#no more clinical time except moonlighting time which pays me

[doctorweebmd]

Hey today I officially finished my 2nd year of fellowship meaning I’m entering my research year aka the fuck around and find out era

[i-am-too-sick]

Midnight Malady (1/?)

@nerdlycharming was kind enough to indulge my mighty need to stab whump Quinn, and he agreed to do another collab with me! This one is a little different from our usual fics. We're always filtering questions for our boys, so feel free to ask if you have any!

Word count: ~3200

Once his coworkers all went home, Quinn was the last employee at the clinic. It was late, nearly midnight, and after working his second shift, Quinn just wanted to get home, shower and have dinner, and then snuggle up on the couch with his boyfriend.

He restocked the medicine cabinet, set out new sign-in forms at the front desk, and made sure all the lights in the exam rooms were turned off.

The campus outside the building was shrouded in darkness, the few street lights doing little to combat the all encompassing night. Quinn turned around to lock the door behind him, sighing at the long walk and bus ride that awaited him when he was finished.

“BOO!” came a sudden voice behind him, grabbing him from behind and cackling.

Quinn nearly jumped out of his skin, a sharp gasp escaping him as he lost his grip on the keys in his hand and they clattered to the floor.

Michael stood there, cackling like a mad man with a rose in one hand and a bag of take-out in the other. “Special delivery.” He beamed at him, holding out the rose to him.

Michael just grinned wider and came closer. “I came to give you this and perhaps have a romantic, Chinese takeaway, midnight picnic with you in the light of the full moon.” He pressed a kiss to Quinn’s lips, feeling confidence swell through him as it always did when he did these surprise romantic gestures.

Their campus was decently safe and especially in this area because of the nearby hospital and police precinct. He figured they'd be perfectly fine having their little picnic on the grassy circle across from the clinic.

Quinn melted when Michael kissed him. There was absolutely no way he could ever be upset about this. As much as he'd wanted to go home, somehow, this was so much better.

“And what would you have done if your little stunt caused me to have a heart attack?” he asked, looking down at the keys that he'd dropped.

Michael shrugged with a smile, “There's a hospital down the street.” He spoke nonchalantly and giggled. “I wasn't actually planning to scare you, though, but I couldn't miss the opportunity!”

He picked up Quinn's keys and handed them back to him along with the rose. “It took a little longer than usual at the Chinese restaurant—apparently it’s an unusual request to have them put pork in a heart shape in the rice?” He giggled and Quinn knew that Michael had actually asked them to do this.

Quinn took the rose, a deep red, and brought it toward his face. He hummed, taking in the flowery aroma. “Mm, yeah, that's probably not an everyday request,” he said absently. He was absolutely enamored at the thought of Michael coming to pick him up from work, laden with sweet gifts.

He look Michael's hand, swinging it lightly between them. “Are you sure you don't want to take this home?” he asked, referring to their meal. “It's kind of...dark...out here.”

“Don't worry, my love, I'll protect you!” Michael declared cheesily.

It was a laughable statement in general. Because even though they were the same height, Michael was practically only half as heavy as Quinn was. He seemed frail, near sickly even when he was perfectly healthy. He was generally pale and when he was shirtless you could count his every rib. He looked like Captain America before the super-soldier serum.

“We don't have to if you don't want to, I just thought it would be fun!” He didn't sound disappointed, but rather seeming excited about the idea even though Quinn didn't seem nearly as into it.

Quinn had never been particularly good about denying Michael what he wanted, and this time was no exception. He smiled, strolling over to the grassy area across from the clinic. It was a popular hangout spot during the day, but it wasn't often people came there at night. Still, it looked beautiful, the patch of grass bathed in moonlight.

“All right, you win,” he said. “Just don't blame me when you're too tired to go to your classes tomorrow morning.”

“I already cancelled, said I had an appointment.” He winked and waggled his eyebrows suggestively as if to say this wasn't the only trick up his sleeve.

He set his backpack down and started pulling things out for their date. He spread a blanket across the ground and stuck some tiny tiki torches into the dirt, lighting them quickly before turning back to his boyfriend. He patted the ground beside himself and smiled.

The greatest part about this whole thing was the fact that it wasn't for anything in particular. Which meant Michael had just randomly decided to do this just to make Quinn smile.

“Sit, enjoy, and relax.” He said, pulling a Crab-Rangoon out of a bag and munching on it. He was practically glowing from the moonlight and the amount of confidence he was feeling, a welcomed sight given how timid and nervous Michael usually was. This confident swagger was something he only got around Quinn.

Quinn snorted, sitting down on the blanket and crossing his legs. He pulled an egg roll out of their takeout container and took a bite, savoring the taste. He was a simple person with simple tastes and pleasures, and Michael's stunt was ridiculous, but Quinn loved it. The spontaneity was what really struck him and it was a welcomed gesture after the long day he'd had.

“I can't believe you planned all this,” he said, disbelieving. “Thank you.”

A noise in the distance caught his attention, but he ignored it, taking it for a bird or a squirrel flitting through the bushes. He was too caught up in the moment to care about anything else.

Michael hadn't heard the sound and just went on snacking and smiling. He wondered how someone could be so beautiful even while eating an egg roll, you'd think it impossible, but here they were, and here he was. He was too enamoured with Quinn's beauty and the feelings he caused to pay attention to anything else.

“I love you.” Michael said simply, reaching out and taking Quinn's hand, kissing it gently.

“I love you too,” Quinn breathed, leaning forehead and kissing Michael deeply.

The noise sounded again and someone in a dark hoodie staggered into view. He looked dirty and disheveled, like he'd been outside a long time. His face was thin and gaunt, his eyes dark and somewhat vacant.

Quinn had seen that look before, the man's appearance reminiscent to someone on drugs or having had several too many glasses of alcohol. Even though his body was uncoordinated, his limbs moving like he didn't quite know how to use them, he came toward them with a sick kind of determination.

“Hey…” he rasped hollowly. Something in the man’s voice was eerie enough to send an involuntary shudder down Quinn's spine.

He felt Michael's body shift and press in front of his own. Hearing him speak before he could tell him anything.

“Uh… hello…” Michael stammered. “uh… can we help you?” He took in the disheveled appearance of the man and wondered if maybe he was just hungry, still, fear made him quiet, waiting for the guy to respond.

The man didn't respond immediately and that quickly left Quinn feeling on edge. He felt the sudden urge to get up and bolt out of there, but they had all this stuff now—it would be nearly impossible to collect it all and get away fast enough.

“What are you doing?” the man asked, taking another sloppy foot forward.

Quinn tensed, flinching away from the man as he made a wavering attempt to come closer.

Michael gathered himself to stand, only getting to his knees but still blocking Quinn's body with his own. “W-we're on a date…” his voice certainly didn't show the same protective conviction that his body did.

The man came closer and stuck a grimy, dirt-covered hand in their box of food, pulling out a few egg rolls and popping one into his mouth. He slipped the remaining few into his pocket for later.

Quinn felt sick. It would be a long time, he decided, until he was able to so much as look at Chinese food without immediately feeling repulsed. He still didn't know what this guy wanted, but something about his presence gave Quinn a bad feeling.

Michael was stunned and equally as repulsed as his boyfriend and failed not to show it on his face.

Apparently the man did not care for the way Michael was looking at him because he started screaming nonsense at them and stumbling forward, mostly directing his words at Michael.

Michael stood up in response, he was shorter than the stranger and though the man was probably homeless, Michael was still very clearly tinier.

“We don't want any trouble, man, just take the food!” His voice didn't shake anymore, though Quinn could tell Michael was terrified, and so was he.

Calling for campus police didn't even cross Quinn's mind in that moment. He stood with Michael, his knees trembling with fear. He grabbed the back of Michael's shirt and tugged it gently. “Let's just get out of here,” he whispered urgently, desperate to put as much space as possible between them and the stranger.

Michael nodded, starting to back away, “Grab my bag and run, I won't be able to do both.” True enough, Michael was horribly uncoordinated and would probably only be able to run away.

That only antagonized the stranger more, though, and he started screaming at Michael and grabbing something from his pocket.

“Run, Quinn!” Michael shrieked, eyes darting around for any sign of someone to help them.

Quinn hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until Michael yelled, startling him out of his terrified trance. He ducked to pick up the backpack, stumbling a bit as his brain struggled to catch up with his feet.

He'd seen the man reaching into the front of his hoodie and Quinn could only pray he didn't have a gun. He didn't try to glance over his shoulder—Michael's heavy footsteps and ragged breathing were reassurance enough for him. But the stranger was hot on their heels, shouting and hurling obscenities their way.

The sound of a scream and a solid smack stopped Quinn in his tracks. He turned to see Michael hunched slightly, holding his face. He shouted Michael’s name, but it did no good. He could only watch in horror as his boyfriend took another few blows to the face and a knee to his stomach.

Michael fell to the ground in a sickening heep, and the assailant began kicking him repeatedly in the ribcage.

“No…” Quinn's voice was weak, hoarse as he watched helplessly. They were several feet behind him, a good indicator that Michael had not been right behind him like he had originally thought.

After sending a few well-aimed kicks toward Michael's torso, the hooded man crouched down, reaching again for something in his front pocket.

Something in Quinn snapped in that moment. The jelly-like consistency of his legs ceased immediately and adrenaline surged through him. “No! Stop!!” he screamed, his voice much stronger now. He didn't know what he was doing until he was doing it, his body hurtling forward, throwing himself over Michael's crumpled form right as the man withdrew his hand from his pocket.

A second later Quinn thought he'd been punched, a sharp and piercing pain erupting at his flank just beneath his ribs. The stranger cursed angrily, withdrawing the blade from Quinn's side, and taking off back into the darkness.

For another moment it was eerily quiet, save for their ragged breathing and a few quiet whimpers that seemed to be coming from one of them. Quinn's side was on fire, and it hurt just to breathe. He must have really been decked by that guy.

“Michael,” he said, shaking his shoulder slightly. His boyfriend had many scrapes and bruises, but from what Quinn could outwardly see, Michael looked decent enough, despite the beating he'd just taken. Of course, Quinn was still pretty shaken himself, his eyes unable to properly focus. “Please, Michael. He's gone, and I want to go home.”

Michael was slow to rouse, but Quinn finally managed it. His left eye was already beginning to swell and darken, and it hurt to try to open his eyes at all or breathe for that matter. It was hard for him to think and he felt like he was fishing his memories out of a pit of tar before he could piece them together again.

Upon recall, he felt adrenaline course through him with renewed passion as he scanned around them in a panic. He didn't hear Quinn's weak assurances that they were safe. At first it was because all he could hear was the blood in his ears as he continued to panic, but then he noticed the growing stain on Quinn's scrubs.

“Q…” he breathed, nearly unable to find the words to use. He was hurt… bad... that's… too much… too much blood…

All he could do was point, shock and a mild concussion making his words nearly unattainable. “Quinn...He stabbed you…” he finally managed.

Quinn looked down at himself. Even through the darkness, it was easy to make out the dark stain on his blue scrubs. Hesitantly, he lifted his shirt, revealing a long, deep puncture wound near his belly, blood running freely and in great quantity down his side.

His face drained of color as he pressed his hand against the injury. He'd never been particularly good with handling large amounts of blood. His breathing grew choppy and uneven as he started to hyperventilate, a few tears running unhindered down his cheeks. This was it. He was dying.

With speed he didn't know he had, Michael whipped out his phone and dialed 911, awkwardly pressing against the wound. “Stay with me Q...stay with me.” Tears stung his eyes and flowed freely down his cheeks. He was about to lose the man he loved and it was like he couldn't do anything about it.

Quinn sat down hard on the ground, all resistance leaving his body. The grass was cold and wet with dew, or maybe blood. He felt dizzy and lightheaded, his side throbbing and seeping with more blood onto his hand and in between his fingers.

“M…” he started, reaching out for Michael. His vision was tunneling, the sound of blood rushing loudly in his ears. “Morphine. I'm allergic…to morphine.” He wasn't even entirely sure Michael was still on the phone, but he figured he ought to let someone know on the off chance he made it to the hospital and didn't die here on the grass.

It felt like a million years before someone picked up the line once Michael dialed the right numbers, but he could hardly focus on talking to the woman on the other end.

“You're okay, Quinn, just stay with me!” he begged, sobbing hard now as he pressed harder on the stab wound. He tried his best not to gag at the feeling of blood flowing over his finger tips. He didn't do well around blood either.

Quinn began to feel overwhelmingly tired, like he just couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. He hadn't realized how much blood he lost, but it had to have been a lot. He let himself close his eyes, the pressure of his hand against the wound letting up significantly, allowing more red to ooze into the fabric of his clothes. He slumped against his boyfriend, too weak to hold himself upright.

He felt Michael's hand against his side, and the pressure was reassuring. Just having Michael here made the whole situation somehow more bearable.

Suddenly, Quinn could feel his body move again, pain exploding from his side and radiating all the way to the tips of his limbs. When the pain subsided enough for him to take in information once more, he was laying flat on the ground and Michael had a great amount of pressure on his side, and he was saying something, something important.

Michael sobbed, “Wake up! Please, Quinn! Please wake up!”

Tears were hitting Quinn’s face and, for just a moment, he thought it had started to rain. His eyelids fluttered open, his gaze faraway and distant, though he seemed to be able to focus on Michael after a few moments. He gave his boyfriend’s arm a soft squeeze because he wasn't strong enough to reach up and wipe the tears that were rolling down his cheeks.

His fingers were slick with his own blood against Michael's arm, and even with his brain addled and sleepy with blood loss, he hoped Michael wasn't upset that he'd gotten their clothes dirty.

“I love you,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. His grip on Michael was starting to slacken, and his body felt weightless as he lied there on the cold, wet earth.

A louder sob tore through the air and more tears fell on Quinn's face.

“Don't you start that shit! You're not dying on me right now!” Michael all but shouted, screaming for help again before turning back to Quinn, petting his hair back haphazardly with the hand not putting pressure on the stab wound.

He could hear sirens in the distance now, “I love you, Quinn. Stay with me, they're almost here, they're almost here…!” Why were they so slow? Didn't they know Quinn was dying?

Maybe it was because of the blood oozing steadily out of his side, but Quinn felt completely relaxed. He was with Michael, his boyfriend running his hand over his hair. It was one of Quinn's favorite sensations, and his eyes closed easily from the familiar feeling. He was so tired and it was easy to just fall asleep and let himself fade into unconsciousness. If he was dying, at least he was in the arms of someone that he loved.

Things were hazy after that. Though he couldn't find the strength to move or even open his eyes, he heard a cacophony of voices hovering over him. He and Michael weren't alone anymore, but Quinn could tell from their tones, though his hearing was muddled, that they didn't mean either of them any harm.

After another moment, Quinn felt himself being taken from Michael's arms. All he could do was wince, his brows furrowing as he let out a pained moan, and then he was being moved, lifted onto something hard and uncomfortable. His shirt was being ripped away with shears, and then he must have passed out completely because later, he couldn't remember anything from that point on.

[haveyouseenmymind]

Couch cuddles

Just a short McKirk drabble I wrote for @medicatemedrmccoy this afternoon. She knows why. ;)

Fandom: Star Trek AOS

Pairing: McKirk

Rating: Gen

Warnings: none

Words: 646

Jim falls asleep on his boyfriend.

Jim felt someone shaking him, but he tried to ignore it. He felt too good to get up, as his head was resting on the comfiest pillow he had ever slept on.

But the shaking wouldn’t stop, so with a defeated sigh he gave up on his slumber, turned around from his right side to lay on his back and find out why he was disturbed.

He opened his eyes, to look up at Bones scowling at him. Huh, apparently he had fallen asleep on his lap. That explained a lot, especially why his boyfriend was giving him his best look of being annoyed.

“You know Jim, sorry that my company is so boring for you. But if I remember right, it was you who wanted to watch that damn movie.”

The blond said nothing, his brain still not fully freed from the fuzzy haze of sleep. He just let Bones ramble on and turned his head, still lying on the comfy lap, into the direction of the screen, where he had missed at least half of the movie now.

Oh yeah, now he remembered. Both of them had been so busy lately with courses and studying, Bones even more with his additional shifts at the clinic.

They had hardly seen each other in the last weeks, except for maybe a few lunch breaks, some hours of studying for the courses they had together, and a few nights of being crammed together in beds that were barely made for even one person.

Jim, relatively new to the whole thing of being in a relationship, was surprised how much this had bothered him. He thought he was ok with having some time alone, but he had felt really miserable lately, just because he missed Bones so much.

So for the first Friday night, where neither of them had any other commitments, Jim declined when the brunet asked him if he wanted to go out and get a drink. Bones of course was surprised, his eyebrow dancing up nearly into his hairline had told Jim as much, even though the man himself didn’t say a thing.

So they decided to just relax on the couch in Bones’ tiny apartment, and put on a movie. During which Jim apparently had somehow fallen asleep on his boyfriend’s lap.

Not the worst way to spend an evening, though Bones seemed to have a different opinion.

“Come on you infant, lets get you to bed. Did you sleep at all in the last days?”

But Jim didn’t want to move away from the couch, he finally had Bones for himself again and moving away from him for even a second now wouldn’t do any good.

He didn’t care if he was too clingy, so he moved out of Bones lap, but instead of getting up, like the other man wanted, he shuffled around to get closer to the grumbling doctor.

In the end Bones was forced to lay down on the couch completely, with Jim draped halfway over his body, while the rest of him was squished between the brunet and the back of the way too tiny couch.

He tried getting up, to shove the blond away, but Jim just clung tighter to him, so that he could barely breathe, let alone move.

Any further attempts would be in vain, if Jim had set his mind on napping there on the couch and using his boyfriend as his pillow, he’d surely get what he wanted.

In the end Bones gave up and accepted his fate.

“If I have a crick in my back tomorrow, you’re gonna pay for it, kid.”

And even though Bones kept on grousing, he stroked his hand through Jim’s hair, who just smiled softly into the brunet’s chest.

Lying here like this, that was perfect and all he wanted for now.

He could care about tomorrow later.

tags: @thevalesofanduin @medicatemedrmccoy @toosouthernforspace @reading-in-moonlight @feelmyroarrrr @0dannyphantom0 @eyeofdionysus @bsotstory @neon-green-bra @mishacolyte

If anybody else wants to be added to or removed from my tag list, or has special wishes for being tagged, just let me know. :)

[singingrass-archive]

05 NOVEMBER, 2022. Following reports of gunfire at 21:09 hours, unknown male is discovered in a Los Angeles motel room with gunshot wound to the chest and is declared dead by first responders at 21:13 hours. Coroner’s report states as follows:

Caucasian male; estimated age early 50s; height 6’7” (200.6 cm); weight 240 pounds (109 kg). Ginger hair, cropped, grey at temples. Short beard. Tattoo, right forearm: rifle identified as an Accuracy International AW50. Tattoo, right wrist: text, all-caps, sans-serif: WHERE YOU GO, I FOLLOW. In poor quality and appears to be home-made. Tattoo, ribcage right: text, two lines, cursive: Hounds don’t lose sleep / over the opinion of sheep. Tattoo, left shoulder: graphic crest depicting a three-headed dog engulfed in flames. Colors: black, red, orange, yellow, grey. Possibly military insignia. Tattoo, chest left: a banner wrapped around two poppies. Banner reads, all-caps, sans-serif: BUT I HAVE AN RENDEZVOUS WITH DEATH. Colors: red, brown, green, black. Most tattoos at least twenty years old except for wrist tattoo, which appears to be less than five years old. Back riddled with scars, shoulders to buttocks; count varies (178; 189; 182). Scar age varies; some fresh, some healed, some old. Old abdominal scar, below and to the left of the navel, appears to have been caused by a sharp, round object; possibly broken bottle. Six elongated scars along right hip and thigh; incompletely healed wound over right knee. All at least twenty years old. Old scar tissue at the tip of each finger; possibly burns; no fingerprints. Dental records do not exist. DNA testing does not match anyone with prior offenses or arrests. Found with several identification papers (3 driver’s licenses, 3 passports, 6 different identities); all determined forged. Contents of stomach are canned kidney beans in tomato sauce. Evidence of sertraline, THC and large amounts of modafinil and morphine in blood, suggesting recent use of cannabis, painkillers, antidepressants and wakefulness-promoting drugs; possibly self-medicating. Evidence of prolonged substance abuse and possibly 2-3 decades of smoking. Cause of death: bullet through heart at zero range. Scene of death, evidence of gunpowder residue on right-hand fingers and angle of wound suggest suicide.

17 APRIL, 2021. Last known contact is made with the individual known as the Mercenary. Decades after his disappearance, a small handful of people will reveal themselves as having been his former contacts. This, reportedly, is the last day anyone has ever heard from him. It will appear no more than ten people worldwide knew the individual known as the Mercenary personally or met him more than once in the course of their lives.

15 FEBRUARY, 2013. The individual known as the Mercenary appears to go completely radio-silent for four to six months (exact dates remain unknown). This is presumably due to injuries sustained past to falling (or being pushed) out of a third-story window in near the marketplace of Istanbul, Turkey.

22 AUGUST, 2001. A computer and life hacker known only to be part of Anonymous deletes multiple records of the existence of a single human being; both digital and hard copies. This includes military, police, hospital, school and birth records. The man without a name, otherwise known as the individual known as the Mercenary, ceases to exist on any legal capacity.

Regardless, he has been known to be operational since mid-1990s. Not much is known of the man save for the following testimonies and rumors: 1) his appearance: ginger male, hair grey at the temples; monstrously-built (presumed to tower approximately two meters); bearded; freckled; 2) his being a native English speaker, though his origins are unclear as he has been witnessed using a variety of both North American and English accents fluently. He has been witnessed speaking French, Arabic and Hebrew in varied degrees of proficiency; 3) his supposedly strange speech patterns: fragmented, detached, clinical; military. He has been known to go through great lengths to avoid acknowledging both himself and others (be they clients, marks or otherwise involved in his operations) as people; 4) a presumed military history in an English-speaking country’s special forces (though this has never been proved or confirmed in any way); 5) the variety of services which he allegedly offers: security, reconnaissance, extortion, espionage, kidnapping, assassination; and the crimes of which he is accused (though none of these have ever been confirmed nor denied): namely the assassinations of several worldwide politicians. He is wanted by the CIA, MI6 and Interpol; but has also been allegedly cooperating with the CIA and the Mossad (thought his, again, has never been confirmed nor denied). In over twenty years of known activity, he is suspected to have assassinated roughly six hundred people.

Allegedly.

23 JANUARY, 1997. The individual known as the Mercenary abandons the base of operations he has been living out of for the past three years . He sets his pigeons free. He no longer has a permanent living address or direct means of contact. Instead, he travels the globe, relocating himself every two weeks; often staying in motels and trailers as to avoid signing any contracts or using any of his countless false identities. He uses pay phones as a means of communication with his contacts. In the future, these pay phones will be exchanged for burner mobile phones, replaced every two weeks.

Identities will be replaced every two weeks. He will pay handsome amounts of money for high-quality forged documents. Firearms and other weapons and gear will be purchased anew for every assignment and destroyed upon its completion.

His whereabouts and supposed crimes and other actions before nearly impossible to track hereon.

02 OCTOBER, 1996. Bulgarian politician and last communist prime minister of Bulgaria, Andrey Lukanov, is assassinated outside his apartment in Sofia, Bulgaria. The lone gunman seen at the scene flees, never to be seen again.

A Swiss bank account, registered under a hedge fund registered under a hedge fund registered under several other hedge funds, registered under multiple false identities, increases by several hundreds of thousands of dollars.

04 NOVEMBVER, 1995. Notorious left-wing prime minister of Israel, Yitzhak Rabin, is assassinated. Religious fanatic Igal Amir is charged with the murder and found guilty shortly thereafter.

The individual known as the Mercenary gains possession of several rare and experimental Israeli firearms; namely the M89SR sniper rifle. He is also awarded several hundreds of thousands of dollars by various proxies that may or may not lead back to some or another Israeli intelligence agency.

02 NOVEMBER, 1995. Colombian politician Álvaro Gómez Hurtado is reportedly murdered by ‘gunmen’ while leaving the Sergio Arboleda University. His supposed assassins flee the scene, never to be seen again.

The individual known as the Mercenary comes into possession of several tens of hundreds of thousands of dollars. He has never owned this much money before in his life.

01 AUGUST, 1995. The individual presenting himself as Hellhound ceases to do so as it is deemed too telling of his history and past associations and potentially incredibly dangerous in the right (or wrong) hands. In its stead, the man without a name begins referring to himself simply as the Mercenary. He works self-identifying words like I, me or mine out of his speech. He no longer thinks of himself as a person.

16 MAY, 1995. Now presenting himself under the callsign of Hellhound, the man without a name completes renovation of the tuberculosis wing of the North Brother Island Hospital. He makes it his base of operation, communicating with his contacts in the mainland via carrier pigeons he raises in a big coop. He is no longer in contact with anyone who knows him by his legal name. He continues accepting objectives and performing them to the best of his abilities. He burns all his fingerprints off on his kitchen stove, unable to control the tears that accompany the pain; but simultaneously smiling.

08 APRIL, 1994. The man legally known as Galway Morgan vacates his Harlem apartment. He does not rent a new one nor does he leave a forwarding address. He has not spoken to his family in over a year.

He takes whatever little belongings he owns on two bus and one boat rides to North Brother Island. Formerly housing a hospital, the island located in New York’s East River has been abandoned since the 1960s. He quits attending his mandatory psychotherapy and anger-management sessions. Without a legal address, no one is able to force him to attend them anymore.

30 OCTOBER, 1993. Galway Morgan quits his job at the docks to work freelance private security fulltime. He commits his first paid kidnapping (of a young child on behalf of her wealthy father in the midst of ugly divorce proceedings). The objective is successfully complete and he is rewarded handsomely.

The extreme aggression previously observed by his varied psychiatrists is so deeply internalized that he no longer demonstrates aggressive behavior outwardly; but still demonstrates a lack of ability to trust others and increasing apathy and detachment. Psychiatrists suggest a diagnosis of dissociative disorder (caused by PTSD and depression). He also rapidly loses all interest in any form of sexual interaction. 1995 will be the last time he has sex with another person.

13 JUNE, 1993. a friend from work and a former Us Marine suggests that Galway moonlights in private security as a second income. Galway performs his first freelance assignment and finds himself a hot commodity due both to his military history (omitting the injuries sustained during active duty and the deteriorating mental state that ensues) and professional approach. This is the first time he presents himself under a false identity, for no reason other than common sense. He finds strange joy in being addressed in names other than his own. He accepts more assignments in the near future (soon thereafter referred to in the more neutral objectives), presenting himself under different names each time.

The extraordinary aggression he has showcased since his injury during Operation Desert Shield and the loss of his teammate (diagnosed as the main source of aforementioned aggression) is beginning to subside. He becomes less sexually promiscuous. Many people know him by many names.

15 OCTOBER, 1992. UK citizen Galway Morgan moves to New York, New York on a work visa. He situates himself in a small apartment in Harlem and works as a crewmember at the New York Harbor.

Still attending mandatory psychotherapy, Morgan persist in demonstrates high levels of aggression coupled with sexual promiscuity. In the United States he is arrested multiple times for aggravated assault. He often partakes in bar fights and has been known to physically attack at least one of his psychiatrists.

28 JULY, 1992. Morgan has been reportedly growing increasingly distant of and aggressive towards his family. He leaves his hometown of Whitley Bay in the north-eastern coast of England and begins travelling south.

02 MARCH, 1992. After more than a year of physio- and psycho-therapy, Colour Sergeeant Morgan, Galway is honorably discharged from the Special Air Service. He still requires crutches to support himself as he walk and is diagnosed with chronic pain on account of his injuries. Some of them will never fully heal.

Sergeant Morgan demonstrates highly aggressive behavior along with complex PTSD and clinical depression. He is fed a cocktail of painkillers and anti-depressants and is obligated to attend weekly psychotherapy sessions and anger-management support group meetings. Weekly physiotherapy sessions are not mandatory, but the sergeant attends.

16 JANUARY, 1991. Stabilized, Sergeant Morgan is shipped back to England. He undergoes several surgeries and appears to be suffering of shellshock. He reports being in severe mental agony caused by the death of his teammate.

06 JANUARY, 1991. Enemy counter-attack on Hellhound One and Hellhound Two deemed unfortunately successful by means of Scud missile. Hellhound Two dies instantaneously. Hellhound One sustains moderate shrapnel injuries; namely to right thigh, hip and knee.

11 AUGUST, 1990. Hellhound One as sniper and Hellhound Two as scout makes their first confirmed kill.

They, and many other SAS members, are introduced to modafinil by Iraqi soldiers. One pill can induce complete wakefulness and full functionality for forty eight hours in an adult male with little to no side-effects.

02 AUGUST. 1990. The Counter Terrorism unit of the SAS is shipped to Iraq to fight in the Gulf War, known at the time as Operation Desert Shield.

Though considered a team of overall six soldiers, all three strike units of the team (Hellhound One & Two, Hellhound Three & Four, Hellhound Five & Six) are capable of operating completely independently. Hellhound One and Two can spend weeks manning a single position.

05 NOVEMBER, 1989. Corporal Morgan is visiting his hometown of Whitley Bay on leave. He and his little brother, nine years old, are up on the roof of their mother’s apartment building, watching the fireworks over the harbor. Corporal Morgan holds his brother as the boy sits atop his shoulders. They both ooh and aah at the lights exploding over the ocean.

03 JUNE, 1989. Private Morgan graduates from basic training . He is transferred to train as a sniper in the Counter Terrorism unit. He is introduced to Private James Beaumont and the both are paired as sniper and scout. They are to spend every waking moment together. They do this for the following eight months.

They are assigned the AW50 as their primary firearm. Beaumont makes jokes of monster-sized men being assigned monster-sized rifles. He means Morgan. Beaumont is only 5’8.

Private Morgan is assigned the codename Hellhound One while Private Beaumont is assigned Hellhound Two. All Counter-Terrorism snipers are known as Hellhounds. Their outfit’s insignia depicts a three-headed dog engulfed in flames.

05 NOVEMBER, 1988. Galway Morgan breaks up with Gillian, packs his bangs and leaves to volunteer for the SAS. He is processed and sent away for basic training, where he demonstrates leadership, quick learning and natural marksmanship.

01 SEPTEMBER, 1988.Galway graduates from high school. This has been no easy feat while still keeping his job with the fishing crew --- but he will not allow himself to quit. A high school diploma is a requirement to join the SAS and/or British Armed Forces.

20 DECEMBER, 1986.Galway moves into his own apartment out by the docks. He is sixteen years old.

05 SEPTEMBER, 1986. Galway quits his work at the butcher shop and picks up a summer job with a small fishing crew. They go out to sea every morning. Galway hauls his own weight in fish several times a day. He finds his body changes quickly. A few short months later, he is built like a brick wall. He is no longer bullied at school. Neither is Ewan.

Shortly thereafter, he is asked by Fiona to move out of their home. With him now able to fight Patrick back, she is worried for the integrity of the family. Galway cannot resent her for it.

06 JULY, 1985. Puberty hits. Galway grows to the height of 6’7, his weight not quick enough to catch up. He is teased even more often than before, but not bullied as much; his height is somewhat intimidating. He can no longer fit within doorframes without bending jod knees or back.

12 MAY, 1985. Galway has his first same-sex sexual experience when a delivery boy working for the butcher gives him a blowjob at the storage room. He will continue to have several sexual encounters outside his relationship with his girlfriend, Gillian Murphy, with both men and women.

18 OCTOBER, 1984. Galway quits his job delivering newspapers and starts working at a local butcher shop.

27 MARCH, 1983. Galway has his first sexual experience at the age of thirteen with local girl Gillian Murphy. She lives in his neighborhood and attends school in the same grade as Galway.

19 JANUARY, 1983. Galway listens to The Clash for the first time at the local record store. He can’t afford to buy a record, but spends hours listening to anything available by the band. Later that day, he smokes his first cigarette.

24 MAY, 1982. Fiona marries Patrick O’Doyle and takes his name. Galway remains the only Morgan in the family. They move into a new home and their quality of life improves somewhat. Galway keeps his job delivering newspapers as he and Patrick do not get along well. He is rebellious and suffers the occasional smack-around.

05 NOVEMBER, 1980. Whitley Bay celebrates the 5th of November with fireworks over the harbor. Galway watches them from the roof of their apartment building. Fiona tells him, every year, that the fireworks are there especially for his birthday. This is the year he no longer believes this story; but he is still happy when she tells him.

16 AUGUST, 1980. Fiona Morgan has her second baby boy. Patrick O’Doyle is registered as his father. She names him Ewan Carol O’Doyle.

In order to help support the household, Galway begins working as a newspaper delivery boy.

03 JANUARY, 1975. Fiona takes on a third job in order to support her only son. He often accompanies her to her various jobs as she often cannot afford a caretaker; but he appears to be perfectly fine with this. The two are very close. Fiona adores her little boy. She has grand plans for him.

05 NOVEMBER, 1970. A healthy male baby is born to one Fiona Catherine Morgan at the Royal Victoria Infirmary, Newcastle Upon Tyne, England, at only sixteen years old. She claims not to know the name or whereabouts of his father. She names him Galway Kenley Morgan.

[wanderer706]

Behind the Screens Ch 4- Landlord

(Cam. Airl- Written Draft 2)

Reginald felt sick again. He though his liver had properly processed the alcohol he had consumed last night. Evidently that was not the case.

He had only woken up about two hours ago. It was already the afternoon, and the drink had caused him to sleep through the entire morning without waking once. He wouldn’t have minded so much except he missed a call from a client he was trying to get. Client however was just a word he used to make himself feel good. He knew damn well the police wouldn’t call it that. They would call it robbery.

He slumped off of his couch and landed hard on the floor. He then proceeded to run as fast as his drunk legs would allow him to the bathroom. He only arrived just in time.

He tried to stand up right but only succeeded in awkwardly knell over the toilet. The vile puke then flew out of his system. It seemed to take forever this time, but after what seemed like an eternity he was finally able down it down toilet. He tried to get up, but couldn’t. Instead he fell face down on the toilet floor, head against the toilet itself. Everything then went black.

When he came to it was because somebody was knocking on his door. This served as a perfect as a replacement for an alarm clock in his current state. His headache was gone, but the sound of somebody knocking on the door had the same effect as a drum being played right next to his ear.

Reginald forced himself to get up. His mouth still tasted like shit, but at least the vomit was gone. Regardless he put all of his effort into groggily walked towards the front door.

“What?” he asked opening the door. Layla, one of the buildings residents, was standing outside. He didn’t really know her, but from what passed his ears he knew she was some kind of screenplay writer. He could see she was looking at him through her clear eyes that stood out because of how they were offset by her dark skin.

“You look like shit Reggie.” She said. Everyone in the apartment called him Reggie.

“I’ll live. What do you want?” he asked.

“Rent.” She said handing him the cash. He took it from her and immediately began counting it up.

“How are things?” he asked out of curiosity.

“Not good. In the middle of a screaming match with a bunch of dumb executives. Honestly they don’t seem to care about anything, but money.”

Reginald wasn’t actually listening. He was too busy counting the money she had given.

“This’ll do. You have yourself a nice evening.” He said closing the door.

He locked the door behind him, and then he slumped down on the couch where he stared intently at the cash. He wondered about what he would do with the money in his hand. He guessed he should do the right thing. Give it to his brother who technically owned the building, but then that one thought entered his head. Alcohol. This cash could pay for another two days’ supply of alcohol. No. He’s drunk enough at the moment and he doesn’t need any more of that sweet delicate nectar.

Luckily at that moment he was snapped out of his poison thoughts by the sound of a phone ringing. He looked to see which one. It was his own personal phone which wasn’t what he was hoping for.

“Hello.” Reginald said.

“Hello. Landlord.” Said Sebastian, his brother.

“What do you want?”

“I called to remind you that it’s rent day, and I will be coming by tomorrow to collect.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Well judging by that tone in your voice you’ve either given yourself a headache because of it or if I know you… How many last night?”

“Piss off.”

“Come on how many?”

“I said piss off.”

“Six or seven?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Yes you can. You still have that pamphlet for that rehab clinic. I recommend you at least give it a whirl.”

Reginald looked at his desk. The pamphlet with all of those smiling faces on it was still sitting there. “There is wrong with an addiction.” It said on the front page. Reginald meant to throw its taunting vibes out.

“Are you done? I’m busy.” He asked

“Not quite. Have the new burglar protection devices been installed?”

Reginald looked at the control remote they left after they had finished installing it.

“Yes. They finished the other day. Now if there is a threat we’ll be locked inside with it.”

“Cheer up. It’s for the best.”

“Who’s best? Mine or yours? Now are we done?”

“Yes, good brother. We are done.”

“Fine. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

Reginald hung up the phone and placed it back on the table he got it from. He was a joke to his entire family. Whilst his brother had become one of the most prominent city councillors, he had slumped to the bottom of a bottle.

Back in the day he had been the popular kid in school. Had all the right friends, went to the best parties, and had an all-round good time. His brother on the other hand had been the bottom of the pile when it came to friends. Yes, he had friends, but he didn’t have the fun that Reginald had.

After school whilst he went to university, Reginald continued to look for parties. He wanted to live the life of luxury. Fame and fortune like a few of the people at the parties. But, as the years went on the crowd he had gotten so used to disbanded, got on with their lives, got married, had kids, and he just continued to look for a good time.

It was in doing so that lead to that one night. The night when he drank so much that he passed out on the floor of the bar he was in. Everything spun around in that darkness for a while. When he came to he was in the hospital, with an apparent severe case of alcohol poisoning. His brother who had just gotten himself onto the city council at that point had forked the bill. Reginald hadn’t seen him in such a long time that that had been an awkward thirty minutes. His brother suggested help but he didn’t want to hear it from his fucking face.

It was the night after he had gotten back from the hospital that he felt a strange thirst that he had never felt before. A thirst that could not be clenched by water, but only by alcohol. His life then really spiralled downhill. It began with all of his spending money being used to purchase as much alcohol as one could buy. Then came the multiple hangovers. That happened so often that he was laid off from his job at an online store warehouse. Desperate for money he turned to a new trade that wasn’t strictly legal, but it paid well, and gave him the money to satisfy his thirst.

His brother was constantly urging him to get help, but he never listened. He never told his brother where he was getting the money, and he never wanted to.

Reginald was however very surprised when his brother told him that he had taken a gamble and pulled some strings. The next thing he knew he was the newly named landlord for a new apartment block that the city nicknamed “the squeeze” because of how small a space it was squeezed into, even though the name in the building’s lobby said Moonlight Apartments. Now here he was forced to take collect rent from occupants and give over some of that precious money back to the council every week or face jail time. Money that could be satisfying his thirst.

Reginald wiped some sweat off his brow. He could tell that his mouth was drooling just thinking about all the alcohol that this money could buy, but it wasn’t worth it. He fought off those thoughts, and put the money into the box he had set aside for the rent money giving it one last look before locking the box.

Now his mind was desperate. How would he get the money? He didn’t care that he probably nearly drunk himself to hospital again last night. He needed that thirst quenched. Now.

Suddenly, another phone rang. His eyes lit up when he saw that it wasn’t his personal phone, but his business phone. He rushed over like a madman, and answered it putting on his business voice.

“Fredrick’s and Sons. How may I help you?” he said doing his best upper crust accent.

“Yes. I’m calling about your company’s ability to help me work from home.” Said a voice on the other end of the line. Reggie almost immediately could pin that this was probably some lazy arse youth who didn’t want to go to university.

“Yes, we can help you do that. We have helped many people in the past gain stable income from working at home. Our packages all cost money, but will guarantee cash in your pocket by the end of the week.”

“Money isn’t a problem. My parents pay me plenty.” The voice said. Reggie took account that this was a rich kid with too much money on his hands. That usually meant that they were incredibly stupid. So, he began with the options route.

“Okay we have several packages. The cheapest costs $85 whilst the most expensive costs $950.”

“What does the $950 package entitle?”

“It entitles everything that you need with a guarantee return value of $1500 per week.”

“I’ll take that one.”

“Very good but first we will need something from you. In order to set-up a proper connection with the IRD we will need your bank details.”

“Of course, my details are…” Reggie smiled as all the bank details were laid out in front of him. He wrote them all down on a piece of paper

“Great. That’s all we need we’ll get in contact with you at a later date, once the connection has been set up.” He said.

“Thanks. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

Reginald hung up the phone, and bolted over to his computer. He opened his computer, and immediately set to work making an encrypted withdrawal from the kids account. He had no intention of helping that lazy arse work from home. He was only interested in getting his money, and with that he set up the withdrawal to empty half of his bank account.

Whilst this was happening he checked his emails to see if any of his phishing emails had drawn any unsuspecting people. He had two bites. He posed as their banks saying that there was a problem with their accounts and that he needed their details to fix the problem. In reality he was just using it to once again obtain bank details. The e-mails were of course encrypted and if traced it would always pin-point an internet café that he never set foot in. Once the current transfer was done he would move on. The phone was similar, but for that he had set it up so it would always be traced back to a traffic control box nine blocks away.

He didn’t always want to scam people out of money, and he had only started out of desperation. It was one night, when he was low on cash and his precious alcohol that he saw a story on the news. Apparently, the fraud desk of the police had intercepted a rather large player in that field. He had ripped off a grand total of sixty-seven bank accounts, and that had amounted to five hundred and seven thousand dollars being stolen. His mouth drooled when that amount was spoken. How much alcohol could he buy with that amount of money? He didn’t know, but he immediately began his research into that world.

A few weeks later came his first attempt, He created the fake company Fredrick’s and Sons on his own two feet. He began by randomly calling any number in the phone book offering the work from home scam. He got a gullible hit on his second day. He was so excited that he nearly gave away his true intentions on the phone. He then successfully executed the encrypted removal from the account. He didn’t however take into account his phone being traced luckily the amount he had withdrawn was more than enough to buy a new one. He went for a walk with his old one and dropped it behind a garbage truck that was collecting trash. The crunch as the tire ran it over was a relief.

He began phishing shortly before he was named landlord of the Moonlight apartments. He had heard about it and after a few trial runs he was able to create an authentic looking email that looked like it was from some organisation that required some sort of credit card details or even just the bank. He then learned how to scan peoples’ computers for the services they were using and to adjust the scheme accordingly. He was actually quite surprised how easy all of this tech stuff was to him. At the end of the day though he found the phishing emails created much more hits the work from home scam.

After about thirty minutes he had the money from all the gullible people that he needed. It was only half from each account, and he only removed money from each account once using a heavy smoke, mirrors, and encryption technique to fool any would be followers. The only way to catch him was to run the trace and beat his tricks whilst he was performing them.

He then powered down his computer and turned on the television. He slumped down in his favourite arm chair and began to watch one of the many quiz shows that were on before the news. This one featured a bunch of celebrities who were playing to win money for charity. The current theme was literature and it was clear that the celebrity trying wasn’t too familiar with his book knowledge.

He had a few laughs whilst watching as his mind slowly drifted away thinking about how much more money his scams would give him than his greedy brother would allow him to have. But most importantly how much alcohol he could buy with it.

[evakfanficsrecs]

 EVAK FANFICS RECS / PART 6

ONESHOTS:

cards and drunken propositions by Bellakitse  ★ Summary: “Eskild, please tell me I didn’t make a fool of myself in front of Even,” Isak begs, groaning when Eskild winces theatrically. “Oh, god, what did I do?” “You mean besides rubbing yourself against him like a cat and started taking your clothes off?” Eskild asks tentatively, giving him a pitying look when Isak lets out a noise of death and mortification. “If it helps he seemed to be enjoying your…attention?” * Isak doesn't remember the night before but he knows he made a fool of himself in front of this crush.

I Don't Know About You, But I Could Think Of A Metaphor Or Two by i_once_wrote_a_dream Summary: He knows he’s fucked up. Crazy. Literally. Clinically insane.

sugar spreads happiness by Bellakitse  ★ Summary: Isak and Even try to bake cupcakes for kose, this time no one interrupts their time in Isak’s kitchen.* Set after the almost kiss of episode three.

MORE UNDER THE CUT

stretching out for the sun by elspethelf Summary: The sun wakes Isak the morning after the Kosegruppa party.

isak x even | kisses are free by BloonStuff Summary: When Isak fails to get Even a present for his birthday or valentines day, Even sets out to convince him why that just doesn't matter.

a night out by Bellakitse Summary: Isak and Even meet at a club, Isak gives him a hand.

That's cheating! by Minkefreak Summary: Even's POV of the pool scene and what might have happened after ...

the one where they don't study by Schedazzle Summary: Bringing his breathing under control again, Isak smiled. “I love the way your face changes when you draw,” he said softly, hearing the dreamy sound of his voice but didn’t care at all.

And He Calls Me Moonlight by tootiptopteapot  ★ Summary: He’s drunk and stumbly and his lips taste sharp like a lick of blue-raspberry vodka, but he’s soft and safe in Even’s arms.

You Scare Me (And I Love It) by i_once_wrote_a_dream  ★ Summary: secret admirer!au; He’s chill. Except he isn’t when he feels something hit the back of his head. He doesn’t dare look back, but his face is flushed and heat pools around his ears and neck. He sits up straighter and forces himself to rewrite the last sentence. Alternatively, Isak's got a secret admirer and Even is persistent.

I Like You A Latte by i_once_wrote_a_dream Summary: coffee shop!au; It’s not love. Not yet. But Even’s certain it will be.

call me any, anytime by elspethelf Summary: wrong number!au; Isak texts Vilde... except it turns out not to be her.

FIFA madness by Bellakitse Summary: Even and Isak are playing FIFA, when Even questions Isak's awesomeness at paying the game. Isak is going to prove him wrong, or he would if Even could keep his hands to himself.

CHAPTERED:

Under a Pink Neon Light by wylielx Summary: Shirtless sweaty bodies grinding up against each other, and that’s when Even sees him. An angel under a pink neon light, dancing on a pedestal, moving his hips from side to side, eyes closed, only piece of clothing being a jock strap that fit the shape of his ass perfectly. Ruffled curls adorning his forehead, bouncing around like they’ve got a mid of their own. His body glistening from sweat and Even can see the rise and fall of his chest as the angel faces the ceiling and dances as if in his own world. He’s beautiful. Looks pure and innocent in ways that make men want him more. Even is so gone for a boy whose name he doesn't even know. Or, Even and Isak meet in a strip club.

Sleep Is For Dreamers by unfancyandy  ★ Summary: Isak's always had a complicated relationship with sleep.

Making shades of purple by rumpelsnorcack  ★ ✓ Summary: soulmates!au; His whole life, Isak had known his soulmark was different to those around him. Well, that was a lie; it hadn’t been his whole life. But it had definitely been something he was aware of for as long as he was aware that soulmarks and soulmates existed.

If Only by Stria (Asia117) ✓ Summary: Written for the prompt: “we’ve been chatting online and we get on really well and oh that explains it” au (bonus: i totally told you about my crappy ex oops it you).

run boy run by pansexuaIeven Summary: In the season 1 timeline, Eva decides to transfer schools after all and ends up at Elvebakken. When her and Even become friends and decide to fake date in order to make their exes jealous, what happens when Isak and Even meet?

You by hellagroovy Summary: You stood in front of the building with your friends. You wore a light blue denim jacket and your hair was blonde. A cigarette behind your ear. I had never seen you before. Somebody told me you had a girlfriend.

flower boy by artcmonkeys ✓ Summary: Even comes into the flower store in which Isak works.

with love, from anonymous by cosetties & iriswests ★ ✓ Summary: secret admirer!au; Isak just wants to get his coffee in peace, Even has a crush, and there's a secret admirer on the loose.

The Boy Who Wasn't Scared to Love But to Be Loved in Return by kassie Summary: Even's POV on all scenes that happened during season 3, plus a few AU scenes mingled in-between.

I'm Not A Baby by cuteandtwisted  ★ ✓ Summary: childhood friends!au; "This is Even, my bro. The part about him being my personal servant is kind of true though.” “Your bro? Your bro?! What the fuck, Isak? We need to get rid of this whole masculinity thing they teach you at Nissen.” aka, Isak and Even are childhood friends.

poppin' pills is all we know by tomlinsoln ✓ Summary: au in which Even comes into the bathroom instead of Emma 

Deeper by the Hour by nusmag Summary: Isak finds a poster on a bench in Olaf Ryes Plass. Among a phone number, a drawing of a guy, and the promised 500 kroner per week for the job, it reads: “Even Bech Naesheim needs a support person and boyfriend.” Isak would usually dismiss things like this, but something makes him google the name and… oh. Well. Eskild has been going on about how Isak needs to be quicker in paying the rent. It’s not for anything else that Isak’s considering applying. And if he takes the poster with him so that no one else may find it, then so be it.

making new clichés by strangetowns Summary: childhood friends!au; They are young teenage boys who don’t have jobs, and thus don’t have money except for when they beg their parents for allowances. The stunning lack of creativity that goes into their activities just goes without saying. What doesn’t go without saying is this - Even doesn’t care that they don’t do anything exciting. They could be lying on their backs for hours watching the ceiling and he’d still rather be there than anywhere else in the world. As long as Isak is there, he will have a good time. This is a thing he knows to be true. - In this universe, Isak and Even are best friends. Some things are different; some things stay exactly the same.

"You don't know it yet, Isak Valtersen, but you're mine" by Jules_poupard Summary: secret admirer!au;  Even saw Isak on the first day of school, but in this universe, he isn't quite as patient as the Even we know. He couldn't resist Isak, so he has to let him know. He starts to leave him little notes, relishing in the blush that always spreads over Isak's cheeks and the smiles that steals its way across his face. Isak has never had a secret admirer, and he isn't used to being doted on. He won't admit it, but he definitely likes it. And neither of them know it yet, but they are both so gone for the other.

love and condoms by kassie  ★ ✓ Summary: Isak was about turn on his heels and say “Fuck it” and go home, when a tall, slender-looking boy approached him from down the aisle. Shit. “Finding everything okay?” he asked once he reached Isak, his face entirely consumed by his smile. Judging from his choice of clothing, the boy definitely worked here. And, by the black letters scribbled on his name tag, the boy’s name was Even. Great.. Or: Isak owes Eskild a favor and Eskild sends him out to buy condoms where he runs into a tall boy who is a little too eager to help him.

Those, who could not hear the music. by UniversalParadox_13 Summary: In this story, Isak and Even are ballet students and collide while preparing for a play they’ll be performing in. It’s odd and exhilarating, and does not make sense to their yearning bodies and vulnerable hearts, until it does. But Even is in a steady relationship and Isak has no place for love his life, so there is that.

Scene Three, Take Two by folerdetdufoler ✓ Summary: Isak is 23, a student in the veterinary program at NMBU, and working an internship at a clinic in Kongsvinger. He hasn't seen Even in three years, but randomly bumps into him on the street when he's visiting his mom in Oslo.

(★ - personal favorites | ✓ - completed fics)

[libraryoferana]

Welcome to Lana Campbell

#vampires #redemption #paranormalromance

*Please tell us about your publications. I’ve published three books so far in my Forever and a Night vampire series. These are not your typical vampire romances. For instance in my first book Forever and a Night my heroine is 42 with three grown girls who become my heroines in subsequent books. In book one devout Christian Mia Peebles falls for billionaire vampire Nathan Davenport.

Nathan Davenport is being stalked by Isabella Ravini, the feral vampire who stole his human life over a hundred and sixty years ago. She made him her fledging, a slave for her dark, evil purposes—hunting humans. After a few years, she released him, and Nathan reluctantly learned to accept the cursed life she’d foisted upon him.Over time he amassed a great fortune, which today has made him famous worldwide. Isabella decides she wants to be a part of this world of fame and fortune Nathan created for himself. She’s determined to marry him, and love has nothing to do with it. His money is her primary target, and the fame and prestige attached to being the wife of one of the richest men in the world wouldn’t be so bad either.

In an effort to evade her until he can figure out how to stop her, he hides at a safe house he owns in New Orleans. One Saturday evening in NOLA, he decides to have dinner in the city. He chooses a quiet little Italian bistro, never imagining this night will change his life forever. The human woman who delivers his order isn’t a server, but the restaurant’s sous chef, a beautiful ethnic woman possessing the most delicious blood scent he’s ever encountered. The moment Mia Peebles arrives at his table with his plate, tasting her becomes an obsession. Mia wants nothing to do with him because of Nathan’s reputation as a playboy. So Nathan enchants her, feeds from her, but his lusts for her blood and body play havoc with his thinking.

Nathan finds a way to bring her into his life as his personal chef and quickly falls in love with her. The trouble is Mia has no idea he’s a vampire because, during the enchanting episodes, Nathan blocked her memories of those sensual encounters. How will Nathan tell her the truth without losing her and keep Isabella from finding him? Or worst yet, will Isabella discover how much Mia has come to mean to him?

  Book two Dark Experiments is about Tiffany Peebles and OB/GYN vampire Dr Christian LaMond. On the cusp of their romance, an angel of death begins poisoning Christian’s pregnant vampire patients. Tiffany is also poisoned.

Christian is the exception to Tiffany’s rule that all males are louses. For years Tiffany has lusted after Christian and of late she can’t help but wonder what it might be like to have a brief fling with him. The opportunity to explore her secret fantasy appears when Christian offers her a job as the IT person for his practice, the V clinic. She knows if he gives her the green light, she’s going to have a romp with her sexy vampire. When the night finally arrives and she and Christian have sex, the experience is so overwhelmingly powerful, Tiffany backpedals and tries to turn down the heat between them. She’s human. He’s a vampire. She can’t afford to fall in love with him.

Christian has other ideas. During their sexual encounter, he discovers Tiffany is his life mate and he vows to change her thinking. His intentions are put on hold when he gets caught up in an angel of death’s vicious plan to chemically terminate V clinic patients’ pregnancies. Tiffany herself falls victim to a lethal dose of arsenic and Christian can only save her by turning her into a vampire. She’s furious when she wakes from her turning and discovers what Christian has done. She wants nothing to do with him ever again, but when she’s kidnapped by this angel of death and used as a guinea pig for deadly experiments she only has Christian to turn to save her life.

  In book three Deadly Secrets, Chelsie Peebles discovers she’s dying of an incurable brain tumor. No form of treatment will save her but one. She must turn into a vampire.

When Dr Chelsie Peebles, an OB/GYN for vampires discovers she’s dying from a stage four glioblastoma she learns there is only one sure cure that can save her life. She must turn into a vampire. Chelsie is the member of a big extended family of vampires. In fact, she is the only human left in her entire clan. Headaches have been plaguing her for months and when she’s diagnosed with an incurable brain tumor, Chelsie chooses to keep the horrific news from her family to spare them hurt until she can figure out viable treatments or a cure.

Researching her options for survival lead her to the inevitable conclusion she is going to die no matter what treatments she chooses unless she turns into a vampire. Chelsie’s desperate. She blackmails the partners of her vampire OB/GYN clinic into aiding her in this life altering transformation.

Asa Bradley, one of her partners thinks Chelsie’s crazy for wanting to turn because the reasons she gives are flakey. He has no idea she’s dying. He is however bewitched by the little human doctor and wants to know what has her so hellbent on wanting to become a vampire. So one night when he’s invited to a bar where Chelsie moonlights as a country/western singer, he goes and is stunned to discover she has the voice of an angel and the body of a seductress since all he’s ever seen her wear is a lab coat. Asa is smitten with the surprising Dr. Peebles.

Trouble is Chelsie has an ex named Chad who she sings with in the band and he thinks Chelsie belongs to him. Chad’s dangerously possessive and threatens to hurt Chelsie if Asa doesn’t leave her alone. Asa isn’t going to be thwarted by a puny human. He romances Chelsie and gains her trust and affection which inevitably leads him to discover Chelsie’s deadly secret.

Can Asa keep Chelsie safe from her maniacal ex and get her this transformation she needs before cancer or her villainess ex claims her life?

What first prompted you to publish your work? Back when Twilight was becoming popular my teenage girls at the time were so into the series. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about so I read the books. I enjoyed them, loved the vampire aspect, but I wanted to read vampire stories with older protagonists and more human like vampires. So I set about creating a story with a 42-year-old female protagonist and an older vampire hero who lived longer than most humans but was mortal. In my stories, vampires can eat and they can have children because they are a sub-species of humans, evolved from humans due to a blood disease.

What have you found the most challenging part of the process? Getting published. All three of my books were published with a small press publisher.

Are you a ‘pantser’ or a ‘plotter’? Definitely a pantser. I know the general plot and story of the book I’m writing, but as I write it I let the story evolve on its own. I can’t say why but it works for me.

What piece of advice do you wish you’d had when you started your publishing journey? My first book was published by a vanity press. I wish I’d known no author should have to pay to have their book published. If your work is good enough you will find someone to publish your book and they won’t charge and you’ll make money.

What are your views on authors offering free books? Do you believe, as some do, that it demeans an author and his or her work? I’ve tried this and I see no benefit in it. It didn’t help me achieve more book sales nor did it garner me any reviews. I don’t think I’d do it again.

What are your views on authors commenting on reviews? An author commenting on reviews should only thank the reviewer I think. The worse thing one could do is argue the review with the reviewer. To me, it’s demeaning to the author.

How do you deal with bad reviews? I get bummed for a bit, then I let it go and concentrate on the good reviews. I realize not everyone is going to love my work, but others will. I think this goes for every book ever written. Not everyone is going to have the same opinion. But if I could add one thing to say to readers, please leave reviews on the books you read. This is so important to the author and so appreciated.

Sort these into the order of importance:

Good plot– This is second. A good plot should be fast moving and should keep the reader engaged.

Great characters– I think this is first. If your characters pop off the pages, you’ll snag your reader into your story.

Awesome world-building– This would be last. It’s certainly important, but if an author goes overboard with description it can slow the plot.

Technically perfect– People hate reading books with grammatical difficulties, but most are forgiving so I’d have to put this at number three. Still it’s important to edit, edit, edit and don’t rely solely on an editor to clean up your work. Do it yourself and do it well.

How much research do you do for your work? What’s the wildest subject you’ve looked at? All I can say is thank God for Google. I research constantly as I go along. I’d have to say the wildest subject I researched which is in book one, Forever and a Night would be the grave of Marie LaVue. My protagonists were touring the cemetery and ran across her grave. I brought into the scene some of the wild information about her intriguing life.

What’s the best advice you’ve received about writing/publishing? As far as writing, to write every day and to do so with passion. A person either has a passion for writing or they don’t. If you do you’ll write every spare moment you have.

If you could be any fantasy/mythical or legendary person/creature what would you be and why? I would like to be one of my vampires. In my books, they age very slowly and live for six or seven hundred years. They have psychic and telekinetic abilities as well as strength and speed ten times that of a human. Who wouldn’t want those abilities?

Which authors have influenced you the most? Nora Roberts, Christine Feehan

What is your writing space like? It must be neat. I clean my space before I begin. No noise. I can’t write if the TV is on or if there’s music or any annoying noise going on.

Tell us about your latest piece? I just finished a vampire romance called Alabama Rain. In this story, Alabama Rain is a born vampire whose father is a villainous drug dealer. He’s a much more powerful vampire than Alabama. He forces Alabama to steal drugs for him from his rival drug lord which of course places Alabama in danger. Early into the story, she has a run in with Nate Davenport when she’s trying to do a drug theft for her father. When Nate discovers she deals drugs, he’s determined to catch her in the act and bring her to justice. He just doesn’t plan on falling in love with her in the process.

What’s your next writing adventure? I’m writing book six in my series right now. It’s about Alabama Rain’s brother Ganja Elisha Holden. He used to be a thief of drugs for his father Ken Holden an evil and powerful vampire who is also a drug lord. In the book previous, Alabama Rain, he has been planted in his father’s rival drug cartel, Manny Cordova’s, in order to report back to his father about when drug deals are going down in the Cordova cartel. When Cordova discovers Ganja has been an intricate part in the theft of his drugs, he puts a hit out on him. Ganja flees to the midwest to a small Arkansas town called Eureka Springs. There he makes a life for himself as a small business owner of a jewellery and antiques store. One day all of that is threatened when the daughter of Manny Cordova appears in his store. Lydia Cordova has always bewitched Gan. She presents a clear danger to Gan but he can’t help but want her even though she could lead her father who wants him dead straight to him.

Is this the age of the e-book? Are bricks and mortar bookshops in decline?It definitely is the age of e-books. More and more people are loving reading their favorite stories on their devices. I’m one of them. But there are still lots of people who would much rather hold a real book in their hands, but not as many as there used to be. Sadly bookshops are in decline. Some major retailers have closed their doors. I think this is bad news for authors because we make more money on physical book sales than we do off e-books.

With the influx of indie authors do you think this is the future of storytelling? Yes, thanks to Amazon more and more indie authors publish every day. I definitely think this is the future of storytelling.

Are indie/self-published authors viewed with scepticism or wariness by readers? Why is this? I don’t think so. If a reader likes the sound of your book, I think they’d buy it no matter the publisher. On the other hand, some self-published books are terribly written with horrible grammatical errors. I’ve read my fair share. This could detour some readers from buying a book without a publishing house behind it.

Is there a message in your books? Yes, there is. I have a Christian message in each of my books, a message of redemption from a higher power. It by no means overwhelms the book, it’s just there as a facet of my character’s character. I’ve gotten mixed reviews on it, but most people are amazed that I can successfully weave a redemption message into a vampire story. It certainly hasn’t hurt my sales, rather the opposite.

How important is writing to you? I live it, breathe it, sleep it. I love to write and would no matter if I sold books or not. Unfortunately, it is more of a hobby than a career. I truly hope to change that some day.

  Links

Forever night

Dark Experiments

Deadly Secrets

  Bio

I’m the author of the Forever and a Night vampire romance series. The first book in my series is Forever and a Night. My second book Dark Experiments just came out 5/21/16. BTP has just recently bought my third book Deadly Secrets. I love writing paranormal romance and I’m an avid reader of it too. I live in Avoca AR with my husband, oldest daughter and a cat named Felix

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