#I promise nothing in undergrad is that serious

[starrynightsforever]

There are undergrads in the library at 6:45 P.M. on a Saturday night studying. I want to fling open the door to their study room and beg them to be free.

[caffeinejournalist23]

Suburban Nightmare The Scariest Part About Moving to the Suburbs is the Fear of Having to Move Back to the Hood

I grew up in the "hood" of Northwest Ohio and throughout my childhood I was repeatedly told by teachers and social workers "you have to have a college degree." To survive, to live a good life, or to go on vacation once a year, they never specified why we needed to have one - the adults just told us this from the third grade onward in a tone that was serious and haunted us as we clawed our way to high school graduation. Well I moved to the suburbs to pursue a college education, received my Bachelor of Arts, but then wound up jobless for the first 2.5 months after graduating, fearing that I may have to return to the life I thought I left behind in the hood.

This is what it was like.

Part 1/3: Restless

The first few days were not too bad.

I finished school on a Tuesday and had the graduation ceremony the following Saturday. Though I was anxious to begin working full time again after taking almost a month off to focus on school, I forced myself to appreciate having a few days to catch my breath after completing the toughest semester of my undergrad career - under the assumption that my boss would call me back to give me my schedule as promised.

But they never called me back.

I texted. I called. I emailed. Nothing.

I reached a supervisor in my department who promised they would make sure my employer called me once they returned from vacation, but the supervisor also warned me "if you get a new opportunity, take it, because I'm not sure what [they] are planning with you."

I texted. I called. I emailed - for weeks.

Still nothing.

Feeling scorned, neglected as an employee, and painfully confused, I knew I shouldn't go back; not only was I completely ghosted, but this happened on top of several occasions prior when I was not paid on time, not paid the proper amount, and even scammed by a company hacker. And I knew I didn't deserve the shame of going back to a place begging for employment where I had already been so mistreated.

So the job search began.

Part time. Part-time remote. Entry level. Entry level temporary. Full-time summer. Freelance. Temporary full-time summer.

The amount of key terms I came up with to expand my search for jobs ought to have earned me a certificate in SEO optimization. Within a matter of weeks I had easily applied for hundreds of jobs; some remote, some on-site, some part-time, some full-time, some freelance, some temporary.

Job applications had just one line to mention my education - school, degree, and major; I have a degree in English and Digital Media Studies. I could generalize my degree to a Bachelor's in digital communications. I minored in criminal and social justice. I took a digital photography class. I've completed course service-learning hours and internships with a variety of non-profits. I took an HTML coding class. I wrote a parody of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. I graduated with a 3.6 GPA. I got an A+ in a digital journalism class. I wrote a 20+ page essay for my capstone that I plan to expand into a book. My second capstone was a documentary I could submit to a film festival. These extra points of academic accomplishment were bullet-listed in applications where there was a degree description space, otherwise these were only recognized and respected in my LinkedIn profile.

There wasn't enough space in the education history line to explain all of the challenges I surpassed or all of the awesome awards and accomplishments I earned while getting the degree to write in my education history. I started a student org focused on newscasting. I was the VP of our Black Student Union for 2 years and spoke on behalf of the union at a peaceful protest following the death of George Floyd. I won recognition for Student Org of the Year - twice in a row. I became the student manager of the student engagement department. I was an active member of the Latino Student Union for over 3 years. I petitioned for a town-hall meeting for students and faculty to better our DEI awareness across campus. I was invited to a one-on-one meeting with the university president. I advocated for PRISM and LGBTQ+ acceptance across our campus. I hosted and evaluated numerous surveys to better serve our campus community. I participated in a plethora of volunteer opportunities and campus events. I was an orientation leader. I was an RA. I served as a mentor to underclassmen. My name consistently appeared on the Dean's List.

Suddenly it seemed like my degree did not carry much value. Few job postings prioritized candidates with my degree type - "digital communications but a degree in marketing preferred." It's like they wanted the skills earned from my degree as part of the job description, not the qualifications. Most job postings didn't seem to value my degree at all: "remote communications strategist - degree in journalism or other related field a plus, not a requirement." I had slaved for four years; four years of 18 - 21 credit hour semesters while spear-heading a student org and working anywhere from 2 to 4 jobs at a time, and some trauma healing/family drama because the Universe likes to keep herself entertained I guess. I was the first in my family for over 4 generations to earn a college degree. I took out tens of thousands in student loans. I went to an exam on 4 hours of sleep. I closed work at 1am and went to class the next morning at 8. I had nervous breakdowns and still got my 8-page essays turned in by 11:59pm.

But none of that seemed to matter. In the eyes of employers, overcoming all of those obstacles and challenges did not reflect how I was a good candidate for their position.

The only thing employers seemed to really take into consideration was previous work experience; that shouldn't have been a problem for me, as my resume was rich with experience by having to work to pay for school anyway. I'm a previous graphic designer. I was an intern for a local newspaper. I was a full-time social media manager for one summer. I have various experience mentoring kids/students ages 14 through 19. I was a shift leader at Family Video before the pandemic made us close all our stores. I was a remote political journalist during the 2022 midterms. I've been a coffee barista and was promoted to opening shift leader after my first 30 days. I coordinated a friend's wedding. I became a freelance state manager for a remote election reporting company. I managed the student engagement department and adapted our traditional events to a virtual medium. I've filed parking permits and incident reports. I've painted yard signs. I've hosted people to their dining seats. I've supervised. I've lead. I've delegated. I've supported. I've created. And I've always worked so so hard because in any and every job I could not sleep at night unless I did my best.

The few jobs I did hear back from said they chose "a better candidate" - aka someone with more experience. Either places are preferring to hire older people who have had the chance to garner more experience after college, or getting a college degree is redundant - and that notion of my hard work, discipline, and financial sacrifices from the past four years amounting to arbitrary value was what really started to freak me out.

The college dorm I was escaping homelessness in started looking like a haunted house; the frustration and hopelessness was written in the walls. My life started getting scary. Had my hopes and dreams been built on a lie? Was college just a deferment of the demise set for me by being born and raised in poverty?

The vacancy of my roommate's absence was soon followed by my own absence of income, food, and purpose. No meal plan. No job. No savings. No fail safe. No side hustle.

And no idea what to do next.

[scobbe]

The two posts I saw today that reminded me of myself 20 years ago, one was about dropping out of school to forge your own path and the other was about the Bible being “Christian mythology” to interpret however you want.

I would have been two thumbs up on both of those in my 20’s and that was exactly what I was doing. I won’t say I regret it but I do wish I’d planned better and also been less anti-establishment.

Education and religion have both been around for at least a couple thousand years in human society. They aren’t perfected (we’re not in heaven yet lads) and are constantly evolving but they have been worked on consistently by generations upon generations of people.

There is something to that, no matter how much they feel like they are getting us down when we are mostly trying to throw off the yoke of our family unit and surrounding culture.

The world is big and full of variety and I promise you there is both an established educational system and an established belief system that is going to ring true for you at some point. But you have to keep an open mind that maybe other humans aren’t horrible and stupid; that maybe they have figured some things out and have ways of doing things you just haven’t yet encountered.

Every act of necessary rebellion has to be balanced by the humility of knowing you’re also just a novice in need of a master. We all are like this.

Practically speaking, I’m just saying if you drop out of school make a five year plan for going back. If in five years you find it’s absolutely unnecessary, nothing lost. But I would recommend no matter what get some kind of bachelor’s type thing before you are 40 because if you ever want a master’s program in anything cool and exciting you will need it and it sucks to be an undergrad in your 40’s.

Secondly, every religious text on the planet has already been picked apart and studied and reinterpreted for centuries. Seek a new understanding of God via prayer in silence and then read read read read read whatever strikes you as interesting. The Bible is not mythology and every world religion has a deep historical culture of meaningful tradition that you have to learn about as you’re guided. It will not help to write off any religious text as something “kind of fake” to pick and choose from. It’s serious, serious business, if only in respect to historical religious traditions as cultural phenomena.

Basically I wish I had been more open to seeking help and more trusting in humanity, and less desperate to escape what was really a very small situation in order to prove myself.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Nineteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: another chapter where the girls are clowns and cassian worships nesta's every breath 🙄 i promise some variety is headed your way soon

***

Gwyn adamantly refuses to accept any gifts for her birthday, much to Emerie’s irritation and Nesta’s relief. No amount of love for her friends can make Nesta enjoy the turmoil of hunting for the perfect gift, and she happily shows up at Gwyn’s apartment that night with nothing save for an overnight bag.

Gwyn easily has the nicest home out of all three of the girls, and it makes Nesta feel oddly proud to have a financially stable friend. Nesta herself has been flacking on her legal consultant duties to Night Court Inc., choosing to make do with the money she’s already earned while focusing on school.

Once they’ve all changed into sleep clothes and are settled around the living room coffee table with a cupcake and a glass of wine each, Gwyn pulls out a brightly colored bracelet-making kit with a sheepish grin. “I found this while I was looking through my childhood things,” she says, opening the kit. “You guys aren’t too grown for it, are you?”

“Depends,” Emerie hums, leaning over to get a closer look. “Is it Rainbow Loom?”

She gets her answer when Gwyn dumps out bundles of multicolored string instead of rubber bands onto the table. Looking disappointed, Emerie plucks up a handful of string. “Fine, I guess I can make do.”

Nesta licks cream cheese frosting off her thumb. “How do you make them? The bracelets?”

She’s met with two dumbfounded stares. “Have you never been to a thirteen year old’s slumber party?” Gwyn says.

“...No?”

When Gwyn and Emerie keep staring, Nesta feels the need to add, “I’ve never been to a sleepover. This is my first.” She was never one to be invited to sleepovers or social gatherings; even when she made acquaintances in middle and high school, they were just that—acquaintances.

“That’s… actually kind of sad,” Emerie says. Gwyn elbows her hard, making her yelp.

“I never thought of it that way,” Nesta says, shrugging. Though maybe it’s because a lot of things about her childhood were sad; it isn’t like she kept count of it all.

“Well, you can learn how to make bracelets now,” Gwyn states, taking out a little plastic baggie and emptying it out onto the table. Small silver charms scatter everywhere. “Everyone gets three colors and one charm.”

Nesta leans forward, making out the different charms. She spies one in the shape of a book, and another in the shape of a dove, and one in the shape of a music note. She snatches up the eighth note before anyone else can. Gwyn takes the book for herself, and Emerie considers the selection of charms before picking a dagger-shaped one. They prepare their string next.

“Now, we can either braid them or knot them.” Gwyn demonstrates how to do it either way, Nesta watching closely before imitating her. She braids the strings of her bracelet as best she can, her cheeks turning red with frustration whenever she spies one of the other girls’ perfect knots. Her half-eaten cupcake is forgotten as she tries to get her bracelet to stay together.

At one point she just has to accept the shoddy work she’s done and tie the bracelet off. She checks to see if it fits on her wrist.

“Now everyone give their bracelet to the person on their left,” Gwyn declares.

Nesta clutches her sloppily-made bracelet to her chest as Emerie responds, “What?”

“So we can wear each other’s bracelets,” Gwyn explains. “And carry around a part of each other all the time.”

“If I had known we were gonna be sentimental, I wouldn’t have picked the cute charm,” Emerie grumbles. Nesta agrees, but Gwyn just clicks her tongue and starts switching bracelets around. In the end, Nesta has Emerie’s dagger bracelet, Gwyn has Nesta’s music note bracelet, and Emerie has Gwyn’s book charm.

Nesta wiggles her bracelet on and turns her wrist over in the light. “That was fun,” she decides. “What happens next at a sleepover?”

“Next,” Gwyn says, “we exchange our most embarrassing secrets with each other, and then we do each other’s hair.”

Emerie shakes her head. “Okay, now I’m really too old for this. Anyone want to watch a movie?”

Gwyn nudges Emerie. “I’m the old one here, and it’s my birthday.” She raises her pert chin in a way that doesn’t look very grown up at all. “What I say goes.”

Emerie flicks up an eyebrow and stares in challenge, which Nesta interrupts by saying, rather exasperatedly, “I’ll go first, then.”

She digs around in her head for something embarrassing enough to be socially acceptable, only to realize that although a lot of embarrassing things have happened to her before, none of them are secrets. She finally settles on an admission. “When I was a kid, I had a thing for breaking and entering into rich people’s empty houses and hanging out in them. Does that count as a secret?”

Gwyn gapes, laughing in disbelief. “Are you going to leave it at that?”

“That actually sounds fun.” Emerie swirls her wine. “Why’d you stop?”

Nesta had almost forgotten. “I got caught.” She remembers the terror of being fourteen and fleeing past cherry blossom trees on her bare feet. “The owner’s family showed up early to vacation one year, and I never risked going back after that.” She shrugs. “Who’s next?”

Gwyn raises her hand excitedly. “I used to be a hardcore Gleek. Like, I had a closet full of Glee memorabilia.”

Nesta doesn’t quite know what to say. Emerie winces. “Maybe you should’ve kept that one a secret.”

“It was only one facet of my entire theatre kid personality. Should I tell you about the rest?”

Emerie raises her hands in surrender. “Please don’t. I’ll go next if it makes you stop.”

Gwyn laughs and Nesta perks up. “What’s your secret?” She hopes Emerie will finally admit to filling their shared Kindle account with lesbian spanking fiction.

But Emerie suddenly gets serious, clearing her throat and fingering the stem of her wine glass. “I might have the worst secret,” she says awkwardly. “I haven’t been honest with you guys.”

Nesta straightens, and Gwyn looks intrigued.

“In my defense,” Emerie says, “I never expected all of us to end up hanging out this much. Before Nesta and I became friends, all I did was show up to school to kick rich kids’ asses and make career connections.”

“Spit it out, Emerie,” Nesta tells her.

So she does. “I’ve been lying about my age.” Her cheeks turn red, either from alcohol or embarrassment, Nesta doesn’t know.

Nesta furrows her brows. “You’re not twenty-four?”

Emerie shakes her head in guilt.

“How old are you, then?” Gwyn says.

Emerie mutters something too low for them to hear. When Gwyn tells her to repeat herself, she says, too loudly, “Twenty-eight.”

She’s met with silence, and then—

Gwyn starts cackling, nearly keeling over. Nesta can only stare in shock. “Why would you—?”

“Because school is a shark tank,” Emerie says. “Everyone else went there straight out of undergrad, and I had to work four jobs for four years just to afford tuition. Being old at Prythian means being poor.” She quietens, looking down at her brown hands twisted together. “And by the time we started to get close, it felt too weird to bring up. So… I’m sorry?” She looks up to see if Nesta is upset.

Nesta doesn’t know what to feel, but Gwyn seems to. “You called me old,” she accuses. “You’re nearly a grandma!”

“Were you going to lie about your age forever?” Nesta interjects.

“If I had known there was going to be a forever, I would have opened up a lot sooner,” Emerie defends.

Nesta drops her head onto the table and covers her ears with her arms. “This is so weird,” she says against the wood of the table, her voice muffled. “I can never look at you the same way ever again.”

“That’s fair,” Emerie says cautiously. “But are you really mad?” Nesta feels a hesitant hand touch her shoulder.

“I need time to process,” Nesta says from her cocoon. Suddenly she hears a hum and a click, and her cocoon gets even darker. Gwyn and Emerie make twin sounds of surprise.

Poking her head up, Nesta blinks to find total darkness in the apartment. The heater has stopped running, leaving behind a quiet stillness.

“Shit,” Gwyn curses, fumbling with her phone. The flashlight turns on, lighting up her face. “I swear I paid my electric bill.”

“I don’t think it’s just you,” Emerie says, getting up to look out the window. “Look, the whole street is out.”

By the time they gather some candles and light them, the apartment has dropped twenty degrees in temperature. Nesta shudders, wishing she’d brought some warm pants with her.

“Let me get us some blankets,” Gwyn says, running off to the linen closet. Emerie and Nesta huddle together on the couch while they wait.

“So you’re really not mad at me?” Emerie asks, hope in her voice.

“Not mad,” Nesta says. “But I think we all lost a little respect for you back there.”

Emerie smiles. “Just a little?”

Gwyn comes back then wearing a thick sweater and carrying a pile of comforters. “I got a text from the landlord,” she says, unceremoniously dropping the blankets onto the couch. “Ice took out the power lines in the whole neighborhood, and we’re not getting any electricity until morning.”

“But it’s negative temperatures outside,” Nesta protests. “We’ll freeze to death.”

“Not if we all cuddle.” Gwyn tries to beam at them, but the effort is futile. “I’m sorry, guys,” she sighs, plopping onto the couch beside Nesta. “This is a terrible birthday celebration.”

Nesta wraps an arm around Gwyn and tucks her into her side, soaking up her warmth as Emerie spreads a heavy comforter over all of their legs. “What are you apologizing for? You did nothing wrong.”

The girls sit in silence for a few minutes until Emerie speaks up. “I wonder what Mr. Madani is doing right now.”

“What?” Nesta frowns.

“He’s probably all alone in his fancy heated cabin, unaware that you’re stuck in the cold dark.” Emerie suddenly smacks Nesta’s arm. “Hey. Why are we freezing our asses off here when you practically own that cabin?”

“I do not practically own that cabin,” Nesta splutters. “And this is Gwyn’s birthday. Why would I take you to Cassian’s place on her birthday?”

“Exactly!” Emerie says. “It’s Gwyn’s birthday, and she deserves better than this. Can’t your boyfriend be a little charitable and share his nice house with us?”

Nesta turns to Gwyn for help, but Gwyn just says carefully, “...Is it a big cabin?”

Emerie nods fiercely, pulling out her phone. “Eris has a picture of it from New Year’s on his Instagram. You wouldn’t believe how much money these Night Court execs make.”

Nesta makes pointed eyes at Gwyn. “You really want to spend your birthday with two strange men?” Cassian and Azriel aren’t exactly meek, nonthreatening men either—at least not at first glance. Considering the state Gwyn was in just some weeks ago, this doesn’t sound like a good idea at all.

Gwyn sounds wary but open-minded when she says, “You trust them, right? And it’s not like we’re going to let the guys join our sleepover. We’re just going to have a warm place to stay while we wait for my power to come back.”

When it’s phrased like that… Nesta purses her lips, thinking.

“Fine,” she finally decides. “Let’s go.”

***

Nesta strips off her jeans almost as soon as she enters the cabin. Much to Cassian’s pride and pleasure, this leaves her wearing only one of his old sweatshirts. Meanwhile, Gwyn and Emerie stand around awkwardly in the middle of the living area without knowing what to do next.

“Make yourselves at home.” Cassian grins at them. “Do you need anything? Food? Drinks?”

“Stop worrying,” Nesta groans. “We don’t need to be mothered.”

“I totally hear you,” he nods. “I’ll make cookies.” And maybe some hot drinks. It’s supposed to be a birthday party, after all.

Just then, Azriel appears at the top of the stairs in a dark hoodie and sweats. He’s halfway down the steps when he notices the living room full of girls and promptly turns around.

Cassian calls his name before he can escape. “Want to help me out in the kitchen?”

“No, thanks,” Az says over his shoulder, leaving Cassian alone to play host.

While Gwyn and Emerie admire the cabin (“There’s a gym down the hallway and a library upstairs,” Nesta points out to them), Cassian gathers baking ingredients in the kitchen. He rarely eats desserts or junk food, much less makes them, but surely he can manage a snack for the girls.

When he returns to the living room half an hour later with cookies and mugs of hot chocolate, the coffee table has been moved out of the way and replaced with a spread of blankets and pillows. The fire crackles hotly enough that Gwyn and Emerie have joined Nesta in discarding any extra clothing articles, and they all cheer from the couch when they spy the food.

“Goddamn,” Emerie whistles at the platter of cookies on Nesta’s lap. “Nesta told us you were a catch, Mr. Madani, but she didn’t tell us she got the full housewife package.”

“Shut up.” Nesta shoves a cookie into Emerie’s mouth and passes Gwyn some hot chocolate. Any toughness vanishes when she looks back at Cassian. “Thank you,” she mouths, and he answers by smoothing out her ponytail.

Satisfied with his work and feeling guilty for crashing the girls’ fun, he’s about to call it a night when he feels a tug at his pants. Nesta is looking up at him with eyes that ask him to stay. Cassian glances nervously to Gwyn and Emerie, who are arguing about what movie to watch from his extensive streaming collection, and glances back to Nesta. Are you sure? he asks her silently.

She nods, but it isn’t until Gwyn says, “Just sit down, you’re blocking the TV,” that he indeed sits his ass down on the floor by Nesta’s feet.

A short tug of war between Gwyn and Emerie results in Emerie getting the remote. She blows a hair triumphantly out of her face. “No Planet Earth documentary for you, then,” she says.

Gwyn sits back, grumbling, “You’d think I’d get treated better on my damn birthday.” Nesta adds, “I like documentaries.”

“You’ll like The Proposal even more,” Emerie refutes, scrolling through the TV.

The smell of melting chocolate chips must invade the rest of the cabin, because not long after the movie begins, Cassian catches Azriel sneaking downstairs. As subtle as a shadow, no one even notices him until he plucks up a cookie from the side table by Nesta.

She slides her eyes over to him without turning her head. “You look like a punk with your hood up,” she snorts. “What are you, fifteen?”

From the floor, Cassian withholds a sigh.

Az shoots her a dark look, clearly not appreciating the attention brought to his presence. “Don’t be a little shit,” he warns in a low tone. He reaches for another cookie and Nesta bats his hand away. “Those aren’t for you,” she hisses.

“Can we please not—” Cassian tries.

Az glares and goes for the cookie again. Nesta smacks him back, which results in a slap fight that is only interrupted by Gwyn pleading, “Guys, we’re missing Sandra Bullock!”

Nesta pulls away, looking apologetic, and Az flushes pink. “Sorry,” he mutters. But he snatches up three cookies with a final look at Nesta and goes to sit in the armchair on the other side of the room.

Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie get cozy once more, quickly forgetting that Az is there. Emerie stretches her brown legs out across Gwyn’s lap like a cat. Nesta drapes her own leg over Cassian’s shoulder without warning. He turns around to meet her eyes, surprised, but she’s already intently focused on the movie. Smiling faintly to himself, he reaches up to brush her skin. It probably looks to everyone else like she owns him head to toe.

One thing Cassian quickly learns about the girls is that they simply can’t sit still. Even Nesta is more restless than usual, and she nearly kicks Cassian in the head more than once while readjusting herself on the couch. Emerie moves to sprawl on the rug. Gwyn sits upside down and watches with her head dangling off the seat.

As for Cassian, he loses all interest in the movie once Nesta joins him and Emerie on the floor, unable to contain her emotions from the couch. He glances between the movie and her face to find what’s making her so giddy, but it’s only the two main characters getting ready for a shower. He lifts a brow in amusement for no one to see, but settles back to watch her face in the glow of the dying fire. He’s waiting for her smile.

Because when Nesta really likes something, she’ll smile, and when she smiles… Everything scrunches up: her nose, her eyes, her cheeks.

On the TV, a naked Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock collide into each other, toppling to the floor. Nesta’s grin makes an appearance, and she slaps Cassian’s thigh in excitement, hard enough to hurt.

He hisses in a sharp breath, but doesn’t say anything or look away. He thinks he might have to kill anyone that refuses to protect the smile on her face right now, no matter who it is.

Once the scene changes, he walks two fingers up her leg to get her attention. “Nesta,” he whispers, unable to help himself.

She glances at him for half a second before looking back to the movie. “What?”

He opens his arms and gestures her closer. Come and let me hold you.

Nesta makes a face. “Don’t embarrass me in front of the girls.”

Cassian’s lips turn down. “You don’t mean that.”

She does. To prove her point, she crawls closer to Emerie and settles down next to her. Gwyn joins them on the floor, and they all huddle together.

When he catches Az staring at him with a hint of revulsion, Cassian coughs off the yearning and rejection and glares right back.

After the movie finishes, Emerie victoriously crushes an empty can of beer in her fist. Cassian has no idea where it came from. “More Sandra!” she demands.

It takes three more movies before Emerie is knocked out cold on the arrangement of blankets and pillows on the floor, Gwyn with her. Nesta eventually came back to Cassian and fell asleep with her arms wrapped around his waist, and Azriel passed out sometime after Miss Congeniality, curled up in the armchair with his fist propping up his head.

Now, Cassian carefully untangles Nesta from himself, nudging her towards Emerie instead. In her sleep, Nesta turns over to clutch the other woman’s arm and mumbles something unintelligible.

Cassian props a pillow gently beneath her head and picks up another one, throwing it harder than he needs to at Azriel’s face. “Get up,” he hisses.

Az jerks out of his sleep, looking around the dim room in confusion. Cursing lowly, he pushes himself out of his seat and scrubs a hand through his hair. “What time is it?”

“Three.” Cassian pulls a comforter over Nesta and Emerie’s shoulders.

Az crouches and picks up the other side of the comforter, adjusting it over Gwyn’s body. Cassian thinks he might see a frown cross his face for half a second, but then Az is standing up and brushing off his clothes.

After turning off the TV, the guys head for their rooms. “I didn’t think three grown women could be so... much,” Az says as they climb up the stairs.

Cassian huffs a laugh. “We were like that when we were younger, too.”

“Yeah, but we were teenagers.”

They reach the hallway. “I don’t know about the others,” Cassian says thoughtfully, “but Nesta never got to be a normal kid.” She barely got to be a normal adult. And in a couple of short years, she’ll be working her ass off at some prestigious firm and won’t have time for simple things like sleepovers anymore.

Cassian selfishly hopes he can give Nesta all the normalcy he can before that happens.

***

a/n: i’m gonna do my best in future chapters to give cassian depth beyond just his relationship with nesta 🥴 but first, be on the lookout for a gwynriel bonus scene :)

tags: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara9 @lanyjoy-13 @frosted-crackers @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad

[jamespotterthefirst]

Prelude (Ethan x f!MC)

Book: Open Heart, Book 1 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1.5 K Premise: Three moments leading up to their fateful meeting.

Author’s Note: In which I try to explain why MC didn’t know what Ethan, her medical hero, looked like. Also, my (late) fic for the book 1 replay. Thank you @aestheticartsx​ for pre-reading!

Three.

Harper frowns down at the file in her hand, her sharp gaze burning into the collated papers as though coercing them to solve their dilemma once and for all. From the end of the table, Cyrus lets out an inpatient sigh.

“It's very simple, Harper,” he drones. Ethan's fists clench reflexively at his sides, urging to remind Cyrus that Harper is the chief now and warrants more respect than his insufferable tone is offering. “The last spot should go to the candidate from Harvard. We are the best hospital on the east coast, after all. It only makes sense.”

Harper looks unconvinced and still, her pensive expression remains fixed in the file.

“An ivy league degree does not a good doctor make,” Naveen adds sagely into the ensuing silence. His smile is placid enough but Ethan knows the older doctor well enough to hear the warning edge in his voice. Evidently, even Naveen disapproves of Cyrus's lack of respect for their new chief.

Cyrus scoffs.

“And if you need further proof of that, Doctor Cyrus,” Ethan begins dryly, eyes boring into him. “Then look no further than your side of the conference table.”

A few attendings—at least the ones who have become increasingly tired of Cyrus's boastful proclamations about his alma mater—laugh quietly at the jab. Cyrus splutters, his face an unpleasant shade of red as he glares daggers at Ethan.

“This candidate,” Harper says at last, unaware or uncaring of what she had just interrupted. Her two lone words are enough to command the room's attention at once, but her hazel eyes are on Ethan. “You're convinced she's the best fit for Edenbrook?”

Ethan meets her eye and pauses.

It's the first time they look at each other directly since he ended their relationship two weeks prior. Despite the brief time apart and an unshakeable resolve to be professional, his stomach sinks heavy, like a stone.

Harper looks as graceful and dignified as ever, keeping every emotion in check. Yet, as she holds his gaze, Ethan can see a small flicker or sadness and his stomach twists with guilt.

“I'm positive, Chief Emery,” Ethan responds. “This candidate exhibits the type of potential we look for at Edenbrook.”

The use of her new title seems to snap Harper out of a reverie.

“She graduated top of her class and ranked in the top percent among our chosen cohort of interns,” Ethan continues. “I've also looked into her research and it's among the most promising I've seen. I recommend her without reservations.”

With a single nod and a sense of finality, Harper closes the file.

“Then it's settled. We have our last intern.”

“You're joking, Harper,” Cyrus blurts out, incensed. “We're giving a coveted spot to the candidate from UCLA?”

He says the name of the school with so much derision, Ethan feels his ears flare up.

“That Doctor Ayala?” Cyrus continues.

“Doctor Allende,” Ethan corrects, jaw clenched.

“Don't we have enough charity cases in the cohort already? This is token—”

But the vitriol is quickly interrupted by several things happening at once: Ethan darting forward, fists ready; a startled, collective gasp from the other attendings; Naveen, quietly intercepting Ethan and halting his steps with a steady hand, a feat that is impressive for a man much older and shorter; and Harper, also on her feet, directing a disgusted look at Cyrus she doesn’t bother to disguise behind professionalism.

“I would think very carefully about finishing that sentence if I were you, Doctor Cyrus,” she says, her voice low but with the impact of a clashing gavel. “And I ask that you address me as Chief Emery moving forward.”

Two.

“If you end up marrying someone with a Boston accent,” Laurel is saying with a devilish grin. “I will never be able to keep a straight face when they talk. Pahk the cah in Hahvahd Yahd.”

Her older sister peers at Lilac over the flaps of an open cardboard box, the glint in her eye growing wickeder still. “Imagine what they’d sound like in bed. You're so fucking gawgeous, dawctaw—”

Before her sister can escalate that impression into disturbing territory, Lilac silences her with a well-aimed pillow. It succeeds in hitting Laurel straight in the face but also in turning her laughter into a cackle.

“Are you going to help me pack or not?” Lilac says sternly, though the effect is entirely ruined by the smile that manages to break through.

Laurel raises her hands in defeat and returns to packing Lilac's books neatly. They work in companionable silence for a few minutes with nothing but their favorite music blaring from the speakers of Lilac's phone.

“Is this the book?” her sister asks suddenly, turning a worn textbook in her hands and studying it closely. “The one written by your medical crush?”

For some inexplicable reason, Lilac feels her face flare with heat. “He's not my crush.”

“You just worship the ground he walks on,” her sister returns, flipping through Diagnostic Principles. “Though, you're right. In order to have a crush you'd need to know what he looks like.”

Laurel reaches the back cover, frowning. “Why wouldn't he add an author picture?”

Lilac says nothing, biting the inside of her cheek. She can't blame her sister for being curious and a bit disappointed at the lack of visual representation. After all, Lilac had felt crestfallen when all she found in the author's information section was the green and blue Edenbrook logo.

“Maybe he's a private man and doesn't like his picture out in the world? Maybe he wants aspiring doctors to focus on his research and not his looks?”

“So he's either really hot or really ugly,” Laurel returns, unmoved by Lilac's impassioned speech. “Have you ever tried looking him up online?”

Lilac had been tempted many times, but she was fiercely adamant about keeping her medical hero a mystery outside of his work. It already felt invasive enough to track down his undergrad research and every other minor paper he'd ever written. When it came to Ethan Ramsey, Lilac had searched every corner of scholarly journals and databases, absorbing every piece of his work with an adoration that was already embarrassing enough.

Plus, she would never admit it out loud, but she was also afraid that knowing what the brilliant doctor looked like would somehow ruin him for her. Or at least, alter the image of him she had constructed in her head for so many years. It felt right to continue seeing Dr. Ramsey as the brilliant force that pushed her into her dream career and not as a definitive set of features.

“It doesn't matter what he looks like. He's the best and I'm going there to learn from him, not to judge his appearance.”

“I'm Googling him,” Laurel announces, already typing furiously into her phone. After a few seconds, her phone returns results and her eyebrows shoot up, staying suspended for longer than normal.

“What?” Lilac asks despite herself.

“Wow.”

“Wow what?”

“Just… wow.” Laurel stares down at the screen with such awestruck amazement that Lilac feels a powerful wave of curiosity. “He’s shirtless in some of these.”

“What?” Lilac yelps, feeling her face flare up at once. 

“Yeah, apparently you’re not his only fan. Tons of people have taken his picture.” Her sister seems to blink out of a trance, turning the screen toward Lilac. “Here, see for your—”

But Lilac turns her gaze away almost out of reflex.

“No!” 

The word comes out far more impassioned than Lilac intended. Still, she resolutely turns her head. “That feels...invasive, somehow?”

“Come on—”

“I'm serious, Lau. I don't want to see. I'm already nervous enough about this whole thing without having to worry about this wow-worthy revelation. And besides, taking someone’s shirtless picture without their consent and posting it online is already bad enough. It feels wrong supporting that.”

Laurel rolls her eyes.

“I'm going to see him in less than a week anyway. With clothes. In a professional setting. As I should. If I waited all these years, I can wait that long.”

A knowing, devious sort of smile pulls at her sister's face. She mumbles something over the music and Lilac can swear it sounds oddly like: “...worth the wait.”

One.

Ethan should have taken the broken and sputtering coffee machine in his apartment as an omen. His morning definitely declined from then on, starting with gridlock traffic and ending with an infuriatingly long line at his favorite coffee place.

The ultimate lack of coffee is probably his fault because Ethan had spent too much time deliberating whether or not he wanted to go with store bought coffee on what promised to be a grueling day. When he had finally made up his mind, however, the line was already out the door.

Irritated and caffeine deprived, he drives back to Edenbrook.

“You're earlier than we agreed,” Naveen says as soon as Ethan accepts his incoming call. “What was the point of rearranging the whole schedule if you were going to come in when you pleased anyway?”

“I'm not even through the gates yet. What are you spying on me?”

“No need. You forget how predictable you are.”

Naveen chuckles as he says this which eases some of Ethan's irritation. The older doctor had purposely scheduled him later in the day to give him some peace on the first day of the new intern cohort.

Naturally, Ethan arrived several hours early, as per his custom.

“Or maybe you know me too well by now.”

Naveen's benevolent laughter turns into a dry but lingering cough on the other end of the line. Instantly, Ethan's insides freeze over, his stomach sinking unpleasantly.

He opens his mouth to question his mentor about this persisting symptom, when sheer reflex prompts him to stomp on the breaks so suddenly, his body jerks forward then slams against his seat.

“Shit.”

Something—or rather someone— had crossed the parking lot road right in front of his car, standing mere inches away from his front bumper.

“Ethan?” Naveen asks through the speaker.

When Ethan recovers and regains movement of his arms and legs, he feels the spike of adrenaline give way to pure annoyance.

The offending pedestrian is a young brunette clad in blue scrubs, a medical intern by the looks of it. She stands there in the middle of the road, her mouth hanging open in a way that would have been comical to Ethan if he wasn't so irritated.

They stare at one another, though Ethan is convinced she can't see much through the tinted glass.

Then, right before his eyes, she seems to recover from the shock. Drawing herself to her full height, she glares at Ethan. At least, he thinks she's glaring through the dark lenses of her sunglasses.

Ethan almost scoffs.

She has the audacity to be angry when she was the one who made the rookie mistake of aimlessly crossing in front of him?

Who the hell does she think she is?

“Asshole,” she mutters, the word quite audible through his windows.

Before a stunned Ethan can respond, she turns on her heel and rushes toward the hospital, a curtain of dark hair dancing behind her.

“What was that?” Naveen asks, still on the call.

“I hate interns,” Ethan responds much to the older doctor's amusement.

Bonus:

Author’s Note: In other words, my MC was late to her orientation because of Ethan and that’s how she met him in the waiting room lol. Thank you so much for reading! 

*Tagging Separately 

[hurricanery]

If the Sun Comes Up - pt. 1

Apologies for the long A/N: This is the start of an AU fic inspired by this prompt & this prompt. It follows Amelia & Link, along with many others, in their first year as interns at seattle grace hospital. Thank you for sending character requests about this one! I settled on a few, but other characters are likely to show up later on as residents/attendings. Also, sidenote: this is completely an AU, meaning I just kind of grouped people together based on my interpretation of age (not that age really makes sense in the greys world anyways). This chapter is somewhat boring, basically just a set up for the characters and dynamic of the story. Thank you as always for feedback and prompts <3

In summary, the main interns in focus are: Amelia Shepherd, Atticus Lincoln, Maggie Pierce, Winston Ndugu, Jo Wilson, & Lexie Grey. The ship this focuses on is Amelink <3

_______

That's how it starts

We go back to your house

We check the charts

And start to figure it out

_______

(Hour 1)

“No, no, no,” she mutters impatiently, hastily climbing out of her car, her jacket catching in the door as she slams it shut. “God dammit, son of a-”

She tugs her jacket free and sighs in exasperation as she begins walking at a pace that could quite possibly challenge olympic level speed-walkers.

Amelia Shepherd was a lot of things.

Sharp. Cunning. Confident. Prepared. Most of the time.

But, throughout her lifetime, she’d also been described in less elevating ways. Unpredictable. Impulsive. Irresponsible. She laughs bitterly when her mind settles on the last adjective, as she scurries through the doors of Seattle Grace Hospital.

Because she was a lot of things. And late for the first day of her surgical internship was now getting added to the list.

_______

“Pierce, Lincoln, Wilson, Ndugu, Grey, Shepherd!” Chief Webber’s voice booms through the chaos of the crowded locker room. Interns begin stepping forward as their names are called. “Pierce, Lincoln, Wilson, Ndugu, Grey, and Shepherd,” he beckons again, “Your assigned resident is Dr. Karev.”

Alex scowls intimidatingly as five out of his six interns approach him by the door.

“Let’s move,” he mutters, starting to walk swiftly through the corridor of the hospital while the interns trail behind him.

“I have five rules,” he stops walking suddenly, and the sound of halting sneakers squeaks behind him. “First rule…” He trails off, turning around to look pointedly at each of their faces. “There are five of you here, who’s missing?”

The group looks between each other in confusion, shrugging amongst themselves. Alex peers down at each of their ID badges.

“Where’s Shepherd?”

More shrugs.

“Where’s Shepherd?” He repeats, louder this time.

“I’m here, I’m here!” Amelia’s breathless voice chimes distantly behind the group as she jogs to meet them. She comes to a stop, huffing out a breath as she pushes strands of her long, dark hair out of her face.

Alex glares at her, arms folding across his chest.

“Okay forget the rules, we’re out of time,” He growls. “You five,” He looks between those of his interns that were on time today. “You’ll be joining me in the gallery for a groundbreaking surgery.”

There’s excited murmurs throughout the group.

“I’m serious. The surgery you’re about to witness….you will likely never see anything like it again. You will be silent. You will take notes. And you will not embarrass me.”

The excited murmurs turn to anxious nods.

“Shepherd,” Alex continues, an evil smirk taking over his expression. Amelia gulps. “Your last name is not going to save your ass right now.” He laughs. “I have this dude who’s taking up a bed down in the pit. He won’t stop throwing up. He’s a junkie. You’re gonna go clean him up, give him an IV, and send him home. And then maybe you can come find us.”

Amelia sighs, stepping forward slightly to defend herself. “Are you sure? Don’t you think I should see-”

“I didn’t ask for a response,” he interrupts her. “I asked you to head to the pit.”

Amelia blinks, her hands dropping to her sides in defeat. She watches as the rest of her intern class hurries off to witness a groundbreaking surgery without her.

_______

(Hour 8)

Amelia slowly shuffles through the dimly lit basement of Seattle Grace, following the sounds of her fellow interns’ voices.

“Ugh, Atticus,” Jo laughs loudly. “Call him Link. I have never heard anyone call him Atticus.”

Jo’s laugh echoes through the hallway and Amelia uses it to guide her.

“Sorry,” Lexie giggles in defense. “It’s not like I knew that. Not my fault you all know each other already.”

Amelia finally approaches. And sees everyone sprawled out across the abandoned hospital bed in the hallway. The bed rests against a large window by the vending machines.

“Who all knows each other already?” Amelia huffs as she slides down against the opposite wall, settling herself on the floor and leaning her head back in exhaustion.

“Everyone, apparently,” Lexie responds as she takes a bite of a granola bar. “Maggie and Winston went to Tufts together. Jo and Link did the same undergrad program, and even worked at the same restaurant. I’m the loner here.”

“Well,” Amelia mumbles, eyes closing as her head rests against the wall. “I’m a loner with you, then.”

“Yeah, except for the fact that you’re a Shepherd,” Lexie laughs.

“And you’re a Grey!” Amelia bites back playfully. “We’re in the same boat here.”

“Wait, you’re a Grey?” Maggie gasps, practically choking on the handful of chips she’d just consumed. Winston leans forward, concern crossing his features as he rubs Maggie’s back. She slowly gets a grasp over her coughs. “You’re a Grey, too? Like….Meredith Grey?”

“Yeah….I’m her sister….” Lexie frowns. And Maggie’s eyes go wide. “What’s wrong with being a Grey-”

“Is everyone here somehow related to an attending or resident?” Jo interrupts, rolling her eyes in disbelief. “What in the nepotism….”

Maggie settles back in her seat, her eyes still wide as Winston watches her. Quiet falls between them all and Amelia resumes her previous position, eyes coming to rest as she leans back against the wall. She listens to the voices among the group as the conversation picks back up.

“I heard that every year, they pick the most promising intern on the first day to scrub in on something.” Jo announces. Amelia’s adrenaline kicks in a little bit at this information, but she keeps her eyes shut.

“During our first shift?” Lexie gasps.

“Mhm.”

“No thanks,” Lexie mutters. “I’d definitely screw something up.”

“I might ask Karev about it,” Amelia can hear the smirk in Jo’s voice. “Try and get a leg up on it.”

“Nah,” Link cuts in. “Don’t do that. Whatever happens, happens. You wanna be a shark about it?”

“Okay, Mr. ‘go with the flow.’” Jo laughs. “That kind of attitude is not going to get you anywhere.”

The comfortable silence that fills the hallway again makes sense. It reflects everyone’s current exhaustion.

But then a question gets voiced, and it takes Amelia a moment to realize that the question is directed toward her.

“How’d your patient in the pit go?”

Amelia’s eyes snap open as she searches for the face that voiced the question. Her eyes land on Link’s bright-eyed and sympathetic gaze.

“I….didn’t end up discharging him.” Amelia mutters. And she watches as Link raises his eyebrows at this information.

“Karev is not going to be happy about that.”

“He….uh,” Amelia sits up, bringing her knees to her chest as she explains. “The patient….he’s not a junkie.” She outwardly cringes at the word. “It’s not withdrawal. It’s something else.”

“What makes you think that?” Jo inquires doubtfully.

“His symptoms,” Amelia mumbles, somewhat self-consciously. “They’re not withdrawal symptoms.”

“Maybe Shepherd’s right,” Link offers, a kindness to his voice that surprises Amelia. She expects him to be more arrogant. Or maybe a little full of himself. Just based on his looks. But, everything she’s heard from him so far, has been nothing but positive.

“You going to tell Karev you didn’t discharge the guy?” Jo questions.

“I am,” Amelia responds matter-of-factly. And the hallway grows silent again.

“I could just take a nap right here, right now….” Winston eventually mumbles out.

And there’s a general hum of agreement. Before the quiet moment is interrupted by a chorus of pagers going off.

_______

(Hour 12)

They finally get a lunch break. And by the time it comes around, Amelia isn’t even hungry. After being vomited on in the pit all morning, her appetite is completely diminished.

She walks through the hallway towards the cafeteria and sees Maggie walking a few feet ahead of her.

“Hey!” She catches up to her.

“Hey,” Maggie smiles. “You grabbing lunch?”

Amelia just groans, shaking her head. “Not after the morning I’ve had, no.”

Maggie gives her a sympathetic look before she stops in front of the bulletin board outside of the cafeteria. Amelia watches curiously as Maggie pins a flyer to the board, then she reads the posting.

“You’re looking for roommates?” Amelia inquires, slowly becoming more animated as the idea settles in.

“Yeah, I have three rooms to fill in my apartment. My other roommates moved out but I want to re-sign the lease.”

“Um, wow,” Amelia is stunned by the obviousness of it. “Okay, me? I will be a roommate.”

They continue walking towards the cafeteria and Maggie turns to her, giving her an incredulous stare.

“We’re in the same intern class….” Maggie frowns. “We’re going to be around each other literally 24/7….you wouldn’t actually want to….live together, too?”

“I would,” Amelia persists. “I’m….crashing on my brother’s couch right now,” she mutters, embarrassed by the confession. “I would quite honestly rather live anywhere else.”

“I barely know you.” Maggie exclaims in disbelief.

“So! I’m great. I’m...I’m the best. Best roommate ever. I promise you won’t regret it.” Amelia grins hugely, wiggling her brows, trying to sell herself. And Maggie laughs, shaking her head.

They sit at a table, and Maggie unpacks the lunch she’s brought with her.

“Really,” Amelia tries again. “I’m a clean person. I do the dishes...most of the time. I pay rent on time. Always. And I’m fun, and-”

“Okay!” Maggie laughs. “Okay. You….you’re overselling it now. You can have one of the rooms.”

“Yes!” Amelia loudly squeals, and the outburst makes heads turn throughout the cafeteria. She quickly pipes down. “Sorry….you won’t regret it.”

Maggie just shakes her head, taking a bite of salad.

“So….” Amelia speaks up again after letting Maggie get a few bites in. “What do you have against Meredith Grey?”

And similar to earlier, Maggie almost chokes on her food again. She slowly works on swallowing her bite of salad before she speaks.

“I don’t have anything against Meredith Grey,” she mutters.

“Ha,” Amelia laughs sarcastically. “Your eyes just about burst through your head earlier when you found out Lexie was related to her. What’s up?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Hey, we’re roommates now. Spill.” Amelia folds her arms across her chest, leaning back in her seat.

Maggie glances around the room before she leans in, beginning to speak softly. So softly Amelia almost doesn’t hear her. “I came here….to Seattle Grace….I applied for this internship because my birth mother worked here. She was kind of….like a legend here.”

“Okay….”

“And I didn’t think I’d actually land the internship….”

“Okay….”

“And then I got the internship and….and I didn’t think I’d actually see her, or be working with her-”

“Who? Your mom?” Amelia interrupts.

“No,” Maggie breathes. “No….Meredith.”

Amelia just frowns, still not understanding how this ties together.

“Ellis Grey is my birth mother.”

And now it’s Amelia’s turn to choke on her food. Except she’s not currently eating anything. So, it’s more like she’s choking on air as she grips the edges of the table in shock.

But before she can voice her surprise, Winston approaches the table, sitting down to join them. And Amelia breathes out a huge breath. Glancing at Maggie and miming the motions as if she’s zipping her mouth shut.

Winston definitely notices the strange energy, and he looks between the two in confusion.

“I’m….” Amelia pipes up. “I’m going to go check on my patient in the pit. You two enjoy lunch.”

Amelia stands up, winking at Maggie mischievously, before heading for the door.

_______

(Hour 16)

16 Hours in and Amelia finally decides it’s time to eat something. She’s been on her feet all day, running labs and doing scut work for Karev. The patient she was supposed to have discharged earlier, is currently waiting on the neuro consult she’d ordered. So it feels like the perfect time to take a small break.

She’s been so busy, she’s barely even thought about food. Her stomach rumbles loudly as she makes her way back through the dimly lit basement, seeking out the vending machines she knows are down here. She could have picked any of the vending machines in the hospital, honestly, but she’s chosen this route because she likes the quiet, and hopes to have a moment to herself to unwind.

She rounds the corner, letting the subtle hum of the vending machines bring her comfort. But the moment doesn’t last.

“Hey, Shepherd!”

Amelia jumps, clutching a hand to her chest as her eyes settle on Link, where he’s once again sitting on the abandoned bed in the hallway.

“Shit, you scared me.” She exhales shakily.

“Sorry,” he smiles, then turns back to the textbook in his lap.

Amelia walks past him, continuing towards the vending machines. She considers the options in front of her, before deciding on a granola bar and an energy drink.

“You kind of stole my idea,” she mumbles as she turns around to face him.

“Hm?” he looks up from his book.

“I was going to come down here, and be all quiet and alone for a minute,” she smirks.

“Well, great minds think alike, I guess?” He laughs. “You can sit.”

Amelia gazes up at him through a pointed stare, biting the inside of her cheek as she weighs her options. She truly had been seeking a peaceful moment to herself before she realized Link was down here.

“And I can be quiet,” he adds, watching her think it through.

But she decides. She gives in and climbs onto the mattress, resting her back against the wall. She yawns hugely as she settles in a comfortable seated position, legs outstretched in front of her, mirroring Link’s current position.

“Those aren’t very good for you, you know,” he smirks, nodding towards the energy drink in her lap.

“What are you, a doctor or something?” she bites back sarcastically.

“Trying to be.”

Amelia smiles, popping open the drink and taking an exaggerated first sip. Link just shakes his head at her, turning back to his book.

Amelia sighs a few seconds later. “Is it just me....or do you feel like you have no idea what you’re doing?”

Link turns his head to the side, lifting his eyes from his book to her tired expression.

“I get that.”

“I mean,” Amelia lets her head roll to the side too, in his direction. “I was top of my class at Harvard. I really thought I’d have an impressive first day.”

“You….were late this morning….” Link stifles a laugh, squinting at her.

Amelia rolls her eyes. “Yeah….not off to a great start. You’re right.”

A moment later Link slams his textbook closed, muttering something about trying to squeeze in a nap while he can. He leans his head back against the wall, letting his eyes shut.

“Oh, come on,” Amelia mutters playfully. “Sleep is for the weak.”

“Sleep is extremely important,” Link responds, eyes still closed. “And I’m not sleeping, I’m just resting my eyes.”

Amelia laughs under her breath. “Sure.”

“Really,” he continues. “Resting your eyes? Feels fantastic. You should give it a try.”

Amelia doesn’t respond to this, instead taking another sip of her drink.

“Afraid you’ll fall asleep?” Link inquires a moment later, opening his eyes to glance sideways at her.

“No. I can rest my eyes without falling asleep.”

“Sure.”

Amelia watches as he resumes his previous position, his eyes slipping closed as he rests against the wall.

“Is this some sort of competition?” She mutters.

“I’m not competitive.”

He’s smug, Amelia thinks, as she stares at his restful expression. She sets her drink on the windowsill behind her, and lets her own eyes come to rest. It feels good to close her eyes. Way too good.

A moment later she hears Link whisper “I told you.” At least she thinks that’s what she hears. Her consciousness is beginning to slip away from her. And it’s hard to pull herself out of it, or to even think about separating exhausted imagination from reality.

When Link’s pager goes off several minutes later, his eyes shoot open. The sound of it doesn’t even cause Amelia to stir. He turns to look at her. Her long hair covers half of her face, but he can tell by the pattern of her breathing that she’s fallen asleep. Link smiles to himself, deciding not to wake her. She had initially come down here seeking a moment to herself, and Link was going to let her have it. His pager beeps again and he stands up, quickly on his feet and moving through the hallway.

_______

When Amelia eventually wakes up, she has no idea how much time has passed. The first thing she notices is that she’s alone now. Link’s abandoned textbook sits open next to her. It’s much darker in the basement now, with less light coming in through the window. She frowns, checking her pager.

And that’s when she notices the red blinking light.

Signifying her pager is dying. Or needs new batteries. Or something. She doesn’t know. It’s her goddamn first day and she has no idea how this works.

She curses to herself, springing up from her seat and practically running towards the stairwell.

_______

By the time she reaches the pit, she’s completely out of breath. Her eyes scan the ER, trying to locate her patient from earlier. The patient she was supposed to have discharged. But instead of following Karev’s orders, she had called a neuro consult, because she knew that the case was something more. And now, as she stands in the ER, she completely regrets her decision to venture off to the basement and wait for a confirmation page from neuro. That decision was currently biting her in the ass.

Because now her eyes settle on the current situation.

She watches as Karev begins transport of her patient. Her mouth drops open, stunned as Karev kicks the hospital bed into movement, beginning to transport her patient to the OR. She grows even more stunned as she watches Link grab the rails on the other side of the bed, moving with Karev towards the elevator.

“Wait,” she steps forward. “Wait! That’s my patient, what-”

“Not anymore,” Alex growls. “It’s a tumor, Shepherd. No longer your case.”

“Right,” Amelia keeps pace with them. “I’m the one that called the neuro consult. I knew it! I knew that-”

“Shepherd-”

“That’s my patient!”

She stumbles backwards a bit as they navigate the bed to enter the elevator. She makes eye contact with Link as she watches them step into the elevator.

“Like I said,” Alex mutters, pressing the elevator button to the OR floor once they’re settled inside. “Not anymore. Maybe answer your page, next time.”

Her shock turns to anger as she holds eye contact with Link, and Karev’s words settle in.

“Beds 1-4 need stitches, can you manage that?”

The elevator doors come to a close and irritation flashes through her hot and fast. Because Atticus Lincoln, mr. ‘I'm not competitive,’ had just stolen her patient. Tricked her into falling asleep and then stolen her surgery.

_______

She tries to suppress her anger as she does scut work for the next few hours. As the time passes, she focuses on her bedside manner, and tries to improve her suture technique. Her anger subsides, and it gets replaced with disappointment. Mostly disappointment in herself. Because this was nobody’s fault but her own.

This was a surgical internship at one of the top hospitals in the country. It was allowed to be competitive. They were allowed to be sharks.

By the time she discharges her last patient in the pit, she’s feeling a lot of things. The feeling that stands out the most though, is the exhaustion.

_______

(Hour 24)

Amelia basically moves on autopilot as she exits the locker room, shrugging her jacket on and moving through the hospital’s corridor.

Her eyes feel heavy and all she can think about is going home and immediately going to sleep.

Her anticipation is interrupted, though, when she sees Link walking a few feet ahead of her. She stares at the back of his head, trying to remember any of the angry words she’d had for him earlier. But she’s just so tired, and she’s drawing a blank.

He comes to a stop in front of her, pausing in front of the bulletin board just outside of the cafeteria. Amelia slows her pace as she watches him read something on the board, and then he’s ripping off part of a flyer.

She catches up with him, not managing to walk slowly enough to avoid him completely. He notices her approach and almost instantly, a remorseful expression takes over his face.

They fall into step with each other. And Amelia clears her throat.

“Will you at least tell me how it went? With the tumor?”

Link nods sheepishly. “He’s in recovery now. The other Dr. Shepherd, who I’m guessing is your brother?” Amelia nods. “He removed it all, no problems.”

“That’s good,” Amelia mutters.

They approach the exit, and Link holds the door open as they make their way into the parking lot.

“I didn’t mean to steal your surgery, you know,” Link speaks up again, his tone apologetic. “I just….answered the page.”

Amelia smirks.

“Don’t feel bad. If you want to be a shark, be a shark.”

Link genuinely looks conscious-stricken at her words.

“I’m kidding,” Amelia adds. “It was pretty much my fault.”

Link looks down, crumpling the paper he’d taken from the bulletin board, and twisting it in his palm.

“What’s that?” Amelia inquires.

“Roommates wanted,” Link exclaims, smoothing out the paper and reading the brief description.

Amelia’s face falls.

“No,” she’s laughing now. “No way.”

“What?”

“You can’t be one of our roommates.”

“Who is ‘our’?” Link frowns.

“That’s Maggie’s ad,” she laughs. “And I already claimed a room, so I get a say here.”

“Well I think I’m going to inquire with Maggie,” Link smirks. “I just so happen to be looking for a new place right now. So, I kind of feel like I was meant to see this,” he holds up the paper.

Amelia sighs.

“I’ll get to her first,” she mumbles, beginning to turn towards her parked car. “And give her my input.”

The sun is starting to come up. 24 hours since the last sunrise. 24 hours since the start of their first shift. Amelia gazes up at the sky, grateful that it’s over. But grateful that it happened. Grateful to have the first day under her belt.

“Shepherd,” Link interrupts her thoughts. “I think I’ll be getting to Maggie first.”

“Huh?” She turns to him, and notices how he’s started walking in the opposite direction.

She catches up to him.

“We’re going to Joe’s,” he states, as Amelia steps into pace with him. “The bar across the street. Apparently it’s open 24 hours….but that’s on the down-low.”

Amelia halts, coming to a standstill.

And Link frowns, slowing to a stop when he notices her hesitation. “Jo, Maggie, Winston, Lexie….everyone, I mean. To celebrate a successful first shift?”

Amelia’s heart sinks. She hates this part. Hates having this conversation with anyone her age.

“I don’t drink,” she admits, clawing her palms with her fingernails as her arms drop to her sides.

“Okay,” Link says simply. “They have food there, right?”

She has to question whether she’s heard him right. Because she was waiting for the ‘why not?’ For the confused stare. Or for the uncomfortable chuckle. Which he offers none of. She was so prepared for the interrogation, that his reaction actually stuns her a little.

“Or music?” Link adds, when he realizes that Amelia is stuck inside her head a little. “Food. Or music. Or games? Shepherd, I know I said I’m not competitive, but that’s a whole different story when it comes to darts-”

“Okay,” she finally breathes, trying to hide her smile.

“Okay, you’ll come?”

Amelia nods, starting to walk again. Link catches up with her and she guides them towards Joe’s. They cross the street just as the sun comes up.

//

[prettyboybarzal]

i like us like this // jamie benn x reader

summary: jamie benn is the worst blind date you’ve ever been on, and yet he somehow manages to redeem himself.

word count: 5k

author’s note: please enjoy!! (kinda got writers block in the middle of this and had to power through so i hope it’s still as good as i wanted it to be🥴) as always i would love some feedback <3333 

“I want to set you up on a blind date,” Gab said, settling down onto the couch with you. Your groan and the exasperated sigh of her boyfriend, Tyler, in the kitchen sounded simultaneously. “Enough of that,” she grumbled, “and that.” She pointed a warning finger at Tyler. “Let me set you up, pleeeeease.”

“Gab, I’m going to be honest,” you sighed. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

“But how do you know?” she asked. “It’s been over a month.”

“It’s been a month and three days,” you argued. “That’s hardly over a month.”

Gab grunted, turning her back to pout in the direction of the television.

The room went silent again as Tyler settled onto the couch beside Gab and tugged her under his arm. You enjoyed the few minutes of silence as the movie she threw on started. You knew that it wouldn’t last long. Gab didn’t go down without a fight, so you were just waiting for her to start pushing for the date again.

It took all of twenty minutes.

“One date,” Gab pushed. Tyler laughed. “It’s with Ty’s best friend, too!”

You looked at her, then over at Tyler. He shrugged.

“Fine.”

If Tyler was friends with this guy, he was probably okay.

The plans were made for the following Friday night. Jamie texted you to confirm that picking you up around 5 would work, which you agreed to, and then he sent the restaurant’s website. That’s when you started freaking out.

“Gab, I do not belong at a restaurant like this!” you yelled as you stormed across the apartment and into her room. She was already smiling when you entered the room. “It’s a five-star restaurant. I eat in our university’s dining hall when I want to eat out! I don’t have clothes for this!”

“Sure, you do,” Gab said. She stood up and tugged you back to your bedroom. As she sifted through the closet, you watched in dismay. It took her all of five minutes to locate the slip dress she was in search of. A little red thing that you’d worn during undergrad once to a date party with your ex.

“The odds of me fitting into that are slim,” you mumbled. Gab rolled her eyes, throwing the garment at you anyway. She tossed herself onto the bed and motioned for you to put it on. And, once the dress was on, you were proved wrong.

“You look hot.”

“I do,” you admitted, staring at yourself in the mirror. Gab laughed. “Time check?”

“You have an hour.” 

Jamie showed up right on time with a knock at your front door. He was wearing a white button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and your eyes immediately found their way to the definition of his muscles and the tattoos on his skin. He was handsome. Certainly your type in the way of looks. You made a mental note to tell Gab she definitely knew your taste in men.

“Nice to meet you, YN,” he said as he leaned in to place a kiss to your cheek. His hand rested against your hip, and you tried not to think about how large he was compared to you. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m starving.” 

Jamie offered one more smile before taking your hand in his and leading you out of the building to his car. You took one peek at the way his hand engulfed yours and decided that unless his personality really sucked, you just might invite him in for a night cap at the end of the night.

The restaurant was incredible. Each table had a pristine white tablecloth across it with candles beside a small arrangement of flowers. Jamie pulled out your chair as soon as you got to the table and, when the waitress came over for drink orders, he ordered the most expensive red wine on the menu.

The date started out great. But, as soon as the food came out, the conversation fell flat.

He asked about school, prompting you to explain your graduate degree program in a total of fifteen minutes. So, naturally, you asked about his career. What you weren’t expecting was the rant that came after.

At the mention of the upcoming season, Jamie’s shoulders seemed to tense up and you couldn’t quite understand why. And, after he grumbled about how frustrated he’s been with the preseason games and practices, he tried his best to move on and talk about something else. It just didn’t happen.

Jamie felt horrible. He hadn’t meant to let it all out like that, but he’d been so busy preparing for the season that he couldn’t think about much else, despite the beautiful woman across from him. He wasn’t an idiot. He caught on to your non-verbal cues that this wasn’t going quite as well as expected. He knew he wasn’t going to get a second date, and he was never going to hear the end of it from Tyler and Gab.

After dinner, Jamie dropped you off at your apartment. He got out of the car, swinging your door open for you in an attempt to salvage the disaster of a date you’d just been on. You smiled at him and fell right into step as you walked up to the building.

“Can we be honest with each other?” You had come to a full stop in front of the building. He nodded at your question, brown eyes studying your face as he waited for you to speak again. “I think you’re really great, and we get along well. But, I don’t think this could work right now.”

Jamie let out a soft tuft of breath and said, “Agreed.”

You had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. Was he always this short and terse? Did he have a personality outside of his career? It was getting harder and harder to understand why Gab would set you up with this guy.

“Okay, well,” you murmured. “It was nice meeting you, Jamie. Thank you so much for dinner.”

“It was no problem,” Jamie answered. He nodded towards your apartment building. “You sure you don’t want me to walk you up?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

Jamie nodded, a faint smile gracing his lips only for a moment, before he turned away and began the walk back to his car. You turned your back as well and began to mentally prepare for the onslaught of questions from Gab.

“How’d it go?” she asked as soon as you walked through the door. “Will there be a second date?”

“No,” you answered, dropping your sweater over the hook near the door. Gab pouted, looking upset with herself for not picking a better match. You reached out and tugged her into a hug. “It was an okay date, but we both agreed that it just won’t work.”

“What is it? Was he mean to you?” she asked, eyes wide. “Tyler said sometimes he can get a little bitchy.”

“No, it wasn’t that,” you responded, giggly at the thought of Tyler calling his captain ‘bitchy’. “I don’t know, Gab. He just seemed a little on the edge, cranky, serious. He talked about hockey the entire time, which is fine but he just sounded miserable. Also, I didn’t laugh… At all.”

“Seriously?” she asked. She seemed surprised, which shocked you. “I really thought he’d be a good match because his sense of humor is a bit like yours.”

“He really had me in the first half,” you admitted. “Like, Gab, he’s cute as hell. But, the conversation was a downer.”

“Yikes.” That voice didn’t belong to Gab. It belonged to Tyler who had just rounded the corner from Gab’s bedroom. He leaned up against the wall, arms crossed in front of him, and said, “Chubbs is never gonna live this one down.”

“Tyler, if you say one word to him of what I said,” you began. “I’ll kill you.” He laughed. “I know which shampoo and conditioner bottles are yours in the shower. Don’t tempt me.”

Tyler put his hands up in defeat.

“You have my word.”

You saw Jamie a few more times after that date, and each time you exchanged nothing more than ‘hello’, ‘goodbye’, and some polite conversation in between. You were thankful that the date didn’t create an awkward tension between the two of you, and you were super thankful Tyler had kept his promise to keep his mouth shut.

About a week before their season officially began, Tyler planned a party at his house. One last hoorah before the season started to get really busy for him and the boys. You went along with Gab, as usual, excited to see some of the girls you’d gotten to know through her and Tyler.

Tyler’s house was almost filled to capacity, and you’d lost Gab hours ago to the dancefloor or Tyler’s bedroom. It didn’t really matter. You were about three drinks in and feeling yourself.

You slipped into the kitchen to make your fourth drink a little after eleven. It was empty, which was surprising, but you didn’t question it and immediately went in for the liquor. You were pouring a vodka Sprite for yourself, with a heavy hand on the liquor when Jamie’s voice spoke up from the entrance.

“I heard you don’t think I’m funny.”

You spun on your heel, nearly knocking the Vodka over behind you as you did so.

“I told Tyler no to say anything,” you grumbled. Jamie raised an eyebrow at you as he settled into a stool at the kitchen counter. “If he shows up to practice bald next week, don’t be surprised.”

“Actually, Gab told me.”

“What?” you asked. “Why did she tell you I said that?”

“She yelled at me,” he said. “Told me that I fucked up.”

“Jesus.”

“S’okay,” he murmured. He walked over to where you were standing, and grabbed a cup from beside you. “I think maybe I did. I spent way too much of that date talking about myself.” Your cheeks warmed at his admission, and the tension seemed to roll off his shoulders. Suddenly, he was grinning from ear-to-ear. “What are you drinking?”

“Vodka Sprite,” you answered, turning to face the drinks with him. He nodded, eyes scanning the counter filled with liquor. He grabbed the Vodka, then the Sprite with a satisfied smirk. You laughed. “Copycat.”

“Where’ve you been all night?” he asked. “I saw Gab a while ago before her and Ty slipped down the hallway, but I haven’t seen you.”

“I was with Roope for a while,” you answered, eyes glancing toward the doorway. Jamie put the Vodka down and glanced at you with a raised brow. You returned his gaze.

“He’s a little young for you, no?” he asked. You stared at him, blank faced and shocked that he’d said that. And then he grinned. “I’m kidding!”

“Oh! He can joke!”

“Here we go,” he mumbled. He finished up his drink and took a sip from it. He leaned his hip against the counter, jabbing a finger in your direction. “I’ll have you know that I’m actually very funny. I think I was just having an off night.”

“Well, then, how’s tonight looking for you?”

“Good, I think,” Jamie answered. He looked down at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Why don’t you hang around me and find out?”

For some reason, you chose to do as he asked. You spent the night by his side, being tugged from the beer pong table to the living room couch, back to the beer pong table. And, much to your surprise, Jamie was making you belly laugh almost the entire time. He seemed looser, happier that night. The weight of prepping for the season had finally been pushed aside, and he was ready to start the season off on a good foot.

Maybe Gab was right about setting the two of you up.

A little after midnight, you stepped out onto the porch with a water bottle in hand. The sliding glass door opened behind you and Jamie stepped out to join. He walked over to where you stood by the railing and leaned his back against it. He turned his face to the stars.

“I like you like this,” you murmured. Jamie looked back at you, his facial expression unreadable for only a moment before a smirk split his face. “You’re a lot more relaxed. Some might even go as far as saying you’re kinda funny.”

“Thank you,” he said with a laugh. You giggled, looking back out at Tyler’s backyard. Jamie turned as well, bumping your shoulder as he did so. “I’m sorry about our date, by the way.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you murmured. He shook his head.

“It’s really not, YN,” he urged. “I was a complete dick. I couldn’t put my stress away long enough to get to know you, and I was mad at myself for days after.”

“Mad at yourself?”

“So mad,” he repeated. You laughed, dropping your face into your hands to stop him from seeing your blush. He kept talking. “You looked so good in that red dress. And you were so sweet, and funny. And, oh my God, I couldn’t get over how cute you looked when you were admiring the restaurant.”

“I don’t go to five-star restaurants often!” you exclaimed. Jamie barked out a laugh. “It was such a nice restaurant.”

“Yeah, it’s my favorite,” he murmured. He took another sip of his drink. “Did you like the wine, though?”

“Yeah, Jamie,” you answered. “I loved that wine.”

You stood out on the deck with him for a little longer, chatting about everything but hockey. He asked you questions about your degree and your family and how you ended up living with Gab. He told dumb stories about Tyler that made tears come out of your eyes.

“I like your laugh,” Jamie whispered after you managed to stop laughing. You looked up at him, heart pounding in your chest, and smirked.

“Yeah, I bet you like it now that you’re the reason for it.”

“Hey!” he exclaimed. And then you were laughing again, and he made a promise to himself to keep getting you to laugh like that. “Would this Jamie get a second date?”

“I mean, he could definitely try,” you said, playful smile still on your lips.

“What are you doing this Tuesday?”

And, so, you went on a second date with Jamie. And then a third, and a fourth.

Each date was a date. Like, dinner reservations at fancy Dallas restaurants that you’d never even batted an eye at on your graduate student budget. Jamie remembered what you said about how you’d never been to a five-star restaurant, and he decided to make that a thing of the past. Gone were the Netflix dates you used to have with your ex. Jamie made sure to treat you right.

But he was also taking things way too slow.

He kissed you goodnight after your second date, and then both hello and goodbye on the third.

It wasn’t until the fourth date, and an entire bottle of wine, that you got that goodbye make out. In your past experiences, it never took this long to get a guy in bed. And, yet, Jamie hadn’t even tried.

So, on your fifth date and after about three weeks of talking every day, you had to ask.

“You’re not seeing anyone else, right?” you asked, coming to a stop three steps away from your front door. The question had been at the forefront of your mind all night. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping with you because he was getting it somewhere else.

“No,” he answered. His eyebrows drew together in concern as he thought over your question. And then his eyes widened. “Are you seeing anyone else?”

“No!”

Jamie smiled and reached out to tug you into him. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you up against his chest. His free hand wrapped around the back of your neck and pulled your lips to his. Just before kissing you, he murmured against your lips, “Good.”

You reveled in the feeling of his fingers when they laced through the hair at the back of your neck and the way his other hand slid down the curve of your ass without a care for who could see. And, when he sucked on your lower lip, Jamie nearly lost it at the soft moan that fell from your lips.

He swore he would have kept kissing you in that hallway for hours, not a care in the world. And you felt the same.

When you finally pulled away, mostly for a breath of fresh air, you leaned your forehead against his with a sigh. Jamie chuckled, tilting his head to place a kiss against your cheek.

“Remember when you didn’t want to go on another date with me?” he asked, pulling away completely. You nodded, the redness of your cheeks giving away your embarrassment about not seeing what was right in front of you that night. He took your hand in his and walked toward your apartment door.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Benn,” you warned teasingly. “My midterm exams are coming up. I’m about to be swamped, so our next date might have to wait.”

“We don’t have to do dinner, you know,” he said, leaning against the wall beside your door. “If you’re grabbing coffee and studying somewhere, I’d come by to see you for a little impromptu date.”

You eyed him skeptically, doubting that it was something he’d want to do. In your eyes, Jamie was still too good to be true, and he was a professional athlete. Once he saw you in your natural, stressed out student habitat, the glimmer was going to fade. You had yourself convinced.

“Maybe,” you said before leaning forward and kissing him goodnight. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

It took all of one week for you to cave. You spoke to Jamie almost every day, and even that wasn’t enough. You wanted him near you, close, and he wanted the same. He made it known every single day. So, you caved. You invited him to meet you at the Starbucks around the block from your apartment building with one rule. He couldn’t distract you while you studied.

That morning, you shuffled around your room looking for something that was comfortable enough for studying but also cute enough to impress the new man in your life. But, you were quickly reminded that you haven’t had to impress any guys in a while. Damn long-term relationships.

You ended up throwing on joggers and an over-sized t-shirt with a pair of slip-on Vans before slipping out your apartment door with your backpack.

Studying started out okay, but you could feel Jamie watching you from the opposite side of the booth. You wished you could read his mind, figure out what he was looking at you for. Did he think you looked too much like a bum? What did he think of your glasses? They weren’t exactly trendy anymore.

You were trying your best to ignore him, and the questions in your head, despite the overwhelming desire to lean over and kiss his smirk off his face. But, when you saw him reach across the booth and felt him tug the earbud from your ear, you knew your concentration was going to go down the drain.

“What?”

“I like you like this,” Jamie said. Your heart skipped a beat, and then you remembered saying those words to him just a month prior. Your cheeks turned a light pink beneath his gaze.

“You like me like this?” you asked, motioning to the lazy day outfit you were in. “Stressed out?”

“No, not stressed out,” he answered with a chuckle. “You look good, even if you are stressed.”

“Jamie, I haven’t showered in two days,” you admitted. He barked out a laugh. “Dry shampoo is my best friend.”

“That’s what that smell is?” he teased. You ripped a piece of paper out of your notebook to crumple it up and throw at him. He shifted out of its way. “I’m kidding, YN.”

“I know,” you mumbled. You redirected your attention to the textbook in front of you, and began reading again. Jamie stayed for another forty minutes, alternating between reading his book and watching you.

He did really like the way you looked sitting across from him in that coffee shop. He liked that you weren’t as put together as he usually saw you, and to him it meant you finally had your guard down. He liked the way your hair was gathered in a bun on top of your head and he thought you looked cute as hell in those glasses that sat on the bridge of your nose.

He might’ve even said he liked this look more than those slip dresses and heels you wore out to dinner. But, then again, those were sexy as hell too.

Jamie was beginning to wonder if he’d ever find a side to you that he didn’t like.

When it hit noon, he decided it was time to go and grabbed your hand from where it rested on your books. You looked up at him, tugging one of your earbuds out as you did.

“I’m leaving,” he said. You couldn’t stop yourself from pouting in response. He let out a soft groan and leaned forward to place a kiss against that pout. When he pulled away, he stood to leave, grabbing his things with him. “When you’re done with these exams, we’re going to celebrate.”

“96!” you exclaimed into the phone as you fell back onto your bed. “I got a 96 on my last midterm exam.”

“That’s awesome, babe,” Jamie murmured into the phone. “And right on time, too.”

It had been a week and a half since the last time you saw Jamie at the coffee shop. Between your midterm schedule and his game schedule, time didn’t allow for date nights. You kept each other off the ledge through texts and quick phone calls, chatting about the plans you wanted to make when your schedules freed up again.

Jamie promised to celebrate as soon as your exams were done, and he pulled through. He’d planned for everyone to come by his place that Friday night. The fact that your last grade came back before the pregame began made his plans just a little bit sweeter.

He picked you up not long after your phone call, and brought you back to his place where some of your friends were already waiting. Gab and Tyler showed up not too long after your arrival and the pregame was in full swing.

After making your rounds, you found Jamie in the kitchen. He was pouring himself another drink when you approached, wrapping your arms around his waist to pull his back into your chest. He chuckled softly.

“You know you didn’t have to get everyone together for this occasion, right?” you asked. Jamie nodded as he turned to face you. “Like, it was just my midterms. The semester isn’t even close to over.”

He reached up to cup your cheeks, and leaned in to place a kiss against your lips. When he pulled away, he said, “Doesn’t matter to me. I’ll celebrate you like this during finals, too.” 

Your heart fluttered at his tone of voice, and the way he was looking at you. You felt like the only girl in the world with the party in the other room was momentarily forgotten.

About an hour later, you were in the VIP section of a club and wrapped up in Jamie’s arms, literally. He went all out, as usual. You were quick to tell him he didn’t need to do things like this, and he was quick to kiss you quiet.

“I want to do these things for you,” he murmured against your lips as he walked you backwards towards the dancefloor. He spun you in his arms, and you happily pressed your back against him as you danced to the music blasting from the DJ booth.

This was the closest you’d ever been, save for the few make-outs in his car after dinner but even then, the center console was always in the way. Right then, there was nothing preventing Jamie from touching you, holding you close. Except maybe all the people in the club, and that damn dress you were wearing. He wanted it off.

His fingers slid down your thigh, brushing along the hem of your dress, and you were putty in his hands. You turned, taking his chin in your hand to pull him in. You kissed him like you were the only people in the club, even with Tyler and Gab’s hollering beside you.

You hardly made it back to your apartment that night. You were both so giggly drunk when you stumbled into the cab. As soon as the cab’s door closed to the outside world, Jamie’s hands were all over you. He tugged your legs over his lap and pulled you close to kiss you, one hand resting between your thighs just above your knees.

His touch lit your skin on fire.

You made out the entire way home, the entire way up the elevator, only stopping when you had to open the door to your apartment. Even then, Jamie’s hands rested on your stomach and his lips pressed up against your neck and your shoulders, any inch of skin it could touch.

“I’m proud of you,” he murmured against the shell of your ear. You sighed happily, turning the key in the door’s lock and pushing the door open. “Even if it was just midterms.”

You laughed at the way he mimicked your voice, then slipped out of his grip. Your heart was pounding from nerves and excitement. This moment felt all too real. You’d been wanting to go farther, wanted him in bed the first night you met him. But now, right as it was about to happen, you were a bundle of nerves.

“You hungry?”

“Little bit,” he answered, following you into the kitchen. He leaned up against the counter as you sifted through the frozen foods you’d stocked up on for drunken nights like these. “The team nutritionist is going to hate me this season after spending all this time with you.”

“Well, then, you should stock my fridge up with healthy things then,” you stated. Jamie chuckled and took a step forward to wrap his arms around your waist. Your search for late-night snacks was momentarily forgotten as he brushed the hair from your neck and placed a kiss against your skin.

“Why don’t we,” he started. He kissed the space just below your ear before continuing, “just look for snacks later?”

You turned in his arms, dropping your own arms around his shoulders. He smiled down at you as his eyes studied every bit of your face. You sighed softly, lifting one hand to run through his hair.

“I like you,” you whispered. He grinned. “A lot.”

“I’m crazy about you,” he responded. Jamie picked you up, and your legs wrapped around his waist immediately. He asked again, “Snacks later?”

“Sure.”

Jamie carried you to your bedroom, dropping you onto the mattress with a laugh before his lips were back on yours and his hands were sliding up your thighs. Your dress was gone in seconds, and then you helped him out of his own clothes.

Jamie took his time, admired every bit of your body. He didn’t want to forget any of this moment. He was crazy about you, every piece of you, and he was thanking his lucky stars that you agreed to go on a second date with him after the dumpster fire of a first one.

“I like us like this,” you whispered into his ear a few minutes after you finished. Jamie’s lips ghosted the skin of your collarbone as he peppered kisses along your skin to your shoulder. He looked up at you, brushing the hair out of your face before placing a kiss against your lips.

“God, me too,” he sighed. “I really like us like this.”

You burst out giggling as you laced your fingers in his hair, and Jamie watched you. He was completely enamored with you, everything about you. And then he started laughing with you because who wouldn’t?

“Do you want a snack now?”

“Did I not just have one?” he asked, glancing down at your naked body still pressed up against him. You laughed.

“That was awful,” you told him through giggles. Jamie chuckled, nuzzling his face into your neck as you continued to make fun of him. “I’m not just a snack. I’m a damn meal, Jamie Benn.”

“Don’t I know it!” Jamie exclaimed, rolling onto his back. You laughed. “Alright, let’s get snacks.”

“Okay, okay,” you mumbled. You stood up and grabbed his shirt, throwing it on like a dress. “I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Jamie was sitting on the counter with two pints of ice cream in his hands, waiting for you. You nudged yourself between his legs, sighing happily when he handed one of the pints to you. The apartment was silent and Jamie had wrapped his legs around your body to keep you close to him.

After a few minutes, Jamie spoke up, “I like us like this, too.” You smiled up at him. “Just for the record.”

“Me too,” you agreed. He leaned down and pressed a kiss against your lips. “I like us all the time.”

[stardustkenobi]

Only Lookin’ At You

Poe Dameron x Reader

Request: “HEY BITCH I N E E D 90 FROM THE PROMPT LIST WITH MY HUSBAND THANKS IN ADVANCE” @niffleurs​ she’s here

Warnings: fluffity fluff fluff

“To the women who will always be bridesmaids” Sophia said, her alcohol induced vibrato and grandeur hiding the fact that yes, she was very bitter that her boyfriend of ten years still had not popped the question.

Along with the other six bridesmaids, you rose your glass of champagne and clinked it with each one. Hannah, your best friend in the whole entire universe, was finally getting married — the third of your friends to get married in the past couple of years.

Undergrad was a long ways away as you took a hefty sip of your drink, eying the rest of the women that shared the same silk colored robes as you in the back room that you had been shooed off to to prepare to walk down the aisle. You picked at the monogram on the left side of your chest, letting out a subtle sigh. It was definitely difficult to understand Sophia’s frustration, considering the fact that your twenties had been plagued with bad hookups, one nasty relationship that was on again, off again for the better part of three years that ended in a crescendo of yelling, thrown insults, and tears of relief when you finally left the apartment, and disappointment.

Most of the movies and love songs and books that carried you to the oh so disappointing age of 32 had convinced you that you would find that one special person by now and you weren’t necessarily worried about it, but days like today punctuated the fact that it just hadn’t happened yet.

Shrugging your shoulders, you joined your friends as they began the mindless process of getting ready for wedding party pictures and the eventual arrival of the bride to be. Your hair was braided and twisted into the style that Hannah had meticulously picked out for you. Your lashes were plucked and your face was painted before Sophia was pulling you to the mirror. Between her and Hannah’s twin sister, you were finally placed into the gown that effectively made you a member of your sorry group of seven always a bridesmaids.

“You look amazing.” Sophia beamed as she flattened out the waistline of the gown.

Giving her a grimace in the mirror, you picked out little parts of the get up that irritated you. Were you complaining about your inclusion in the wedding party? Absolutely not — Hannah was practically a sister to you and her fiancé was one of the kindest souls that you had ever met. It wasn’t their fault that you had hoped you would have been the next of your girlfriends to be decked out in white and kissings the love of your life in front of what seemed to be the entire world to show that he was yours and you were his.

“Time for pictures!” A voice dragged you from your dreamlike trance in front of the mirror and with a push from Sophia and a bouquet slapped into your hands, you were off to the front lawn of the wedding venue to take pictures with the groomsmen.

The seven groomsmen were a mix of people you knew at varying degrees. Some were friends of the groom that you knew from college, others were childhood friends, a few were coworkers.

The groomsman that you were introduced to at the rehearsal as the man who would walk you to the altar less than twenty four hours ago was a man named Poe. He worked with Hannah’s fiancé — the two had climbed the corporate ladder of the marketing agency they had started out in fresh from senior year of college and, almost ten years later, they were practically running the place.

Poe had been mentioned time and time again by Hannah, who absolutely loved to play match maker. She was convinced that you would fall in love with him and be it your stubborn nature or the fact that you were becoming absolutely obsessed with the fact that you hadn’t found the one yet, you froze up the minute he introduced himself to you as you hung around the edges of the altar waiting for instructions.

He was indescribably handsome and from what you knew he was smart. However, the cynic in you questioned whether he would even be interested. Sure, he was single and just about your age, but for one thing, you certainly hadn’t had the best track record with relationships over the past fifteen years. What would make trying with him any different? And why would he even glance your way unless Hannah had put ideas in his head already?

You were unsure of what you wanted, both in life and in a partner and as much as you wanted to explore that, you were afraid to get hurt again.

So there you stood, chatting half heartedly with your girlfriends as thoughts of perpetual loneliness swirled around your brain. They most definitely were not welcomed thoughts, but you were having a significantly hard time quelling them, particularly as you glanced over at Poe who was somehow even more handsome in the standard tux all of the groomsmen wore. Your chest squeezed as you watched him goof around with his friends in front of the camera, becoming more and more attractive by the second.

“You think he’s cute, don’t you?” Hannah’s twin teased by your ear after the photographer had finished up with the guys. Of course Hannah had said something to her – this was Hannah for God’s sake.

“Shut up, Margo.” You hissed as the photographer approached your group to take pictures. “I don’t even know him.”

Marge smirked as the seven of you squeezed together, smushed up for a series of photos that ranged from serious to goofy. “He’s been watching you since you walked into rehearsal last night with every opportunity he has to.” She said plainly, turning to stand back to back with you as Sophia suggested some ridiculous pose that made some of the other girls laugh.

“Don’t put ideas in my head.” You said through a forced smile, voice an octave higher than normal.

She snorted, elbowing you teasingly. “Take a look yourself when you get a chance, why don’t you?” She said in a sing songy voice, then left to stand somewhere else at the direction of the photographer.

Your eyebrows furrowed together as the camera continued to snap away. Letting your eyes trail over to the group of guys standing a little ways off, sure enough, you met a pair of soft, brown irises that flickered away almost as quickly as you had made eye contact.

“Maid of honor and best man? Can I have you both over here for some photos, please?” The photographer said quickly, trying to adhere to the strict schedule of the day.

Margo shoved you forward to meet Poe — of course he was the best man because this was all a stupid, cliché little joke that fate was playing on you. Of course you’d have to be on his arm for the next two hours until you could finally break free at the reception, which would give you just enough time to formulate some dumb fantasy about how you’d catch Hannah’s bouquet and he’d catch her garter and your eyes would meet from across the room knowingly and he’d slip you his number on the back of his place card and it would all be just like the YA novels you used to read under your covers well past your bed time in high school and he’d —

“You good, Y/N?” Poe asked softly, hands in his pockets as he walked up to you and effectively pulled you out of your stream of consciousness.

Your knees were weak as you glanced up at him, nodding shyly. “I’m good.” You promised. “Just nerves, I think.”

He smiled, holding his arm out as the photographer directed. “You seemed a little nervous last night, too.” He said as he smiled, posing with you as the photographer began to take your pictures. Glancing down, he pushed a curl out of your eyes. “Hope it’s nothing I did.”

Your smile was soft as you chanced a quick little peek up at him. Yep, still gorgeous. “It’s not you at all.” You giggled as the flash and click of the camera caught the less than staged moment. “I think it’s just the heels, if I’m being honest. Hannah went with ones that are just way too high and I might face plant at some point if I’m not careful.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head as his eyes squeezed shut. Another snap of the camera. “She and Jack always said that you were funny, I’ll never get why they didn’t introduce us sooner.”

Your eyes rolled as you snorted, letting your bouquet hang at your side. “Of course she’s talked about me.” You said as you turned to the side a bit at the photographer’s request. “I’m sorry if she’s made you listen to stories about me at nauseum, she’s hell bent on setting all of her friends up and I totally get it if you’re, like, weirded out by being stuck with me today.”

Poe’s head tilted to the side as he studied you, taking your free hand at the photographer’s insistence. Snap — another sincere moment caught on camera, another piece of evidence for you to ruminate over when the photos finally came into your inbox months down the line when the fire in your belly had been doused and forgotten. Another photo to ignite that flame again and make you wonder if it ever could have worked. So many should’ve, could’ve, would’ves would more likely than not be plaguing your subconsciousness. “I actually asked about you when I saw that post of you and Hannah, Jack, and Margo at Governor’s Ball two summers ago. She never brought you up beforehand.”

Your mouth opened and closed as you searched for the words to respond, more likely than not looking like a fish. You willed your mind to say something, anything to counter this information as Margo yelled to you and your counterpart that it was time to get ready to process into the small chapel on the property the wedding was being held at.

“Guess that’s us.” Poe said with an almost shit eating grin, holding his arm out for you. “We can talk more about things later, if you’d like.”

You took his arm after a moment, not necessarily hesitating because you were afraid to touch him, but more so because you were afraid to mess up this delicate situation that mirrored so many action movies where the main protagonist debated whether or not to cut the red or blue wire to diffuse some sort of detonator. “I’d like that.” You finally said, choosing the lamest and subsequently safest response that you could muster.

The wedding went off without a hitch. Hannah and Jack were undeniably the cutest couple you had ever seen as they shakily exchanged vows they had written for each other in the dead of the over the past year, edits meticulously made and different word choices tested. Their kiss brought you to tears and the whole ceremony pulled you out of your own selfish thoughts for a little bit in the most relieving way possible.

You were sat on Hannah’s left, Poe was on Jack’s left, at the long table at the front of the ballroom the reception was being held in. Poe had finished his speech right after yours, receiving as many laughs as you had. When the bride and groom finally moved to the dance floor, Poe was immediately at your side, chatting your ear off eagerly as the two of you watched people spin around the dance floor for the better part of an hour.

“So,” Poe said after your fit of giggles from a joke he had cracked had died down. A slow song was just starting to play over the speakers. “You don’t have a date, I don’t have a date. They’re playing that cheesy ass Taylor Swift song that everyone’s been having their first dance to at their weddings and neither of us have had any excuse to get up and dance tonight…”

Your cheeks flushed and you hoped it would come across as being a result from the flute of champagne you had downed. “Are you asking me to dance?” “I’m not saying that we should go dance.”

“I think you’re asking me to dance.” You whispered teasingly, leaning forward with a knowing smile. “Lucky for you, if you weren’t asking me to dance, I’m going to have to pass. I don’t dance.”

He quirked an eyebrow, tilting his head. “You don’t like to dance?”

“No.” You backtracked. “I love dancing, just…Not in front of a ton of people.” Your grin was sheepish as you shrugged, picking at a piece of link on the skirt of your gown. “Too many opportunities to slip up and look — what are you doing?”

Poe’s hand was gripping yours and, as much as your mind screamed at you to not follow him out to what could be a potentially embarrassing situation caught on camera for generations of Hannah and Jack’s family to see, you allowed yourself to be pulled out to a quieter corner of the wooden dance floor and pulled to the chest of a man that, despite knowing him for just a day and really only talking to him for an hour, felt more familiar to you than any other man you had met before.

“Pretend that there is no one else here but us” He said softly, his hands finding your waist as Taylor crooned about a love that was three summers strong. “I won’t let you fall, promise. Eyes on me, okay?”

You nodded, totally dumbfounded as you started to sway with Poe and swallowed the lump threatening to rise in your throat. Your shaky hands rose to wrap around the back of his neck, subconsciously playing with the ends of his hair.

The conversation continued to flow quietly as the song reached the second chorus and by the bridge, his forehead was pressed to yours in the most tender of ways that erased any doubt in your mind that he had spent the first part of his night with you simply out of obligation to his friends.

You didn’t catch the glances shared between Margo, Hannah, and Jack a little ways off. You didn’t see how the whispered excitedly about how their plans were finally coming to fruition and how their stubborn friend was finally letting her guard down again for someone who wouldn’t take advantage of the vulnerability. Shit, you wouldn’t have cared if you saw or heard because of the way Poe was currently looking at you.

His words were filled with hope for the future and at the end of the night as you all trudged off to go your separate ways to get back to the hotel you all were staying at, the jacket of his tux was draped around your shoulders and your phone buzzed with text after text from him as you climbed into the car with Margo and Sophia.

You hadn’t caught Hannah’s bouquet or garter, Margo and Sophia both chided from the front of the car.

You smiled to yourself as your head hit the headrest on your seat. No you hadn’t — you had been too busy dancing with Poe in the gardens just outside the all glass doors to even notice it happening.

[lannister-slings-and-arrows]

ENG 114: The Classic Novel (1/?)

So this is the college/Professor AU that literally no one but me asked for lol. I don’t think I’ve written fic since my Spock/Kirk days so I apologize in advance for this. I might make this a series? Maybe? Enjoy

pairing: Pedro Pascal x  Reader word count: 1,912 warnings: THIGH RIDING. a little, because thanks guys, I am apparently unable to escape that any more lol

Summary:  “I have to say, there are some pretty glaring errors with your citations. I’m a little disappointed.” Your eyebrows draw together in a frown.

“I don’t make citation errors.” He shrugs, grin never faltering.

 “Come over here and see if you don’t believe me,”

“Do I need to buy you a watch?” His eyes unerringly find yours as you run into his office, backpack narrowly missing the precariously stacked pile of papers on the small, rickety table by the door. His lips are quirked into that tiny smirk you think he has to know by now that you can’t resist. You chance a grin back.

“I’d rather you give me something else, if you’re offering sir.” You hear a short huff of breath escape him and see that flash of something in his deep brown eyes. That something a little dark and a little dangerous that never fails to send shivers down your spine and a burning hand clenching at your insides. He allows his eyes to dwell on all the places he knows you want them to before returning to the papers on his desk in front of him. Still smiling, he pushes his glasses onto the top of his head, messing up his already dishevelled hair.

“I need those sorted and stapled for the survey course we’re supposed to be at in twenty minutes,” he informs you, effectively drenching you and your blatant flirting in a very cold metaphorical shower. You frown down at the stack of papers you had nearly sent flying. 

“That’s like, at least an hour long job!” He briefly glances back up at you, smirking at your annoyance. 

“That’s the amount of time you would have had if you’d shown up when you were supposed to, isn’t it?” 

Growling low in your throat, you toss your bag onto the floor and throw yourself into the chair in front of his desk, dragging the table with its paper punishment closer.

“Something bothering you?” he asks innocently, smiling, still reading that paper, purple pen occasionally scribbling a critique or a word or two of praise. 

“Nope! Totally cool, nothing could possibly be more exciting than this,” you force out through gritted teeth, dividing the different pages into three stacks for easy sorting. 

“Oh good. I’d hate for any part of this relationship to be disappointing to you. Or for you to be feeling less than satisfied in any way.” You feel your eyes widen in surprise as they flick across the desk to him. He still isn’t looking at you. 

Your frown turns into a sly grin as you stand up and reach across his desk for the stapler that’s sitting next to his hand. Your fingers brush across his, finally gaining his attention, and you’re about to drag the stapler slowly back towards yourself when he catches hold of it and pulls it back. You look up from the desk to see him watching you, a playful grin tugging at his lips, lifting his mustache and crinkling the corners of his eyes. You tug again and he tugs back harder. As you open your mouth to protest his other hand shoots out and grabs your wrist, silencing whatever you had been about to say. His touch successfully distracts you long enough for him to pull the stapler out of your hand and drop it at the far corner of his desk. You watch the tiny tattoo between his left thumb and forefinger as he turns your arm over, exposing the soft, delicate skin of your wrist. He traces the fine blue veins that weave their way up the inside of your arm with warm and slightly calloused fingers, watching as goosebumps follow his path and your fingers twitch in response, brushing against his sleeve. 

He lets go of your hand and sits back in his chair. You meet his eyes again as he reaches up and takes his glasses off, slowly folding them before setting the clear frames more gently alongside the purple pen and papers he had abandoned, rubbing his finger along the rough edge his dog had chewed into them. 

“This is your last paper, you know,” he remarks casually, gesturing to his desk. Your eyes follow his fingers as they massage and squeeze each other while he speaks, distracted by the thought of what else those digits could be doing right now.

“Oh yeah?” you manage to squeak out. He nods, still watching, still smirking. 

“I have to say, there are some pretty glaring errors with your citations. I’m a little disappointed.” Your eyebrows draw together in a frown. 

“I don’t make citation errors.” He shrugs, grin never faltering. 

“Come over here and see if you don’t believe me,” he offers, scooting his chair back slightly, making room for you between him and his desk. You walk around to his side and he waves at the papers in front of him, relaxing back, legs sprawled as if he were sitting on a throne. When you squeeze by him your fingers drag along his arm lightly as it rests on the chair arm, and you pluck the papers off the desk. Sitting on the edge directly in front of him, you flick your eyes up to his and find them heavy, dark, and burning, full of all sorts of promises.

You thumb through the papers in your hand till you reach your notes at the end. You scoff as you skim through them, stopping at the one that he had circled and corrected saying, 

“I didn’t do this wrong.” Still smiling, he sits up a little straighter and leans forward.

“You did.” He takes the paper out of your hand and tosses it on the desk behind you, putting his hands on your knees. “But I know this wasn’t your first citation style, it’s understandable that you get confused every now and again.” You look down at his playful grin and are unable to keep the smile off your face. Putting your hands on his shoulders and rubbing gently, you muse, eyebrows raised,

“Weren’t you the one who taught me this hellish citation style back in undergrad? So really,” your fingers move to scratch lightly at his scalp and tangle in the messy brown curls at the back of his neck. “If I have made a mistake, which I did not,” He huffs out a laugh, hands squeezing the knees that he still holds captive in his palms. “It’s your fault anyways.” 

“Oh it is, is it?” You nod, leaning more heavily on his shoulders. 

“Totally your fault. I am, of course, blameless in all things.” His fingers move to tickle the backs of your knees and your legs twitch as you try to escape his grasp.

“Maybe you just weren’t paying attention?” he asks, relenting after a few seconds, before he’s hit with a jerking knee or foot. Which has happened before. More than once. A little breathless from trying to contain the giggles he had been attempting to provoke, you gently tug on his hair and reply,

“Gee, I wonder who’s fault that could have been?” He shrugs innocently, eyes crinkling in amusement. “Well, maybe I just need some extra help. Outside normal office hours.” You lick your lips as you watch his smile turn a little sharper. 

“We can’t have you making these kind of silly mistakes when you write your thesis,” he points out, eyes still holding yours as he releases your knees and rubs the tops of his thighs. You feel your mouth go dry as you try to formulate a response, more than a little distracted at the way his pants stretch taught, remembering all the times that you’ve thought about straddling and riding them to kingdom come. “Can we?”

He stands slowly, moving into your space, trapping you against the desk, one hand resting next to your leg, warm fingers of his other hand tipping your chin up towards him, the smell of his cologne and his laundry detergent permeating the air, distracting and delicious. Your arms slip from his shoulders, down his body, falling to his waist, and you clutch the fabric of his shirt tightly as he cups your face in his large hand, watching your throat when you swallow, dark eyes full of mischief.

 “But if you’re so convinced that there isn’t a problem, why would you need my help? You know I only work with the most,” he pauses. “Serious students under me.” You shake your head slowly.

“Now, now, use your big girl words.” You shiver, that voice shooting straight through you, your eyes fluttering shut. 

“No, I think it’s better to be safe than sorry,” you breathe quietly.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You smirk, eyes trapped by his as soon as you manage to pry them open.

“Please sir,” Your breath hitches, the games the two of you play haven’t ever gone this far. “What ever could I possibly do to correct this most grievous of errors?” He smiles, hands gently separating your legs to move further between them, his body warm and insistent.

“You really want my help?” You nod. He grabs your chin again and gives your head a little shake, his other hand stroking your leg slowly.

“Yes sir,” you correct yourself with a small laugh and a roll of your eyes. “I don’t know that I will ever be able to correct these mistakes without your wise counsel, Jedi Master, expert at the MLA style citation.” 

“Now don’t get cocky.”

“No, that’s your job.” You see the points of his teeth as his lip curls up to one side in a feral grin.

“My, my, young padawan, for someone making such freshman mistakes you’re sure willing-”

“To get pretty fresh with you?” you interrupt, pleased with yourself and your pun. His head drops to your shoulder as he laughs, mustache tickling your neck. You bite back a moan at the sensation, unable to keep your eyes from closing again. Fuck you love that thing.

He stands up straight again, shifting so he could press a thigh into the crotch of your jeans. One hand still on your face, the other gripping your hip, he flexes and pulls you closer, encouraging you to grind yourself onto his leg. You gasp quietly, sparks shooting up your spine at every rub of him against the center of you.

“So you’d be willing to try anything?” he confirms, eyes hot and crinkling at the edges with the smile that still stretches over his whole face as he continues to hold himself tight against you. 

“Anything you say, sir.” you reply, still amused, very excited by this new turn of events. 

His fingers stroke your cheek gently as he leans over you and you can feel his breath on your face, his lips inches from yours. You hold your breath, unable to believe that fucking finally you’re getting somewhere-

When he boops your nose and whispers, silky smooth,

“Staple those papers and bring them to class. You’ve got fifteen minutes.” He takes a step back and grabs the glasses off of his desk with a cheeky wink. You slip forward, trying to follow his hand, his shirt sliding from your grasp, your hands falling back to your lap.

“I’m grabbing coffee, I’ll see you in a bit!” He calls cheerily over his shoulder as he walks around his desk and out of his office and you can hear the grin in his voice. 

You stare out of the window in front of you for at least a minute. 

“Well shit,” you say to the empty room, cheeks still on fire, brain scrambling to process just how close he had been to- “Son of a fucking bitch.”

[eyebrowluv]

Tall Blonde with One Sugar 2/?

“No, no, it’s okay,” Erwin sighed. “He has Alzheimer’s. I took a couple years after undergrad to take care of him. I wanted to be there for him. He made me promise I would go back to school for my Master’s while he still had his facilities. I took care of him as long as I could, but his condition deteriorated to the point that only medical professionals could care for him. I stayed around and visited him in the nursing home for awhile, but he doesn’t remember me, and it just upsets him every time I go. The last time I saw him, he got so upset that they had to strap him to a bed and sedate him. So, I just call the nurse for updates. I haven’t talked to him since I came back to school. He’s happier that way.”

“Erwin…”

“So,” Erwin sniffles and swallowed heavily. “As you can imagine, my father is not in the mental or financial state to assist me. It’s fine. I’m an adult, and things won’t always be so hard.” He turned to Levi with that same smile, the one that shone so bright that you could almost ignore the way it never quite made it his eyes.

“If you need help-“

“Nope, I’m good. I’ve already imposed on you more than I should. Have a good night, Levi. Thank you again for the ride.” The blond didn’t hesitate in opening the door this time, and rushed into the building.

“Fuck, he’s going to be the death of me.”

——

“Where is it?” Levi blew a strand of hair from his eyes as he sat back on his heels. “It’s got to be here somewhere.” He looked around his bedroom in defeat before standing.

“The office,” he announced to the empty room before rushing out. He flung open the closet in the guest room turned office and saw the plain white box sitting in the corner.

“There you are, you fucker.” Levi lifted the box and shook it just make sure. Yes, this was it. He hurriedly opened the box and pulled out the GR1 backpack inside. He had gotten it for an ex as a birthday present, but they broke up before Levi could gift it to him. He was too lazy to return it, and was glad he was. Not even Erwin could destroy this thing. His search of the office continued. Until he found the bag containing his old laptop. The battery was likely dead, but it was only a couple of years old, and definitely in better shape than that brick Erwin was toting about.

Levi gathered his bounty and made his way out of his apartment and across the hall. He knocked on Erwin’s apartment door, and was surprised to find neither Erwin or his roommate.

“Hi, you must be Levi.” The person that stood in front of Levi looked almost maniacal with glee.

“Hange, I don’t think it’s going to come on. It’s broken beyond repair.” Erwin’s voice sounded from deeper in the apartment.

“Come in. I’m trying to save his laptop.” Hange motioned for Levi to follow, and led him into the apartment.

“Who was at the door?” Erwin was seated on the floor in front of the coffee table, pieces of his broken laptop spread on its surface. He looked up. “Levi? Is there something wrong?”

“Yes. It disturbs me that you think you can actually salvage that thing. Here.” Levi held out the backpack.

“What’s this?” Erwin took the proffered bag.

“What does it look like? It’s a backpack, you idiot.”

“I know that, but why?” The blond studied the dark gray nylon in his hands, noting the weight.

“You need one, don’t you? I don’t use it, so there you go...a new backpack.”

“Levi, really, I couldn’t,” Erwin protested, unzipping the bag to look inside. “You forgot that your laptop was in here.”

“No, I didn’t. I got a new laptop this year, so this one is just taking up space and collecting dust.”

“Levi, this is too much. I really can’t-“

“Nonsense. You can and you will. I don’t use them or need them, you do. It’s really quite simple. You don’t have a say because I don’t trust your judgment.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You say thank you, Levi.” Levi crossed his arms, and Erwin looked at him with shining blue eyes.

“Thank you, Levi.”

“Good boy. Now I’ll leave you two to it.” Levi turned to leave before noticing something was...off. “Where’s Nigel and Mary?”

“Nile and Marie are spending the weekend at Marie’s. Her roommate went away for the weekend.”

“Good news for you. Have fun, kids.” With that, Levi let himself out.

——

“Are you freaking kidding me right now?” Hange squealed.

“I’m not sure what just happened.”

“You never told me your neighbor looked like that.”

“Like what?”

“Erwin, come on now. He may not have much in the way of personality, but the man is hot.”

“I’ve not noticed.” Erwin blushed.

“Liar,” Hange accused. “I suppose you didn’t notice how he just gave you a $300 backpack? Or how about the state-of-the-art, top of the line laptop?”

“I’m sure that he just expects me to borrow them. I’ll give them back when I have enough money to replace them.”Erwin’s protests sounded weak even to his own ears. “Besides, it’s not like he went out and bought them just for me.”

“Yeah, you’re in denial.”

“About what, exactly?”

“Nothing. I think it will be more fun to sit back and watch you try to figure it out yourself.”

——

“Erwin, you made it back,” Nile said suspiciously just a mere two weeks later. “I feel like I never see you anymore, buddy.”

“Yeah, you’re creeping me out,” Erwin said as he tied off his shoes.

“Nice backpack. You steal it or something? I know you can’t afford that brand.” Nile chuckled, letting Erwin know he was only joking.

“No, you dick, Levi’s letting me borrow it.” Erwin eyed his roommate suspiciously. Nile was going out of his way to be more friendly than usual and Marie was unusually absent in the apartment. “What are you up to?”

“Erwin, you wound me. Maybe I just wanted to hang out with my roommate on his one evening off from work.”

“We both know that’s a lie. Did you and Marie break up?”

“No, we’re doing better than ever, thank you. She’ll be over a little later. But I did need to talk to you about something.”

“You know, you could have just texted me while I was still on campus. I would have either stayed there or went home with Hange. Or you could just stay in your bedroom for once and I’ll put my headphones in and act like you two aren’t here.” Erwin was clearly exasperated.

“No, it’s not that. Though it would be nice if you can find somewhere else to hang out when Marie gets here. I hope you understood, a girl likes a little privacy.”

“Nile...the point. Get to the point of this conversation,” Erwin grit out between clenched teeth.

“I’m moving out. Marie and I have decided to get an apartment together. We were going to wait until next semester, but the apartment we want opened up and we will have to move in by next week or be put on a waitlist. You understand don’t you?”

“You’re unbelievable. I can’t afford this apartment alone. I can’t afford the penalty for breaking the lease. When we decided to become roommates, that was the deal. We wouldn’t break the lease.”

“I’m sorry Erwin, but your financial problems aren’t my responsibility. I’m sure you’ll find another roommate in no time.”

“I begged you to find something cheaper with a shorter lease, but you just had to have this place. Now I’m just going to be stuck paying your half or a penalty because the only brain you have is in your dick!” Erwin took a calming breath. “There’s no way I’ll be able to find a roommate in the middle of the semester.”

“It will be fine. You always worry too much.” Nile shrugged. “Now I have to get ready. Marie will be here any second.”

“You know what, Nile? Fuck you.” Erwin grabbed his shoes and keys and slammed the door on the way out. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing Hange.

“What did he do this time?” Hange asked in way of greeting.

“I’ve been sexiled again.” Erwin answered tersely.

“I can come get you in a couple of hours. I’m going in for my lab midterm right now.”

“No, that’s okay. I completely forgot. I’ll just go for a walk or something. Thanks though, Hange.”

“Hey, whatever it is, I’ll help you all I can.”

“I know. Thanks.” Erwin disconnected the call and sat down on the steps to put on his shoes.

“And wouldn’t you know, the apartment just opened up and we’re moving in next week!” Erwin heard Marie’s excited chatter as she climbed the stairs. “I can’t wait, Mom.”

She walked past Erwin, her only acknowledgment being her annoyed sigh as she walked around him.

“Yeah, I can see why you were heartbroken over that one,” Levi deadpanned. Erwin grinned despite himself.

“Yeah, she’s...something,” was all Erwin was able to say. Politely.

“So, I take it that she’s not moving in with a different boy toy, but that pube-faced idiot you live with.”

“You would be correct.” Erwin stood time to make way for Levi, who had his arms full of groceries. “Here, let me help you with that,” he offered, taking several bags from the older man.

“Has your financial situation changed?”

“Nope, but I’m not his responsibility. I have some money in savings that I can live off of for a couple of months until I can find another roommate.”

“It’s in the middle of the semester,” Levi reminded him.

“I’m trying to be positive, Levi.”

“Well, I’m positive that Nigel is a dick. Come on, help me put the groceries away and I’ll make you dinner.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Erwin, I’m not asking. You will sit down and eat a descent meal. Don’t think I don’t know that you live off store brand canned soup and ramen. Now haul your ass.”

“Yes, sir.” Erwin followed Levi into his apartment. “Thank you, Levi. I promise I’ll start doing better. I mean, it really can’t get much worse.”

“You can’t be serious,” Erwin’s co-worker, Moses, groaned as they watched Keith Shadis have a complete meltdown during his press conference.

“Did he just say he is pulling his campaign?” Erwin was hoping he heard wrong.

“Yup. The asshole has no consideration for all the people he just unemployed.” Moses just shook his head and walked away. Erwin started making mental calculations in his head. He felt sick to his stomach. He fought back tears as he numbly swiped through help wanted ads on his phone during his bus ride home.

Not that home was much better. He tiredly drug himself through the door to the empty apartment. Most of the furniture was Nile’s. The only furniture left in the living room was the worn out coffee table and a cheap table lamp. Hange’s partner, Moblit, gave him a couple of cushions to sit on, for which he was grateful.

His bedroom was equally as spartan, with just a small card table serving as a desk and a futon pad on the floor. He didn’t bother to turn on the light as he laid his backpack on the floor. He stripped out his suit, not bothering to hang it up as was his usual habit. He laid down and curled into a small ball and told himself that everything would be better in the morning.

Even if he didn’t believe it.

——

“You could always try camming,” Hange suggested around a mouthful of pizza.

“Excuse me, what?” Erwin choked.

“You know, be an online camboy. Get paid to get off. You get enough money to pay your bills and you get the side benefit of stress relief.”

“Um, no, just no. I’m big and awkward. I feel too self conscious just having sex when the only one watching is my partner. I can’t imagine that anyone would want to pay to watch as I try to figure out the best angle to keep my hands or feet from looking too big. Besides, I don’t have much of a voyeurism kink.”

“Erwin, seriously. You spend a lot of time at the gym and you’re practically a god among men. I think plenty of people would pay to watch, right Moblit?”

“Leave me out of this,” Moblit squeaked with a blush. “If he’s not comfortable, there’s no point of pressing the issue.”

“Thank you, Moblit. I’m glad there is someone willing to defend my virtue.”

“Please, like you don’t go full-on slut for that hot doctor neighbor of yours. I’d bet he would watch your cam show.” Hange wiggles their brows.

“I’m not a full-on slut for anything. I’ll leave that role to Marie. And I told you, Levi has no interest in me, we’re just neighbors. We barely speak. Furthermore, I maintain that I’m awkward as hell at sex, and nobody wants to see that. It’s not sexy, I’m not sexy, and I have no desire to be a camboy.”

“I could point out all the flaws in your argument, but I chose to focus on the fact that you just roasted Marie like a pro, so I’ll let it slide.” Hange scooted a plate of pizza toward Erwin.

“No, thank you,” he said as he scooted it back.

“You can’t tell me you’re not hungry. I’ve seen you skipping meals,” Hange scolded.

“I can’t afford to contribute. I’ll eat some soup when I get home.” Erwin looked back down at his textbook, ignoring the glare from his best friend.

“I wasn’t asking you to contribute, I was asking you to eat. I don’t care about the 2 bucks for your portion of the pizza, Erwin. I care that you have budgeted yourself into a hunger strike. Eat the damn pizza.”

“Hange-“

“Eat the pizza, Erwin. I will not take no for an answer.” This time it was Moblit who was doing the scolding.

“Okay, but I’m keeping track. As soon as I can, I’m paying you back. I have an interview tomorrow at the fish market. They need help unloading the fish. It’s early morning before class starts so I can probably make it work.”

“Early morning? You have classes starting at 8 am. It would have to be pretty damn early,” Hange said with a frown.

“I would have to be there by 3:30. I would get off at 7, which gives me just enough time to get to campus.”

“But buses don’t run that early, Erwin. How are you going to get to work?” Moblit asked, concerned.

“I’ll have to walk. It’s only about a 45 minute walk. I’ll be able to catch the bus back to campus. I’ll shower at the gym before my first class. No big deal. But, I’ll have to get the job first.”

“Erwin, come on, there’s bound to be something better than flinging fish in the middle of the night.”

“Hange-“ Erwin was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He excused himself and went to the kitchen to take the call. When he returned, his face was pale and ashen.

“Erwin?”

“Hange, can you take me home? I need to pack a bag and look up some flights.”

“Of course. What’s wrong?”

“That was the nursing home. My dad...he’s gone.”

——

“Levi, you cannot skip out on these fundraisers. They are for the remodel and equipment for the Trauma Division. You know, your division,” Petra scolded into his ear. Levi sighed into the phone.

“As I am aware. Why can’t it be something simple? Fill out a form or some shit? What you have concocted is a series of highly social events. I loathe being social. In fact, I’m so incredibly terrible at being social that I would probably scare away more sponsors rather than winning them over.”

“If you would bring a date, you would have a social buffer. Just make sure you pick someone pretty, good with people and can carry a conversation. You will barely have to open your mouth. Your date would do all the hard work. You know…the dreaded small talk.”

“I would rather take a beating than engage in small talk,” Levi growled through clenched teeth.

“As I am aware,” Petra sighed. “However, you are still required to attend. So, get some suits dry cleaned, find a person who can actually tolerate your grumpy ass, and suck it up buttercup. The first event is in two weeks. Surely even you can find a date by then.”

“But Petra-“

“No arguing your way out of this, Levi. See you soon.” With that, the line disconnected, leaving Levi a little agitated. He always hated it when Petra got the last word, but he did have to admit that she was right. He needed to be at these fundraisers to represent the hospital, and they so desperately needed the money.

He was contemplating who he could tolerate enough to accompany him to these events when he heard a pounding on his neighbor’s door. He hadn’t seen the tall blonde since the roommate moved out about a month prior. He had assumed everything was okay, but now…

“Erwin! I know you’re home. Open the damn door.”

Levi left the relative quiet of his apartment to see Erwin’s friend, Hange trying to beat down the door. He opened his mouth to admonish them for the noise, but Hange turned to him with a desperate look.

“Please tell me you have a spare key. He won’t open the door. I’m worried about him.”

“I don’t.” Levi walked over. “Erwin? Open the door, please. Your friend is annoying me.” When he received no answer, he tried the doorknob, which turned with ease.

“Oh, I guess I couldn’t see the forest for the trees,” Hange murmured.

[hopeworldfan]

summary: you and yoongi have been best friends since you were kids, being hopelessly in love with each other was never part of the plan. aka, the typical cliche.

pairing: yoongi/reader

chapter one

word count: 6k+

genre: fluff, smut, angst, college!au, friends to lovers

warning: angst, depression, self-harm, suicide attempt, alcoholism, divorce

a/n: ive been working on this for a very long time and decided i had to split it up because shes a big one. let me know what you think!

The early hours of the morning had always brought a sense of comfort with them. The world was so quiet, so still, so peaceful. Being in the last year of your undergrad meant that you were intimately acquainted with the early hours of the morning; when the sun was just starting to shine through the blinds,  the birds were just starting to chirp, the world was just starting to wake. You wished you could enjoy it, enjoy the quiet, but you were six cups of coffee deep into your Psychology of Counseling textbook and more than ready to jump off a bridge if it meant you didn’t have to take your midterm in three hours.

“You need to get some semblance of sleep Y/N, you’ll be too tired to concentrate on your midterm if you don’t.” A soft yet stern voice commented from your doorway and you sighed before leaning back in your chair -wincing as what felt like your whole spine cracked-, before spinning around and squinting at your best friend.

“Did you know that our awareness of death is the source of zest for life and creativity and that we can turn our fear of death into a positive force when we accept the reality of our own mortality?” Yoongi just continued to lean against your doorway, fixing you with an unimpressed stare and you sighed. “This chapter on Existentialism is really putting me through it, the death stuff isn’t even the worst of it. Did you know that having some anxiety is perfectly normal-”

“Y/N.” He interrupted and you sighed again, sliding your reading glasses up to where they were sitting on your head and rubbing your face.

“If I go to sleep now I won’t wake up, and I don’t have all the details of the six propositions down yet. I just know Bridgette is going to make that the essay question.” Bridgette, formally known as Dr. Coddou, had emphasized them way too much for them not to be the discussion question, and the discussion was worth half the points on the midterm.

Your best friend, however, didn’t budge, keeping his arms crossed and giving you a reproachful look. “You have work right after your midterm, you’ll be dead on your feet if you don’t get at least a few hours. I’ll wake you up on time for your test, so get in bed.”

“You’re being such a hypocrite,” you mumbled but closed the textbook regardless. Arguing with Yoongi would be a useless venture, it always was.

“What was that?”

“Nothing Yoongi-oppa.” You smiled brightly while he rolled his eyes, noticing the small upturn of his lips.

“Okay koreaboo.”

“You like it.” You sang before collapsing on your bed, disgruntling the black cat that was already sleeping there. Despite your previous protests, you were out like a light the minute your head hit the pillow. Yoongi just fondly shook his head before walking over and gently removing your glasses from the top of your head and setting them on your nightstand.

The first time you met Yoongi was in the third grade. It was one of those weird, super vivid childhood memories that seemed engraved in your brain, right along with your fifth birthday party. The school year had been well underway when he was brought into class, something that already made his presence exciting. His family had just moved from Korea to the states and he stumbled through his introduction, not quite having a solid grasp on the English language. Your classmates had laughed, finding his struggle and heavy accent hilarious. It wasn’t funny to you though, even at such a young, impressionable age because your abuelita didn’t speak a lick of English and your own mom’s heavily accented Spanglish was often ridiculed at school events. 

He sat alone at recess that day and you were the first to approach him, a bright smile on your face and the offer of friendship hanging from your outstretched hand. Yoongi had been so incredibly shy at first, but you didn’t let it deter you. Instead, you stayed stuck to his side like glue, always with a bright smile and eager to help him learn English. By the end of the year, the two of you were inseparable and the rest was history. 

Yoongi kept a diligent eye on the time while he worked on the composition in front of him. He knew he was prone to getting lost in his work without caring about the world around him, but the last thing he wanted to do was lose track of time and be the reason you missed your midterm. Especially after insisting that you sleep and promising to make sure you didn’t miss it. You would never let him hear the end of it if he this up. 

Thirty minutes before your class, he got up and gently pushed open the door to your room. His breath caught in his throat when he saw you lying there. He’d seen you sleeping more times than he could count throughout the years, saw you lying there with your mouth wide open, drool on the side of your face, and the smallest snore coming from your sleeping form. It never failed to take his breath away. You never failed to take his breath away. There were no false pretenses when you were sleeping, no sign of the cheerful mask he knew you worse to make it through the day, the hardened armor you donned to protect yourself. When you slept there was a vulnerability you showed so rarely, even to him.

Yoongi had been in love with you for years. Maybe since that first moment in third grade, before he even knew what love was, but he knew you had a pretty smile and you were the first person to make him feel like moving away from everything he knew wasn’t the end of the world. There was just something so captivating about you, so endearing, it was unrealistic to think that he ever stood a chance. When you smiled at him, eyes squinted and barely visible, he knew without a doubt that he would do anything to keep that smile on your face, and that’s why he was okay with just being your best friend because that’s what made you happy. 

Still, it was moments like this that he took for himself; approaching your sleeping form and gently brushing his fingers against your cheek. You unconsciously leaned into his touch and his heart skipped a beat. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you. The number of times he’d fantasized about it, about pressing his lips against yours was honestly ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it. It was something he’d dreamed about since he was thirteen. 

You muttered something unintelligible in your sleep and Yoongi retracted his hand. He knew he had to wake up. He was being more than a little creepy and crossing a multitude of lines. The two of you were best friends, nothing more. 

“Wake up, Y/N.” He said, bringing a hand to your shoulder and gently shaking you awake. Your eyes briefly fluttered and you groaned, trying to snuggle deeper into your bed to catch a few more precious moments of sleep. Yoongi smiled fondly and shook his head. “Nope, you have to get up and go take your midterm.”

“Midterm!” You yelped, shooting up in such a panic that Yoongi instinctively took a step back. “I have to go take my midterm!”

“Relax,” he instructed calmly. “You have thirty minutes and I brewed a fresh pot of coffee.”

You sighed, letting your shoulders drop and willing your heart rate to slow. “Ay dios mio, whew, I’ve never wanted to kiss someone more in my entire life.”

His heart rate spiked at your words, eyes glued to your form as you stretched out on your bed, arching your back and groaning. Less than innocent thoughts were playing through his mind and he willed them away. You weren’t being serious, it was commonplace for you to say suggestive things, but a large part of him always hoped. 

“Do you work tonight?” You asked, finally getting to your feet and rolling your neck, wincing at the distinct popping. The question broke him from his reverie and he mentally slapping himself.

“No, I tried to but I’m already in overtime for the week so Jin wouldn’t let me.”

You pouted and lightly hit his shoulder. “What did I tell you about overworking yourself? Between the two of us, we make enough to pay the bills without killing ourselves.” Your eyes softened when you took a longer look at your best friend. The bags under his eyes were an even darker shade of purple and his skin was an even more ghostly pale than normal. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed your head against his chest. “You need to take care of yourself Yoongi, there ain’t no me if there ain’t no you, remember?”

The words were muffled against his chest, but the way his arms wrapped around your form was enough confirmation that he had heard. Being so sleep deprived made you overemotional, but that didn’t make it any less true. Over a decade of friendship made Yoongi a fixture in your life. When everything was crashing down, when everything was going wrong, when your abuelita and dad both died in the span of a year, when your mom turned to alcohol to numb the pain, it was Yoongi who was always there for you. He was the only stability in your life, and that was why you’d never tell him how you really felt, how you were desperately and hopelessly in love with him. 

“You’re sappy when you’re tired.” He commented dully as he gazed down at you, praying you couldn’t hear how his heart was ready to jump out of his chest.

“Please, I’m sappy all the time.” You shot back, pulling away to get on your tip-toes and place a soft kiss against his temple. He had to fight every cell in his body to keep from blushing at your show of affection because it was so common that it shouldn’t even affect him anymore. The man was convinced you were the most affectionate person he had ever met; it was something he learned early on, so he knew not to read into it. However, the temple kisses were the one thing he could never get used to. While the hugs, hand-holding, and cuddling made his heart race, there was something about the temple kiss that was so tender, so intimate, and he’d never seen you do it with anyone else.

That was because you didn’t. It was selfish and stupid, but the temple kiss was the one thing you’d allow yourself. You could sweep it under the rug of showing platonic affection if anyone questioned it, but you knew that it was different. 

“Alright gotta blast, see you later Yoongles, don’t forget to feed Noodle!” You smiled, already halfway out of the door, your backpack sling over your shoulder and a full tumbler of coffee in your hand. “Love you!”

“Love you too.” He replied softly, but the door was already swinging shut.

Relief flooded through you as you handed in your midterm, giving Dr. Coddou a polite smile before jetting out of the classroom. There were other midterms to study for, other things to stress about, but that was for a later date. The only thing currently on your mind was treating yourself to your favorite takeout to celebrate before going into work.

“Y/N!” Someone called out from behind you and you immediately whipped your head around. “How do you think you did?”

“I’ll be pretty upset if I didn’t make at least a ‘B’, what about you?” Namjoon smiled down at you, shyly adjusting his glasses.

“I’m pretty sure I made an ‘A’.”

“Of course, you did, you’re literally a genius. I really only asked in the interest of being polite,” you teased, noticing the way his cheeks flushed the most endearing shade of pink. Namjoon was cute in a nerdy, bookworm, librarian way with his wire-framed glasses, grandpa cardigans, and adorable dimples.. The two of you shared a class together your sophomore year and were partnered together for a project. You really hit it off and stayed friends, though you’d never interacted outside the context of academia. It had been a surprise when you walked into your psychology of counseling class and saw Namjoon already sitting in the front row, being that he was a Philosophy major and you were positive psychology of counseling wasn’t required for that degree plan.  “I’ve been meaning to ask, but why did you take this class anyway? Planning on doing some philosophical counseling?”

Namjoon’s cheeks turned an even darker shade of pink. “Oh, uh, I mean, no uhm, I just well, I really like,” he paused and his eyes only met yours for a second before he looked away, his blush managing to deepen even more. “Psychology! I really like psychology! It’s really interesting.”

“Right!” You agreed enthusiastically, completely oblivious to the boy’s panic. “It’s all just so intriguing to learn about how people think and why. This chapter on Existential Therapy was so fun despite how much it blew my mind. I mean, our awareness of death being the source of our zest for life and creativity? Whew. Do you think you’ll end up with a psych minor?”

Namjoon just stood there with a dumb smile on his face, not realizing you had asked him a question. He’d been distracted by your rambling, the way your eyes lit up and you gestured wildly with your hands. It was the cutest thing he had ever seen. You were the cutest thing he had ever seen, and that was why he found himself in yet another psychology class that he had absolutely no need for.

“Hellooooo, earth to Joon?” You asked, staring up at him with your head tilted and one eyebrow raised.

“Oh! Uhm, yeah, I’ll probably end up with a psych minor.” He said in a rush, trying to downplay his embarrassment.

“Fun!” you glanced down at your phone and swore. “Shit, I have to get to work, see you later Joon!”

Namjoon sighed as you bounded away. Would he ever work up the confidence to ask you on a date? It didn’t seem likely.

Work was exhausting, per usual, but tips were decent so you weren’t complaining about that. What you were complaining about was just how bad your feet ached. Despite how many times you complained to Jin, he liked the uniforms the was they were, so you were stuck with stupid shoes that offered no support or comfort.

By the time you were gently closing the front door, it had to be close to two in the morning and you were ready to crawl under the overs and sleep like the dead since tomorrow was Saturday and you were off of work.

“Hey Noodle.” You greeted softly when the black cat made his presence known t you with a loud ‘meow’ before rubbing himself against your legs.

You were mid-yawn when you trudged into the kitchen, content to just drinking some orange juice because finding something eat would take entirely too much effort. It was by chance that you noticed the post-it on the microwave, Yoongi’s messy handwriting sprawled across it.

mac n’ cheese in here, just heat it up

Your lips upturned in a gentle smile. For all his talk, Yoongi was one of the softest, most thoughtful people you had ever met. His love language was in the small things. Sure, it was just mac n’ cheese, something that didn’t take longer than ten minutes to whip up, but it was ten minutes he knew you weren’t going to take. While the macaroni was heating up, you added a little something to the bottom of the post-it.

remind me to put a ring on it in the morning

Loud. That was your first thought as you were choke-slammed into consciousness. There was a very familiar, very loud voice carrying through your apartment and you groaned before grabbing your comforter and pulling it over your head, trying in vain to delay the inevitable. 

You weren’t the slightest bit surprised when your door was slammed open and the person squealed “Y/N-ie” before jumping on top of you.

“Ay dios mio, get off Hobi,” you grumbled, trying -and failing- to push the older boy off of you.

Said boy just laughed. “Not a chance! I haven’t seen you in so long. I’ve missed you!”

You stopped struggling, content to accept your fate of being squished. “I missed you too, Hobi.”

“Why don’t you ever call me oppa?” Though your head was still buried underneath your comforter, you could hear the pout in his voice and knew he was making a devastatingly cute face.

“If I call you oppa will you get off of me?”

“Yes!”

“Okay...Hobi-oppa.”

Hoseok kept his promise and promptly rolled off of you, grabbing the covers and pulling them off in the process. You knew you should probably be at least a little embarrassed considering Hoseok now had a pg-13 rated view of your body since you only ever slept in a big t-shirt and underwear, but modesty was never one of your strong suits. Instead, you rolled over in a desperate attempt to sneak a few more moments of sleep. “Nu-uh, you’re getting up and coming to get lunch with me, Jimin, and Yoongi-hyung.”

He was equally as unaffected by your lack of clothing, having gotten used to it. “Hobiiiiiiiii.” You whined.

“Don’t make me tickle you.”

That was enough to make you jump out of bed. He didn’t bluff when it came to tickling, something you knew all too well. The redhead cheered before pulling you into a tight hug.

Hoseok was the first friend Yoongi made freshman year and became your friend by association. You couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that Yoongi attracted extroverts like moths to a flame because Hoseok was the textbook definition and while you weren’t quite on his level, you were up there.

“Ah, good morning Y/N.” A serene voice greeted from the doorway and you glanced around Hoseok’s frame to grin at the fourth member of your ragtag friend group.

“Hey Chim.” While Hoseok was the first friend Yoongi made in college, Jimin was yours. The two of you shared a hellish 7:30 your first semester and bonded over wanting to die every morning and keeping each other awake during the lecture. The four of you meshed together unsettlingly well, and Hoseok and Jimin ended up as roommates before the end of freshman year. You privately thought it was hilarious that your three best friends were all Korean, maybe Yoongi was right when he called you a koreaboo.

You meandered over to Jimin and wrapped him in a tight hug before brushing past him and noticing Yoongi was nowhere to be seen. “Is Yoongi still sleeping?”

“Mhm. You know you’re the only one who can wake him up without putting him in a bad mood.” Jimin said lightly and you rolled your eyes.

“I gave you guys that spare key to use for emergencies, not to break in and force us to eat lunch with you.”

“Eating lunch with us is an emergency!” Hoseok protested.

“Ya, ya, ya.” Regardless, you were awake, and if you had to be awake, so did Yoongi.

Creeping into his room, your heart skipped a beat when you saw him lying there. He looked so content, so peaceful, it warmed your heart. You knew how deeply Yoongi hid things, how he always put his own feelings last when it came to the people he cared about. It was only through years of friendship that you were able to discern when he was putting up a front, when he was putting on a brave face for your sake. Both of you had baggage and issues and things that were hard to talk about, even with each other. However, at that moment, you knew none of that mattered to Yoongi, he was at peace, and a part of you hated to ruin that.

The other part of you wanted to jump on him the way Hoseok did to you.

That part won out.

“Rise and shine sleepy head!” You giggled, throwing your body on top of his and gently patting his dumpling-like cheeks as you straddled him. He groaned, the same reaction you had to Hoseok, and you shot him a beaming smile when his eyes fluttered open. “Good morning Yoongi-oppa.”

Something strange flashed across his face at your words but you were too busy poking his squishy cheeks to notice. “What are you doing?”

The question was entirely for his own sake because he was becoming increasingly aware of the position the two of you were in, something you were completely oblivious to. He could tell you had just woken up since you only seemed to be wearing a big shirt -one of his-, and a pair of underwear. That alone was enough to make his cock twitch, seeing you in his clothes always had an effect on him, especially when the only thing you paired it with was underwear. Then there was the way you were straddling him, knees on either side of his torso, completely unaware that your crotch was directly over his. Usually, he had self-control, he could squash down the indecent fantasies, but he was still only half-awake and all he could think about was how easy it would be to grab your hips and thrust up. He knew it wouldn’t take him long to cum, even if there were three layers -his boxers, the comforter, and your panties- between his cock and your pussy. God, the fantasy of you placing your hands on his chest and grinding down on him was too delicious. He already had an idea of what you’d sound like, the small whimpers, the soft gasps, he’d heard it all before when you thought you were being discrete late at night. He wanted to hear those sounds when he was the one causing them, when his cock was-

“Hobi and Jimin are here and forcing us to go eat lunch. You should be grateful I’m the one who woke up and not Hobi.”

Yoongi mentally slapped himself. His cock was growing harder and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He prayed to every god in existence that you didn’t decide to press down on him because there was no way you wouldn’t know his dick was hard. “You have my eternal gratitude.”

You giggled before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead and hopping off his bed. “Hurry up and get ready, I’m starving and I’m pretty sure I can scam Hobi into paying.”

Without waiting for a reply, you turned and danced out of Yoongi’s room, missing the way his eyes stayed glued to your barely covered ass.

“See, completely unharmed. He probably would have killed Hobi-hyung.” Jimin pointed out from the couch, happily petting Noodle and you rolled your eyes.

“Oh,” you paused, an innocent smile slipping on to your face. “Hobi-oppa?”

Said boy’s face lit up and you internally smirked. A part of you would have felt bad for scamming one of your best friends, but it wasn’t like he didn’t -frequently- do the same thing to you. When he hit you with a pout you were helpless. “Yes, Y/N-ie?”

“Well, since you’re my oppa and all, does that mean you’re paying for lunch?” You tilted your head and stuck your bottom lip out the tiniest bit in a pout. Jimin ducked his head to muffle his laughter.

“Of course, leave it all to me!” Too easy.

“This so good I am going to bust the fattest nut.” You moaned between mouthfuls of lo mein noodles.

Hoseok had decided on Chinese and you weren’t complaining, especially when it was on his dime. “I second that.”

“Here Yoongi, you have to try this.” You insisted, gathering a hefty amount of noodles on your fork and turning your body sitting next to your, expectantly holding the utensil up to his face. He gave you an unimpressed look but the smile on your face persisted and it only took seconds her him to cave and take the offered bite. “See! Amazing, right?”

“Feed me next Y/N-ie!” Hoseok pouted and you rolled your eyes before gathering more noodles.

“Here you go Hobi-oppa.” You teased and he gladly wrapped his lips around the fork.

“I, for one, still can’t believe that you can’t use chopsticks,” Jimin commented and you groaned.

The three boys were all using the provided chopsticks while you didn’t even bother opening your set. “Let me live Jimin.”

“Just saying.”

“I’m not required to know how to use chopsticks just because the three of you do! Stop peer pressuring me.”

“It’s really not that hard Y/N-ie.”

“Look, Yoongi’s mom spent many a dinner trying to teach me, I’m just hopeless!”

“It’s true, she’s a terrible student.”

You immediately punched Yoongi on the shoulder, but his gummy smile erased any thoughts about even pretending to be angry. Before anyone could say anything, your phone started ringing and you only hesitated for a second before pressing the device to your ear after seeing just who was calling you.

“Hola mamá,” you greeted cheerfully, ignoring the concerned look Yoongi shot your way. “¿Qué pasa?”

The smile on your face slipped when you heard the drunken slur of her words. It slipped even more when she popped the inevitable question.

“¿Cuanto?” You asked, trying to keep your voice even, to not ruin the atmosphere because this was the first time the four of you had been together in forever and you wanted to enjoy it. You didn’t react when your mom listed off the number, despite the sinking in your stomach. “Bueno...sí mama...esta noche...sí...te amo.”

“Back to our previous conversation, all I have to say is that learning how to lose chopsticks is a lot harder than it looks when you’re not born into the culture, and it’s also harder to learn as an adult because your brain has less plasticity.” You rambled, forcing a smile as you logged into your banking app to transfer the money to your mom’s account. Yoongi tensed and you knew he was watching you, could practically feel the disapproval radiating off of him when you transferred the amount from your savings to her checking. You knew he understood the short conversation you had; he’d picked up his fair share of Spanish throughout the years. It would be an argument later. You could already feel the headache.

The rest of the lunch was fine. Hoseok was even louder and more ridiculous than usual and Jimin kept reaching across the table to fiddle with your hands, your hair, your face, all in an effort to make you feel better, seeing right through the smile plastered across your face. They knew you too well for it to fool them. Yoongi, on the other hand, was silent, he was stewing.

“Six hundred?” He asked the minute the two of you were alone in the apartment, barely giving you time to shrug off your jacket. You just collapsed on the couch, feeling all your energy leave you in an instant thinking about how much you were going to have to work to make up the funds.

“And what about it?” You sighed, too tired to muster together any anger.

“That money is for grad school, what did your mom need it for? Couldn’t pay rent because she spent all her money on alcohol again? Couldn’t pay her light bill because she keeps funneling money into poker machines?” In a turn of events, you actually weren’t too tired to muster together any anger, because Yoongi’s cold words brought it right to the surface. Mostly because he was right.

“And so what if it is? What am I supposed to do Yoongi? Let her get evicted? Let her power get shut off? It’s my money, I can do whatever I want with it.” 

Your mom never did shake back from the alcoholic hole she fell into when your grandma and dad died and Yoongi resented her for it. It had broken you because you didn’t just lose your grandma and your dad, you lost your mom too, and Yoongi almost lost you. He’d been so caught up in his angsty teenage bullshit, hating the world because of his parent’s divorce that he didn’t notice. He didn’t notice when your smile became tight and forced. He didn’t notice when you started wearing long sleeves despite the unforgiving heat. He didn’t notice when the light started to fade from your eyes. It wasn’t until he broke down your bathroom door junior year of high school because of a goodbye text that he finally noticed.

Yoongi had never been one to cry, but he cried then, finding you crumpled on the floor, a knife in one hand and blood running down both arms from the cuts lining them. He carefully took the knife from your hand and threw it out of the room before sinking onto the floor next to you and wrapping your trembling form in a tight hug. He apologized as he cried, over and over again, for not realizing sooner, for not being able to take your pain away. It was then that he knew that he hated your mom because you were his sunshine, his light, and that was what she had reduced you to, because even then, the only thing you could manage to say besides ‘i’m sorry’ was ‘please don’t tell my mom’.

He hated that even now, even though you were so far away, she still had such a grip on your life. You were supporting yourself and supporting her. 

Though you understood why Yoongi felt the way he did, though there were times when you resented your mom, at the end of the day she was still your mom. She was the woman from your childhood who was full of warmth and laughter, and there were rare times when she still was, when the old her shined through in her even rarer moments of sobriety.

Yoongi wasn’t fuming, but you were. His anger ran cold where yours ran hot. “How much more are you going to let her take Y/N? That’s all she does.”

“She’s my mom Yoongi! Fuck! I’m not having this argument with you again!” You shouted, throwing your hands in the air and storming out. It was such a pointless fucking argument to have, the two of you would just run around in circles, getting angrier and angrier until you inevitably stormed off. The two of you didn’t argue often, you hated arguing with Yoongi, he was your best friend in the entire world, but you knew the topic of you mom would never be something you agreed on.

You weren’t paying attention to where you were storming off to, the destination wasn’t the point, you just needed to clear your head and get away from Yoongi. Somehow you ended up at a little park that you didn’t even realize was near your apartment complex, so you sat on one of the benches and groaned. It was cold outside, it was getting dark, you were alone, and you didn’t have your phone, keys, or wallet. You really were a genius.

“Y/N?” A soft voice called and you yelped, jumping up and ready to run if the person was going to try and murder you. “Sorry!”

Whipping around, you visibly relaxed when you took in the boy in front of you, cardigan and all. “Whew, you almost gave me a heart attack Joon.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized again and you waved it off, finally noticing the white dog curiously sniffing your shoes. Your response was instantaneous, dropping into a squat and gently petting the dogs fluffy head.

“Who is this cute little baby?” You cooed happily, laughing when the dog playfully jumped on you, causing you to fall back on your ass while being assaulted with kisses. Namjoon was literally melting.

“Oh, uhm, his name is Rapmon.”

“Hi Rapmon,” you greeted cheerfully, planting a kiss on the top of his head before getting to your feet and wrapping your arms around your torso. It definitely wasn’t the smartest move to run out without grabbing your jacket when winter was right around the corner.

Namjoon noticed and immediately shrugged off his cardigan. “You should put this on before you get sick.”

“Ahh I can’t take that! You’ll be cold!” You protested.

“I’m wearing long sleeves, and my body temperature naturally runs high.” You wanted to put up more of a fight, but the temperature was dropping as the sun sank below the horizon, so you gratefully took the offered clothing.

“Thanks,” you smiled as the boy’s cheeks warmed, seeing you in his clothes having an enormous effect on him. “Do you live around here?”

“Oh, uhm, yeah, my apartment is right across the street actually.” He replied sheepishly and you whipped your head around to the fancy ass apartments across the street.

You couldn't keep the amazement from your voice. “What the fuck, Joon, those are so nice.”

“Ahh, my mom picked it out, they’re alright.” He said, clearly embarrassed. “What about you?”

“I think my apartment is somewhere around here, I wasn’t really paying attention to where I was going.” You admitted, it being your turn to be embarrassed. “I had a fight with my best friend and kinda just...ended up here.”

“Oh.”

The two of you just stood there for a solid minute, Namjoon trying to work up the courage to say something and you just not really knowing what to say for once in your life. It was Namjoon who finally spoke. “Do you...uhm...do you want to come up to my apartment? It’s getting dark and it’s cold out, once we bring Rapmon in I can drive you home...if you want.”

He trailed off, obviously flustered and you giggled. “I’d love to come up to your apartment Joon.”

It was exactly as fancy as you expected and you had to physically stop yourself from gawking like a tourist. However, you were doing a poor job and Namjoon secretly thought it was adorable how your eyes were the size of tennis balls.

“Alright, I can bring you home now.” He said after letting Rapmon off of his leash and grabbing his keys. You hesitated though. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go home, per say, but you didn’t want to go home. Yoongi’s temper had a tendency to stick around, taking a while to defrost, and you didn’t have the energy to go another round.

“Is it okay if I just...chill here for a while?” You finally asked, nervously fiddling with your thumbs.

“Yes!” He answered immediately because he was ready to give you the world on a silver platter if that was what you requested, especially when you were standing in front of him in his cardigan.

“Thanks Joon,” you smiled, missing the blush that painted his cheeks.

You made yourself comfortable on his couch and he followed suit. It took a few minutes for the ice to break, but once it did, you couldn’t stop talking. Namjoon was hands down the smartest person you had ever met, and he had such interesting viewpoints on so many things. He was incredibly easy to talk to and you had to admit that he looked so fucking cute when he was rambling about a topic he was passionate about. It was the only time you’d ever seen him look confident about something and it was really hot. Namjoon had always been filed away as ‘cute’ in your mind, but seeing him in his element, completely at ease in his fitted long-sleeved shirt, hair in disarray from how he kept running a hand through it, well, you had a different perspective.

Almost unconsciously you gravitated towards him until your knees were touching and his cheeks were rosy, hyper-aware of the contact.

“What time is it?” You suddenly asked, realizing it was completely dark outside and you’d been talking for so long that your mouth was dry. Namjoon glanced at the watch on his wrist -it looked like a Rolex- and winced.

“It’s two in the morning.”

You immediately shot up, eyes wide in panic. Fuck. Yoongi was probably worried sick, you had stormed out without your keys, wallet, or phone and it was two in the morning and you weren’t home. “Fuck.”

Namjoon brought you home immediately, spewing apologized for not paying better attention to the time. You reassured him that it wasn’t his fault and you had gotten equally lost in talking to him, thanking him a million times for bringing you home. 

Your stomach was in knots as you climbed up to the third floor, just knowing Yoongi was going to be even more furious with you. God, you were such an idiot.

You’d only managed to knock on the front door twice before it was yanked open and you were pulled into a bone-crushing hug, letting out a squeak of surprise.

“Y/N.” Yoongi breathed and your heart clenched painfully at how relieved he sounded.

“I’m sor-”

“No,” He interuppted, still holding you tight against his chest. “I’m sorry okay. I know, I know she’s still your mom and that will never change no matter how much I resent her for the hell she put you through. I’m sorry, just please, fuck, please don’t leave like that again.”

His voice shook the smallest bit and your heart broke. He must have been so worried about you.

“Hey,” you said softly, wrapping your arms around his frame and gently rubbing his back. “I’m sorry Yoongi. It was really stupid of me to run out like that. I ran into a friend and we lost track of time, don’t think you can get rid of me that easily. You’re stuck with me for the rest of your life, sorry to tell you.”

He took a deep breath, his face still buried in your hair, and loosened his grip just enough for you to reach up and place a kiss against his temple. Just like that, everything was right again.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny ― Chapter 11: The Many Discomforts

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny ⥽

Nadya Al Jamil (MC) has been struggling from the day she moved to Manhattan, but her new job as assistant to the mysterious CEO of Raines Corp was supposed to turn her luck around. Until she finds herself caught in the middle of a war involving the Council of Vampires who secretly run the city. An evil from the birth of Vampire-kind stirs beneath, feeding on the conflict, and finds Nadya bound to a destiny she never asked for.

Bound by Destiny and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Kamilah helps Nadya get dressed. A mysterious couple surprise the attendees of the Awakening Ball.

[READ IT ON AO3]

She doesn’t tell either of them about the voices she heard outside the Library.

Part of her isn’t entirely sure she even heard anything. She had more alcohol last night than in her entire undergrad career and there could have been something in the air or the food that could lead to hearing… weird voices… And if she does choose to cast aside her veil of doubt — what would she even say?

Especially remembering one of those voices sounded an awful lot like Kamilah.

Kamilah who spends the entire evening doing what Nadya’s pretty sure is the two-thousand year old equivalent of pouting because apparently Adrian ditched her last night for some fun of his own.

“Well we did want him to unwind a bit, I guess?” Nadya tries to be a good friend; tries to defend him.

But their petty little fight means she can’t pry from either one of them how Kamilah spent her night. Or who she spent her night with. So she’s having her own little huff.

“One moment he was off coaxing donors into our booth and he didn’t even have the decency to announce that he’d been propositioned,” Kamilah continues her argument like Nadya was nothing more than a gust of wind, “and such things simply aren’t done in polite society.”

“I had a good night.” She shrugs it off but catches the way Kamilah pauses mid-air before grabbing her hairbrush. Her tone suddenly catching disinterest.

“Did you now?”

“Yeah. Met a really sweet couple. They’re here with one’s sister. I’m gonna try and find them again tonight.”

“Good. Though I would advise you stay close to Adrian and myself for the majority of the evening.”

“Why?” Nadya peers into Kamilah’s designer makeup bag seriously. It’s pretty much a bag full of money, right?

She sets her brush down gently; gives Nadya a serious look despite her gentle tone. “Have you forgotten already? Somehow you’ve made enemies on the Council by merely existing.”

Right, Nadya nods in silence. The Baron and Senator Vega were guaranteed to be in attendance… but they wouldn’t jeopardize the Ball itself to settle some sort of score with her — would they?

There’s a knock on the door and Kamilah blurs to it before Nadya can even turn her head. She peers around the doorway to see her let in Adrian — bearing a large black garment bag.

“Sorry,” he greets them both with a smile, “I think I left my card here.”

“Did Priya actually come through?” Kamilah takes the bag from him with a tone of sarcastic surprise. Unzips the top to peer at the contents within with a satisfied smile.

Adrian nods. “She wasn’t happy about having to bring it here but I promised her a suitable trade.”

“That would be…?”

“Raines Corporation sponsorship at her next show.”

Feeling like she needs to announce her presence Nadya clears her throat. Earns a bright grin from Adrian and a raised eyebrow from Kamilah. Though there’s no denying the subtle smirk joining it.

Adrian passes Kamilah to pour himself a glass of whiskey. “Did you tell her yet?”

“And spoil the surprise? Never.” The way she looks at Adrian — like all of her frustrations have gone away, their importance weighed against the eternity going forwards and back and found wanting — makes Nadya question just who the surprise is for.

Another soft cough and she’s going to break her neck if she looks back and forth any quicker. “Someone gonna enlighten me?”

“Do you want to show her?” asks Adrian. Kamilah drapes the bag over the back of a chair and retreats into their room to continue her routine.

“Shooow me what?”

“Well we figured you didn’t have anything that fit the theme of the Ball in your wardrobe.” He explains and grabs the bag to hang it over the front of the armoire in Nadya’s room. Starts pulling down the zipper before she can even follow.

“I thought what I brought was okay! Kamilah — you told me it was okay!”

Nadya looks at the dress she’s laid out on the room’s second bed. Sure it’s the same dress from the event at the Gallery but that whole ‘never caught wearing the same thing twice’ thing was only a movie trope, right? And even if it wasn’t only Kamilah and Adrian would be able to call her out on it.

What? It was expensive. And she fully intends to get her money’s worth out of it.

Adrian worries his bottom lip with vestiges of guilt. “It’s a nice choice, yes. But as Kamilah and I were planning to adhere to the theme — we figured it was the least we could do.”

He peels the black panels apart and takes Nadya’s breath away. She’s never found blue that attractive but somehow the dress looks both like a cloudless summer day and sparkles with night-time stars. Little Nadya, the girl who wanted nothing more in life than to be a princess, squeals deep in her heart but the adult on the outside simply can’t find the words.

He pulls out the skirts to let their size show proudly. Brushes his fingertips along the satiny fabric of the bodice and even at a distance she can tell it’s buttery; utterly perfect.

“Well,” Adrian looks as excited as she feels, “what do you think?”

It takes her brain a second to catch hold of her tongue. “Wait, you said Priya? As in —”

“Don’t think about that. Don’t think about the money, or who made it, or any of that. Just tell me what you think — really think.”

With a lot of effort Nadya tamps down years of apology-laden refusals. Reaches down inside to let that little princess girl shine through.

She bounces on the balls of her bare feet.

“I think I need some glass slippers.”

“They’re not glass — trust me on this one — but Kamilah has you covered.”

Then her arms are thrown around his neck and she’s kissing the same stubbly spot on his cheek over and over; she’s pretty sure she might have gotten a little spit on her boss but who the heck cares?

“It’s beautiful.”

“You really think?”

“I really really think.”

Coaxing her away, Adrian grabs the door handle on his exit. “Then I’ll leave you to get ready. We’ll be heading down in a few hours.”

Taking in the beauty of the dress before her is almost enough to make Nadya forget about the voice in the library. Almost.

“Adrian?”

Maybe a normal person wouldn’t have caught her soft voice; would have kept going and ventured off to prepare without a care. But Adrian’s not normal. Maybe that’s what she’s hoping for deep down.

“Hm — you say something?” He peeks his head around the door; blinks with an innocence that makes Nadya’s heart sink into her stomach.

She can’t ruin his evening.

“I just wanted to… to really make sure you know how much I appreciate this.” Holding up a bit of the dress skirts, she gives him the widest smile she can muster without seeming fake. If he doesn’t believe her he doesn’t show it.

“You deserve it.”

In the time that follows Nadya really thinks about that — considers wildly that he might be right. After everything that’s happened so far this may be the one thing she needs to actually celebrate for herself. To celebrate something good happening to her.

It’s so easy to get swept up in the bad; the Baron, Lily, Vega, that the good things get harder and harder to cling on to.

So this — this she’s not letting go of.

Until she very much wants to throw this dumb dress down some sort of chute into an incinerator. Old fashioned places like these have those, right? I need to find one. Because god, putting it on is pretty much impossible! She’s tried shoving herself into it in various directions nearly five times and, standing in nothing but her underthings with the deepest and most hate-filled frown she can muster, debates her plan of action for the sixth.

There’s a noise of bemusement behind her and Nadya almost misses it — almost cares too much about her perfect mental image of taking her mother’s sewing shears and cutting the thing into ribbons with maniacal glee — almost.

Almost.

With no dignity whatsoever she turns on her heel, shouts something that sounds an awful lot like “Eeep,” and tries to cover herself against Kamilah’s eyes with the complimentary dressing gown from the bathroom.

What are you doing, this is a good thing! Says the part of her brain that stopped making good choices the moment she realized she had a crush. And though normally her rational side usually came up with a good excuse… it’s falling a bit short at the moment.

“Kamilah! Knock please!”

The look the vampire gives her of oh, really isn’t entirely unwarranted.

The last time she had a roommate she needed to knock for was back when she lived at home. Lily, knocking? What a laughable idea. And habits die hard… until they’re driven into you by a privacy-inclined Kamilah.

She saunters into the room like she owns it. Technically, she kinda does. Not like something that trivial would stop her anyway. Like a jaguar on the prowl she circles Nadya, makes her little human heart work harder than it has in her entire life, before she stops and takes stock of the dress and its components.

“Relax; it’s nothing I haven’t seen already.” Kamilah gently cuffs the sleeves of her own sheer gown — oh holy Mother Mary she needs to tie that belt tighter — and starts working on the lacing of the whalebone corset. “Am I correct in assuming you’ve never worn one of these before?”

With a negative level of grace Nadya pulls the backwards robe off, lets it fall to the plush carpeting.

“I mean, if Ren Faire counts?”

Kamilah’s nose twitches slightly. She’s gotten to know at least a few of the woman’s little ticks — the nose being one of them. Confusion but too much pride (or too little care) to want to know more.

“You know,” Nadya moves her hips like somehow that will explain everything for her, “the Renaissance Faire? Jousting and knights and giant turkey legs bigger than your head?”

“Sounds like they got the period wrong… unsurprising.”

“Oh, right.”

Kamilah pulls the last lacing aside and holds it up in both hands. Normally it would take Nadya a few seconds to understand what’s going on but since she’s pretty sure she’s had this dream before the usual brain-delay doesn’t apply. There’s been plenty of time to pinch herself awake tonight already. She’s very much awake.

Slowly Nadya turns her back towards Kamilah; awkwardly raises her arms out only because she doesn’t know what to do with them.

Like with all things Kamilah takes the lead; she’s not a woman who abides ignorance and simply educates along the way. The cool touch of her fingers sends gooseflesh racing down Nadya’s arms as she’s positioned—not unlike a mannequin—with her arms slightly above her head and just enough space for Kamilah to wrap the corset around her front and begin securing the laces in the back.

“You’ll feel a little —” she tugs and knocks the air from Nadya’s lungs, “— discomfort. Seeing as this is your first time.” There’s a breath of silence and Kamilah’s next words sound almost like appraisal: “Though you have the figure for it.”

Nadya fumbles for a response, manages a stuttered out “thank you” as the form-fitting fabric begins to press harder around her middle.

“This way. Move with me.”

Kamilah taps the back of her leg to coax her forward. Nadya, dazed and growing hotter by the moment, complies in a stupor. Suddenly finds herself with her hands braced against the ornamental wall with nothing but the solid presence of the vampire behind her.

“Good. Now hold that stance. Your fore-mothers were quite insistent that beauty come at a price.”

Her laugh comes out a breathless whimper; makes her go scarlet in embarrassment when she takes note of Kamilah’s brief hesitancy before continuing.

Each pull of the strings is painful pressure — shaping, twisting, mangling her — for the corset’s desired shape. Kamilah surprises her with patience joining her firm touch. Her strength only needs one good pull to get the job done but she gives Nadya time to find the width of her new breath before moving on.

Only Kamilah’s very presence isn’t helping her find her breath in the slightest.

Neither is the hand that suddenly falls onto her newly-shaped hip.

“Relax,” Kamilah croons in her ear, lets her thumb trace a soft and comforting circle just below the corset’s base, “the more you think about it the more your body resists.”

Another noise comes out a note higher and Nadya spits hair out of her mouth. “No offense but you never had to breathe in one of these things.”

There’s a genuine laugh behind her; melodious and gentle. Something Nadya’s never heard the equal of but longs for the moment it fades. Laugh like that again, she wants to say — doesn’t, let me remember it for the rest of my life.

“True enough. Now ready yourself; last one.”

The hand vanishes, leaves her skin feeling cold and alone. She braces her sweating palms against the wall once more and on the count of two Kamilah pulls one last time and secures the lacing.

Just as Nadya readies herself to figure out how to breathe on her own there’s a weight on her hips. Kamilah’s nails dig softly into the swell of her body. There’s definitely not enough oxygen going to her brain.

It’s the kind of quiet that rings in her ears. Makes her want to fill it with mindless chatter, the television on in the background, something. But Kamilah’s a fan of it — like the masochist she is. Says it’s good for emptying the well of her thoughts but Nadya just can’t come to terms with it.

Until now. Because if anyone were to say anything she’s pretty sure she’d throttle them.

Finally Kamilah speaks; something rich like caramel on her tongue that makes Nadya’s body react in ways she’s forgotten. Makes her thighs tremble like they’re straining to hold her up.

“Better now?”

When she breathes it’s easier; it’s been easier, became easier while she was frantically thinking up something to say or do to break the tension between them. And she didn’t even notice.

“Uh — Mmhm.”

The pressure of centuries lives on her hipbones — Nadya turns with the woman’s touch until they’re face-to-face. She knows it’s just so Kamilah can make sure her work has yielded success but it makes her want to fly away to whatever place in the clouds her reason has gone. It’s gotta be freakin’ nice up there.

Kamilah hums — taps her fingertip against her lips for a moment before she moves. Nadya closes her eyes like she’s bracing for some sort of apocalypse-level impact.

The sudden frigid touch releases a trapped noise from inside her. There’s absolutely no way Kamilah doesn’t know what she’s doing; doesn’t know the reactions she’s getting aren’t utterly shameful. Doesn’t know there’s no way in heaven, hell, or anything in between that cupping Nadya’s flushed breasts where they rest trapped within the corset to adjust them isn’t going to drive her absolutely insane.

Nadya squeezes her eyes shut. Bites on her bottom lip so hard it hurts, so hard there’s definitely going to be an indent for hours, and waits for Kamilah to be satisfied with her work.

“Much better. You can open your eyes now, Nadya.”

Only she wishes she hadn’t — finds herself staring in the depths of Kamilah’s soul filled with ice so cold it burns her from the inside out. She knows what she’s done, what she’s wrought. And when her tongue wets her bottom lip and sends Nadya keening into an octave she didn’t know she could reach she knows that, too, was as purposeful as everything else.

There’s a cinematic version of Nadya in her head that would absolutely throw every caution to the wind and surge forward in a kiss. That version would press Kamilah down onto the bed — maybe even on top of the dress — and release all their tension in a rush of tangled tongues and the sting of teeth colliding.

That version is much braver than the reality.

“All — ah — All good?” she chokes out.

Kamilah’s brows knit together. “Indeed. Is that all you have to say?”

She barely has the time to consider a response before her hands are trapped above her head in an immortal grip.

Kamilah bears down upon her; every inch the perfect predator. Just when Nadya’s certain her heart is actually trying to push it’s way out of her chest she sees a flicker of red in those dark, alluring eyes and finds herself caught between reality and whatever dream she’s had but forgotten that makes all this feel like deja-vu.

She’s got a lot more to say. She just doesn’t know how to say it.

And like with all things — she ruins it. Her hesitance isn’t something Kamilah wants, makes her back off a vampire-step back, crossing the room backwards and putting a world of wants and desires between them.

Way to go, says the Lily-voice in Nadya’s mind. It takes her longer to recover her breath against the strain of the corset.

Maybe it’s a trick of the light; the way Kamilah takes advantage of the space to look Nadya over bodily. And maybe it isn’t.

“I — I should, uhm…” Nadya runs clammy hands over her face and gestures to the dress as a sudden exhaustion fills her from head to toe, “but thank you for helping. Really.”

Kamilah says nothing. Nods curtly and leaves. And that’s how Nadya knows she’s going to have a very very long night.

With all guests — human and vampire alike — heading to the same place this time around Nadya gets a full dose of reality of the attendees and their numbers. It makes her keep close to Kamilah and Adrian as they descend towards the Grand Ballroom.

It’s harder to tell the difference between them; at least to her mortal senses. No doubt the vampires know one another by sight. But she takes in the splendor of costumes from every period and society she ever read about in school; smiles sheepishly as they pass what looks like a Japanese samurai in full regalia accosting a Renaissance painter.

Nadya briefly touches the bodice of her dress; rolls her shoulders to shift her body back into a comfortable place.

“Are you in discomfort?” Kamilah asks quietly beside her.

They’d all departed the room together; all shared a toast of some strong honey-tinted cognac beforehand. It was like the whole thing hadn’t happened to Kamilah — except for the fact that Nadya can’t seem to meet her eye to eye.

With a pursed smile on her flushed cheeks Nadya shakes her head. “No — well, no more than I already was. You… uhm…”

Great, really great. Of course she has to fumble again, has to not know what to say again. And honestly this time the twinge of disappointment she sees reflected in Kamilah’s eyes is one she shares. Dumb girl.

The crowd bottlenecks at a pair of large and lavish double doors. The music of a live orchestra dances on the air out into the hall over the conversational chatter. Maybe Nadya’s imagining it but the air carries the faint smell of lavender.

They file in behind the rest — Nadya cranes her head to see what’s holding them all up.

Two footmen stand against either side of the doorway with heavy-looking leather ledgers in their hands. They take down the name of the attendant in front of them before taking turns with announcing the guest’s arrival.

“Lady Genevieve, and guest!”

“Mansa Adebayo, and celebrated Olamide!”

“Monsieur Robespierre!”

With a startled gasp Nadya smacks Adrian’s arm. “That’s not… No way!”

Adrian quickly looks to Kamilah; whose face has been beset by a deep scowl.

“Indeed it is,” Adrian replies, “but he’s been banned from Marcel’s very presence up until, well, now.”

“He must have done something considerably generous to earn forgiveness.” muses Kamilah.

The footman calls out another name: “Celebrated Nicholas Hall!”

“What does that mean,” she asks them, “when they say ‘celebrated?’”

Adrian coaxes them all into the left branch of the line as he explains. “I told you the Awakening Ball is a celebration first, remember? It celebrates the newly Turned of the decade. It’s more of a bigger deal if you were Turned within a year or two of the party, but anyone new is welcome to come.”

“If they have the connections for an invitation.”

“Well… yes.”

She doesn’t have to say it — one look down and Adrian knows what she’s thinking. It makes him lean down and whisper in her ear.

“It would be too dangerous for her to be here. If anyone recognized her as a local we’d run the risk of exposing her Turning.”

“I know.” Nadya replies in the same monotone. Yes, she knows. And she’s come to terms with it. Doesn’t stop her from feeling, though; from missing Lily and knowing she’d enjoy something like this so-freakin’-much.

When the trio comes up to their footman Kamilah takes the lead. “You’re here on my invitation,” Adrian reminds her quietly. Whatever title Kamilah gives makes the announcer — human; somehow Nadya can just tell — go flushed as he tries to keep up with it all. She tries to peer close enough to see it but the block of fresh black ink is unreadable from their distance.

A nonplussed Kamilah turns herself towards the ballroom without thought to the way the footman trips over his tongue. Nadya almost feels bad for the guy.

“Ah — ahem… the Esteemed Kamilah Sayeed; Nomarch of Maten, Founder and CEO of Ahmanet Financial Holdings, Leader of Clan Sayeed of New York, and member of the Council of New York.”

Even without microphones the announcement carries. Makes the crowds closest to the doors stop in their tracks — some mid-word — all to turn and witness Kamilah’s entrance.

She walks with a different kind of grace than Nadya is used to seeing. Kamilah will probably always be the exact opposite of the dictionary definition of ‘humble’ but there’s a different kind of pride in the rise of her chin and a rigidity in her spine.

Like she’s a queen putting on airs for her subjects; like she knows exactly how to catch their attentions. Nadya’s, too.

Adrian’s cold hand on her bare shoulder-blade rouses her out of the hypnosis of Kamilah’s entry.

“Come on. We’re next.”

Suddenly the footman seems daunting. Who could follow an arrival like that?

“Name and title, ser,” the footman doesn’t even bother looking up from his ledger as Adrian slowly articulates his name and title — and follows with one for Nadya too.

“Just follow my lead.” Mutters Adrian, and together they take their position to enter.

The right footman announces his guest and the woman steps forward with her dress train trailing several feet behind her. Arm linked tightly against Adrian’s, Nadya holds her breath.

“Adrian Raines; Founder and CEO of the Raines Corporation, Leader of Clan Raines of New York, member of the Council of New York, and guest Mademoiselle Nadya Al Jamil of Clan Raines.”

Red does not go with the shade of blue her dress is but that doesn’t stop her from being a literal tomato as they make their way inside.

“Mademoiselle, really?”

Adrian gives her a half-grin. “It’s not every day you get to be announced. I figured that’s one down for the bucket list.”

“I’m too young for a bucket list.” She grumbles, and wants to snatch the words from the air and shove them back in her mouth until her cheeks are full but she can’t, not with a ton of eyes on her, so she just watches them fly away with regret.

They follow the current of guests mingling their way into the Ball. Kamilah’s already been plunged into the depths — Nadya has to pull Adrian by their linked arms when she spots her over by the place where the dance floor meets arrays of standing tables.

As they approach Adrian’s face lights up. “Oh, good, she’s found Marcel.”

At first glance it looks like Kamilah’s in deep conversation with someone’s lost child. A child who matches the ballroom and the decor of the workers far better than any other. Their fast-paced French dies once the pair are within earshot and the child — who is very much not a child when Nadya meets his eyes — beams in delight when he sees Adrian.

Marcel Lafayette, the owner of the castle and the Awakening Ball’s illustrious host, had to have been Turned on the cusp of puberty; that point where children are starting to grow into their abnormally sized proportions but still maintain those round cheeks and slightly too-big ears. But children—regular children—have a sparkle in their eyes. They haven’t lost their innocence, haven’t seen how hard and cruel the world can be when it wants to.

Marcel has no such light. It’s like looking into a void. And it makes Nadya want to cry.

“Adrian, mon coeur!” Adrian has to nudge Nadya away as he ends up with arms full of exuberant young vampire. Marcel presses a butterfly kiss to Adrian’s cheeks; protests with a slight whine as his perfect golden curls are ruffled in response. “Non! Not my hair! You know this took me hours!”

Kamilah scoffs but the fondness on her face is unlike any Nadya has ever seen.

“C’est faux, Marcel, and you know it.”

“Well…” His mischievous smirk falters as his eyes fall on Nadya — namely on her dress. Every imitation the young boy at a grown-up party, Marcel clasps his hands behind his back and steps up to her to give a low bow.

“Forgive me, mademoiselle, for not noticing you before. With beauty such as yours you must be some sort of princess, non?”

Before Nadya can make a fool of herself the young man takes her hand and kisses the back of it — eases her into their greeting.

“This is the mortal I was speaking of,” Kamilah offers, “Nadya; Adrian’s guest.”

“I’m his assistant-slash-secretary, actually.” She corrects with pink cheeks. “I’ve heard good things about you from Adrian and Kamilah, Marcel. Thank you for the invitation.”

“Oh, I like her.”

Adrian’s honestly never looked so proud. “I do, too.”

Beside her Kamilah gives a soft and derisive laugh. “You haven’t seen the sheer amount of sugary sweets she can put away.”

“A-Anyway!” Only she doesn’t have anything to interrupt the conversation with and Kamilah knows it in the look in her eyes.

Marcel takes both Adrian and Kamilah’s hands in his and squeezes them fondly. “It’s been so long since I’ve had two of my favorite people in the same room. Especially since someone chose not to attend the last Ball!”

Under his glare Adrian at least looks ashamed. “If it had been any other night I could have come! I sent Kamilah with my apology.”

“Oh, was that what I forgot to bring along?” Her fake embarrassment makes Adrian’s jaw drop. “How forgetful of me…”

“The past is the past — of course you are forgiven. Just don’t do it again.”

“I don’t plan on —”

As far back as they are it’s difficult to hear the footmen and their announcements over the other voices. That is until someone hits the mute button on the party save the orchestra — and even they falter in a brief confusion before steadying their harmony.

Nadya strains to hear; her mortal ears letting her down. But whatever is called — whoever has arrived — has her friends in a strange way.

Marcel’s fingertips touch his rouged lips. He pulls a lace-woven fan from his breast pocket and fans himself frantically.

“Quelle surprise… I didn’t think they’d really come. I had to send their invitations so far!”

It’s luck and maybe a little bit of cosmic intervention on Nadya’s behalf when she catches the sight of Kamilah’s expression before she can ask who ‘they’ are. Darkness — an empty well where only the echoes of the lost ring among the stones.

Who the hell just showed up?

Kamilah steps closer to her young friend; lowers her voice so much that Nadya almost misses it.

“Where did you find them?”

“A small village,” Marcel whispers back, “on the border of Auvernal and Cordonia.”

“And you chose to invite them because…?”

“Because they’re family, Kamilah. And I miss them so.”

The young lord seems to remember himself, then. Stops whispering and straightens his spine like he’s just been reprimanded by a nanny. For the second time Nadya watches with wonder as Marcel Lafayette shifts from elated lad to wizened man.

The still-silent crowd parts in a sea of wealth and finery as a couple approaches.

They fit in with the rest of the jumble of history’s wealthiest fashions, all it takes is a glance to know they aren’t wearing costumes but the real thing. Dark emerald woven tight and sheer against the woman’s lithe figure and etched with golden thread that looks like it was spun from sunlight. The fresh aroma of the man’s bay laurel; the almost staged way his toga and wrappings cascade in a waterfall of fabric down to his sandaled feet.

Together they are easily the most beautiful things in the room. And underneath the surface, even from afar, Nadya is certain they know it, too. It takes her a moment to realize what else she feels from them; she doesn’t really understand until they’re in the same frame of sight as Kamilah.

She looks dwarfed in comparison. Young.

Whoever these vampires are… they’re so old they make Kamilah look gentile.

Then Marcel’s bowing beside her, and Kamilah’s eyes are cast down in her curtsy. Makes Nadya hastily grip the edges of her dress and bend her knee in something that would embarrass any actual royalty. Oh crap, are they actual vampire royalty?

Only Adrian remains standing. Which is definitely unlike him. Has Nadya looking through the curtain of her hair to see the unabashed surprise in his slack jaw.

“Domine,” Kamilah addresses curtly; stares directly into the man’s eyes as though he’s just made a threat on her life.

Instead the man in the laurel wreath gives a deep bow to Marcel.

“Young Lord Lafayette. Isseya and I were surprised to receive your invitation, and wished to apologize in person for not securing our place. I hope we’re not intruding…”

Marcel’s curls bounce with the vigor with which he shakes his head. “Non, not at all! I’m glad the invitations got to you in time.”

The woman, Isseya, laughs with her eyes more than her lips.

“Thank you for sending one for each of us, darling boy. The gesture was a kind one, and they were decadent.”  And Nadya remembers, then, the woman who brought their invite. Her stomach flips upside-down.

Nadya catches a strange noise beside her. Turns to see Adrian looking at Isseya and her companion with an expression she can’t put a word on. But she’s definitely never seen it before. It makes her lean in with a hand on his arm, ready to help how she can.

“Adrian —”

“Ah, so that is your name.” The man’s interruption makes Nadya jump — shivers running down her spine. There’s an almost erotic appraisal in his eyes as he and his companion both smile at Adrian.

“We were hoping to catch you again tonight,” and Nadya does not like the way Isseya’s words dissolve into a purr, not one bit, “Valdas —” she strokes the robed man’s arm with her fingertips, “— is not easily so impressed after a single encounter.”

Several times Adrian opens and closes his mouth in an attempt to speak. Eventually gives way to the silence when he realizes they would wait however long to hear his thoughts.

“I’m, ah, well that is to say…”

Valdas chuckles in bemusement. “Still speechless?”

“Give the poor thing a chance. You did keep him on the edge well until dawn.”

Adrian finally finds his voice — if strained. “When I agreed to join you two for… last night’s events, I wasn’t aware you were —”

“The Trinity?” Valdas supplies for him. Makes Adrian give a curt nod.

Kamilah, meanwhile, is fuming. “You spent La Soirée with the Trinity?”

“Don’t sound so pious, Kamilah. Your age surely hasn’t affected your memory so. I seem to recall…”

Isseya trails off when Valdas holds up his hand — but she doesn’t really need to say anything more. It’s all in her eyes. And Nadya’s struggle to keep up really doesn’t need the visuals.

Everything in Kamilah’s glare to Adrian screams ‘We’re not done.’

The tension is starting to make Nadya sweat and that’s the last thing she wants in a room full of people with enhanced noses. So she does the most Nadya thing she can and offers her hand out to the pair.

“Well since you all know each other I guess I’m the only one left,” she says cheerily; “I’m Nadya — Adrian’s assistant. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

She squeaks when Isseya brings her hand up to kiss the back. Feels the smolder in that immortal gaze that makes it harder to breathe than it already is. Her hand is traded off like a party favor. Valdas’ beard tickles his kiss.

“Yes… he mentioned having a mortal companion.”

“All good mentions — I hope?”

Valdas nods. “Adequate, indeed. I am Valdas of Persepolis. I present Isseya; High Priestess of Valdemaras.”

Something about the title makes Kamilah twitch — Nadya catches it out of the corner of her eye.

“Is that some Roman god they didn’t cover in the history books?”

Valdas’ eyes flash red.

“I assure you I was worshiped long before the Romans invented their feeble pantheon.”

If there’s ever a time to say “Well, this is awkward” it would be now — only she doesn’t because she prefers her head right where it is on her neck.

Luckily Marcel comes to the rescue. Pushes his way in the middle of the older vampires and grabs their hands — definitely the most uncomfortable family-style image Nadya’s ever seen — to drag them off in another direction. More guests to greet. More awkwardness to not have in their immediate vicinity.

The world narrows down like some sort of slow-motion film; Kamilah turning her heel with an entire scolding already on the tip of her tongue. Nadya looks around in a panic for something — anything — to not, and spots the most dangerous weapon of all approaching on a literal silver platter.

“Hold it!” She holds up a literal finger to pause them and makes a mad dash; returns to watch the vampires’ confusion quickly evolve into rightly-felt panic.

Kamilah looks between Nadya and her prize with pursed lips. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Giving you… uh…” should’ve thought this through better… “— a choice. I’m giving you — both of you — a choice.”

Adrian holds up his hands with caution. “Nadya, think about what you’re doing.”

“I don’t think. Come on, now. All my best ideas are complete erratic impulse.”

“I wouldn’t mark this down as one of your best.”

“What exactly is this… choice?” Kamilah asks.

Now filled with a confidence unlike any before, Nadya gives both of them a stern finger.

“Your choice is this: either you two table whatever is going on — or I eat this.”

She holds up the metal skewer in all its glory; slowly turns the handle so Kamilah and Adrian can see every gruesome detail of each of the five cubes of gourmet cheese impaled on it. She’s never been a fan of fancy cheeses; prefers her food to smell as good as it tastes which is very rarely the case with such things.

But she’s deadly serious and they know it. Especially when Adrian steps forward to take it and Nadya jerks away into the path of another server.

“Okay — okay. We’ll save it for later. I’d rather wait anyway.” He looks to Kamilah and feels his panic rise at her stubborn refusal. “Kamilah…”

“You’re going to let a mortal threaten you with something so trivial?”

He doesn’t even have to think it over. “Yes.”

Only when she looks between them and realizes their seriousness — and possibly loses a chunk of respect for both of them — does Kamilah relent.

“Fine,” with a flippant wave of her hand, “very well, whatever you must hear. But this will not go undiscussed, Adrian.”

Nadya lowers her dairy-carved threat. “Just don’t do it now. We’re gonna have a good-freakin’-time. Got it?”

Kamilah’s stuffy “Yes” and Adrian’s resigned “Okay” are enough for her. Who ever said lactose intolerance wasn’t useful?

[aether--system]

Arguments? In the DID Community? It’s more likely than you think

Don’t scroll away!!

Okay so I know this is Controversial Stuff, but please read this!

It’ll mean a lot to us.

And it’s not a mean post.

People change, and anger is reconciled. We’re now able to see this argument with more neutrality, so I’m just gonna analyze this situation, then give our opinion at the end.

The primary issue is between traumagenic systems and endogenic systems

Our definitions:

Traumagenic- comes from trauma

Endogenic- comes from within (ie, without trauma)

System- person with alters

The Traumagenics do not think the Endogenics should be in the same community as them, and should stay away from all System media. They think that the Endogenics should not exist since they claim to be trauma-free.

The Endogenics do not want to be isolated, and they continue to exist despite the Traumagenics’ displeasure. They do not know exactly how they came to be this way, but here they are.

People are starting to get real fighty about this, and it’s gotten boring and annoying, tbh. Everyone has said what they have to say, and now it’s just gone to name calling.

It’s made us (a Traumagenic) become detached from the community. A community we should feel proud of.

But now that means we can look in more on this argument and really pick at it from both sides.

So here’s our opinion; the opinion of a Liberal Arts 5th year undergrad specializing in art and psychology with a strong backing in biology:

Keep in mind, this is our opinion.

Our

Opinion.

As blunt and unusual as it is.

Not facts.

So don’t come trying to fight with us.

And for the love of Deities, don’t bring gender into this.

This is nothing like the topic of gender.

We need more research in Endogenics. Frankly, there’s no other way to put it. All we have about these people are some articles from religious hoots on a sketchy-ass website. Nobody is gonna listen to that!

I know that’s a hard pill to swallow, but we need real articles/research from people with real degrees and real credit in the field of psychology. That’s the only way that we will get both sides of this conflict to be resolved. Like a peace treaty.

We do not need more fights. Legit.

I know that there are really awful attitudes on both sides. There are extremists on both sides.

But now is a time to shut up and begrudgingly read the other’s side of the argument to learn about them. To try to see where they’re really coming from (thought pattern wise).

Additionally, we do believe that some Endogenics are actually Traumagenics who are in flippant denial of their trauma. They will come to that realization on their own and realize that they made themselves look like a total moron on social media. But, some Endogenics really do seem to press on and appear genuine. That’s made us curious. So now we’re going read some articles and websites on Endogenics to see what’s up with them. Try to gather information and stories to try to gain a better understanding of them.

And while we do that, we’re gonna be constantly hoping that a real psychologist does a real study of Endogenics, so that we don’t have to fucking do it ourselves when we get our Master’s degree.

Just stop this fucking fighting. You’re turning beautiful things ugly.

Are you wondering what you could do now?

Here’s our advice:

Traumagenics: Anger is a big part of this for you. You feel invaded, and made a joke of. Take a step back and breathe for a moment. Try to identify and examine what makes you angry, never stop asking why, even to yourselves. Once you’re sufficiently clear-minded, start to read up on the other side of this fight. See what makes them tick, but in a polite way. There’s nothing bad about looking at the other side of a fence. You can pretend you’re a spy for us, and that you’re sneaking around in enemy territory; that might make it more enticing. Please send us good articles you find!

Endogenics: I know that you do not see your alters as a disorder. However, neurotypicals do not have alters. There must be something unique in your brain that makes you the way you are! If you’re seeing a good therapist or open-minded doctor for other ailments, please consider bringing it up as a study proposal. Or tell your psychology friends to reach out to their sources! It’ll be awesome to have something solid for your side and believable for the other side of the argument. In the meantime, please understand this; these people are lashing out at you because they are angry. Try to see where that anger is coming from. People aren’t just aggressive like this, no matter how much they want to believe that they are. They’re hurting somewhere, really really badly. This is the only way they can get that hurt out currently. If you can identify that right off the bat, their anger just seems like nothing anymore. And if there are articles you know of/find, you can send them to us too! (Thank you to those who have- we like to hoard information like the dragons we are lmao)

Both: We’ve seen some serious venom on both sides, dudes. Knock it off please. Try to isolate your emotions from your logical thoughts. Irrational Trauma Anger makes everything get twisted up and weird. Remove anger from your thought equation, and you’ll have an easier time with everything. And that’s something you can apply to daily stuff too!

And please remember! You can be nice to someone you disagree with!!!! People are not completely defined by one thing they disagree on!!!

A trait you share is being “systems”. That doesn’t seem to be changing any time soon. You’ll have to coexist, even if it’s begrudgingly. We’re not saying we’re pro- or anti- anything. We’re 3rd Party on this. I’m gonna think of a really cool name for it.

(TW) Trauma Dump

-

And don’t you dare come at us with trauma minimization bullshit or calling us fake. We have vivid memories of being drugged and raped by our uncle when we were 3 years old. And don’t get me started on the psychological warfare of our parents’ lengthy divorce. We’ve been recognized and diagnosed by multiple medical professionals throughout multiple medical fields. We have pinpointed traumatic events that caused some of the central alters, and we are recovering from all this as we can.

-

(End TW)

TLDR; Chill out and try to see where your enemy’s heart lies. See who they really are; behind the anger and hissing. Learn about the other.

And don’t forget that we’re 3rd party and do not wish to fight either side here. We’re Switzerland in this! Neutral! Party! We literally will not be mean to you unless you’re mean to us! That’s a promise!

Lastly, we apologize of you’ve narrowed down which vent blog is ours. Some of us were just really angry. Nowadays it’ll mostly be just vent art that’s not proper for our main blog lol

And yes, we did write this when we were very stoned and very coconscious.

Thank you all SO. Much for reading all of this ❤️

We love you all and thank you for 2k subs on here 😍

-The Aether System

[firefeufuego]

Tag Meme Combo

Here is a combo of a few different memes, I was tagged by two of my absolute muses @canardroublard​ and @birdhapley​ (I’m including the last line meme in the ‘share some of your WIP’) 

Name: Rosemary 

Nickname: Rosie

Zodiac: Aries (on the cusp, like a boss)

Favourite musicians or bands: The Jezabels and The Killers are my all time faves. Also got a lot of time for Florence and the Machine and Lana del Rey. 

Favourite sports team: The Australian Olympic swimming team

Other blogs: firefeufuego - that’s where I post non-fandom things, usually fun jokes

Do I get asks: Sometimes, would always welcome more!

Lucky numbers: none

How many blogs do I follow: 76 - I like to be able to get through my whole feed everyday so I don’t miss anything.

What I’m wearing: Quarantine Chic (aka my pyjamas and a cardigan)

Dream vacation: A city that has many cool gardens with lots of crisp hedges. I hate looking like a tourist so somewhere I speak the language would also be ideal. Perfect companion would be someone I’m comfortable enough with to be able to tell them to go away every once in a while so I can wander while listening to music.

Dream car: A vehicle that someone else is driving

Favourite food: There is a spot inside of me that nothing but toast with vegemite and butter will ever be able to hit

Drink of choice: Milk for non-alcoholic drinks, I do love a good reposado tequila but I’ve become a bit of a G&T girl of late (I infuse the gin with this pear tea I have and it is very good)

Languages: English, French, some Spanish 

Celebrity crush: I have a bunch now that I think about it. Part of me will love Brandon Flowers as long as I live. Felicity Jones and Diego Luna (especially when he gets political) are obviously at the top of list at the moment. Special shout-out also to the Democrat’s lawyer from the impeachment inquiry, who proved that being very good at your job is sometimes the sexiest thing of all. 

Random fact: I finished my master’s degree a week ago and I am very afraid that I will not have a graduation ceremony which means I will never get to wear the hat (my uni doesn’t let undergrads wear them) so I guess now I have to go to law school.

AO3 Name: firefeufuego

Fandoms: Rogue One, my love for this movie and fandom still runs deep and true (although I just listened to the Anastasia Musical and there’s a plotbunny rattling around rather insistently there so...)

Fic you spent the most time on: I mean, technically I’ve been working on the sequel for por mas que crezca for like 2+ years but in terms of actual time spent writing, it’s easily encore

Fic you spent the least amount of time on: cake or death - my first published fic that I wrote in an evening based on a not even serious prompt by @lyresandlasers​ 

Longest fic: encore is 19,787

Shortest fic: cake or death is 977

Most hits: what a lovely way to burn at 3733 

Most kudos: same, 226

Most comment threads: encore, 61

Fave fic you wrote: Hmmm, this is a bit tough, I love all my children equally (though I don’t care for GOB). I will say that I’m quite proud of the prose in the little POV swapped version of encore’s second chapter.

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: I’m not really a rewriter, once something’s finished it’s sort of set in stone for me (which makes me terrible at editing essays let me tell you). I am in the middle of expanding on encore at the moment and I do really want to finish the follow up to por mas que crezca. 

Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning: this is from the second chapter of ‘allegrezza’ (I swear that it’s not the setup of a fight! Marshmallow fluff is what I promised and marshmallow fluff is what you’ll get)

By this point, he thought he’d already catalogued every aspect of Jyn’s beauty, that he could no longer be truly surprised by her loveliness, but it turns out he was wrong. She’s gorgeous — with her hair loose and streaming in the wind, her smile bright and her body moving with the easy command that comes from being home — more than that, she looks like she belongs here.

Her love for this place rings clear in every word and he realizes with a pang of guilt that he’d never considered that her moving to New York might be a sacrifice. 

[rookieinbflat]

New Territory, 2

Open Heart - Ethan x MC (Levin Stern)

Summary: Ethan navigates a day of activities with an difficult yet endearing eight-year-old.

@writerapprentice

WC: ~2500

Thank God they had showered and gotten dressed before going to bed last night. Ethan had stayed true to his promise, and they had sex on almost every flat surface in the apartment last night, but now in the morning light, when he rolled over to gather Levin in his arms, where he would normally find her shoulders he instead found a small set of feet. Furrowing his eyebrows, he pushes himself up onto his elbows and gently pulls back the comforter, sunlight is streaming through the half-opened blinds and he can make out the small form of an annoyingly endearing eight-year-old lying between him and Levin, upside down.

He rubs his eyes before softly rustling her, “Isa, what are you doing sleeping upside down?” Ethan asks softly, and she almost robotically sits up before lying back down with her head on the pillow this time, she’s sucking her thumb and her eyes are still closed, Ethan gently pulls her hand away from her face, he’s determined for her to kick the thumb sucking habit by the end of this weekend.

“I had a bad dream, that room is scary cause it’s so big,” Isa mumbles and pulls Ethan’s arm back down so she can use his arm as a pillow and nestle into his side, like Levin, she’s a cuddler.

Ethan lies back down and pets her hair, he looks over to see that it’s only six thirty, they can sleep for a couple more hours before they get started for the day. Neither Ethan nor Levin could remember the last time they had a sleep in, or a whole weekend to themselves, well, almost to themselves. Between the two of them on the diagnostics team, Levin taking every professional development opportunity available to her and Ethan researching for his next book, the time between them had been stretched quite thin. Levin couldn’t even remember the last weekend they were both in the same city, she had been travelling so much she keeps an already packed bag in the wardrobe for convenience. They had spoken to Naveen and gotten the whole weekend off to look after Isa and they planned to make the most of it. The agenda is breakfast at Short Street, a morning spent at the aquarium, lunch in the park and then a movie. If Isa is anything like Levin at the aquarium, he’s in for a big day.

Levin turns over and reaches across Isa to squeeze Ethan’s arm, “She crawled in at around midnight,” she chuckles softly, her brown eyes twinkling with mischief, “though I’m not exactly sure when she decided to sleep upside down,”

Ethan stretches the arm that Isa is lying across to reach out and brushes Levin’s cheek softly, “I put the nightlight on for her,” Ethan says softly, “I bought that nightlight from the planetarium, she loved it,” Levin smiled fondly when he came home complaining of the prices at the museum gift store, he was so worked up about the blatant monetisation in science she thought a vein was going to burst.

“Nuh uh,” Isa pipes up from between them, “the constellations aren’t even right,” Levin purses her lips and tries to hold in a laugh as Ethan looks shocked, being told off by an eight-year-old is surely a first for him. Levin can't remember the last time she saw Ethan at a loss for words, he always knew what to say to his bosses, interns, patients, but this little three-foot-nothing mess had completely stumped him.

“Isa,” Levin pushes some hair from the over her eyes, “how about you take Jenner and Pascale to your room and get a bit more sleep before we head to the aquarium? I need to take a shower so I’m not all smelly and scare the fish off,” Take the bait kiddo, she thinks to herself, go and watch cartoons in bed. Isa happily agrees, she loves having the dogs sleep in the spare bed with her, and she’s already figured out how to operate Nick Jnr on the television in the spare room. She plants a big kiss on Levin’s cheek before walking out of the room, dragging a stuffed seal toy she always took with her on trips.

Levin quickly got up and locked the door, this babysitting was really bringing out some primal instinct in the two of them, they couldn’t wait to jump each other’s bones at any given chance. She jumps back on the bed and straddles Ethan, holding his hands over his head, “We’ve got about forty minutes before she gets bored,” Levin leans down and starts to lay kisses on his neck, nipping at the skin there as he runs his hands up the back of her thighs and rests them on her rear.

She rolls her hips against his own and she can feel him hardening against her, “I only need twenty for what I’m planning to do you,” he growls and squeezes her bum before moving his hands up to remove her top, leaving her in just boxer shorts. He aptly rolls them over and pins her beneath him, pushing down her shorts before returning to kiss her, running his tongue along the inside of her lip.

—————

“No, no, no, its nine am, you’re not getting chicken fingers,” Ethan slams the menu down on the table in front of him, Isa is sitting across from him and looks up in a treacherous stare, her brows furrowing, they’ve been going at this for five minutes. They stare at each other for a long time, Ethan’s face is deadpan serious, his fists are clenched and Isa looks like she’s about to set the whole place on fire.

“Chicken is healthy, its got good stuff,” she retorts, she’s stopped colouring now, engaged in this stare off.

Levin is sitting next to Isa, reading a book propped up against the centrepiece while sipping on a smoothie, she’s aware of the situation but doesn’t want to get involved, they’re both as stubborn as each other. Ethan breaks first, looking away from Isa and over to Levin, his icy blue eyes pleading. Help me, Levin, they say, this kid is crazy, he wants to say. Levin sits her book down on the table and picks up the menu, looking over options that Isa might be interested in, but once she’s made her mind up, it pretty hard to change it.

“How about some pancakes?” Levin suggests and points the option out on the menu, Isa shrugs indifferently, looking back down to her colouring, Levin pushes and picks up a purple pencil to draw a small butterfly on the corner of the page, “It says that it comes with whipped cream and strawberries,” take the bait kiddo.

“Okay, I’ll have the pancakes,”

Levin, 1. Ethan, 0. Levin smirks as Ethan’s jaw drops, he’s not used to being shown up by anyone, but this child is giving him a run for his money.

“Those pancakes will have ridiculous amounts of fructose in them, not to mention, how do we know the fruit is sustainable and non-GMO?” Ethan leans over the table and whispers to Levin, but she’s not paying any attention.

Levin reaches across the table and squeezes his hand, “Ethan, turn doctor mode off for a little bit,” she tells him gently, “just enjoy the weekend, I’m sure Isa won't die from a few irresponsibly farmed fruits,”

She says this to him a lot, Ethan, let go. Ethan, chill out. Ethan, wind down. It used to infuriate him to no end, it always seemed that she was condescending him when she said that. She said it like it's so simple like his brain is just a switch he can flick from an overbearing, over-ambitious doctor, to wild, reckless, hooligan. Then, Ethan realised, she knows it’s not easy, its a battle she struggles with every day, work mode, friend mode, home mode. All the different aspects of Levin’s personality that she tries to keep in a perfectly calibrated economy, but now, she was learning to embrace the unknown, to relax and stop worrying about the things she can't control. It was never easy, she knew that, but Levin also knew that Ethan wouldn’t try if he wasn’t pushed. Levin studied psychology in her undergrad degree, a discipline she’d been interested in since she was young. One night when they had first started dating, they were laid in bed and she opened up to him and Ethan realised why, she told stories about her mothers’ struggle with post-partum depression, her brothers bi-polar, and her own diagnosis with anxiety and borderline personality disorder. She was not looking for pity, nor did she say anything to suggest she was complaining. Levin looked back at her past with the idea that everything that happened made her the person she was today, and Ethan wouldn’t want his gorgeous Rookie any other way.

The waitress comes over to take their orders, Levin orders goats cheese and truffle mushrooms on toast, Ethan orders a vegetable chilli scramble and a double shot of espresso - he’s going to need it today. Ethan talks to Isa about his theories for his new book on diagnostic medicine, Isa pretends like she can understand a word he’s saying. They’re sharing a colouring page, two dogs chasing after a ball. Working on activities together always forces children to get along, Levin thinks to herself before returning to her book. Ethan looks up from the collar he’s colouring red and finds Levin looking at him with a small smile and he wonders what his Rookie is thinking about, he’s thinking about how much he loves her.

Just when Levin thinks she’s in the clear, there’s a three minute argument over Isa pouring more than a tablespoon of syrup over her pancakes, “It’s the syrup or the cream, Isa, I’m not playing games here - you can’t have both,” Ethan has his brows furrowed once again and Isa holds the bottle of syrup over her stack of pancakes almost threateningly.

Levin kicks him under the table and he lets out a quiet yelp, shooting a pointed glance across the table.

‘What was that for?’ He mouths silently, Levin raises her eyebrows and gestures towards Isa and her threat of syrup.

“Alright, I’ll strike a deal with you here,” Ethan turns back to Isa calmly and she gives him a confused look, “you can have more syrup on your pancakes, but you’re not allowed to have any soda at the aquarium,”

Isa thinks about it and puts the syrup down, “Nah, I want a big frozen drink when we go to the movies,” the word comes out sounding like moobies, she’s still struggling with her ‘v’ sounds.

Levin sighs, another crisis averted... for now.

—————

Levin and Ethan had survived the trip to the aquarium, well, maybe more Ethan had survived the trip to the aquarium. Levin and Isa had dragged him through every inch of the place, they could name every fish, every species of coral, every spec of dust in the tanks in front of them. Ethan had watched on in awe at Levin’s childlike wonder, they’d been there plenty of times before but each time was just as special as the last. He loved his beautiful fiancé with every cell in his body, he loved watching her love of the sea come to life when they were at the aquarium when she rattled off random facts in his ear, he thought his life couldn’t get any better.

For lunch, they sat under the warm sun, it was too cold in the shade and Boston had blessed them with a cloudless weekend in the bay. Levin laid with her head in Ethan’s lap, reading a novel about a conversation between a scientist and a monk about the meaning of life, Ethan flicked through a medical journal on his phone, Isa laid on her stomach, colouring in a super-duper-top-secret drawing that no one was allowed to see.

Now, Levin was getting Isa ready for bed, she had just had a bubble bath in their ridiculously oversized tub that could probably fit five people. Levin sat at the foot of their bed braiding Isa’s hair, trying to be gentle as Isa bounced around like a chihuahua on crack. “When I get old, I wanna have a big farm and I’m gonna have fifty dogs!” Isa tells the pair cheerily, she throws her arms out to the side, scaring poor Jenner, who’s not used to this level of energy in the house, “I’m gonna have a whole bunch of huskies,” she rattles on.

“While that sentiment is lovely Isa, I think you’re going to be very shocked at the associated veterinary bills,” Ethan ponders without looking up from his phone and Levin leans back to smack him on the chest. Of course, he is going to burst an eight-year-olds bubble with the serious realities of adult life.

Levin looks over at Isa sincerely, “I think that sounds freaking awesome and I am going to visit you all the time,” Levin loves dogs, she would have ten if she could, “alright your hair is done, it’s time for bed. Cmon, I’ll tuck you in,”

Isa shoots up from the floor, “No! I want Ethan to tuck me in,” it sounds more like ‘Eefan’ than it does anything else.

Levin turns back to a slightly shocked Ethan, but he recovers quickly, placing his phone down on the side table and rising off the bed. She puts the hairbrush on the dresser and watches as Isa grabs Ethan’s hand and leads him to tuck her into bed.

As Ethan is tucking her into bed and putting on the nightlight, Isa reaches into her rucksack beside the bed, pulls out a sheet of paper and hands it to the doctor. Ethan recognises it as the menu from the cafe this morning, he’s about to ask Isa why she kept it when he turns the page over to find her top-secret drawing from earlier. It’s a picture of the five of them - Levin and Ethan with Isa between the two, all holding hands, and Jenner and Pascale on either side.

Ethan tucks Isa in and leaves a soft kiss on her hair, “Thanks, Isa, I think I’m going to put this one on the fridge,” she smiles and rolls over in bed.

He walks out into the kitchen and places the picture underneath their schedules, it almost feels like it's his own daughters drawing that he’s sticking up on the stainless steel appliance. Ethan had never thought about having a family. When he began his career in medicine, he had accepted that the hospital was going to be his only family. When he met Levin, he had grown fond of the idea that she would be his family for the rest of his life. Now they were looking after Isa and he knew he wanted more, he wanted a family of his own.

[iggzayveeur]

das Buch

My postdoc year at Emory has been… interesting. I’ve made friends, which is good. I had been worried about this. And I’ve learned a bit more about what it means to be an academic. I am not quite sure who to blame for my lack of orientation in academe. I feel compelled to move in a certain direction, to make steady ‘progress’ on my research and to funnel my attention into my ‘book project.’ It still feels very odd to say it aloud: “I am writing a book.” Not a novel or some sort of epic poem. A ‘book.’

I became an academic because I had, in my eyes, failed as a writer. I spent my teenage years trying to prove to myself that I had an inkling of creative talent. If I only kept at it, writing consistently and hungrily, I would eventually, by random chance, perhaps, write something decent. From a young age, I believed in the cult of the individual genius and his meritocratic talent. To be a writer, like F Scott Fitzgerald or James Baldwin or Chinua Achebe, a person simply had to write good stories. Literature was simply “good” writing. In high school, I had some minor successes. A poem of mine was published in the school literary journal, Guildscript.  I had, somehow, beaten smarter and sharper writers to become the opinions editor of the school newspaper, and I used this power to grant myself a private soapbox. In college, my relationship to writing radically changed. Several negative experiences — which in hindsight should not have been so traumatic — changed my relationship to my writing. I became alienated from my voice; I stopped writing poetry and started writing prose. But I found the prose forms too limiting. Short stories were too restrictive, and novels were too prolix. I liked the novella form, but the internet told me that novellas do not sell. Stuck and frustrated, I gave up creative writing, and became a literary critic.

I exaggerate a touch when I say I “gave up creative writing.” It is true that nothing I produced had the same kind of imaginative thrust or innocence as my college-day novellas, as confessional and cloyingly melancholic as they were. I had been running a blog from my junior year of college (~Oct 2015). There, I liked to write about all sorts of things. Sometimes arts and literary criticism, or reviews of films I had watched, or think pieces about experiences I had had at school. The blog became increasingly confessional as I transitioned from undergrad to graduate school. As my anxiety disorder developed from being an occasionally debilitating nuisance to a fierce but loyal presence, half-devil and half-helper, my blog became a place for me to work through my problems out loud. If I could narrate my issues, I thought, I could understand the structure of my feelings and better grasp the plot of my unacknowledged desires. By writing a blog, I could subject myself to a cruelly liberating form of analysis and self-reflection. Self-scrutiny is an exquisite kind of torture. Shame is truly a bottomless source of energy.

I stopped blogging when it became a chore to write. By the end of my third year in grad school (~June 2020), I was tired of talking. The pandemic had stranded me in my tiny apartment with only my thoughts. All that time indoors left me bored and sore of my own over-serious tone. My preferred form began to change at this point. I took a break from prose, setting aside a project I had just begun to develop, with an empty promise that I would one day return to it. I focused my efforts on the “academic article” form in preparation for my impending job market run. Articles are a slippery form to master without any real guidance. Don’t get me wrong, my advisor — ever-giving as she is — gave me feedback. In fact, she gave (and gives) me a lot of feedback. But my time in Yale Comp Lit was mostly self-directed. I am not a self-made man, but in many ways my intellectual methodology has been cobbled together from a variety of different, at times normatively antithetical traditions and contexts. What an ‘article’ looks like changes across my various inter-disciplines. As an ‘undisciplined’ scholar, learning the ropes of the academic article form meant years of trial and error, of tweaking and manipulating my voice and paring down my tendency towards obfuscating language. It was a new kind of self-scrutiny but this pain was never a source of pleasure. 

My dissertation became the only thing I could think about for two years. I attempted to write it like a book, but this was silly. I did not (and still do not) know what it means to write a book, or how a book gets written. In reality, I wrote my dissertation as a dissertation. I felt the need to demonstrate a kind of expertise in my dissertation that never felt appropriate with my scholarly agenda. I rejected the concept of the literary critic as a kind of canonical expert or authority, while also understanding that by referring to myself as an ‘Africanist’ or ‘postcolonial critic’ or ‘Black Atlanticist,’ I was invariably establishing myself as some sort of expert on these things. My dissertation is burdened by a need to affect a shallow notion of rigor. As a theorist, I found myself trying to force my texts to speak to a problem perhaps only tangentially interesting to their authors. As a critic, however, I found myself trying to explain the authors’ intentions through careful close readings that, in my opinion, took up too much space while feeling shallow. I won’t say my dissertation was crap, but I will say this: I spent a lot of time confusing the form I was invariably writing (“the dissertation”) for the form I thought I was writing (“the book”).

This year, I’ve decided to take a breather from “the book.” I do not doubt that it will get written between now and the next few years. There are, after all, two things I know about myself: 1) I tend to work well with deadlines 2) I enjoy the act of writing. I’ve decided to start this blog because I’d like to give myself a space to continue writing and working on my craft. This will be a space of low-stakes criticism, hopefully published on a weekly or semi-weekly basis. My goal is to develop my voice and to find an expressive idiom that feels organic (enough).