#slightly excruciating (anatomy) but nice

[farceurcole]

[quirkless-accident]

Danny and Mirio interactions!!! (Either as a student or a teacher)

sorry i havent been super active lately I was out of town for my stepmoms funeral. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

----

Danny groaned as he fell forward. Mirio's fist was still burring itself in his stomach, twisting ever so slightly, like adding salt in the wound.

He fell to the ground like the rest of his peers. His stomach was in excruciating pain and he felt like he was going to throw up. But he still couldn't help but be amazed at the third year stepped over him. The smile never left his face, though it did turn sheepish when he realized he had no clothes on.

"You did pretty great!" He said. Danny rolled over to his side, not wanting to see anything more than he had to. "I've never met anybody with a quirk similar to mine!"

"How are you so cheery right now?" Danny croaked out. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, pointedly looking away from the third year. Mirio placed a hand in his line of sight, and Danny, not really wanting to be the sore loser here, gripped it. Mirio lifted him to his feet with a practiced ease and patted him on the back.

"That's just my charming personality," the blonde was grinning now. Danny had to resist the roll of his eyes. He's sure that if his stomach wasn't on fire right now he'd be more willing to play nice.

Danny placed a hand on his shoulder and activated his invisibility, so it looked like Mirio was just a floating head. Soon enough they made their way back to the wall where Aizawa was, a calculated mirth in his eyes. Nejire came over and gave Mirio his clothes back. When he at least had his pants on, Danny took his hand off of Mirio's shoulder.

"That's a neat trick! Maybe we could practice sometime, yeah?"

Danny shrugged, only half paying attention now as Aizawa had started speaking. "Sure, whatever."

--------

Danny couldn't help the yelp that escaped him as an unfortunately familiar face pushed through the wall. Was he always so unnervingly cheery? Maybe he should see a doctor.

"Fenton!" He cried happily, stepping through the rest of the wall. Danny huffed a polite greeting as he knelt down to pick up the stuff he dropped.

"Danny's fine," he said, standing back up. Mirio's grin seemed to widen even more.

"Fantastic! Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to train with me! You seemed pretty excited after class the other day."

Mirio was reaching if he thought that was Danny being excited, but he had said yes, and he didn't really have anything to do. He sighed and shrugged.

"Lemme put my stuff in my room and we can head over."

------

"So how does your permeation work?" Mirio asked him after explaining his own quirk. They were standing in one of the workout gyms. Danny was wearing his gym pants and a black tank top, showing off his muscles and scars.

"It's less complicated than yours," he said. "I can make my whole body intangible, and if I drop it, I'm stuck. I don't shoot out like you do." To further explain, he stuck his arm through the punching bag and turned tangible. While his arm was fully stuck now, he wasn't being shot out of it. "Also, I can still breathe."

"How can you do that if your lungs are intangible, too?" Mirio asked as Danny too his arm out of the punching bag.

"Well, my quirk changed my anatomy, so even though I function like a normal person, my body on the inside isn't. When I'm in my ghost form my insides become mostly ectoplasm, including my lungs. And it also helps that in that form I don't really have to breathe. Not a lot, anyway."

"Fascinating!" Mirio cheered, his already large blue eyes somehow getting bigger with excitement. "Do you wanna spar? We can use only intangibility!"

Danny could feel his core thrumming with excitement. It seems Mirio was ribbing off on him. "Absolutely I do."

-----

"Mercy," Danny panted. He was sitting on the ground, his head bent between his knees trying to catch his breath. He took his shirt off and wiped at his sweat before flopping the rest of the way onto the ground, arm over his eyes.

"Oh come on, Danny," Mirio said, and Danny could practically see his permanent grin. "How about one...More..."

Danny frowned as he lifted his arm to look at Mirio, who was staring at him. "Something wrong, dude?" He asked. The sudden tension was palpable.

"Your chest," Mirio said eventually, keeping his voice even. Danny glanced down, and wanted to punch himself. He should have remembered the giant autopsy scar marring his torso. Mirio looked like he was going to be sick. Danny, however, just shrugged, and gave the same excuse he gave everybody. It was all he could do to fight back the memories.

"I had surgery, dude. No worries, okay?"

Mirio's usually cheery smile was gone. Instead, his lips were pressed into a thin line, and he looked torn between trusting Danny and running to Recovery Girl.

"I won't tell anybody," he said eventually, a smile coming back onto his face. Danny, however could see right through it. He had spent a lot of time forging masks that look exactly like that. It made him wonder how many of Mirio's smiles were actually genuine. "But if you ever wanna talk..."

Danny starred at him, shock written all over his face. It wasn't what he had been expecting. But Mirio was a third year. He's probably seen his fair share of shit he couldn't talk about. Especially working under somebody like Sir Nighteye. Danny sighed, letting the tension in his shoulders relax. He gave Mirio a small smile.

"Thanks, man. And listen, if you wanna talk, too, I'm here." He glanced over Mirio, and while the smile was still there, his shaking hands gave him away. Danny glanced at them, and back at Mirio. "Mint tea works best for stress," he found himself saying. It was something his sister had said to him several times over the years, when he was cramming for tests and fighting ghosts before curfew. "And chamomile for anxiety."

It was more than just an olive branch being extended over the thick, tense air. It was a hand to help pick the third year up in case he couldn't do it himself. Mirio grinned at him. It wasn't a mask this time.

He held out his hand, and Danny took it.

-----

"Okay, are you sure this is going to work?" Mirio was asking. Danny huffed.

"Who do you take me for? Of course this will work. Now go."

Mirio gulped like he was in a goddamn cartoon and knocked on the large door while Danny gave him a two-fingered salute before disappearing.

"Come in!"

Mirio put on a brave face and opened the door.

Thankfully the only person in the teacher's lounge was All Might, in his shrunken form. It looked like he was going over some papers, and he looked relieved to have an excuse to take a break.

"Ah, Young Togata," he greeted. "What can I do for you, my boy?"

God, if Sir found out about this he'd kill him.

"Hello, All Might," he said, plastering on a grin. "I just had a couple of questions about Sir. If you don't mind, that is."

All Might looked shocked, to say the least. He knew that he and Sir had some sort of argument, but Sir held him in such a high regard, it was hard to think All Might wouldn't be the same.

"Is everything okay with Nighteye?" the pro asks. Mirio waves his hand and smiles.

"Of course! He's never been better! But I figured since you know him pretty well, you'd be able to help me. See, Sir's birthday is coming up soon, and I wanna get him something that will make him laugh. I was wondering if you had any ideas?"

All Might turned away from the rest of the lounge, where the couches and chairs were. Danny's hand appeared, giving him a thumbs up, before disappearing again.

Mirio ignored the way every piece of furniture moved behind All Might as they put their brains together for Sir's birthday. Keeping All Might looking in his direction wasn't too much of a problem, considering he was looking down in thought half the time. Maybe Midoriya got his muttering from All Might.

Soon enough, Danny's hands were waving at him again, before passing through the wall to the hallway. Then there was a knock on the door, and Danny poked his head in.

"Oh, am I interrupting?" He asked, rubbing the back of his neck. Sheepish looked like it was second nature to Danny.

"Oh, not at all," All Might said, standing up. "I think we were about done anyway. Let me know how everything turns out, okay?"

"Will do, sir!"

He gathered his things and made a quick escape with Danny.

---------

Shouta frowned as he stepped into the teacher's lounge. It looked the same but something was off. He couldn't quite place his finger on it, though. The other teachers in the room seemed to have a similar feeling.

"It just-the couch just doesn't feel the same," Hizashi was whining from his spot on the end. Nemuri was rolling her eyes, but didn't disagree. Snipe was sitting on the other end of the couch, rubbing at his temples.

"What's going on?" Shouta asked tiredly, taking a sip of coffee.

"Something is wrong in here but we can't tell what it is," Cementoss said from his spot near the microwave.

Shouta looked around. It looked the same. But he felt it too. Somebody had been in here. He scowled as he looked at the furniture as if it had been the couch that offended him.

And then he saw it.

The couch wasn't centered with the throw rug. He knelt down next to the back of the couch, finding exactly what he thought he was going to.

Scuff marks.

So it was just a prank then. Shouta huffed and moved the couch six inches to the right where it had originally been. Hizashi almost immediately stopped his dramatic blubbering, feeling the herky-jerky way Shouta had moved the couch. He stood up, noticing similar signs throughout the entire room.

"Better?" He asked. Hizashi nodded. Shouta rolled his eyes.

Whenever he found out who did this, they were going to run until they puked.

[genevievemd]

Love You Home (2/5)

Chapter 2: Fear

A/N: How are we feeling after chapter one? Ready for more pain? Cause this is just more pain. But I do gift you the joy of Ethan x Harper friendship, also some fatherly love from Naveen. And a nice cameo of Dr. Tanaka and Bryce.

Also let me know if you catch the Grey’s Anatomy easter egg, an ode to Mark and Lexie that I managed to sneak in there - rather painfully, it may be slightly ooc but it was just too good to pass up. It also ties into the flashback that happens next chapter. (Which is how i justified it being ooc lol)

Buckle up, fam jam. Grab your tissues and emotional support items. She’s a long one. 

Pairing: Ethan x MC (Genevieve McClure)

It isn’t fair, to be in this position again. Standing behind a closed door, watching through a tiny window as his colleagues rush to save Genevieve’s life. 

Ethan did this a year ago - in a different hallway, on a different floor, with a different assailant. But the feeling was the same. The hands of fear squeezing his throat until there’s no air left in his lungs. 

It’s excruciating. Being on the outside, watching and praying that she won’t be ripped away from him. That his entire world won’t crumble in the next five minutes. 

He takes a breath and looks through the window again. Naveen is there now, his mentor’s eyes wide with terror at the sight before him. Even from this distance, Ethan can still see her covered in blood.

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” a small voice breaks Ethan out of his fog. He forgot Sienna was with him, that she was the one to pull him out of the ER and into the hallway. 

“I, uh… I don’t know.” 

“What happened?” Dr. Varma’s voice comes from behind them, standing there with the rest of Genevieve’s friends. They all look as terrified as he feels, all love Gen just as much as he does and it’s a small comfort knowing he’s not alone in his fear. 

But they’re all staring at him, as if he has the answers and he doesn’t, not this time. All he has now is a crippling, gnawing anxiety blocking out any rational thought he could have. Sienna must see his inability to answer Jackie’s question, quickly stepping in the tell them what’s happened. 

At least last year he could still think straight, last year he was able to stay focused on finding a way to save her life. But not now. He’s too in love with her now to do anything but think about the dreadful notion that Genevieve could very well die on him. Before he has the chance to propose, before he can profess his love and commitment in front of all their family and friends, before he can watch her belly grow and they bring a new life into the world, before they buy a house with a yard for their kids to play in, before he can witness her surpass him as one of the greatest diagnosticians in the country. 

He’s never wanted anything in his life more than a life with Genevieve. 

Ethan’s about to look through the window again when the doors fly open and Naveen steps in front of them. His face is full of sorrow and fear, another reminder that Gen is so overwhelmingly loved by everyone in the hospital. 

Naveen looks at them for a long moment, meeting Ethan’s eyes quickly before turning to the group of residents. “You’re no good to Dr. McClure or your patients just standing here. Dr. Greene and Dr. Trinh, I need you to take over Genevieve’s patients. Dr. Varma, run up to the diagnostics office, tell Mirani and Mendoza what’s going on, that they’re going to have to handle the transfer patient from Hartford Hospital on their own, and to not page Dr. Ramsey under any circumstances. If they have a problem they can page me. After that I want you all to get back to work. We’ll let you let you know if anything changes.”

It’s rare that Banerji uses a commanding voice, so rare that it takes Gen’s friends all but one second to straighten up and leave. Bounding down the halls and away from him and Naveen. 

Ethan takes a breath, trying to steady his shaking hands before he looks at his friend. “She was going home to grab her dress. She forgot it by the front door this morning. I shouldn’t have let her leave...If she didn’t, if I was with her -” He can’t bring himself to continue, to hear his voice crack with emotion for another second. 

This isn’t who he is. He doesn’t get emotional, doesn’t get lost in feelings and things that are out of his control. But Genevieve has always brought out a different side of him. Even now, when she’s probably half dead and lost to him forever, her influence is just as strong as ever. 

“You can’t think like that. You couldn’t have known, no one could have known.” 

“The paramedic said she didn’t even make it to the car. She was right outside.” 

“Genevieve is strong, she made it through before and she’ll do it again.”

Ethan nods, keeping his gaze focused solely on the grey linoleum. He wants to believe that, believe that she’ll come back to him, that this isn’t the end. But it’s proving harder by the second, the longer he waits for answers the more difficult it is to believe she’ll survive. 

His fingers reach into the pocket of his white coat, gripping the ring box tightly in his hand. “I should’ve asked her already. I’ve had the ring for weeks. I shouldn’t have waited.” 

“You wanted it to be perfect. And it will be. Once she’s recovered and -”

“I can’t lose her, Naveen.”

“You won’t.” Naveen pats him on the shoulder, but it does nothing to sooth the ache in Ethan’s heart. “Come on, let’s get out of the hallway and go sit in the waiting room. I’ll stay with you.” 

He doesn’t want to move, he wants to stay where he is. He can see her from here. But he concedes, letting Naveen lead him into the waiting room. 

They sit for what feels like hours, Ethan’s gaze never leaving the direction of the emergency room. In reality he knows its only been minutes because Harper quickly emerges with Bryce and a few nurses wheeling Gen in with them. She’s saying something to him about internal bleeding and a punctured lung, but the rest gets lost in the deafening pounding in his ears. He’s can’t focus on anything but Genevieve, somehow looking smaller than normal against the red stained  sheets draped across the gurney. 

“Did you hear me?”

“What?” Rather reluctantly Ethan tears his eyes away from Genevieve to see Harper now standing in front of him. Her brows are knit together in concern, he’s not entirely sure if its concern for Gen or for himself. “No…”

“Go say goodbye, just in case.”

Ethan nods wordlessly, running over to Gen’s side. She’s still unconscious, face pale and almost lifeless. He can feel the air leave his lungs again as he takes her in. She’s battered and bruised, her gorgeous blonde hair caked with blood. There’s a gash on her forehead, just below her hairline, dark and red. 

He tentatively brings his hand to her cheek, fingers lingering on her skin. She’s almost cold to the touch, like her warmth has been sucked out of her. Her ever radiant sunshine eclipsed by the hands of death.

Ethan can feel the unfamiliar burning behind his eyes, the tears rushing back, as he holds her face in his hands. “Don’t you dare die on that table, Rookie. Do you hear me? You fight like hell and come back to me.” He knows they’re all watching him, he can feel their eyes on his back as he looks down at the woman he loves. Ethan lowers his voice to nothing more than a whisper, ensuring that only Genevieve can hear him. “Remember the house with the yard and the two kids...that I want to marry you. Don’t give up. Come back to me, Genevieve. Please, we’re meant to be.” 

Ethan stares at her for another moment, trying to commit every feature of her face to memory. 

Just in case. 

He takes a breath and leans down, gently placing his lips to Genevieve’s forehead. He’s not sure if she can hear him, if she even knows he’s there. But a small part of him is screaming that she can, that she knows. That she’ll hear his pleas and come back to him. “I love you, Gen. I love you. I love you.”  

“We have to take her now, Ethan.” Harper brings her hand to his shoulder, gently pulling him away from Genevieve. 

She gives him a small smile, a nod of determination before she, Bryce and the nurses disappear behind the doors to the OR hallways.

Ethan turns back to Naveen, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sits in the chair beside him. The fear is coming back, rising up from the pit of his stomach. He falls forward, resting his head in his hands. He lets out a ragged sigh as Naveen runs a comforting hand down his back. 

“Dr. Banerji?”

They look up to see a bewildered intern, standing awkwardly in front of them. 

“What is it?”

“They, uh, they told me to come find you and tell you that they just brought in the guy that attacked Dr. McClure. He’s in the ER with the police.”

Ethan feels the anger consume him, his veins erupt with a fury unlike anything he’s felt before. His feet move before he realizes what he’s doing, burning a path towards the ER. 

“Ethan, where are you going?” 

He can hear Naveen call after him, his foot fall a mere second behind Ethan’s. But he ignores him, pushing the doors of the emergency room open. 

“Where is he?” He all but barks at an unsuspecting nurse, the rage he feels fueled even more by the confused look on her face.

“Who?” 

“Who the fuck do you think I’m talking about?” 

“Ethan, leave it be. Let the staff and the police handle this.” Naveen reaches for him, grabbing his arm like his father would as a child - trying to keep him out of trouble, keep Ethan from making a mistake. 

He swivels his head, taking in every trauma bay and every patient that’s admitted until he finds his target. They’ve put him in the same bay that the paramedics used for Gen and it like adding kerosene to the fire burning him from the inside out. 

Ethan makes to the trauma team in record time, bounding across the still crowded ER in seconds. He’s not entirely sure what he’s about to do - punch him, wring his neck, drive a scalpel though his heart. Anything is better than letting the man who put Genevieve at deaths door breath for another second. 

“Woah, Woah, Woah.” Tanaka flies in front of him, grabbing Ethan’s fist before it can make contact. “Ramsey, he’s high. He’s hallucinating. He has no idea what he did. Back off.” 

“Back off!? Genevieve’s in surgery, she could die because of him.”

“And punching him in the face won’t change anything.” Tanaka stares him down, matching Ethan’s fury. “Get out of here and focus on your girl.”

“He’s right, son.” Naveen is behind him again, with another fatherly hand on Ethan’s arm. “Let Tanaka treat him. He’s covered in her blood, he’s not going anywhere. Focus on Genevieve and let the police handle this. Go.” 

Ethan looks between Naveen and Tanaka before turning away, loudly knocking over a tray of supplies before he walks out of the ER. 

————

4 months ago...

He can hear her laugh from halfway down the hall. That singsong in her voice so recognizable, he’s certain he could easily pick it out in a crowded room.

Ethan lets curiosity get the best of him, following the sound until he finds her. She’s in her elderly patients room, the one they rounded on that morning. Her back is to the door, looking down at the chart in her hand.

“Does he work in the hospital?”

“You’re really not gonna let this go are you, Mrs. St Clair?”

 “No.” Lottie smiles brightly at Genevieve, her eyes gleaming with mirth. “It’s that criminally handsome attending from this morning, Dr. Ramsey, isn’t it?”

Ethan smiles to himself as he sees Gen look up quickly, her head tilting ever so slightly. “How did you know?” 

“I saw the way he looked at you. It was the same way my Edward used to look at me.”

He can’t see Genevieve’s face but he know’s she smiling. The small one that starts at the corners of her mouth, the one where she has to look away to keep from blushing. 

“Do you love him?”

“Yes, very much.” She looks back down at the chart in her hands, “How long were you and your husband married?”

“Almost 55 years when he passed.”

“Wow.”

Lottie smiles mischievously again, “Indulge an old woman for a moment would you?”

Gen laughs, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Sure.”

“How long have you two been together?”

“He’d probably tell you one year, but I say it’s closer to two. There was a lot of back and forth at the beginning, but I still count it as being together. There was no one else for me.”

“Would you marry him? If he asked?”

His breath catches at the question and it startles him for a moment why he desperately needs to know the answer. 

“In a heartbeat.”

“Does he know that?”

“I think so. But he’s said in the past that he wasn’t sold on the idea of marriage. Which I’m okay with. As long as I have him, I don’t need a ring.”

Lottie hums, “You know, when Edward and I first started dating, he said the same thing. Then one year later he got down on one knee. I teased him for years about it and he would always say ‘Lottie, when you meet the love of your life, everything changes.’” 

Ethan smiles, walking away before Gen can realize that he was listening. He’s not ready to hear a weeks worth of teasing about how he was absolutely eaves-dropping when he’s always so quick to call out others for doing the same. 

He walks back to the diagnostics office, fully intending to focus back on the team’s case and ignore beating of his heart. It hits him, as he steps back into the glass-walled room, that if he believed in such things as fate and destiny, it would so clearly show that Genevieve’s the one. The love of his life. His future. 

He wants everything with her. All the things he’d always deemed trivial or foolish. Things he never thought were in the cards for him. Ethan wants them, with her. More than he’s ever wanted anything. 

————

It’s hours before he sees her again, once she’s out of surgery and safely in a patient room. The halls are dark, night falling quickly over Boston. Ethan looks down at his watch as he makes to Genevieve’s room. 

Right now, they should be sitting in his box at the opera house. Listening to the final beats of the music as he prepares to get down on one knee. Right now he should be proposing instead of walking into her dimly lit hospital room and seeing her hooked up to machines.  

Ethan slowly walks over to her bedside. She’s breathing on her own, which is a good sign, the gash on her forehead stitched up. The blood is gone from her face as well, her porcelain skin no longer hidden beneath splotches of red. 

“Christ, Gen…”

He takes her hand in his, thumb running across her now bruised knuckles. A small desperate laugh leaving his lips as he realizes they’re defense wounds. His vivacious and fierce love did her best to fight off her attacker. But her fingers feel like ice, cold and frail. Gen’s hands are always cold, something he teases her frequently for, but this feels different. It feels deathly. 

The thought of her still being so close to death sends another wave of trepidation over him. 

There’s a knock on the door and Ethan turns to see Harper with the scalpel jockey behind her. “She made it through surgery. It was touch and go, but -“ She stops suddenly, no doubt seeing the anguish written all over his face. “Ethan,” 

He clears his throat, doing his best to swallow back the tears that are once again burning him from the inside out. “Thank you.” 

Harper turns to the resident behind her, “Lahela, go update your friends.”

“Sure thing.” He disappears quickly, running down the hall. 

“She’s going to be fine.” Harper gives him a small smile, walking fully into the room. “You picked a strong one.”

Ethan lets out a wry laugh, she isn’t wrong. Genevieve’s determination and strength are one of the many things he loves about her. 

“Naveen told me you were planning on proposing tonight.”

“Has he told the entire hospital?” Ethan rolls his eyes with a deep sigh, he had explicitly told Naveen to keep his plans to himself. 

“Probably, but we’ve all made sure not to let it slip in front of Genevieve. I have to say, I never thought you were the marrying type.”

“Neither did I, but Gen is -” Ethan sits in the chair next to Genevieve’s bed, running a hand down his face. “She’s the love of my life, Harper.” He falls back against the chair, no longer able to hold back the tears that have been just under the surface all day. 

“I know.” Harper moves to sit on the arm of the chair, a gentle hand on his shoulder.  “The hardest part is over. As long as she makes it through the night, I expect a full recovery.” 

Ethan closes his eyes for the briefest of moments, taking a deep breath to settle himself. “I have to call her parents.” 

“We can have a nurse do it.”

“No, it should be me.” He moves to stand, with every intention of getting up and out of the room but he feels frozen. His eyes falling back onto Genevieve. 

Ethan closes his eyes again, reaching down to a place he hasn’t been to in a long time. A place where he can hide his emotions and focus, where his walls are sky high and protective. A place that Genevieve had long since demolished. 

“Take a second, Ethan.”

He shakes his head, leaving the room without a second glance. “I’m fine.” 

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

a/n: how are we feeling after that? lol you still have a whole chapter and a half of angst after this before we get to the fluff. And just know, I am delighting in your pain, its bringing me joy lmao - Sara <3

tag list: 

@queencarb, @overwhelminglyaquarius, @me-and-my-choices, @schnitzelbutterfingers, @crazy-loca-blog, @a-crepusculo, @drakewalkerfantasy, @ohchoices, @adrex04, @udishaman, @drariellevalentine, @custaroonie, @archxxronrookie, @terrm9, @maurine07, @openheartthot, @gryffindordaughterofathena, @aworldoffandoms, @caseyvalentineramsey, @dulceghernandez, @elwetritsche75, @emotionalswift2, @thegreentwin, @starrystarrytrouble, @utterlyinevitable, @angela8754, @fireycookie

LMK if you want to be added or removed from the list :)

[porchwood]

Unposted Fic Bits from 2017: Modern Marko/Prim

College student!Prim and bachelor baker!Marko in a disgustingly fluffy premise slightly inspired by Dharma & Greg. A snippet of this was previously posted as a writing check-in.

By 10am, it’s already been a long day, and I’m drowsily eyeing the clock in the corner of the register screen when a pale blur appears in front of the counter. I glance up, then down again at a young woman – girl, really; twenty at the absolute most – with a wide, merry mouth, high cheekbones, and hair like frost and cream, spangled with actual flakes of thawing snow.

A veritable Christmas angel, never mind it’s still a week to Thanksgiving.

She smiles up at me in greeting. Her eyes are a stunning shade of blue that just might be violet, and her skin is downright porcelain – even fairer against her mint-green sweater.

“I know this is ridiculous, but do you have gingerbread yet?” she asks.

I blink owlishly at the vision while I try to think where I left the forceps to remove that kidney she asked for, and she elaborates, “I mean: gingerbread syrup, for lattes. I know it’s not even Thanksgiving but it’s been snowing like crazy and I’m having a hankering for gingerbread.”

I shake off the trance and transition neatly into Customer Service Mode. There’s no need to get spoony over a pretty college student, never mind this is the first time it’s happened since…well, ever.

“We like Christmas around here too,��� I reply with a grin and duck over to the espresso machine to lift the newly stocked bottles of Monin gingerbread and peppermint syrups for her to see. “We've even got eggnog in the cooler.”

“Oh, I love you,” she declares, and my heart skips a beat. “Can I get a grande eggnog latte with gingerbread syrup?”

Strictly speaking, drink-making isn’t really my job, let alone my forte, but Luka’s in the back wrapping grab-and-go sandwiches and Peeta’s not due till 11 today, and I’ll be danged if I let any of our new-hire “baristas” make this angel’s latte.

I decide to throw in a square of fresh gingerbread on the house; the dark, moist, cakey stuff that hasn’t caught on yet but I’m almost certain she’ll enjoy.

And then I get the most amazing idea. “Do you trust me?” I ask her.

“Well, I did just ask you to make me a drink, so I suppose that’s a yes,” she answers impishly. “It doesn’t have to be fabulous, just festive.”

“I want to make you something – something different,” I explain, breathier than I intend. “Still using the gingerbread and eggnog, and I’m fairly certain it’ll be tasty, but if it isn’t I’ll make whatever you want to replace it and you can keep both drinks, free of charge.”

Her antennae perk up at the word free but she quickly demurs, “That sounds awesome, but you really don’t have to do that. I’ll pay for whatever you have in mind –”

“I’m honestly not even sure how to ring it up,” I admit. “It’s a new idea that you just inspired.” She raises her brows at this and my cheeks burn. “I-I know it’s cold out, but do you drink cold coffee too?” I stammer. “Frappes, I mean.”

I wince as I say it, because the last thing I want is to imply that she’s a foofy college girl who goes to Starbucks for Caramel Waffle Cone Frappuccinos, and I’m relieved to my bones when she replies, without a flicker of offense, “Sure, if it’s unique and tasty. And there has to be actual espresso – the real stuff, pulled as a shot, not that syrup concentrate junk that they try to pass off.”

“I wouldn’t dream of giving you anything else,” I assure her. “Where are you sitting? I’ll bring it out.”

She gestures behind her at a booth, its tabletop filled with a neat assortment of textbooks, folders, and notebooks. “In for the long haul?” I tease, and she nods.

“Anatomy final tomorrow,” she replies gravely. “I know I’m probably overpreparing, but I kind of geek out on this stuff.”

“Two shots, then?” I say, and she grins.

“Sounds perfect,” she replies, and glances at my name tag. “Thanks, Marko,” she says cheerfully and heads back to her study nook, taking my flailing heart with her.

I’m grateful for the relative quiet as I pull together the makings of what absolutely needs to be the most amazing drink I’ve ever prepared and wonder what in the world has come over me. We get the gamut of clientele here – college kids, savvy new grads, career women on their way to work or a quick lunch hour, and more than a few pretty faces among them – but no one’s ever affected me like this girl; not even Greta, my grade school crush. I want to kiss her to bits and take care of her and fill her with fat blond babies all at once.

I shake my head fiercely and offer up a silent prayer as I drop a square of gingerbread into the eggnog-and-espresso mixture in the blender. Ice and a hearty splash of gingerbread syrup round things out, and I press my lips together in hope as the ingredients noisily break down to a sippable consistency: a deep golden beverage with dark flecks of gingerbread crumbs.

There’s too much of the resulting drink for even our largest cold cup to accommodate, so I fill the 20-ounce to capacity and toss the rest into a 12-ounce for myself. I’m both eager and reluctant to steal a sip but I needn’t have worried; while relatively new to drink-making, I’ve been in the food business for eons, and this gingerbread frappe is downright to die for – a must for our holiday drinks menu. I’d love to run a taster back to Luka because I know he’ll love it too, but I don’t want him to find out about the girl, for some reason. She’s like a dream that I want to keep just for me.

I garnish the drink with a towering, precarious heap of whipped cream, cinnamon, and nutmeg, top it off with a straw, and duck around the counter to carry it reverently to the girl’s booth.

She looks up as I approach and gives a delighted, giggling, “Oh good Lord!” as I place the cup in front of her. “That looks amazing,” she breathes, and takes a long, rapturous sip, punctuated by an exquisite little moan that makes something clench deep in my belly. “Oh my gosh, you have to try this!” she exclaims, offering the cup back to me. “Or did you already try it?”

For some reason this makes me blush violently. “I stole a sip of what didn’t fit in here, to make sure it tasted okay,” I reply, but she insistently passes over the cup. “You have to try it in context,” she says. “Properly, from the straw.”

I can’t comprehend her wanting to share a straw with a man she’s only just met, let alone the bakery employee who just made her drink, but I equally can’t deny how wonderful it would be to place my lips where hers were a moment ago. I bring the straw to my mouth and taste marshmallow lip balm before the frappe hits my tongue.

It's the closest thing to a kiss – a real one, not a quick, awkward peck at the end of a blind date, and more often than not on the cheek – that I’ve experienced in my twenty-eight years and I wonder if it’s excruciatingly obvious to her. “It’s good,” I gulp. “Even better than I expected.”

“Please, let me pay you for it,” she entreats. “I know I’m a poor college student so I shouldn’t be balking at any gift horses, but this is at least a five dollar drink, and I know you can’t write off everything as samples.”

And I realize: this is my moment. This is the part where I’m supposed to wink and give a debonair smile as I tell her, “No charge, but I’d love your number,” or maybe ask her out for dinner. If she likes me even a little she’s supposed to say yes, and if she doesn’t I can dismiss the mortification by thanking her anyway and insisting no charge for the drink. Mellarks may be terrible at the business of asking out the objects of their affection, but this opportunity practically flung itself into my lap. My heart is pummeling my eardrums and my breath is shaky and I blurt out the words in a rush.

“Will you marry me?”

I bite my lips together to prevent me gaping at her in horror. It’s the last thing I ever meant to say, but now that it’s out, I’m strangely glad. There was something inevitable about asking this beautiful girl to marry me and I’ll probably never see her again – it’s pretty much a cert after this – and at least now I can’t kick myself for “what might have been.”

Her brows are justifiably aloft but somehow, she doesn’t look offended or upset or freaked out, just surprised. “Um,” she says. “I’m a poor college student, so that really wouldn’t be me doing you any favors.”

“You’d be my wife,” I croak, and consider biting off my tongue. “That’s better than a lifetime’s worth of Christmas presents, let alone five-dollar frappes.”

She takes about five excruciating seconds to look me over from head to toe. I’ve been up since 2am and in the kitchen since 3:00, up to my elbows in flour and yeast. I showered before bed last night but I don’t remember the last time I ran a comb over my curls, to say nothing of tidying up my No-Shave Novembeard, which is mountain-man bushy and extends halfway down my neck.

I can only be grateful that the cold weather keeps the kitchen brisk or I’d be running around in an undershirt, looking about as sexy as my dad.

I’m about to turn around and scramble back to the safety of said kitchen when the girl says, or maybe decides: “Okay. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

I slide into the booth seat opposite her a split second before my knees give way. “You don’t have to humor me,” I tell her, my pulse flailing, but my voice and mind are oddly calm and clear.

“I’m not,” she replies, almost patiently, and reaches over to set a hand on mine, making me jump in my skin. “You’re good-looking, generous, and incredibly nice,” she says. “I’m flattered, to be honest, and I’d love to be your wife.”

“I’m off at 11,” some madman answers in my voice. “We could get married over lunch, if you want.”

She tips her head, considering, and gets up from her seat; to leave, obviously – but no, she simply comes around to my side of the booth and scoots in beside me. “Hold my hand?” she asks, and leans against my shoulder as I clumsily comply. Her hand is half the size of mine, all bird-boned wrist and slender fingers, and I swallow back a whimper at how incredible she feels. It’s all I can do not to dip my face and bury it in her fragrant pale hair.

“You smell amazing,” she sighs, nuzzling her face against my shoulder. “And you feel so good.”

“So do you,” I whisper, my voice a thread, as I dare to stroke the back of her hand with my thumb.

“Okay,” she says again, raising her head to regard me directly. “I’m done with class for the day. Let’s get married.”

“I’m Marko,” I croak, and she chuckles.

“I caught that,” she teases, tracing my name tag with a fingertip and making me shiver. “Mellark?” she wonders, nodding at the bakery logo beneath my name, and I nod. “I’m Prim – um, Primrose – Everdeen,” she says, with the smallest of apologetic winces.

“It’s a beautiful name,” I breathe. “You’re beautiful, Prim.”

She grins through an exquisite blush. “Aww, thank you,” she says. “I was beginning to think you only liked me for my taste in espresso beverages, or maybe my penchant for holiday flavors.”

“Well, there is that,” I reply, and she curls an arm over to hug me, making my heart swell and threaten to burst its bounds.

“Oh, Marko,” she sighs against my shoulder. “This really is going to work.”

I tentatively slip my arms around her torso, shyly hugging her in return and holding her close all at once, and she makes a delicious sound of surprise. “Oh my God, you feel good,” she moans. “You’re really sure you want to marry me? Because I want more than anything in the world to come home to you tonight and curl up in your arms on the sofa.”

“I only have a loveseat,” I warn in a rasp and she giggles.

“All the better for cuddling,” she points out, and leans up to peck my cheek, just above the line of my beard, with an impish kiss. “It’s a little out of the way,” she says, “but do you want me to run home and change into a dress or something?”

“No,” I answer firmly, because I’m terrified if she leaves she’ll never come back, and somehow this will all end up being an impossibly wonderful dream. “I want to marry you just like this,” I add, a little more softly, and raise a brave hand to her hair. “You’re so beautiful just as you are,” I whisper, shivering at the feel of silky blonde waves beneath my fingers.

“What did I do to get you?” she whispers back. “I was just looking for a place to study and this place had espresso drinks and WiFi.”

I grin, because Dad had resisted adding either one of those and I’ve never been happier that he eventually gave in. “Well, since I was the one who suggested we add the espresso machine, I’d call it fate,” I reply, and kiss the tip of her nose, making her squeak.

“Your whiskers tickle,” she explains, rubbing at her lips, where I must have inadvertently brushed against her with my beard, but she looks positively mirthful at the discovery. “This should be fun,” she says, tracing my mouth with a fingertip, and I swallow a yelp at an answering tug from my groin.

I’m a grown man with a very grown-up degree of self-control, but erections usually hit me at night; rarely in public and never at this proximity, and it’s all I can do not to peel Prim off my side and bodily return her to her side of the booth.

Then again, we could very well be married in an hour or two and go straight home to bed. I could be making love with my wife before suppertime –

“I should get back to work,” I blurt and make a clumsy lunge toward the edge of the booth, but of course Prim is still nestled between me and the exit and I end up flinging myself against her.

“You could’ve just asked me to move,” she says, confused but not quite hurt, and my perpetual flush burns crimson across my cheekbones.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell her. “I’m…incredibly attracted to you, and I was trying to make a run for it before I made a fool of myself.”

“What would be so bad about that?” she wonders, and I have the sudden horrifying-yet-wonderful thought that maybe she really doesn’t know what I mean. She’s too beautiful to have never slept with a guy – something I hadn’t stopped to think about before now and which makes me a little sad to acknowledge – or at the very least, to have fooled around with the equipment. And for pity’s sake, she’s in an Anatomy class, so she’s either training for some branch of healthcare or in art school. Either way, the workings of the male body can’t possibly be a mystery to her.

Or can they?

“I’m sorry, Marko,” she says suddenly. “I didn’t think about this being your family’s bakery, where the last thing you want is to be seen cuddling with a girl.”

“No, that would not be good,” I agree gratefully. “At least, not until I’ve taken her ‘round and introduced her properly as my wife.”

She smiles at the prospect and inches out of the booth. “You’re absolutely sure about this?” she says. “I mean, there’s no saying we can’t date for a little while – or heck, get engaged –”

“Would you rather?” I ask, slipping out of the booth to stand beside her, and she gazes properly up at me for the first time. She’s not especially short but her head is at a level with my heart, which feels strangely appropriate.

“You’re really tall,” she observes, and slips her arms around my waist, hugging me soundly. “And no, I don’t want to wait,” she murmurs into my chest as my own arms drift around her. “I want to marry you this afternoon, if you’re still okay with that.”

“I’m so okay with that,” I whisper, curling forward to kiss the crown of her head. Her body feels like heaven held against mine, slim and strong with alluring curves tucked here and there, and I lift her up onto her toes as I hold her closer to me. “I have to run back to the kitchen for a bit, sweetheart,” I murmur, “but I’ll be back as soon as I can and I’ll pack us a lunch to boot, okay?”

“So much better than okay,” she sighs, sinking back on her heels. “I’ve got more than enough studying to keep me busy till you’re free.”

I return to the kitchen on a cloud, my absence unnoticed by any but Luka, who’s frowning as he pockets his cell. “Peet’s in bed with stomach flu,” he says. “He says he tried to get up and dressed but he’s got a fever, chills, puking, the whole thing.”

“I can’t stay past 11,” I blurt, terrified I’ll blush, but my brother shakes his head.

“Wouldn’t ask you,” he says. “The baristas can fill in through lunch and Dad can probably hang out till 4, but I need help with the special orders this afternoon.”

[chrysanthemum-brush]

Do the same task with another person 25 times; document the process

There needs to be more of a transition here i think. It goes straight from the pictures in the house to the final bus stop

Maybe instead of describing the photo, think of why the photo would be needed to be described. ex. "Jack ran his thumb over the red timestamp in the corner, the old frayed edge catching on his fingertips."

Hes interacting with it, that gives us reason to describe it in more detail- since that's the way Jack sees it

Why would he take the photos out when he knows he will get teary-eyes and put them back again? The readers might need another reason for him to do this

Ooohhh that explains it. Maybe this needs to be hinted at more in the beginning

hehe steal that from real life?

As wonderful and thoughtful some of these room descriptions are, i think this one is one too many. This section could do well without it~ but no worries if not!

I can't help but fall in love with the tone you keep consistent throughout this story, it keeps me on my toes even though nothing intense is happening- theres always a lingering feeling of the characters (especially Hylla) tip toeing through the life they've found themselves in. The mystery that comes with Hylla is amazingly engaging even though we've only seen just a little bit of her- its like there is so much information you're holding back from the reader and (as frustrating as it is because im so eager) its genius and what makes her so intricate to write. Keep up with this method of writing!! This identity you've found is brilliant

Think about what you would do if you were in Jacks position. Would you immediately notice the details of your cousins face as she talks to the general or would you take in you extremes change in your surroundings first since you literally just TELEPORTED. Emphasize how awestruck he is to be experiencing something that should otherwise be impossible. Switch this section about the characters with the section after this taking in the scene around him- this would make it more realistic!!

THIS POOR KID

One Short Daay in the Emerald Cityyy!

Yep the cat is out of the bag, I repeat: THE CAT IS OUT OF THE BAG

YES this paragraph really dives deeper into the dynamic and turmoil between the lines. Love love love this

Hehehehe

This scene gives me Diagon Alley Harry Potter vibes and I’m thriving

How else is he feeling at this moment?This is all so new to him, so is he adjusting surprisingly well? or still nervous about the understanding the world his cousin just thrust him into? Say just a lil something here so the readers are reminded of his coping process here :P

It might be just me, but I doubt a king would use the term 'girlfriend', probably lean towards 'partner' or something a bit more formal- unless he's a chill, slightly more open and progressive king, but so for those are not exactly the vibes he gives off considering his uncertainty or sternness towards Jack

Is this FORESHADOWING??!

I really hope Damien and Jack’s relationship blossoms more in the future, their characters bounce off each other SO WELL- more of this development!

NICE SEGWAY

does Hylla have a close relationship with her troop? maybe add a little detail about how she interacts with them here- that she is apart of this universe outside of just Jack

gh this is so powerful

Edgar = fridge lord

I LIKE THIS BIT

puzzels?? oo

The above excerpts are comments I made on a friend’s book she’s been working on for years. Many are comments of criticism while others are just fun reactions to the text. She’s mentioned to me how much the critiques help in terms of thematic consistencies, but also how funny comments (as if outside readers were emotionally reacting) really helps put her in the shoes of the reader as well as potentially putting a smile on her face. Writing can be intense and a break from overthinking the inconsistencies by reading a comically simplified version of the text can be relieving in some circumstances. When I write for fun, she leaves both types of comments under my work as well- we’ve discussed the writing process and how to get over blocks, finding creativity, and dealing with hard exposition while balancing it with fun scenes. It’s impossible to have as much passion for one scene as you do another, I’ve realized. I feel that that’s where art and writing deviate from each other. I’ve never encountered a time when there was a part of a project that I hadn’t felt as passionate about. Maybe that excruciating part of the process lies with technical work such as still-lifes, anatomy practice, or very detailed tonal work. The practice you must do before getting to experiment with the skills you’ve already built up. Then again, I’ve never done any intense or huge projects with many moving parts. I have a feeling my opinion on this will dramatically change during my time at RISD and I look forward to reading this reflection back a few years from now.