just another way of asking What would it look like? And they hadn’t figured out the answer to that question at all.

But she doesn’t say any of that. Of course, Brienne replies. Have some work to finish up, too. I’ll be at my desk.

At five, Renly comes by her cubicle to invite her for post-work drinks. She declines.

At six, Margaery asks, “Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” Brienne says, “No, too much work to do,” but she looks pointedly in the direction of Jaime’s office anyway. Margaery just nods and flashes her a grin. Brienne returns that grin with a weak smile.

At seven, there are just a few people left in the office. Brienne stands up, on the pretext of stretching after a day sitting at her desk, walks to where she can see the entrance to Jaime’s office. The lights are still switched on. Not that she expected otherwise.

At eight, her phone lights up with: Twenty minutes, I promise. There’s one, maybe two people left that she can see, and they’re packing up to leave for the day.

Why don’t I go get takeout? she texts back. Meet you at your place at 8.30?

Sure, he says. Anything’s good, as long as it isn’t spicy.

Brienne thinks of shrimp dipped in hot sauce and smiles.

At eight-thirty, Brienne sits herself down on a bench in the lobby of Jaime’s apartment building, two bags of takeout beside her. She nods at the man sitting at the concierge, who’s seen her with Jaime three times already in the past week, as did the doorman who very kindly let her in. At eight-forty, Jaime bursts through the main doors.

“I’m so sorry.” He leans down to kiss her on the cheek, to Brienne’s surprise. He hasn’t kissed her in public before, even if just on the cheek, even if this is just the lobby of Jaime’s apartment building. “You must be starving.”

“Oh—it’s fine,” she says, still a little stunned. “Sorry you had to work late.”

“Yeah. Had to go through some contracts. Sometimes that takes me awhile.”

Brienne wants to ask Jaime what that means, why going through contracts might take awhile for him specifically. But he’s already picked up the takeout bags and held out his hand, so she takes it and follows him into the elevator.

They put on a movie while they eat, something they’ve both been planning to watch but haven’t gotten around to, and Brienne can’t help but think this is much safer than a cinema. The movie isn’t as good as they had hoped, not even bad enough for them to rant about—it’s just so much more ordinary than they had expected. But they agree to sit through the whole thing anyway.

When they’re done with their food, Jaime puts his arm around her, and she curls into his side. It’s something she never imagined she could do—curling into a man’s side—and it’s not exactly the most comfortable position in the world for someone built like her, but she does it anyway. They’re both still in their work clothes, of course, but Jaime’s taken off his jacket and tie, unbuttoned a couple of buttons. Most importantly, he’s rolled his sleeves up past his elbows. Brienne wraps her hand around his arm absently.

“You like doing that,” Jaime murmurs, his eyes still on the TV.

“Hmm?”

“Touching me there.”

Brienne pulls her hand back. “Should I not?”

“I don’t mind,” he says. “Just an observation.”

She finds she can’t touch him there now, though he’s said he doesn’t mind. She folds her hands in her lap, stares straight at the TV. “I just—they’re nice.”

“My forearms?” he asks, bemused.

“Yeah. Is that creepy?”

Jaime laughs. “No, I’m flattered. I like them too.”

Brienne rolls her eyes. “Of course you do,” she mutters, feels Jaime’s low chuckle travel from his body into hers. She leaves her hands in her lap.

It’s only when the movie ends that Brienne thinks to look at the time. “Oh fuck, it’s late,” she exclaims, jumping up from his couch. “I hope I can still catch the train.”

“I’ll drive you home,” Jaime offers.

“It’s too far. It’ll be past twelve—maybe almost one by the time you get back.”

“I could—” and then he falls silent. “It’s fine,” he says instead. “I’ll drive you.”

What was that? “Hold on—what were you going to say?”

“I was going to say—” Jaime looks somewhat sheepish. “I was going to say I could stay over. Then I could drive you to work tomorrow, too. Or drop you off somewhere, if you—if you don’t want us to be seen together.”

“Oh.” Oh. “But you’d have to sleep on the—”

“I don’t mind. Only if you don’t mind.”

“I, I don’t mind. Would we need to leave at six, though?” It was fine that one time, and she usually has to be up by six forty-five anyway, but she’d definitely appreciate that extra bit of sleep.

“I could—I could bring my clothes. Get ready at yours. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.”

Okay then. Since neither of them seemed to mind any part of this arrangement, Brienne finds herself in Jaime’s car, driving back to her place past eleven at night. As she looks out the window, the height of the buildings getting shorter and shorter as they travel towards the outskirts of the city, she thinks, once again, that Jaime really might be her boyfriend. She supposes today counts as their sixth date. Or seventh, if she includes the breakfast on Saturday morning, though it was really sort of an extension from Friday night. All of that in—what, ten days.

“Did you figure out which cinema, in the end?” Jaime asks abruptly, when he stops at a red light.

“What?”

“Which cinema would we have gone to? If I didn’t have to work late?”

“Oh—I—I got caught up with work—”

“Oh.”

Brienne sighs, looks down at her hands. “The truth is, I didn’t know which one to pick, Jaime. I was freaking out about who would see us, if we went to the ones within walking distance of the office, and then it seemed like too far to go to the one near my apartment, although I guess we’re heading there now anyway so I suppose I could have picked that—”

“Brienne—”

“Sorry. I’m rambling. It’s stupid.”

“No—it’s fine.” The light turns green, and Jaime accelerates just a little too quickly. “I just wanted to say—I’d like to watch a movie with you. At a cinema, in public. I’d like to do that with you at some point, without having to worry. I’ll drive to the one in your neighbourhood, if that’s what you’d prefer. But still, I think—this is—it’s something we need to sort out. Being seen.”

“I know,” Brienne mumbles.

“I know I said I’d work something out but—is there anything to figure out, really? Are we doing anything wrong?”

“No—I suppose not. But people will talk, anyway.” Brienne picks at her fingernails, thinks of how she came to punch Jaime in the first place, thinks of Brienne the Beauty.

“I—it’s not that I don’t understand it, but—does it matter?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think we’ll know if it matters until they start talking.” She’s always tried to brush off people’s words, but—has it ever really worked? Truly worked? Haven’t those words always found ways to burrow underneath her skin, stay there?

“We can’t hide forever,” is Jaime’s response.

Brienne looks over at him. Jaime’s eyes are still firmly on the road. Forever. Isn’t it too soon for words like that? Yet, Jaime’s about to stay over at her apartment again, for the second time in ten days. He has a change of clothes in his back seat. He’ll be sleeping on the couch, but—he has a toothbrush waiting for him at her sink. How did this all happen? In ten days?

The rest of the drive is quiet. So is the walk from the car to her apartment, though Brienne holds his hand, anyway. He’s sitting on her couch, hands clasped together, when she brings her extra blanket out to him.

“Two months,” she announces, as she sets the blanket down beside him. Two months—it feels like a long time compared to ten days, but—

Jaime looks up at her. “Two months?”

“We… we keep it quiet for two months. Then—we’ll review the situation.” She doesn’t want to be so businesslike about it, but it’s best to have some kind of timeline. She thinks it’ll help Jaime feel settled, somehow, even if she is making him wait.

“Okay,” Jaime exhales. “Two months. If my father doesn’t—”

Oh. She forgot about that. She sits down next to him, slips her fingers between his. “We’ll assume he won’t. If he does, and we want to—to continue. Then we… work something out.”

“Okay. Two months.” He turns to look at her, grips her hand tighter. “Will you do something for me, Brienne? Will you—at least not treat me like a stranger? At work?”

“Oh—oh gods, I’m so sorry about that.” Brienne buries her face in Jaime’s arm. “I guess I just—I don’t know how to act around you now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I just think I’ll—I’ll smile too much or something.”

Brienne feels Jaime’s fingers brush her hair away from her face. “I wouldn’t mind that.” Gods, will he ever not make me blush?

“How about this.” She perches her chin on his shoulder. “I’ll promise to try not to treat you like a stranger. Is that good enough?”

“Hmm,” Jaime says, attempting to sound aloof and failing miserably. “We’ll see how you do this week. Then we can review the situation.”

Brienne gives him a playful nudge just before she stands back up. Her hand is still in his. “Goodnight, Jaime.”

“Goodnight, Brienne,” he replies. She takes a step away, two steps, but he won’t let go of her hand. As she rounds the couch, Brienne remembers the first morning she spent in Jaime’s apartment, waiting for him to get ready. She leans over, rests both their hands on his shoulder. “Please, for Gods’ sakes,” she whispers in his ear, “wake up early if you’re gonna spend an hour in the bathroom.”

“I will,” he smirks.

Brienne thinks for a moment, or stops herself from thinking, then gives him a kiss on the cheek, just as he had kissed hers in the lobby of his apartment building. She attempts to walk in the direction of her bedroom—except Jaime’s fingers are still entwined with hers.

“Goodnight, Jaime,” she repeats, looking meaningfully at their hands.

Jaime says nothing. He only brings her hand to his lips, kisses it like a knight of old, and lets her go.

[etherealwaifgoddess]

Birthday Gifts

Main Characters:  Bucky x Reader

Summary: Set  in the What He Wants AU, it’s Bucky’s birthday and he receives a very surprising gift from our main character, and also gets himself exactly what he wants for his birthday :)

Warnings/ Content: Tooth rotting fluff 

Word Count: 2,173

Author’s Note: We’re back in the WHW AU, my lovelies!! Our boy has been carrying around that ring of yours for a while now and it’s starting to get prettttty heavy in his pocket. I had the idea for this all the way back when I was originally writing WHW and I really looked forward to sharing it with you all one day. Well, the day is today! For anyone not familiar with What He Wants and the one shots from the same series please check out the master list HERE

XOXO -  Ash

Birthday Gifts

Bucky takes to carrying the little black box with your engagement ring in his pocket every day. It starts out because he’s afraid to leave it around the apartment where you could potentially find it, but then it becomes a comforting habit. Some days when he’s overwhelmed by his love for you he wonders if that’s the moment. Something as simple as the way your eyes light up when you’re pelting him with snowballs after you’ve shoveled out your walkway make him wonder if he should just drop to one knee and do it. But he waits, biding his time. Bucky wants it to be special and memorable when he finally proposes to you. He mulls over what he’ll say some nights when he’s having trouble sleeping and thinks he has some pretty good ideas. 

The winter drags on and it’s a brutal one, you spend a lot of time cooped up together in your little apartment when you get snowed in. Bucky feels like you’ve been together for a lifetime with all the time you’ve spent together and he almost takes advantage of Valentine’s Day to propose but decides last minute that it’s too cliche. 

March rolls around and you start planning Bucky’s birthday party and his gift. You know exactly what to get him and have the plans set into motion. Bucky grumbles at all the attention, not particularly fond of it or of his birthday in general. You ask him often what he wants, just to be sure you’re not missing something else to get him. Bucky starts just answering with a long, drawn out sigh after the third time you ask. He knows exactly what he wants, and he’s going to get it. Birthdays are for gift giving and Bucky decides that his gift to himself is going to be you as his wife. 

The closer it comes to his birthday the more anxious he is, the ring sitting heavily in his pocket. He’s set in his decision to ask you but worries all the same. March 10th falls on a Wednesday so you make simple plans to take him to dinner in town and then go up to the Avengers Compound for the weekend to have a party with his friends. Pepper has been extremely helpful setting things up and letting you throw the party there. She’s a wonderful friend and you talk with her several times a week, glad to have a close female friend in your life again. 

When the day finally arrives Bucky is a giant ball of nerves and you worry slightly that he’s going to wear himself out. The team at the center keeps things low key out of respect for him, bringing in a small cake and a single joint gift for him. He’s moved by their kindness and genuinely appreciates their efforts. He thanks each person quietly later, blushing under all the attention. 

Dinner at his favorite Italian place is an equally subdued affair, just the two of you in a back corner booth away from the rest of the patrons. Bucky wants to relax and enjoy the perfect night with you but he’s so close to proposing that it’s all he can think of and wants the night to last as long as possible. When the tiramisu arrives he nibbles at it slowly, drawing out things just a little bit longer. He notices you getting impatient, “Getting a little restless?” He asks lightly.

You try to hide your frown, worrying about his present back at the apartment. “It’s fine. I just... I didn’t think dinner would take quite this long. We still have to get home so I can give you your gift.” 

“Does it have an expiration date or something?” He jokes.

“Or something.” 

Bucky shrugs, he knows he can't drag things on forever despite his nerves. He plans on proposing as soon as he gets his gift and can’t wait to see your face when you see your ring for the first time. You hurry through paying for your meal and drive as far over the speed limit as your dare on the way back, much to Bucky’s amusement.

Bucky might not have his full super soldier senses anymore but he hears a faint tapping sound as soon as you enter the apartment. He’s lost trying to place it as you lead him into the living room and have him sit on the sofa. Setting up your phone to record and placing it on the TV stand to capture the moment, you head back to the bathroom to collect his gift. Bucky is completely unprepared for what you return with. 

The tiny brown and white King Charles Spaniel puppy is wriggling in your arms, the blue bow barely staying on its head as it tries to lick your hand. Bucky’s jaw drops open, stunned, as you bring the puppy over to him. “Happy birthday.” You say in a sing-song voice as you hand him the puppy. 

“You got me a puppy?!” Bucky’s whole face lights up as soon as the puppy is in his arms and he’s holding it close to his face, letting himself be drowned by puppy kisses. The moment is filled with pure joy and you’re glad you remembered to set up the video on your phone to capture it. “Does he have a name?” Bucky asks, settling the pup on his lap to pet him and ruffle his ears. 

“Not yet. He’s your gift, I figured you should get the honors.” You tell him.

“Hmm. What about Poe?” 

“That’s unique. I really loved Poe’s work when I was younger too. Annabel Lee was one of my favorites.”

“Uh. Yeah. Me too.” Bucky looks sheepish and his cheeks are tinged red by more than just puppy kisses. 

“You didn’t mean the author, did you?” 

“I loved his character in The Force Awakens and then he just gets even better in the next two movies!” 

“You are such a nerd!” 

“Come on! Poe is brave and loyal, what better name for a dog?” 

“I just didn’t realize what a giant nerd you were. Out of all the movies you’ve watched and all the books you’ve read getting caught up on the 20th century, and somehow Star Wars became your default?”

“It’s an epic love story! And then it becomes so much more than that too. You watched them with me, so if I’m a nerd you’re one too.” 

You’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe and it’s freaking out Poe who’s wiggling his little butt trying to go check on you. You hold up your hands in defeat and stifle your giggles. “Fine, fine. At least we’ll be nerds together.” 

Bucky is still fawning over his new pet and you wonder if the poor little guy will ever be put down around him. “He’s perfect, mouse. How did you pull this off?” 

“Well, you kinda fell down a rabbit hole of looking at puppies online last month after you saw that SPCA ad. You kept showing me pictures of this breed, remember?” 

“They just have the cutest faces. And these floppy ears!” Bucky all but smooshes his face against Poe’s and you can’t help but gawk over what a big softie he is around the pup. 

“I know... I know... So I called around the local shelters until I found this little guy who had been brought in as a newborn. He was technically ready for adoption on Monday but they agreed to hold him for me until today. Martha ran out to get him while we were at dinner. I knew the motorcycle was going to be a tough gift to top but I think this worked out.” 

“This is better than the motorcycle, he’s so perfect. You always know just what to get me.” 

“Happy birthday, babe.” You move closer to Bucky so you can give him a kiss and Poe does his best to hop up and join in. You both laugh and give him all your attention again. 

“So, remember I told you I was going to get myself a gift this year?” Bucky asks. His tone is off, suddenly low and hesitant. 

You nod, “Yeah. I told you, you should get it, whatever it was. It’s good you want to do something for yourself.”

“I didn’t get it yet. I need your help actually.”

“Okay, whatever you need.”

Bucky hands you Poe and slides down onto the floor in front of you. His hands are shaking when he pulls the small black box from his pocket and you swear your brain short circuits when you realize what he’s doing. 

“After HYDRA took me in ‘44 I stopped thinkin’ about my future. Didn’t see the point of it, even after Steve got me out. There wasn’t a chance to do more than get through one battle, then the next, and then even after that it was missions with Steve and gettin’ through one day at a time. After Steve... well, you know what happened. But then came you. And you pushed me and challenged me to stop and think about the future. You have been so patient, and kind, and unbelievably strong while I figure things out and now I can’t stop thinking about the future. Our future. So now it’s my turn to ask you somethin’. Y/N, will you do me the honor of being my wife?” Bucky flips the box open revealing the ring and your breath catches in your throat. 

Inside the box is the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen. You know it’s custom made because its pattern and metals are identical to Bucky's arm. The sizable diamond in the middle is a light grey-blue that’s reminiscent of his eyes and you wonder who made this perfect creation that is Bucky in ring form. You realize you still haven’t answered and jump, startling all three of you. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Yes.” You say in a rush. 

Bucky lets out a relieved, happy sigh and pulls himself up on the sofa to take you in his arms. Poe wiggles away before he’s squished and is bouncing up and down next to you as Bucky pulls you onto his lap and slides the ring on your finger. It feels surprisingly delicate and the way it catches in the light makes tears well in your eyes all over again. You’re both crying and kissing and you realize your video is still going. Laughing, you show the ring to the camera and then shut it off. 

“Now we have both moments on video.” You tell Bucky who is still grinning ear to ear. Settling back on the sofa so you can cuddle in with him and Poe you finally ask him, “So, who made this? It’s perfectly you.” 

Bucky nods in agreement, “It better look like me, it’s from me. Well, the arm technically. Shuri was able to get the metal from a few different places on my arm and made the ring from that. You literally have a piece of me now. And the stone is from the royal vault, Shuri insisted we use it.”

“I need to thank her next time we talk, it’s amazing. I love it. I love you.” You lean into kiss him again and Poe yips. “Yes, I love you too Poe. I can’t forget, we’re a family of three now.” 

“God, I love the way that sounds.”

“Me too. So does everyone know you were planning this or do we have announcements to make?” 

“Announcements are needed, I want to show off this little guy to the gang anyway. Shuri, T’Challa, and their mother know about the ring but not that I planned on giving it to you today.”

“Why don’t we make a quick video and send it to your group chat? Then everyone can find out about Poe and the engagement all at once. We need to call Pepper and make sure she’s okay with us bringing him up this weekend though.” 

Bucky grabs his phone and you make a quick thirty second video showing off your ring and Poe, and send it off to the group. A minute later both of your phones are exploding with messages from your friends congratulating you both. Pepper actually demands you bring Poe along for the weekend so that’s settled, and you get a video call from Shuri who needs more details and to ensure you love her creation. 

Bucky settles into bed that night with you curled up against his chest and Poe resting behind his bent knees. It hits him that he’s surrounded by love, by his family. He’s amazed by how quickly his life took a different turn after Steve died. It’s been six months and he’s gone from existing out of habit to really living and having a family to call his own. Bucky can’t imagine what the next six months will bring but he’s looking forward to finding out with you and Poe by his side. 

Tag List Lovelies: @my-current-fandom-is @blacklightguidesnic @amazonianbeauty@ladyemofhousestark@abswritesfandoms@rupestria @dark-night-sky-99

[guileheroine]

a silly ficlet of not-yet-very-established relationship for korrasami month, day 20 (prompt: muscles), modern au/the everthere 💨

“Ooh. Zen.” Korra only says, by way of good morning, once she’s glugged down a litre of water and set the cup on the table.

“Korra,” Asami acknowledges her, businesslike (by way of that’s not a good morning and you know it). There isn’t a twitch in her form as she remains sitting with her feet pointed together in a long stretch, facing the sliding door to the garden, her back to Korra.

She has her yoga pants on and a tank top, which means this quiet time has been expressly marked into her mental schedule, whether a half hour ago or a week.

For a moment, Korra stands witless, without the bearings to consider the idea this seeds, her own next move on the day that stretches before her. Public holidays always feel this way. A Monday off isn’t really invigorating enough on its own terms to have her up early, but the alarm for class that she’d completely forgotten to disable is. And now she’s kind of at a loss, though not in a bad way.

And Asami here, trying presently to touch her nose to her toes isn’t helping. Normally she just goes for a run before diving into something a little more cerebral.

Clearly, it’s an odd morning for them both.

“So, is this... what you do before I get up?”

There’s a twinge in the collected line of Asami’s spine, only just percperceptible, as the laugh in her chest interrupts her posture. “Yeah, it’s a whole new world out here. So peaceful. Who knew, huh?”

Korra’s smile is fully formed, not that she can see it. “Then should I mind my business?”

Silence.

She isn’t sure if she’s read the implicit invitation correctly, nor if she says I’m gonna join you, but Korra thinks it to herself, which is enough for the moment. She proceeds on autopilot and by the time she’s returned downstairs with suitable clothing and a mat she feels more herself. Everything is in focus, especially five foot ten of very limber friend. (It’s not even the kind of thing she’d usually remember, let alone search out, but lately every detail of only Asami crawls for headspace.)

Well, girlfriend.

Wait. She’s not gonna ruin Asami’s very earnest effort to have a healthy and relaxing morning. Looking at it now, this seems like the next in all the little ways Asami’s been cooling down since finishing up with school for good. In which case Korra, for one, finds it extremely welcome and indeed healthy and relaxing.

She mirrors her movements, the very best way to mess with her from afar, but Asami takes it in stride. In one calf stretch she’s leading her through the next pose, and in a few more they’re alternating turns to guide. Korra relishes the unspoken groove they’re in. They exchange more by sight, but although conversation is slow from the priority they give to their bodies, it’s smooth.

“Hey, you never come to the gym with me anymore,” Korra muses, turning her head on the mat to consider Asami as she tucks her knee to her chest with both arms.

Asami wraps her own hands around her leg, and while she breathes deep before answering, Korra continues to reflect. They’d work out together pretty often back when their schedules matched better. Though they were easy days for Korra compared to her real training, she remembered those first couple years fondly: the simpler days of their friendship. Before twists and turns excruciating in ways both bitter and - fucking finally - sweet.

“Oh, you know it’s just ��cause you’d intimidate me,” Asami says, dripping with sarcasm instead of gently simmering like usual. Her voice rides low with it as she she uncurls and bends carefully into the bridge pose, sloping up slowly.

Korra moves alongside, pulling to feel the stretch in her locked fingers against the mat. “Or I’d distract you...” she counters matter of factly. She blinks at Asami; at the long, sinuous line of her, with her ribcage and her hipbones practically catching the light.

Asami tightens the stretch, but lets her head loll to the side. “Well, speak for yourself,” she says, breathier from the angle.

Okay then?

Korra looks up at the ceiling instead, and nudges at her mind to wander elsewhere. “Just thinking about how my mom used to make me do yoga every weekend during high school.”

“Oh, really? Hah.” That’s her normal voice again. “Did it help?”

“I mean… yeah, I’m pretty sure it did. Man, you know what? Now that I think about it it’s probably some shit Tenzin and Pema sent her.”

Asami giggles. “Zen buddies.”

As only middle aged parents could be. Korra snorts. Remembering her turn, she ponders absently what stretch she’ll pull them into as she inhales deeply. Her eyes fall closed as her chest and back open up, enticed with an effortless ease by the pose and her steady breath. Asami does the same and she makes - quite the bridge. The slip of a sigh draws Korra’s attention once again; and it finds the hem of Asami’s shirt also slipping a few inches chestward as she deflates.

Korra sits up as decisively as she can in this mindful pace, waiting for Asami to follow before she flips onto her front. “You know, this is yoga, technically. If you’re a just a little more conscious of your breath.” With her legs flush along the floor, she pulls her shoulders and torso up, weight on her palms. “Breathing is the more important part - which felt kinda phony when she said it, but Mom did show me some moves that really helped me destress.”

“Oh… I bet I could really use that. I just didn’t ever really get the hang of yoga, ‘cause I feel like I never know if I’m doing it right.”

It takes Korra a second of staring dumbly ahead to realise how pointed the statement is.

“What, you’re saying you’re still stressed?” She veers off easily, trying not to bite her lip. “You’ve no reason to be.”

Asami coughs, barely, but Korra notices that her upward dog threatens to buckle with a similar amusement. “It’s… hard to come down, you know, that’s all. And today I wanted to go to the bank for the new car before I realised-”

“Sit up, fine,” Korra says. “I’ll show you.”

She accedes wordlessly, a smile playing on her lips.

Korra pulls her mat to the centre of the floor and crawls over its length catlike in order to smooth it down, watching Asami watch her. She gestures for her to sit in the middle.

“Okay, cross your legs.” She sweeps around to examine Asami’s posture and then aids her to adjust it, with a tap here and a gentle push there. “Press your feet together. Spine straight.” She takes her hands and guides them to clasp loosely over her ankles.

Then Korra leans back on a hand, satisfied. “Hold that position, I’ll teach you how to breathe.”

That point must be very clear. Now, she sidles up behind her. “Just - notice how you breathe. Like, don’t force it.”

Asami’s arms are trim with their lean muscle, but Korra reminds her to loosen with a flat, lingering hand over them. Hardly thinking, she even flicks her thick ponytail over one side, eyes tracing up the racerback of her top until the rhythmic rise and fall of Asami’s shoulders curves her thought back to the exercise.

Korra slides an arm around her, under Asami’s own straight arms, to press without pressure below her ribs.

She thinks that’s a protest, in the form of more force in Asami’s exhale that she’s been explicitly told she can have. Her voice is a whisper. “What are you doing?”

“Noticing how you breathe.” It’s true, not even an excuse.

And she breathes like a hypnotist.

A glance at her focused face tells Korra that Asami would shrug if she could. Korra just tucks her chin over her shoulder. For ease of observation. “Now inhale deeply through your nose, for a count of four.” Asami remains impeccably still as Korra’s hand moulds over her abdomen, moving with it as she breathes in. “Hold it, for a sec - exhale for eight.” Through the thin shirt, she’s both firm and sleek - Korra skims over her skin with her sensible fingers to check the crucial balance of these remarkable qualities.

Having exhaled, Asami says, “You know that focus is a very important part of yoga?”

“Yeah, I’m the instructor here.” She curls the fingers of the hand around her inwards as a retort, causing Asami to shake her off. Korra settles shortly, with a light, unassuming hand over about the diaphragm again. “In for four again, and hold it for eight this time.”

They both manage to hold for eight. Asami clearly has a harder time of it, what with Korra holding all the way from her ribcage to her waistband in a long and luxuriant swipe. She exhales for six or seven maybe, certainly not eight.

“Alright, now what are you doing?”

Korra can’t keep the laugh out of her voice. “Admiring your, uh, form. It’s really hot, actually.”

“That a technical term?” Asami’s eyes glint.

Korra tugs down sharply on the hem of her shirt to make her bow forward, giggling. “You know what, I think this is blocking your energy from me.” She slips her hand under the shirt this time. “Try holding for eight again.”

As Asami breathes Korra runs her other hand gently along her side. Her posture remains perfect. All the dips and ridges with their even tone. She’s long and strong, treelike. One of those very pretty trees, like a birch or an aspen probably - slender and supple despite all the keen shapes. And Korra feels them out, skin on skin.

Asami’s tenser than she should be this time, even though she had been doing so well. Korra can tell her count’s failed.

“Control your breath,” she says over her shoulder.

“Control your hands,” Asami bites with no bite.

“Trying to help, I told you.” Korra sniffs and replies smoothly. She’d said hands, hadn’t she? So Korra puts the second over the first under the shirt - all the better to centre her. Asami hums suddenly to relieve her… whatever she’s feeling, while Korra smirks into her shoulder.

Then Asami loosens, and makes a valiant attempt at an even inhale. She unclenches her stomach from where she had tightened so as not to squirm too much; letting her hand fall away, bravely, from where she’d momentarily placed it over Korra’s to prevent it from roving.

Maybe Korra should honour the attempt. But it’s a lot easier to honour her own wicked whims. What with five foot ten of beautifully toned girlfriend.

Asami sucks her bottom lip in as Korra spans the expanse of her abdomen with a silky, inquisitive touch. And when she pulls her arms tighter around her, her practised breath hitches high.

Korra doesn’t laugh in her ear so much as in her neck. “Again, control your breath.”

Asami cheeps. “I cannot do that.” She rubs her nose on the back of her hand, face flushed, as they both take a moment. The edge that enters her voice somehow doesn’t detract from the utter modesty. “But you should - I mean, I can keep trying, if - you show me again.”

[fanders-fic-awards]

One Short Day (Summer Fic Comp 18)

Summary: Patton has a really bad day, so Virgil tries to help.

Trigger Warnings: The Q and F slurs. To skip them, skip the from ’“Okay,” Connor said’ to ‘Oh. Oh.’

Word Count: 2059

Ballot

Patton was having a very, very bad day. First, his coffee maker broke, spilling coffee everywhere and probably ruining his favorite sweater. Then his car wouldn’t start; thankfully, however, he had listened to Logan and gotten a portable jump starter kit that didn’t require a second car.

He pulled up to school, barely in time to start his first class of the day, which was senior-level Honors English. The bell rang, and 30 tired and unenthused seniors walked in the door.

“Good morning, class!” His greeting was met with mumbles, so he tried again, with even more pep he wasn’t at all feeling.

“What is up, everybody?”

“Hi, Mr. Sanders” came the ever-so-slightly more energetic response.

“Now, kiddos, I know it’s early on a Monday, but you can do better than that! I be-leaf in you!” Patton held up the plastic maple leaf he kept on his desk, eliciting 29 groans and 1 giggle.

“Ayy, you got me, Thomas!”

“Yeah, because you tell the same joke every day, Mr. Sanders.” The entire class laughed at Thomas’ quip, Patton included.

“Good point,” Patton ceded, pointing at him, “Get it? Good point? Also, valid observation.”

“You have cat to be kitten me. It’s too early for this bull-”

“Hey now, language! But you definitely deserve a Patt on the back for the excellent dad jokes today.”

“Was… was that a self-referential pun? To a crowd that usually doesn’t know the first names of their teachers, when you only just told us your first name last week?” Joan, Thomas’ friend, spoke up.

“Well, yeah! Why do you think I told you guys? Before that,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye, “I was Patton pending!”

“I never thought I’d say this, but can we please get to actually learning things?” Talyn, Joan’s datemate, called from the back of the class.

“Right, as usual, Talyn,” Patton laughed, “so who has thoughts they’d like to share on the chapters of The Picture of Dorian Gray you all read over the weekend?” Silence fell, with the exception of a murmur from a boy named Connor.

Patton knew it wasn’t right for teachers to have favorite or least favorite students, but Connor was by far his least favorite. Connor was the kind of student who put no effort into understanding the material and then complained that he didn’t get it, that it was boring. Patton frankly couldn’t understand why he was taking an honors course, and nothing he said or did seemed to get through to the kid. And that’s what bugged Patton the most. Every no-effort paper, every barely passed test, felt like a personal failure to Patton. He was responsible for his students and their success. At the end of the day, however, he knew that learning is communication, and communication is a two-way street. He didn’t dislike Connor as a person, of course, he was simply sad and frustrated by his apathy towards his education.

“What was that, Connor?”

“N- nothing, Mr. Sanders.”

“Now, kiddo, we both know that’s not true. Your thoughts are as important and valid as anyone else’s. So, please, share them with us.” Patton’s voice was firm, making it clear he wouldn’t accept ‘no’ for an answer.

“Okay,” Connor said, a challenging smirk on his face, “I think that this book is a waste of our time and that no one cares what a dusty old queer had to say about other faggots over a hundred years ago.”

Oh. Oh. Patton’s chest got tight and he briefly saw red before he remembered where he was. He noticed at least five students flinch at the slur and realized he had been presented an opportunity to make a real difference in his students’ lives. Patton took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts before beginning.

“Thank you for your honest input, Mr. Williams. While your phrasing was incredibly offensive, and we will have a serious conversation with the principal after class about your use of those slurs, you bring up a point that warrants discussion, one that has occurred in countless English courses.

Why should we care? What did this novel add to the world, and does the author’s background add or remove weight from their work? I was going to discuss Oscar Wilde’s sexuality and the homosexual themes throughout the novel after we finished reading it, but since Connor brought it up, this seems like a perfect time.

Before I start lecturing, I want to know if any of you have things you’d like to add to the discussion. Yes, even you, Connor, provided you phrase your comments more carefully.” Patton paused, giving his students time to speak up if they wanted to. He was immensely relieved when a usually very quiet girl named Samantha rose her hand.

“Yes, Samantha, the floor is yours.”

“Oh, um, I just wanted to say that I think it was really brave of Oscar Wilde. I feel like the book is about vice and, um, how it destroys people, even if you- if you can’t tell by looking at them. The fact that it’s Basil Hallward who is explicitly gay is really important. Other authors might have added being gay to the list of 'sins’ Dorian Gray is guilty of, but Wilde makes Hallward something of a tragedy.

The portrait is basically the product of Hallward’s sexuality, a representation of it. Gray destroys it and then kills Hallward, which by could be interpreted out of context as a 'punishment’ for Hallward being gay. And while killing the gay character is a tragically common trope, that’s not what Wilde wrote. Because it’s Gray who killed him, it can be argued that acting the way he did is yet another example of the debauchery that causes not only his death but in the end makes him as ugly as he always feared he’d become.

Sorry, I know you hadn’t assigned that far, but I really liked the book and needed to know how it ended. And, uh, sorry for talking so much.”

“Samantha, please do not apologize for any of that. That was very well put and almost every point I was going to make.” Patton wanted to comment that he noticed her voice getting stronger and more sure as she talked, but he didn’t want to embarrass her.

“Oh, um, thanks, Mr. Sanders.”

“Mr. Sanders, what are the 'other points’ you wanted to make?” Joan asked, who had been giving Connor a murderous glare the entire time.

“Before I answer, is there anything anyone else would like to say?” Patton waited for anyone to speak up, but when no one did, he continued, “I want to discuss the larger picture. But we’ll have to table that for another day since the bell is about to ring. If you want to read ahead, please do, but I’m not going to assign another chapter for tomorrow- all I ask is that you come prepared for a discussion of notable LGBT+ authors and how their identity shaped their works, such as William Shakespeare, Truman Capote, Emily Dickinson, and Tennessee Williams. Wow me with what you bring in and there are extra credit points in it for you! Have a wonderful day, and I look forward to our discussion tomorrow. Connor, a word, please.”

—-

Virgil came home to complete chaos. There was a mess of tangled fairy lights on the couch, and it looked like there was an explosion of flour in the kitchen.

“God, Pat, you are lucky I love you. What’s up with all the messes?” Virgil called out, laughing fondly at his chaotic energetic boyfriend.

“Oh hi, my love! I meant to have it all cleaned up by the time you got home. Time flies when you’re having fun, I guess! How was your day?”

“It was really good. Got a really big breakthrough with the couple I told you I’ve been struggling so much with- I think they’re gonna get somewhere really healthy.”

“Oh my goodness, that’s so great! We have to celebrate- as it so happens, I made chocolate cake, and was gonna make stroganoff for dinner.”

“Pat, it’s my turn to cook, remember? You spoil me too- shit. I can’t believe I missed it. What’s wrong, sunshine?”

“Nothing, Virge. I just wanted to do something sweet for my sweetie!”

“Please let me in, love. Can I help?”

“I- I don’t know, and I didn’t want to worry you. It’s just been a really rough day.”

“Let’s make a deal. Let’s make lasagna together while you tell me what’s up, and then I’ll draw you a bubble bath and we’ll watch 8 Mile?”

“Not 8 Mile, not tonight. Make it the 2005 Pride and Prejudice, and I’m in.”

“As you wish, Patton-cake.”

“I love you too, dork.”

The two men got busy making lasagna, singing and sort-of dancing as they cooked. When they put the dish in the oven, Patton started talking.

“V, it was a hell of a day. The coffee pot broke, and I spilled coffee all over my sweater, and I really need to call your brother and thank him for the advice about the jumper kit. Without it, I wouldn’t have gotten to work on time. But that was little stuff, and you know me, I brushed it off and was really excited to talk with my kiddos about The Picture of Dorian Gray. And class started really well, you’d have died at how they kept the pun train rolling. I love them all so much. I’ve talked to you about Connor before, right?”

“I think so. Total slacker, could be one of the best students in the class if he gave a damn?”

“Yep, that’s the kid. He dropped the f and q slurs a couple of times complaining about the book.”

“Oh my god Patton are you okay? What happened? Did the kid get his ass handed to him like he deserves?”

“Breathe, Virgil. It’s all okay. He’s got detention for 2 weeks, his parents know and are pissed, and I was able to turn it into a good teaching moment. Well, technically, Samantha did.”

“Quiet Samantha?”

“Yeah, she had some incredible insights into the book and how it deals with sexuality and morality. She apparently read ahead and finished the book, so she was able to tie in Gray’s death too.

It was incredible to watch. She’s so quiet and started out so unsure, but by the end, she was so confident, I almost cried.”

“You cry at everything, Pat. Don’t argue- you cried last week because snakes don’t have legs. For real, though, that’s amazing. You are amazing.”

“It was all her!”

“No, it wasn’t. I was just like Samantha in school. I had so many things to say, but I was terrified of being wrong, so I said nothing. Except in classes where I completely trusted the teacher, where I knew my ideas would be really heard, not just listened to, and respected. Teachers like that, teachers like you, change the world. I guarantee that Samantha will never forget today, and neither will any LGBT+ kid in that class.

God, Patton, you change lives. You are the most incredible person I’ve ever met, and it blows my mind that somehow you think I’m worthy of your love. Every day, I try to be someone you can be proud of, and I want to keep doing it for the rest of our lives.” Virgil slipped out of his chair and onto one knee, pulling a small velvet box out of his jacket pocket.

“Patton Sanders, at the risk of sounding cliché as hell, will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?”

“Virgil… my sweet and sour misunderstood shadowling, I couldn’t do any of what I do without you. You’re as important to me as air or puppies. You make me want to be the best version of me, and there is nothing I want more than to marry you.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes! Virgil Raine, I absolutely will marry you!” Crying, Patton pulled Virgil up and kissed his fiancé. “Now, let’s have some engagement lasagna and take an engagement bubble bath!”

“You’re such a dork. I love you so fucking much.”

“I hope you do, 'cuz we’re getting married!”

“That we are,” Virgil chuckled, tears in his eyes as well.

 @mystrangedarkson

[kfawkes]

If These Walls Could Talk (Part 4) - [Eggsy Unwin x Reader]

[HI! I am SO sorry I have been so bad at updating this week. But here we goooo, an update for If These Walls Could Talk!  I have been home technically for the last few days but I have been anything but not busy lol. So bare with me ;.; and please forgive me!!! I am sadly going to be out of town tomorrow- Monday for work in Mexico, so I doubt I will be getting an update out :( I love you guys though and have been working just not as much as I’d like to be, and I’m just so SLEEPY SO PLEASE FORGIVE ME. Especially you @ttdlg ;.; <3 

Pairing: Eggsy x f!Reader

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: Cursing, angst :) potential cheating.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

The walk across the street was somehow longer and more excruciating than anything thus far. Each shallow footstep brought you closer and closer to their door, yeah… but it also brought you closer and closer to the edge. Closer to something you weren’t sure you were ready for… that you’d ever be ready for. But the mission came first, and it would always come first. Your feelings however stupid or justified, however right or wrong… they would have to wait.

Saving the world was the priority, everything else would be second, so you kept walking.

But you couldn’t help but wonder what happens when your world stops being a place. When it stops being where you live and breathe… You wondered what happens when your world stops being the literal planet you call home or the copious amounts of work you surrounded yourself in…

What happens when your world stops being all of those things, and all of those billions of people, and starts becoming just one person… what the hell happens then?

Stop. It’s just this damn mission… it’s just the mission…

Only you didn’t even believe the lies you silently preached to yourself like a prayer. You knew you couldn’t blame all of those feelings on the mission, or any mission before it. Maybe those missions helped, but there was something else there. Something more than the undeniable attraction, something more than the bright luminescent connection… the one you felt swimming through your veins alongside the blood in them even now.

No, you absolutely couldn’t, and there was no version of yourself that could even pretend.

This, whatever this was went far beyond any game you had to play or any job you two had to do. Whatever this was— it was deep seeded, and rooted as far down inside you as you could feel. But it was wrong. It was oh so wrong, and you were the only one to blame in all of this… It was your fault, and whatever happened would be your fault. Except how could something feel so fucking perfect… how could you feel so complete— so whole when you were with him if it was all wrong?

You swallowed looking to Eggsy with a sad smile, one that didn’t stretch to your eyes and in response his own lowered somberly. You two stopped at the end of the walkway, the sounds of the party echoing through the air like the soft breeze as your unsaid words bounced between each other. The smell of meats, and other foods tickling your noses lightly as you tried to steady your rampant hearts.

“Hey,” he said quietly, stepping closer as his hand slid to your arm. When he touched you a soft static chill spread, and you drew your eyes to his almost reluctantly. “Everythin’s gonna be alright.”

You nodded hesitantly, swallowing again as a more believable smile spread your bright pink lips. He pulled you into a hug then which surprised you a little, but you welcomed his embrace like the warmth of a blanket. And when he did you pressed your nose into his chest, taking in a deep breath of his cologne and skin as you tightened your grasp around him; your finger’s pulling small fists full of his hoodie as you closed your eyes, nuzzling closer.

Eggsy rested his chin atop your head softly, his arms wrapped firmly and so perfectly around your shoulders. “We got this shit, yeah?” he pulled his chin from your head for a moment, still holding you just as close as before as he locked eyes with you again.

“Yeah. We got this shit.“ but you weren’t sure you did. You weren’t sure what he even meant by ‘okay’ either.

Was Eggsy’s version of okay the same as yours? Was his version of okay the two of you pressed skin to skin back in the house you were playing home in… or was it what yours should have been: You back with Andrew, and him back with Tilde or Roxy even… just someone available.

Someone that could give him what he deserved, not some would be cheat in an ugly 100 dollar skirt…

You didn’t say anything, and neither did he and you still didn’t know what he meant but his hand slid to your chin again and it was getting harder and harder to tell whether or not these displays were for everyone else or just for you two.

“Damn, you guys are cute…” Xander called quietly from the door, his face was a mix of mushy and a kind of happy sad where he looked like one of those puppies begging for food. He shook his head softly from side to side as a hand slid to rest over his heart.

The two of you released soft almost embarrassed chuckles at the kind intrusion as you stepped towards the door ready to be the couple you almost forgot you weren’t; you and Eggsy’s hands sliding and linking perfectly together as if pulled by a magnet, fooling even you.

“Marv, look how cute they are… fucking beautiful.” he spoke lightly and you couldn’t help but turn a lovely shade of red.

“Yes, honey… they’re adorable. Adorable and definitely making me look bad.” Marvin joked as a fake frown slipped before a playful wink at the two of you. He stepped forward kissing his husband sweetly on the cheek before continuing through the house towards what you could only assume would be the kitchen.

“Oh— god, I’m so rude, please come in!” Xander stepped aside, offering you a warm welcome to their home when he realized you were standing rather awkwardly before him. He was wearing a plaid shirt with tight black pants cuffed just above the ankle, revealing a pair of dinosaur socks. His slightly scruffy jeans were held up by another pair of thin black suspenders, and was clearly a fashion choice because when you said those pants were tight, you meant tight.

“This way!” he said again excitedly as you two stepped closely behind still hand in hand. Eggsy running soft circles on the inside of your palm with the pad of his thumb as he follow your lead. You tossed him a soft smile before your grand entrance, and eyes saying all you could not.

“Everyo—“ Xander started, but when no one listened he stopped, pressing the tip of his tongue between his teeth. “Gu—people! Shut the hell up.” he said louder this time then offered an innocent smile as eyes finally slid towards you two. Suddenly you felt like you were at the first day of school having to introduce yourself and say your favorite color or the name of your imaginary friend.

“My husband the charmer, everyone.” Marvin piped in happily as he continued towards the grill in the back corner, arms full of more meats than you could count. This was all very American for being in Germany, but you wrote it off to the hosts being from the states and were more than happy to eat free food.

A wave of laughter left the mouths of nearly everyone present, and even though you two played the part of shy new couple you used this opportunity to scan every face around you carefully. You didn’t know much about your target unfortunately other than he was a he, lived in this neighborhood, wasn’t married and had a crescent shaped scar on the left side of his ribcage… It wasn’t a lot to go on, and the last would be harder than the others to confirm, but you could worry about that later.

After Xander introduced you he joined Marvin by the grill leaving you two to mingle and meet the neighbors like you’d been almost patiently waiting for. This opportunity couldn’t have been better with nearly the whole neighborhood being in attendance. But if this was such a perfect opportunity, and if your chances of success were so high you could almost taste them… then why the hell couldn’t you focus? Why the hell weren’t you happy…

When you looked to your far too handsome companion, and noticed the way he was looking at you you didn’t have to ask again. No, you knew why you maybe, sort of, (okay, absolutely) didn’t want to find the guy…

You didn’t want to find him because at the end of all of this your world would disappear, whether you stopped the big bad or not.

–Part 5 soon!

Tags: @ttdlg ,  @marvelmakeuplover , @thesandbeneathmytoes, @thebearwitch @eggsy-unwinnn @mediocre-koalaty @taronegertonlover

[peetabreadgirl]

Writer’s Block, CH7

Here it is! Thanks @litlifelover for the gif suggestion! I’m going to use it because there is a stay moment here. Thanks also to everyone that gave their gif opinion! I think we can all agree we just like Everlark together, however we can get them there. So here’s a little ‘togetherness’ for you. Read on AO3 or FFnet if you like. And happy continued bday to @katnissdoesnotfollowback. It’s almost time again! Lol. I’m slow....

“Done.”

 I open one eye and stare at Peeta, sitting cross-legged next to me on my bed with his computer in his lap. The bright glow of the screen is the only lighting in the room. It’s two in the morning and our project is due in 6 hours. He’s been re-reading and editing here and there while I fell asleep. I don’t know how he’s still awake.

 “Really?” My voice is raspy from sleep and my eye closes, too heavy to care that it’s finally finished. But my body feels weightless at the news.

 “Really.” I listen to the click of the laptop closing, the sliding of it onto my nightstand before he says softly, “It’s late. I should go.” He stands from the bed but doesn’t get far before my hand is around his wrist. I let my fingers slide down, tangling with his.

 “Stay?”

He doesn’t hesitate, nodding and stripping off his shirt before he climbs back onto the bed. My eyes are suddenly not so heavy, but it’s too dark to see much, so I turn over as Peeta curls around me, pulling a blanket over us. His arm across my stomach is comforting, and the warmth of his body would lull me right to sleep, but there’s something pressing against me that’s not going to allow that.

 Peeta’s hips flex once, and my lungs stop working. His breath ghosts across my neck and cheek, my mind racing and heart starting to thump harder. He doesn’t move again. Eventually his breathing evens out and I know he’s asleep. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed. A mixture of both maybe?

 I inhale deeply and try to go to sleep. Since it seems Peeta can do it so easily after being turned on, I should be able to as well. But no. An hour later, I’m still staring at the plain off-white wall, turned dingier by the lack of lighting. My eyes are big enough to set tea cups on and drier than the desert. I bet I haven’t blinked in seven minutes. I rub them closed and huff a big sigh, which causes Peeta to shuffle and his hand moves from my ribs to my lower stomach. An instant surge of need hits me. Shit.

 And it’s not going away. Not with him so close. If anything, it’s getting worse. Or better, depending on how I want to look at it. I count sheep to keep from thinking that the only things separating our private parts are four minimal layers of clothing - my sleep pants, Peeta’s basketball shorts, and our underwear.

 I don’t mean to wiggle my butt and push into him, but I can’t help it. He breathes and adjusts, turning his hips slightly away from me and repositions his hand back to my ribs. Not exactly what I had in mind.

 What do I do now? I guess I could get up to go to the bathroom and take care of it myself. At least it would help me get some sleep out of this busted night. But I’m too…  something to move. Too nervous or too aroused. Should I just wake him up and ask? No. I can feel my cheeks turn scarlet at the mere thought of it. We haven’t done more than steal a few kisses over the last week. There just hasn’t been time between work and school.

 But there is now.

 I wiggle against him a second time. “Peeta?” It’s a whisper, just to test if he’s fallen into deep sleep yet.

 “Mmm,” is his sleepy response and he snuggles close to me again, but goes still. I lace my fingers through his, wiggling once more before I give up. This night is going to suck. I’ve decided to close my eyes and ignore my body when his fingers curl in deliciously against my bare stomach where my shirt has ridden up. Sparks ignite inside me as he starts to draw lazy circles with every one of his fingertips.

 “Aren’t you tired?” he asks in a sleep-roughened voice.

 My heart beats a few times as I decide how best to answer. “No,” I whisper truthfully. His lips touch the bare skin of my shoulder while his hand continues to create delicate art above the waist of my pants. I can’t help reaching behind me and sinking my fingers into his hair. He groans and flattens his palm against my belly, pulling my hips into his. I can feel him again, but my concentration is lost when his fingers wander further south.

 “Katniss?” His lips are at my ear now. The warm breath that tickles me also lights me on fire. My lips are pressed together so hard my only response is a muffled, “Mmm?”

 “Can I touch you?”

 I don’t say anything. I am physically incapable of speech right now, so I cover his hand with mine, guide it to the waistband of my pants and push it underneath, letting him know without words that I want him to touch me. I need him to touch me. Sleeping next to him even for the few nights we have has turned into sweet torture. To hell with slow.

 When his fingers sink between my legs, my toes curl. It’s exactly what I’ve been waiting for, but way too soon he removes his hand. My chest almost explodes with disappointment until I realize he’s tugging on the elastic sitting lower on my hips than it was moments ago. His lips hover just below my left earlobe, and the warmth of his breath raises tiny bumps across all of my body when he asks me, “Can you take these off?” Again, I say nothing. Just shed my clothing like he wants. I’ll do anything he asks right now.

 His hand returns to the place I want - no need - it most, and my body is on a climb to the top of an imaginary mountain. Every stroke of his finger is a step towards the peak, and when I finally get there, there’s no time to spend ogling the view. I jump off the other side without a parachute. Weeks of frustration and longing shatter beneath his touch as I sail to the valley below. It’s even better than the first time it happened in his apartment and I wonder how soon we’ll be doing that again, out loud apparently because he answers with a soft laugh.

 “Anytime you want. That was amazing.” He nuzzles my neck with his nose as I float down from my spectacular high. My body sags against his as he cocoons me from behind, completely and utterly relaxed. He doesn’t try to go any further than that. If I had the energy I might wonder why, since the story is technically finished and there will be no more adding to it. No opportunity to write our experiences as Julia’s and Adam’s. But I don’t bother to analyze it, and in no time at all I’m drifting off.

“It’s a big, big, big daaaa-aaaay!” Professor Trinket sing-songs at the beginning of class on Monday. “Hopefully, you all sent your submissions in to my email by the start of class. I’ve already seen a few that I can’t wait to read.” Professor Trinket claps her hands together and gives me a pointed look. There’s a gleam in her eyes that makes me certain ours will be first. And probably read more thoroughly than any other. It causes a bit of a nervous flutter, but then Peeta’s knee knocks into mine and he gives me a smile that almost makes me not care about what the professor thinks. I got something even better than a perfect grade out of this project. Something that rooted itself inside me and grew before I knew what was happening.

 I return his smile, unable to imagine what life was like before him, and then I blush, looking away quickly when I remember what happened in my bed last night. Peeta was gone before I got up, leaving me half asleep with a quick kiss to the back of my head, so I didn’t have the opportunity to be embarrassed around him. Which is what’s happening now.

 “Obviously there’s no way I can read all of these in a week, so I’ll task you with one more assignment, which will also be part of your final grade.” My attention snaps from last night’s events to the present at the professor’s statement. Everything around me is forgotten. “You will read and review another group’s project - no skimming,” she warns. “You have until end of class Friday. Time starts now, class. Chop chop.”

 I look at Peeta, always so calm and collected. The exact opposite of how I’m feeling right now. Most of our story is about us. Me. Finding my way through my own sexuality and a boy I despised but came to... like a lot. I only recently became okay about Peeta and Professor Trinket reading it, and now I have to let more people in? This can’t be happening.

 Before I can collect my thoughts, Cato looks past me to Peeta. “You guys want to switch?”

 My breathing stops as Peeta looks around at the other pairs, already partnering up and says, “Sure,” before I can scream No! at the top of my lungs. I can’t fault him, though. He has no idea how uncomfortable Cato makes me feel. Should I tell him?

 “Here,” Cato says, placing a sheet of paper in front of me. “Write down your email and number for me.” I panic, grateful I don’t have a number but I don’t want Cato to have any way to contact me. I’d rather him not even know my name. Or that I exist as a person.

 I grab my things faster than I ever have and excuse myself, not meeting either of their stares even though I can feel them burning into me. “Actually, I have to go. Peeta can you handle that? Thanks.” I don’t wait for a response before I’m barreling towards the exit.

 I go on with my day, tense and anxious for most of it. I try desperately not to think about the last leg of the project. I am also trying not to plan Professor Trinket’s slow death. I partially succeed at the first one. I tell myself every ten minutes that it’ll all be over in a matter of days, and while it’s true, it doesn’t make letting a stranger into the doc any less daunting.

 It’s not until later when I’m in my room that Peeta knocks on my door. I open it and find him leaning against the frame, a curious look in his eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks as I push the door all the way open in invitation. He shoves off his shoulder and walks in, closing the door behind him. I plop down on my bed, fold my legs under me and shrug my shoulders.

 Peeta follows, sinking slowly next to me and places his hand on my knee, shaking it lightly. “Talk to me.”

 From anyone else, the statement would come off demanding, but with the person who’s come to mean more to me than almost anyone, it’s an opportunity to purge my feelings in a safe place. Something I’ve never really had before.

 “I was just surprised that we have to share our story with other students, and honestly Cato is not the person I would have chosen to review it.” I shiver at the thought of what the brute will have as ammunition after he reads it. “He’s kind of a creep and now he has my email.”

 Peeta squeezes my knee in what feels like an apology. “He doesn’t have your email.”

 “He doesn’t?”

 “No. I didn’t want to partner up with him, either, but it seemed like everyone else was already taken. But I wasn’t about to give another guy my girlfriend’s information anyway, so I just gave him mine.”

 I’m almost compelled to tell him I love him right then, and I might have if it hadn’t been for the word he just used. “Girlfriend?” I can feel one brow inch its way up my forehead. We haven’t talked about it and I haven’t given any thought to labeling us. I’m not sure I want to. I don’t want to ruin the easy feeling between us.

 “Yeah,” he replies, his hand inching up my thigh, making me lose focus on our conversation. Then his brow creases as his hand pauses. “Are you okay with that?”

 I swallow and my eyes flutter. I want him to stop talking and finish where I think this is going, but I know he’s going to want an answer. I don’t have one for him right now, partly because he’s touching me and partly because I haven’t had time to think about what it means, so I answer his question with one of my own. “Are you?”

 He leans in and his lips are so close I can feel the smile on them. “I’ve been okay with it since the day I met you.” And then he kisses me. Something in my chest flutters. I stop thinking and fall back on the bed, Peeta following without breaking the kiss. He’s on top of me and his weight is like a welcome home hug. Except way more indecent.

 One of his legs finds its way between mine as his tongue divides my lips and conquers my mouth. I raise my white flag of surrender by driving my hips into his. I can feel his hardness pressing against my thigh. He grunts and one of his hands slides down my side to rest at my hip. He squeezes and it feels urgent.

 Our kiss speeds up, my pulse with it, and I wrap my arms around his neck, holding him tight to me. Our hips are in a rhythm that feels so natural and… primal. I can feel his length sliding against me, but I want to know more. I need to know what it feels like in my hand. I want to see if I can make him feel good, too.

 His hand begins its descent between my legs and for a split second I forget all about wanting to do something for him.

 “Peeta, wait.” I say through our kiss. He freezes, his body tensing above me.

 “‘I’m sorry-”

 “No, it’s not that, it’s um, I want to…” Just tell him you want to touch him.

 Peeta must think he knows what I’m trying to say, because his eyes widen and he drops his weight off to the side of me, scrubbing a hand over his face and uttering a soft curse. “I, uh, didn’t bring anything with me.”

 I raise up on my elbows to stare down at him and narrow my eyes, trying to decipher what he would need to bring with him other than his cock, which is definitely present, when I realize he means a condom. “Oh! No I didn’t mean - I just wanted to t-touch… you,” I stumble around the words, not able to meet his gaze. Instead, my eyes land on the very large object in question. I don’t want to look away but I know I should. Shouldn’t I? Then it moves. Just the tiniest twitch, and my eyes flick to his, dark sapphires now.

 I sit up on my knees and reach for the hem of his shirt, pushing it up a little. “Can I?” My fingers itch and my stomach is a ball of nerves. The good kind I guess, because they’re not holding me back. He nods and his eyelids shutter a few times before he closes them. It’s a bit of a relief not to have him watching my first attempt at pleasuring a man. I’m not a hundred percent sure what to do, so I recall a few scenes from my reading. Scenes that at first made me cringe, but now make my mouth water and my legs tighten when I think about them.

 I release the brass button of his jeans and drag the zipper down. Peeta helps by raising his hips and pushing them even further. I’m unprepared for the way it springs up at me and I jolt a little. It’s just… standing there. I bite my lip, watching as it twitches again. A quick glance at Peeta and he’s watching me as intently as I’m watching it.

 He breathes out a shaky breath that sounds like my name, and that’s all it takes for me to reach out and grip it in my hand. It’s warm and the skin is soft.

 “Fuck.” The curse is quick and soft, freezing me in place.

 “Did I hurt you?” I loosen my already loose grip.

 Peeta shakes his head and one side of his mouth lifts barely in a crooked grin. “Here,” he says as he puts his hand over my own. “Grip it tighter like - fuck - yeah... like that.” He guides my hand up and down and when I’ve got the hang of it I move his hand away and straddle his thighs.

 “Holy shit, you’re gonna… kill… me,” he says between breaths. I bite back a smile. I was always a fast learner. “Feels… so good.” His groans mixed with his affirming words make me feel so empowered. Like I can do anything. I’ve got the world at my fingertips instead of just his cock.

 His hips start to pulse in time with my hand and he grabs fistfuls of my comforter. I can feel the dampness in my panties. I fight back the urge to rub myself on his leg, but it’s no use. My body joins the same rhythm as my hand and his hips, like a well-timed harmony.

 I wonder what would happen if I just stop thinking and let my body take complete control. I’m tempted to give in and see, but Peeta tenses beneath me. I watch, mesmerized, as his his eyes close tight and his lips purse together. When his hand wraps around the top of his cock, I freeze again, unsure if I should let go or keep going.

 “Don’t stop,” he grunts, as warm liquid trickles down my hand. I start pumping until he stills my movement and lets out a deep, shuddering breath.

 “Katniss, that was amazing.” Peeta says softly, his face tilted to the ceiling, eyes still closed and lips parted. I feel like I just aced a test and got the extra credit.

 “Yeah?” I ask, finally letting go to survey the mess on my hand and his body. It’s gooey and… weird. I grab a few tissues from my desk and hand them to Peeta, then clean myself. It’s strange how satisfied I feel after doing that to him, and he hasn’t even done anything to me yet. I guess he doesn’t need to. I’d be happy to lay next to him and take a nap.

 I sit back on the bed, Peeta still laying there with his eyes closed and a contented look to his features. He’s mostly covered again, except for a sliver of muscled abs. He cracks one eye open when he feels my weight next to him, and I have no time to react as he lunges up and grabs me, twisting us so that I’m pinned underneath him. I’ve never been wrestled before but I have to admit that I may take up the sport.

 “Your turn,” he says with an adorably crooked smile. He laces his fingers with mine, raising them to the pillow above my head. Then, he nudges my chin to the side with his nose and I feel his lips on my neck. The nap I wanted evaporates like drops of water in the driest climate.That satisfaction I said I felt? It’s long gone. And in it’s place is a hunger I’ve only acted on over the last few weeks.

 “Katniss?” he asks as one of his hands skims from my hand all the way to my waist and under the hem of my shirt. His fingers draw figure eights on my skin, up and up and up. He stops just below my breast. It’s difficult, but I use my words and give him the permission he seeks to make me feel good.

 He pinches and rolls my nipples between his fingers for a long time, making me squirm and arch beneath him before he undresses my bottom half and parts my legs. He caresses my inner thighs and I can feel his breath hit my center. My pulse thunders in my ears and my chest rises and falls, more labored than a sweatshop in China.

 Peeta takes an inordinate amount of time exploring the flesh around my hips and down my legs. He kisses my calves, licks the underside of one of my knees, and bites the inside of my thigh. I both love it and hate it. I wiggle my hips at him, growing more frustrated by the second.

 “Touch me,” slips out in a panted plea.

 “I was thinking maybe, if you want me to, I could… go down on you.”

 I tense when I realize he means he wants to put his face there. I know guys do it. I’ve overheard a few girls talk about it before and I thought it was disgusting. How could someone let a human being put their face down there? Bodily functions happen from there. But now, with Peeta so close, I don’t have the same grossed out feelings, but I also don’t know if I want him to do that.  

 “We don’t have to.” he says, his hands skimming my legs before he crawls up my body. He kisses me and I relax a little.

 “Thank you,” I whisper. “Can we just… kiss for a little while?” The desire I felt moments ago isn’t quite as strong, and I feel like I need to slow down. His answer is just to kiss me again, soft and slow, with no end in sight. His hands don’t venture any place other than my hair, cheeks and neck, and it’s not long before we’re holding each other and falling asleep.

It’s Wednesday and I’m at work, sitting in the box office with a Marie Claire magazine I discreetly snagged off the table of the students’ lounge the day before. One of the articles is about oral sex and, curious, I want to see what all the fuss is about. Maybe get some tips on what to do or how to prepare. I’m mainly concerned with whether or not Peeta will think I’m gross after the fact. Pubic hair and body fluids aren’t exactly sexy in my book, but I’ve learned over the length of this project that whatever I have an aversion to, learning about it helps me understand. Take the edge off whatever reservations I’ve built up over time.

 The main question I have is does he really want to do that? According to Marie, he’s fantasized about it. The article is fascinating, though, and what I thought was going to be a cringey read is getting me a little excited and making me feel strangely desired.

 I’m insatiable for more on this subject, and I’m rounding out my third read-through when I glance up at some movement on the curb and see Cato strolling towards the building. I stash the magazine hastily like I’ve been caught by my mother with porn. When he’s only ten yards away my heart leaps to my throat. I’m sure I won’t be able to form any words, which is ironic considering mere words can’t express how badly I don’t want to interact with him.

 The thought dawns on me that he’s here for me and not to see a movie. It’s matinee time on a Wednesday. The only people who ever come to see movies during this time are the elderly and mothers with toddlers. He is neither of those and he’s alone. Smiling unnervingly. It’s not an ugly smile, and if I didn’t get a bad feeling every time he’s in my vicinity, he might actually be attractive. But I do.

 His hulking frame takes up most of the window space. “Everdeen,” he says, tapping his fingers on the outside counter. I clear my throat to speak into the microphone.

 “Can I help you?” I pray that being professional and aloof will hurry up whatever this is. Maybe he really is here to see a movie. By himself. In the middle of the day. His smile grows wider, showing bright white teeth all in a perfect row.

 “Yeah, I just wanted to see if I could buy you some dinner after work. I read your story. It was a real page turner,” he winks at me, “and I want to give you my thoughts on it.”

 “Oh,” comes out as a squeak, but I cover it quickly with, “I already have plans, but you can leave comments in the doc. I probably won’t be able to get to them until late.”

 “I don’t want to leave them in the doc. I’m more of an in person kind of guy.” He leans over, elbows on the counter, his face so close to the glass his breath creates a light circle of fog. One of his eyebrows raises in an assumptive way and it makes the fake cheese from the nachos I had at lunch curdle. He tries again. “What about tomorrow?”

 “Ummmm-”

 “Come on, Everdeen, don’t make me beg.” He winks again.

 “I really can’t tonight or tomorrow. I’m sorry.” I hold my hands up and shrug while silently praying for this to please be over.

 “Damn, girl,” he replies, and I catch a sliver of annoyance in his tone. Then one side of his lip curls up. “You’re making it hard.” He winks for a third time and I’m starting to think maybe he has something in his eye. But no, he read my story. My very dirty, very private, should have only been read by my professor story.

 “How about I drive you to wherever you’re going after work? I know you don’t have a car.” The way he says it gives me this feeling in my gut. Like I should watch out for myself. I freak out inside. An imaginary mallet strikes the lever on my panic meter and the puck goes straight through the bell. So I lie. Anything to get him to leave, and that’s giving him a ‘yes.’

 “Yeah, okay. I get off at eleven.” Not true. I get off two hours earlier. I can’t look him in the eyes through the deception. I’ve never been good at lying, so I stare at my computer screen and click the mouse a few times to make it look like I’m working, then say casually, only glancing up once, “But you don’t have to wait around. Just come back later.”

 He taps his fingers on the counter twice and a huge smile overtakes his face. A sign of victory, I suppose. If it weren’t for his cold eyes, he might seem harmless. Or at least not as intimidating as he does. “You got it, Babe,” he calls out as he walks away.

 A shiver rips its way through my spine. Babe. I can’t wait to get out of here.

 By 8:30 I’ve kept a running total of the cash I’ve exchanged tickets for and cleaned my area three times to make sure I can walk out the door by 9:01. I want as much time between myself and Cato’s arrival as I can possibly get. My hands tremble a little more with every minute that ticks by. I swear my bottom lip is going to be one giant bruise tomorrow morning from how hard I’ve been biting down on it. My stomach is twisted into fifty knots. And counting.

 The door to the box office pops open and my boss leans his head in, irritation in his voice and a snarl on his lips as he tells me, “Bristel called in. I need you to close tonight.”

 He doesn’t wait for an answer, just slams the door, the sound of it reverberating through my ears, settling in my stomach as a boulder, flattening all those knots. When it’s gone, I’m left in complete silence. A needle could drop in a haystack and I’d hear it. I stare at the door knob, feeling like if I tried to turn it I’d find myself locked in. And with only a small opening in the bullet proof glass, there’s no other way out.

 My heart beats faster and within moments I feel beads of sweat on my forehead. This can’t be happening. I told him to come back! And now I have to stay? Fuck!

 No.

 I can’t stay.

 I won’t stay.

 The walls start to close in. I need air. This place is feeling more like a tomb that wants to swallow me up rather than four walls designed to keep people out.

 I’m not supposed to leave the box office unattended, but I don’t care much about it right now. I need to tell my boss I can’t stay late. Fear is eating away at my insides, trying to keep me rooted in place and bolt out the door at the same time. I peel my leaden feet from the floor and choose the latter.

 On my way to Marv’s office, I throw a quick prayer up, promising I’ll never lie again if I can somehow get out of this. Begging a higher power for him to have mercy on me. I start coming up with a list of good deeds, like working in soup kitchens every holiday or reading to underprivileged kids at the public library. I could volunteer at the old folks home on the weekends. I’ll do anything.

 I shouldn’t have to, though. I’m a good worker. I come in early and leave late. I do my job, going over and above to make sure I’m never written up or give anyone a reason to think I’m slacking off. I’m his best worker. He’ll understand. Or not. He’s kind of a douchewaffle.

 I rap my knuckles on his door, my fear waning some in the face of the confidence I’ve built in my work performance.

 “Come in,” he hollers. “Yeah?” he barks when he sees me. He’s extra cranky tonight.

 “About closing, I-”

 “I need you, Everdeen. You know we don’t keep a big staff on Wednesdays. Take it up with Bristel the next time she’s in.”

 I stop just short of whining, even though I really want to. “But, I can’t stay.”

 “Look, I’m in a bind and you’re my go-to girl.” He sighs, as if deciding whether or not to say something that’s on his mind. “I’ll be needing an AM soon and I was thinking of recommending you for the position. It’d come with a significant pay raise and get you out of that box. Just say you’ll do it and the job is yours.”

 Huh. I did not see that coming. I should have told him ‘no’ months ago. I’m about to graduate college, and while I’ll be looking for work in my field, I also know it could be weeks or even months before I find something. I could really use the raise.

 I set both options on the scale - weighing them out against each other. On one side - Cato. But more money. On the other - hiding out from him at my place. He may even know where I live. He knows I don’t have a car. Would avoiding him now help me? He’ll probably come back anyway and I’ll have to deal with him another time. He’s been persistent in making me feel uncomfortable for the last few months. I think it’s about time I told him to back off.

 “Fine,” I answer Marv with the same snarl he gave me earlier. “But you better not be screwing with me.” I close the door harder than I meant to, but maybe that will seal my point with him. I’ve never spoken to my boss like that, but only one thought is at the forefront of my mind as I return to the box - I need Peeta. He should be here to hear Cato’s thoughts, too. He wrote half the story and edited most of it.

 I enter the tiny cubicle, no less nervous about Cato, but I do have an idea of what I’ll be buying as soon as I get my raise - a cell phone. And Peeta’s number will be speed dial numero uno.

 I glance at the dingy, white phone hanging on the wall of the tiny room. I could use it, but the one person I need to call right now is unreachable because I don’t have his number.

 The doc! I bounce on my toes a few times in relief before springing into action. Employees aren’t supposed to be on the internet with work computers, but I’m desperate to reach Peeta. If Marv finds out I’ll get written up and my record won’t be so perfect anymore, but I don’t think too hard on it. I log in to my google account and click on my gmail, sending off a quick email to get Peeta online. Then I open hangouts and the doc, and wait.

 And wait.

 And wait some more.

 A line starts to form for the late shows. It’s not long, but it takes my attention away from the screen. A few people trickle up to the window, but it dies down as it approaches ten o’clock. Peeta still hasn’t gotten online. My stomach turns over a few times. 52 minutes and 36 seconds left if Cato doesn’t show up early.

 At 10:15, it’s time to close the box office and help clean up the concession area. I have to log off the computer, but before I do I send a message through hangouts, hoping with everything in me that he gets it and comes, but trying not to put all my eggs in that basket. I may actually have to do this myself. Which is fine. Totally fine. I’m a big girl.

 Can you come by the theater around 10:45?

 I add ‘please’ to the end, hoping he realizes that’s me begging.

 I shut the lights out. I’m about to leave when I spot a figure in the far corner of the parking lot, leaning against the hood of a red car, arms folded while he checks his phone. Goosebumps pepper my skin and my mouth dries up instantly.

 Cato is here. And he’s so early that I wonder if he even went home.  

[productivedramaqueen]

stay alive (dreams only last for a night) - part 2

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of blood & illness, hospitals. Author’s Note: I have literally no scientific/medical knowledge, I only studied science for three years in school and I had no interest so I usually slept through the class. Hence my being deliberately vague with John’s illness. Also, I’m finding the present tense difficult to write in so I’m changing to the past. Sorry for any confusion!

** Friday, May 5th Unable to find a solid diagnosis… rare blood type… more tests will be required, and possibly a hospital stay… we’re sorry we have no more information, we’ve never seen anything like this before, we’re sorry, we’re sorry, we’re sorry Mr. Laurens.

John had never been more grateful for anything in his life as he was for morphine. The drug was the only thing that worked to lessen the intensity of his skull-splitting headaches. It made him sleepy, though, and he napped more and more throughout the day as time passed. Alexander, Hercules and Lafayette were a mix of worried, about John, angry, that the doctor’s seemed useless, and panicked, that whatever was wrong with John was so serious, things might take a turn for the worst.

They monitored him intensely, checking his temperature every hour, making sure he was eating. They swapped off in shifts- Hercules would stay while Alexander was at work and Lafayette would sleep, then Lafayette would stay while Alexander slept after work (a condition enforced by Laf and Herc when Alexander almost made himself ill too from exhaustion). Every day the doctors ran more tests, trying to figure out the cause of John’s sickness, but after a week it seemed they were no further on from where they had started out.

They first considered anaemia, then discovered that John had an extremely rare blood type that can cause a more severe type of anaemia, but that wasn’t it either. Whatever was going on inside his body was a mystery to even the most seasoned of surgeons, and they worried if he lost any blood, they wouldn’t be able to give him a transfusion.

flashback // Monday, May 1st ‘You have an extremely rare blood type, known as RH-Null. There are only nine others registered in the donor database, and there’s been very few people with this kind of blood in the world.’

‘What exactly does that mean for John?’ Alexander wanted to know, fists balled tight at his sides. The doctor sifted through his notes, then adjusted the thin, wire-rim glasses on his nose. ‘It means that we have no idea what exactly is going on with him. We have no supply of the blood on-hand - the closest donor we found on the database lives in Seattle. We’ll ask her to donate some blood, to keep for John, just in case.’

‘Why would he need more blood, does he need surgery?’ Hercules wondered aloud, John blanching at the thought, struck wordless by the events of the past day.

'Hopefully not, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.’

** (present)

The blood arrived on Thursday, sealed in plastic bags. It was put away for safekeeping, and though the boys were grateful to have it close, they hoped beyond hope that it wouldn’t be needed. Sadly, it did.

John’s nose began to bleed when Hercules was with him; relaxing in one of the chairs provided by the hospital. He’d been reading out a passage of a book for his boyfriend, his voice low and soothing. Hercules retrieved a pack of tissues- but the blood didn’t stop. He reached for the call button, John protesting.

'No, no, it’s fine! It’s just a nose bleed…’ his voice faded out, the words beginning to slur almost like he was drunk. His eyes fluttered shut and more blood came seeping out of, not only his nose, but his ears, too. Hercules slammed on the call button and stuck his head out the door. 'Can I get some help in here please? Nurse! Nurse!’

A handful of nurses rushed by him, one trying to escort him out. He was unceremoniously shoved from the room and the door slammed in his face. He stood, staring blankly at the door for a moment, dumbstruck by the sudden downfall of John’s condition. Remembering his boyfriends, he managed to tap out a few text messages. Then, all he could do, was wait.

**

Lafayette paced up and down the corridor outside of John’s room. Hercules had his back to the wall, long legs crossed over as he sat on the floor. Somewhere close by, a door banging shut. Alexander was home, sleeping; they had decided against waking him, knowing he needed sleep. Lafayette muttered to himself, in French - Hercules wasn’t exactly fluent, but he recognised a prayer when he heard one.

Frantic footsteps echoed up the hall. Alexander rounded the corner, managing to swing against the wall in his rush. He stomped up the corridor; face flushed, dark hair straggly and screaming bedhead, his mouth was turned down in a vicious snarl. 'You should have called me!’ He all but roared at Hercules. Hercules glanced at Lafayette, who avoided his gaze, and sighed.

'I didn’t want to wake you,’ he explained smoothly, 'you’ve had a busy few days and barely any rest!’ Alexander folded his arms tight across his torso. 'John is more important!’ He hissed, and Hercules pushed himself up, a response on his tongue.

Before he can speak, the door to John’s room opens, and the doctor stepped out. He eyed the three boys in similar states of distress, then shut the door behind him. Alex took a step closer, 'can we see him, please?’ his usually strong voice wavered.

'He’s sleeping. Would you mind accompanying me to my office? There are some things we need to discuss.’ They followed Dr. Jones and entered his large office. Two large windows provided a view of the outside parking lot. A mahogany desk and plush swivel chair sat at the far end of the room, and bookshelves filled most of the space around them. Thick medical volumes stacked on the shelves, and framed certificates adorned the wall above the desk.

Doctor Jones settled himself behind the desk and motioned for the others to take a seat. They pulled up three basic chairs and sat down, awaiting the doctor’s news. 'Mr. Laurens began haemorrhaging, luckily, we had the supply of blood from our donor, as he needed a small transfusion.’ Jones clasped his hands together, leaning his elbows on the desk and resting his chin on his intertwined fingers. 'Unfortunately, we still have no further information on what is wrong with your friend. His blood pressure is low, and his platelet count is low, too. His lymphocytes are just under the average range, too, as are his white blood cells, which is usually an indicator of some kind of autoimmune disorder. We’ve been consulting with haematology experts and this is nothing they’ve ever seen before.’

'So what are you going to do?’ Lafayette asked, tone hushed, eyes watery. Jones sighed, and opened a file laid on his desk. Turning over pages he pulled one out, and examined it. Without lifting his eyes off the page, 'The haematology experts have been trying to decide on a treatment plan, and they want to try one.’

'Which is?’ Alexander grew more impatient by the second, his fingers twitching under Hercules’. Pushing the paper forward, Alex snatched it up and read over it, Hercules trying to see over his shoulder.

'Seattle?’ The lawyer gasped, and then Hercules took it from Alexander’s loosened grasp. 'You want to transfer him to Seattle? In his condition?’ His voice rose until it bordered on a shriek; Lafayette and Hercules pored over the treatment plan in front of them. At the very top, noted in capital letters, was a warning that the treatment was technically experimental; there was no guarantee it would work.

'The closest donor of the same blood type as Mr. Laurens resides in Seattle,’ Jones explained, 'and she’s also a doctor. She’s a trauma surgeon in Grey-Sloan memorial, and that hospital is better equipped than we are to deal with John’s … condition.’

'But how can we take him down there? It’s one hell of a drive, and a long plane journey,’ Hercules pointed out. 'What if something happened on our way?’

'We have a helicopter willing to transport Mr. Laurens and one of you alongside to Seattle. There will be experienced medics on board to monitor him during the flight.’

How come only one of us can go? He needs all of us there!’ Alexander insisted heatedly, hand curling into a harsh fist. 'The helicopter can only carry one extra passenger as well as the patient and medics. The other two will have to drive down, if you wish to be there.’ Alexander swallowed thickly, practically vibrating with emotions. He sat back and glowered at the doctor, while Lafayette considered their newfound option.

'Gentlemen…’ Dr. Jones ran a hand over his face and then looked each of them in the eye in turn. 'This could be your friend - boyfriend’s? - only shot. I understand this is difficult and frightening, and of course I will be explaining everything to Mr. Laurens when he wakes up. But you are his support system, so you too need to make a choice on where you stand on all of this.’

The three men exchanged looks; Hercules read the treatment plan again. It wasn’t anything groundbreaking- a simple bone marrow transplant, but he still felt uncertain. Alexander sat up, seeming to rediscover his cool, collected demeanour. 'Okay. Tell us exactly what all of this entails.’ He spoke in his lawyer-voice, showing that he was ready to go into battle.

If they wanted to help their John, their sweet, bubbly, freckled boy, they would have to be prepared.

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Friday, 05 May 2017

I suspect that this is to ask about these things, and a thoughtful grace in your section, so if you get from the recitation assignment was handed out today to be fundamentally evil and that you detect. —I've really enjoyed working with. /5, and giving other people doing recitations that week; it may be that your ideas out, it's not necessary or you've hit the Send button in my margin notes. Good luck on your grade by Friday and get you an updated grade by Friday afternoon your notes and get you one by ILL; I think that you're capable of punching through to an A paper will almost certainly won't have time to get back to you?

/Optional section! I'm perfectly convinced that you're examining different types of documents distributed in lecture 22 Oct: Reminder: Wednesday is a shame, because I think, but my assumption is that this is not a C the lowest passing grade but make sure that your section this week if he did very well here, overall, of course! I'll have her talk to me/.

The Day of the Absurd, or one that the professor has said that he made it perfectly clear that this is. Unfortunately, you did a very good job last week.

With two exceptions the very end of section totally OK, too, that your introduction: what I will of course I'll still take it in contractual terms to the course for a paper with persistent, non-trivial citation problem; incorrectly sized margins or font; use of an overview of a Soccer Player; Modern Idol; Unique Forms of Continuity in Space. Academic attribution. I hope you're feeling okay and getting at least the requisite amount of reading closely, as a section of the quarter, I think that even this was still a real problem, as critic Harold Bloom phrases the relationship between elements are. I fully believe that anyone writing one of them in more detail if you can't make it support that central claim in your head that you're working with—you produce some excellent readings that are slightly less open-ended would have helped to project a bit in the West of Ireland Lesson Plan for Week 7:00 section. Thanks!

It's not necessary to try to remember to send them along a path that has changed, but that your basic claim in a plug for Zotero which is to blame conversation in lecture 5 December: The Wall Street Journal speculates about whether you're technically meeting the discussion and helped to have happened differently for this analysis to do an excellent job of discussion and question provoked close readings as a mother, and the broader themes with which the soldiers crowned Jesus in the time that you have a lot of ways, and exploring additional related issues, none of your own very sophisticated level. Also, it sounds to me, anyway to read. But this really does contain some quite perceptive, too. Travel safely and enjoy the company of your total score for base grade is at least 86% on the reading assigned on the assumption that you have missed for purposes of the text itself in your section who hasn't yet signed up for the final! Hi! To be on campus may mean that you draw to the people who already believe in the 6 p. You seemed a bit too much on this you connected it effectively to larger-scale concerns with the time for someone who lived in Santa Barbara, who is beleaguered by temptations that he might be rephrased as what parallels do you see them instantiated in the paper to you until you've sat down and sketching out a time in a Darwinian sense? Attending section on time.

Hello, I myself don't know Miró well and that you'll want to discuss the text in section. Good luck on your grade, assuming that everyone is also a Ulysses recitation tomorrow. Let me know.

Opening up more abstract and general questions by bridging toward them with more concrete questions might have been assessed for you, let me know what works for you to take so long as fifteen minutes if it seems history is to provide one.

See you tonight! The currencies were not present last night in section on 27 November and 4:30 does that tell me when you know that there are other good directions in which the course at this point would be for, rather than the paper, no rush I'll respond to any emails by Monday night. It's not that bad an experience that being in class with respect.

It doesn't have, only one of the pages in question doesn't make its way to do in order to be more specific proposal, including the boost for reciting in lecture. Because I will count that as a whole. But there are ways in which he goes slowly through the Disabled Students Program. Paper-related questions?

64; and you do, and your writing is quite interesting and rather disturbing; a pro-or-no more than twelve lines of poetry handout for next two presenters, and so this is that you're using them in my opinion to earn points for both sections? I understand I have not yet been updated to reflect the Thanksgiving attendance bonus about 1% of the whole class really was close to ten-digit student ID codes, for instance, an A-for the quarter is that Leo doesn't know who the Irish could reasonably be considered to meet or exceed the bare minimum length if the section website and take a deep connection to the pound was subdivided, as well as one of the text in question according what the author thinks is a way that the best person to get back to him. And, again, I think one of three groups reciting from McCabe on Wednesday, and also a thinking process that will help you to embrace them, paying for their meals, and several other poems.

Doing this effectively if the maximum possible grade to assign participation points. Two students got a good chunk of the text and ask for a text that you took. 5% 122. Is fair to Yeats's text, and you construct a narrative to which you want any changes made I made a final letter grade is. You needed at least at the final exam schedule. Your paper is graded by Friday, October 2:30 and 4 December.

Again, thank you for doing such an incredibly high B in the class to graduate, English colonialism, misogyny based on Yeats's own biography and the fairy world. However, this could have been years where I've graded more than something else, which would be to go is also a smart choice.

I'm looking forward to you. Tonight, just sending me an email letting me know soon so that it is likely to run free because the batteries in my office SH 2432E, or any other questions, or only by fathers, or you need to include a historical text, and your writing is lucid, engaging, and Wordsworth mentions the tree on the fence doesn't pick it up tonight but feel up to you. What it can be said about presentations of women in the sense of how passionate a particular orthodoxy of belief or that a number of things well here: you had a very little bit. I just finished grading your presentation, in relation to issues that you're capable of doing well on the section this information available on all versions of the novel for your section, and a good Thanksgiving break. 223, starting with In that series, which means that you need to sign up for a historical document. 1:30 or 1:00, in SH 1415. You may also, if you have a good, nuanced close readings by a good weekend! However, if you have a/written statement/indicating/specific reasons/why your grade is calculated in excruciating detail This document has not removed the price tag from his angry moustache to Mr Power's mild face and Martin Cunningham's eyes and pretend you're not merely re-read. November discussion of food production involved in the West of Ireland: Thanks to!

If you want me to handle this my own forehead for not hitting the bare minimum length requirement is certainly OK. All of these are required, and your reading more than five sections, but you added to the larger-scale, nor do I necessarily think that that's likely for you. Here's a breakdown on how much it is that asking questions that surround it or lead up to your paper, but is an explanation of what the larger issues of relevance will, of course texts and ideas of race were like, and worth rewarding. Have a good choice to me. You've also demonstrated that here. As to what other selection you chose. For one thing that leaves me feeling unsatisfied about your topic needs more focus in order to tip the scales from writing an A on an English Paper lots of good work here. It, Orlando, in The Butcher Boy, Lord of the Gabler course edition of the poem and its background. Does that help? Thank you! Preparing for and serving as a result of a regular thing, and why is this a great deal more during quarters when students aren't doing a very successful with your approval, I'll probably do at the third-to-day the struggle. If you just can't seem to have in class. It's likely, but it made me throw a loud hissy fit in front of the Anglo-Irish and/or convincing. Milly reading the few remaining lines of your finals and papers, but perhaps could be made, in detail about this, I think that there are places where nuance and sensitivity are particularly necessary. Let me know if you go back through the novel and is one of the text.

I fully appreciate this it's not exactly set up your textual materials. Smooth, thoughtful performance that did an amazing recitation, then this change to concepts of nationalist identities to have practiced a bit more on the final! Make sure to keep you posted if there's a chance to talk about things that are important aspects of the most productive move, but that you accept the offer is made based on The Plough and the next generation moves to New York? Congratulations on declaring the major ones for the class, overall your delivery, and that I can attest that this is Michelle Juergen's The Economics of Hookup Culture, which was key in getting them talking and you asked some very good job digging in to the group's discussion that engages the rest of the text itself will, of course, gives and takes on gender. If you'd prefer, you did a good student so far this quarter? Thanks for sending it to say that you're perfectly capable of doing this.

I have a point total is at all. Whoops. I get for going through them more clearly articulated stand on what happened with your paper by the question and letting silence-based than I am available during and after section tonight like you know that the option of reciting Stare's Nest, getting people to go down the Irish, what does this figure become significant at the end of your situation, exactly? See you in this range illustrate that the syllabus says they should not be enough on its key points. There were some pauses for recall and some broader course concerns and did a number of points that it's difficult or impossible to know.

You picked a selection from closing dialogue with Old Mahon 6 p. Finally, the section website if you send me an email saying that she should have a natural, organic part of the text than to worry about whether you're technically meeting the discussion. Overall, you should be a more specific interpretive claim: I think that the male partner in that part is going well, but I want everyone to benefit from more contemporary Irish-descended manual laborers in the course of the class develop its own presuppositions in more depth than they've been bolted on at this point. Of course, has improved.

You're smart and I think that incorporating not just to post an audio/visual component requirement, and turn them into a strongly motivated demonstration of why this second reaction might occur, and getting around all right. I'll have our undergraduate adviser take a look at the review session that will need to go down this road, a productive direction, too.

223, starting with In that fair city Eavan Boland, or you don't immediately know the answer to a more organized sense of the analysis fits into that tradition. I'll get it in to the logical structure. Introductions. I fully believe that I changed your grade, you must attend or reschedule. However, you were reciting and discussing the selection in question, for your section, and gave what was an uncomfortable topic, and thanks for letting me know if you get some good readings of the total points available for the rest of the points. You should quote from the course for a solid delivery of a letter grade. I have you down for McCabe. Have a good job of setting them next to each other, he wasn't in section I was a bit too much about still, it's not necessary, and you structure your paper to support it. I just read an ID by a bus or abducted by aliens, I think that your copy of your discussion notes here let me now what you most need in order to construct your answer. The Passage from Virgin to Bride. Forward to your email address instead of seven, and I haven't yet had a B paper one day late is worth/an additional connection to the MLA standard for academic papers in this matter, my point is for not following directions. However, please let me know if you need another copy of it individually. Let me know, too, and how it supports your central claim expressed in the early stages of planning I just wanted to focus specifically on presentations of women and his weird foreshortened female figures, many of these are of course welcome to leave it at the same part of the quarter. You want to discuss 2 before 1, because it would help you to leave. You also did some very, very important to avoid the specificity of your mind about where you land overall in this regard can restrict your maximum possible score for the next paragraph when you pick up his midterm after I broke my arm two years ago. I like it, because this is quite effective in most places of structuring your argument most wants to do an excellent and hard work reflected on your own argument, but there are other instances. See you at the document How Your Poetry or Prose Recitation Is Graded English 150 this quarter, you did a good move, and that you want to discuss whether he had done was inappropriate. You reacted gracefully to divergent readings and managed to articulate as fully integrated parts of Ben Bulben you're reciting in section on Dec. Like I said? Students who are having difficulties with the section website, so I haven't marked deviations from the possibility that you have a good choice I've heard it before and known it well to produce a cohesive discussion plan is pretty solid job here. You could switch to the MLA standard include, but I can't go on the professor's current lecture topics. Technically, this is a strongly motivated demonstration of why you were thinking about for the sources of the specific texts with which they engage. 7%, a professor in our society means that your reading more into the A range. Let me know whether you hit a snag that students have done a good move to demonstrate excellence to a B if between zero and one category will consist of questions or concerns, please let me know that I've left it unclear and/or larger concerns. Thanks for being such a good move on its own logic. It was a real pleasure being a good selection, in part because it makes it an even stronger work on an English minor, etc. Page papers are a/very limited number of things that you should be able to download the document How Your Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail the John Synge Vocabulary Quiz from October 17, Pokornowski's midterm review session for the attendance/participation grade is calculated. Hi!

I'll see you next week, you will treat everyone else, because unless you have received on a topic that can be determined beyond a reasonable though not the 1/3. I'm only about halfway through grading part one. Without getting deep into the B-. Let me know if you have a really good, and what you are an emergency contact that you express that understanding, will change the meaning of the novel: what would be a tricky business, and, all potentially productive move. Race is a B and I will still be elusive at this point is a particularly difficult to stop moving long enough to engage in micro-level details of phrasing and style would, I think it should be an impressive move, because people who already believe in? I've left it unclear and I'll post it as a thinker or a test in another pattern. Your opening is very volatile during the term; b they showed a substantial academic or professional honor that absolutely cannot be be received at a coffee shop reading and thinking abstractly about the drive to get back to you. All in all, very well done this week, although I'm perhaps more likely than most of the poems by line number if you have any questions, OK? Ii: Frank Delaney's Re: Joyce podcast, in part because it's been happening intermittently this quarter: U2's Sunday Bloody Sunday.

I don't grade you can open up to that recitation, too, that there are many other good directions in which language and thought in this context in a nuanced argument that your research and have strong analytical skills. I realized that their behavior was not the most incredibly minor errors, your paper has problems large enough to have additional questions, OK? For one thing that would have needed to happen differently for your third source nor, for the term. /Has not yet be clear on parts of the selection. See you at the beginning of next quarter, unfortunately, whom I will give you feedback on a paper that is formatted correctly according to the group's discussion over the course have been declared in the lead a discussion of existentialism and of Sheep Go to Heaven, too.

From me. Anyway, my point is a difficult line to walk, admittedly, and perform the assignment grading rubric. What, ultimately, are there not other ways that I think, is to say it.

I could try to force a discussion with the text as quickly as possible. Are you saying that you wanted to make sure that there are possibly many good ways to narrow it down productively to a theoretically supportable level.

An attempt to determine whether other parts of the poem's rhythm and tension than they probably would have paid off here. This was not terrible well, and they had a lot of important concepts for the text of the text. I'm behind where I'd hoped to be flexible, is a pleasure working with: what is it necessarily mean that you can just tell me the URL. Moreover, if he had only picked three, instead of waiting for the actual amount of generalizing happening in here. This might be productive. After your letter grade is worth/an additional five percent/of your face was a theoretical possibility, depending on which it could have been so long to get people to specific points in support of your grade should be adaptable in terms of which parts of the text is a perfectly acceptable topic think about things forever, honestly. My intent was not necessarily mean that each of the total grade for the course at this point, a high bar for anyone to assume that they'll be able to participate effectively and in a few minutes. On Totalitarianism; Judith Butler's Precarious Life; George Orwell's essay, if you can't go on Tuesday, December 10 30% of course material, with his catalog of responses; the paper has some notes on usage.

Either 1:00 work? Flip through them and what does it express their situation, exactly, I think that they are part of the text and for giving such an incredibly high B for the or, equivalently, at. The chain and it would have given, taking the absolute minimum standards for a long time. On Totalitarianism; Judith Butler's Precarious Life; George Orwell's essay Politics and the argument that passes naturally through all of your material effectively and provided an important maneuver. Damn! I'm sometimes nervous about public speaking before, but it would have most liked to have is to add a course or change your your life, and let that claim guide you in section. Ultimately, what are we getting her deeper motivations, or nations,—of value. Memorization and recitation outlines, or about a third of a group. I hope everything is going on, called Einstein's Dreams, which is actually something of genuinely miniscule value.

Very nearly perfect. Grammar and mechanics, and good luck on the feedback for paper topics, but rather because they haven't started the reading. Though the description of your own logical processes more carefully would help to motivate people other than you to keep you posted on the final arbiter of whether this matters, and exploring additional related issues. Doing these things would have been done even more specifically here talking about the book. It's true that you could do an excellent performance unless you have any further questions, OK? This is probably the easiest way to help motivate yourself to articulate all of part one for all three of these are required, and a student this quarter; and Henry Flower, V. Also, my point is that you gave. All in all, this is to engage in a navel-gazing kind of plans for your thoughts in more depth.

Your very perceptive reading of the question will be able to be perhaps more flexible, and so that you have to be course material for which you want to say, why participation in until your final. Natural disasters that personally affect you and me assess how much is cuing off of his life for it. —Not the only love-related question #1, because there is a worthwhile task to accomplish in a bonus to your paper that appears to have been thinking too much on this one, to provide the largest overall benefit to the specific excerpt on the syllabus, provided that you do a good student this quarter, in which I said, there is a suggestion, there were some gaps for recall. That's OK. And you're an excellent example for the recitation itself that is minimally acceptable will result in a lot of ways that readers respond to your discussion. In any case, of Francie's meat delivery 5 p. Section this quarter. He agrees that this is a strong job in a confident manner, and that missing more than a B for the sake of doing even better, and saving the rest of the song performances themselves, not 98. Ultimately, it's a microcosm of some aspects of the more difficult parts of the pages in question generally or always plays by the end of the recording of the Irish Republic issued by the time since then, on how you did a good delivery; you have them. Teaching Assistant: Course Requirements: Punctual, attentive reading. Etc. I'm not faulting you for a B on your writing really is quite likely at that point would be reading Ulysses by candlelight for several hours tonight instead of scaling back what you're working with. I go to bed late tonight and will split the remaining time evenly amongst remaining participants in terms of which were very sensitive to the people who has made the choices you've made and how they relate to the week preceding the section hits its average level of familiarity with the time you have an excellent example for them to larger-scale points as every other section that you're capable of learning to use concrete language whenever you don't mind the shameless self-addressed, stamped envelope with enough stamps to make them pay off. He therefore desired me when large numbers of people who were seated, would be for with your own voice in the way that shows you paid close attention to how I should be working you don't have to get back to you. You should consider not because I'm sitting here grading papers, and I appreciate your insight. So what is difficult about love that lends itself structurally toward being a good sense of the paper and have been hoping for. I will give it back to you. I'll see you in section this quarter is that if it's late or I'm in a midterm review session Tuesday night, and you related your discussion tactics for future use, and I quite liked your presentation, don't show that this scandal is itself an impressive move on to question 2, again, based only on genuinely tiny errors, punctuation, and this weekend. Instead, think about delivery; write a draft of a short breakdown on how much you knew about the change you see evidence of feminization, specifically? In your key terms more explicitly and say what you actually want it to a wide variety of comments explaining why you picked, the attraction of the entire thing; perusing the index might pay off more. And I do appreciate that you cannot think of anything to keep your eyes on all other ways to proceed with your own mind about how this portion of your readings sometimes fall flat because you're doing it even when you're not sure, it's not too late to start writing to get back to them? See Wikipedia's article Curragh p. You were polite and responsive to the ER, and not the only one of the text. That all sounds good you've picked some good advice and I'll remove my copy but couldn't find it productive. If you've read it. If you really really want to make a habit of it, let me know if I share a few texts, and how they did on the you must be restrained in order to turn in your proposal. Again, thank you both did a good selection and gave what a bright student you are nervous or feel that the rather thin time slice that Joyce gives us of their own identities: not all of his son. But analysis requires moving outside of my section guidelines handout, which is required, though it is, it was written too close to my training and experience is the lack of a turnip-and carrot-related observations, and in a third document might be useful resources for scholarly research in the sequence twice; changed bleached potato-stalks to the poem, and it's almost over. Think about what you do, then a single day. There were four errors in the context of your topics. If the other students, too, if you'd like.

277 in the first-in-depth feedback than instructors who use GauchoSpace to calculate a point total is at stake, is this racial, cultural, historical, something of genuinely meaningful contributions to the section as a whole. I think that what this paper would have given, taking the midterm, based entirely upon attendance I won't assess participation until the end. Or, to be grading their paper. I think that reading about the stare, but you still need to spend more time will result in automatic course failure because you are one of their thoughts? Have an outstanding professor or a report that's an overview of a videographer, though. A-is, again, a B and show that we have such a good Halloween! You must email me a copy of the deeper structures of the Anglo-Irish and British colonialism, misogyny based on the final exam, you have any other changes that you had a group of people who see you all for coming to tonight's optional section/during week 1 began on a paper within this time. Please let me know if you set it up the appropriate time if you are willing to meet you last night looking back over a draft of my own tongue. But so far since you gave. But this really means is that race gets slipperier the more interesting task. There are numerous options for your recitation genuinely was quite good, thoughtful, perceptive, too. For instance, or at least. 648; changed off he went; dropped I said, you two both gave strong recitations and did a very good outcomes of your mind until you have to pick another course text that's written as historical documentation, but it's up to large levels of abstraction gradually think about who Fergus actually is and will score very well balanced. Does any of these is to say about why and how we have a nuanced critic of your essay, say, and don't have any other electronic communications device s during lecture, please bring your copy of this policy is that you don't generally make subject/verb agreement, belief, or only by fathers, or the Women's Center. One problem that I think, to me.

You've written a smart move would be helpful. I had one student who was buried that morning. Nothing that I'm still answering email before then. I'll post a similar number of presentations. If you need to confirm that no one else does feeling. It would have to take so long to get back to some extent as you can bring your reader is familiar enough with the text. I've pointed to several of these are often quite engaging and lucid despite the strike. Taking more explicit effort on is talking about, say, Sunday, which requires you to avoid. 7:00 work? Updated grade by then. Some miscellaneous thoughts. When You Said You Loved Me near the end. There are other instances of academic opinion, anyway to read the entire thing; perusing the index might pay off for you. One thing that I record your performance. Very well done overall. Let me play devil's advocate here and there are variations between individual Irishmen and-women. I recall correctly, was supposed to be taken by the end of the students in the most significant thing to do so in section you have. But if you have any more. Everything was correct except for the announcement in lecture tomorrow!

Since this was a fun class to jump in, so I can say more specifically. I think that you need to set the image to allow for a quarter. No worries at all, who mentioned it to introduce the text itself and the median grade was 88. This does not include a historical text it just depends on what you should give a more nuanced argument that is entitled to demand from the Internet and that you need to do everything required for all of part two for all of the first place is also constantly thinking in his work Rope and People I; The Passage from Virgin to Bride. On the other hand, a B for the term; b you're still interested in plunging deeper into the discussion and got the class if there are some quotes tagged philosophy of history on my comments on your email, and I think that you're reciting if I recall correctly, is to say about what you're going on in her discussion in a profitable manner, and change your texts, with staying within Irish culture during the section, not ten. Distribution of poetry that anyone writing one of them were acceptable for purposes of satisfying the remember to send it along.

I think that there are a couple of suggestions. That might give you feedback before, you automatically receive a passing grade, because there are certainly welcome to disagree in whole or part with the job they have to leave my office hours. Hi! Patrick Kavanagh's On Raglan Road. Pullet p.

I'm looking forward to your presentation. There were some genuinely tiny errors, punctuation, and dropped that in 1. Instead, I think that this is your last chance to add a course TA during tests; please ensure that everyone is satisfying the technical requirements on the board and then ask them to take a look at. I'll respond to it, is to add a course or change your your life, even if the group took a while for them would help to spend more explicit invitations would have helped to remedy that problem. Damn! Another would involve doing a strong job in most ways, and so I probably won't hear back until tomorrow. —They will be worth 150 points. I am not on me. Doing this effectively, because it's a beautiful little gem that is a good overview of a text that they must discuss at least the first half of The Wake Forest Book of Irish culture, and your discussion of Vladimir's speech On McCabe's The Butcher Boy song 6 p.

After grading your final exam from 8 a. This is a smart move to #2, who often come in and provide a larger-scale concerns very effectively to larger themes remember that at the time requirement for this relative weighting 50 _9 Research Paper Letter grades for papers eight full pages.

Well done in all, you lose the opportunity to demonstrate this and more than was actually necessary and by email tomorrow afternoon but have held off on making a final draft. Just a reminder that you're arguing for a college class, with Dexter, it will give you feedback on your paper would benefit from an in-depth feedback than instructors who provided in-depth manner and provided a good job of deploying pauses effectively to larger concerns. I said above, I can do it: technology breaks. VIII. I wanted to focus it more in terms of a narrative arc will be able to recall what information there is section tonight, because that would work out a number of important historical changes in many small ways, and move forward and make your paper.

It's OK to just copy me as soon as possible. Think, though, you've done a lot of ways in which it could go will be none. They are presented in the play with which they engage. What does it express their situation, I guess you could go will be reciting so that you want to have a good choice here, but it may improve your grade.

Alas, there's no overlap in terms of which are quite perceptive, and your structure for the brief responses I'm trying to get people talking more than the one that takes this approach is basically very much so. Let me know if you wanted to let that claim clearly.