Can I request Jack Abbot x fem reader? She's a Swiftie and loves the 'Love Story' very much. Always singing it, they even go to the concert. And Jack had a better plan. He's been planning for a while, even Robby and Dana bother him about his plan to propose. What's better than to propose to his girl with that one song? (Ik that Jack is someone that doesn't like the crowd but whatever for his girl. So, just them. On the rooftop, propose to her with that song playing on bg). Suggestive, proposed, tears, kiss, speech. Do whatever you want to. Thanks!!! :))
a request! omg hi thank u
dr abbot x reader
wc: 1k
———
if someone had told jack abbot even two years ago that he’d be willingly attending a taylor swift concert, he would have called for a psych consult.
but alas, there he was. noise-reducing earplugs in ear, venue-approved clear bag full of friendship bracelets in arm, his pretty little girlfriend chatting excitedly to fellow fans around them—the younger girlfriend part would have gotten you a 72 hour hold.
“baby, i need some more,” you smiled to jack, hand reaching into the baggie full of bracelets. you had spent the past week crafting the goodies—we exchange them, jack! you had whined when he teased your about it.
but you’d given out just as many as you’d received—hell, jack had received some, too (“here! and one for your dad!” a tween said handing you two, you biting back a cackle).
as the night progressed, you sang and danced to the songs, even pulling jack up from his seat for a few.
“jack!” you gasped hearing the open chords of love story; it was the one song you said you hope she played.
sitting there, watching you bounce and sing along, jack had never felt so in love with you. if he hadn’t already bought a ring, the jewelry store would have been his first stop in the morning.
—
it’d been months since the concert, and even longer since jack had started planning out his proposal. something big, something small? somewhere public, somewhere private? should be hire a photographer? band? a sky-writer? the ideas rushed in and flooded out and changed on a near daily basis. his proposal to his late wife was the genius of a 22 year old soldier who didn’t want to leave his girlfriend when he moved post—yeah, she had said yes, and yeah, they were together for nearly two decades, but still.
robby and dana started out helpful in their ideas, but after the hundredth change of plans, they decided they’d rather give him shit instead.
“how about: putting the ring in the pleural cavity, and when she goes to put it a chest tube, boom, she feels it,” robby suggested over drinks one night. “wait, jack, no, that was a joke,” he rushed to add after not getting an immediate rejection. jack only considered it for a second, okay?
the perfect opportunity for the perfect proposal just never arrived. that was, until the night a kid arrived in the er at 4am.
—
she was 10, arriving via ambulance, sustaining a broken arm and mild lacerations after rolling off the top bunk in her sleep. she wore tear-stained cheeks, fluffy pajama pants, bunny slippers—and an eras tour tshirt.
jack was coming out of the trauma bay when he saw you sitting with the girl as the junior resident stitched her up. you were smiling at her almost as widely as she smiled at you. coming closer, he heard the topic of conversation: taylor swift.
he just chuckled from the doorway, turning to leave when you asked the patient what her favorite song was. the happy gasp you released when the kid said love story made him stay.
next thing he knew, you and the little girl were singing an a cappella rendition of the song as the resident reset the broken arm—neither of you would be winning any grammy’s, but jack was suddenly glad that he’d been hiding the engagement ring in his work locker.
—
after stepping out of the patient room, jack grabbed you by the elbow, offering a, “meet me on the roof in 5–no, 10 minutes,” before hustling away.
it was a little cold out for one of your late night trysts, but hey, if your hunky silver fox of a boyfriend wanted to rendezvous, you were game.
you gave jack exactly 10 minutes, waiting the last 90 seconds on the inside of the access door, soaking in the heat from the hallway.
the door gave a metallic creak when you pushed it open, almost loud enough to cover jack letting out a quick shit, fuck! as he fumbled to skip an ad playing through his phone.
you looked at your boyfriend with amusement, then up to the sky. the chilly pittsburgh night was illuminated by the nearly-full moon above, the roof accented with the soft warmth of the emergency lights.
your head snapped over to jack when you heard those familiar chords begin, the song you’d just been singing with the girl downstairs.
the sound became slightly muffled when jack slid the phone into his coat pocket, looking over to you with an unreadable look on his face—eyes wide, brows raised, mouth slightly agape, chest rising heavily; nervous? you thought.
walking until be was only a few steps in front of you, jack opened his mouth to speak, the word getting caught in his throat. clearing his throat, he tried again.
“i wasn’t—this isn’t what i planned. i don’t even know what my plan was anymore,” he started, speaking shakily. “but i can’t—i don’t want to wait—there won’t be a perfect time, so—“ he continued, reaching back into his coat pocket, pulling out a velvet box as he sunk to one knee.
“jack, wait, wait, wait. are you—“ you begin breathlessly, feeling tears well up in your eyes, your cheeks grow hot.
“let me propose, woman,” jack mumbled, smirk adorning his face. you let out a breath, flapping your hand as if to tell him to continue. exhaling, he does.
“i don’t have a big speech prepared, or a little one either. but i know that i’ve wanted to marry you for a long time, like don’t ask robby how long this box has been in my locker long time—“ you let out a laughing sob, “—and now i’m blanking on everything i’ve thought about saying to you, so i’ll stop embarrassing myself before you run away so—“ jack opens the box, stating your full name, then, “will you marry me?”
maybe forcefully rushing in to hug, and inadvertently tackling, the guy balancing on his one good foot wasn’t the greatest idea, but you were too happy to care.
“yes! yes! yes!” you exclaim, smooching over jack’s face between each phrase. he just looked back at you with that rare jack smile.
the ring is perfect as he slips it on your finger, both standing back up.
wrapping your arms around his neck, his arms coming to wrap tightly around your middle, you let your happy tears flow. then,
“does this mean you’ll start rooting for the chiefs?”
“absolutely fucking not.”
———
aaaah hope u like it anon, this was needed after working on my angsty fic hehehe 🤭
I haven't finished the show. I didn't fact check this. I don't feel like the show respects me so I don't feel obliged to respect the show. If this is inaccurate... I don't care 🙂
S2 fix-it
---
Motifs.
For several years of his life, Hob had no idea the concept existed. He couldn’t read at all for a good hundred-fifty years to begin with, and it took a while even after getting involved in printing before he progressed to actually reading literature on his own.
But what Hob has always known is that life runs in patterns. Resonances. He doesn’t believe in fate—told Destiny that to his face actually—but clearly there are forces in the universe beyond his understanding and one of those is recurrence. Motif. Plays upon a theme. Things always come back around. They always come back.
Fashion trends. Moral panics. Political movements. Places. Memories. Tiny coincidences that may or may not be only deja vu.
Dream.
Which is why, though Hob owns a pub—which he currently wants to burn to the ground—he finds himself at the White Horse. Not his White Horse. But there’s a trillion of them in London. Can’t turn a fucking corner without being reminded.
His intentions for the evening had actually been:
Get smashingly drunk at a gay bar.
Find a guy who looked kind of like Dream but not and wrong.
Fuck in an alley.
Hate himself.
Throw up in a public bin on the street.
Die of alcohol poisoning.
Come back to life.
Hate himself.
Go back to the New Inn and contemplate burning it to the ground with him in it (he’d live).
Alas, instead he’s at the (wrong) White Horse Tavern, on his third bottle of wine (still working on the alcohol poisoning), playing lute music on his phone because it reminds him of The Past and the present’s kind of shit at the moment. Finding the past in the present always feels a little weird and wrong, except it always comes back, everything always comes back around, and at this point Hob would take a little bit ‘weird and wrong’, actually he would take a lot weird and wrong, is there someone he can kill to make it happen? It might make him feel a little better to just fucking kill anybody whose hands touched this. He’s just so goddamn angry he’s going to explode.
One thing that helps with anger that doesn’t involve killing someone is finding a like mind, and Hob could probably go talk to some of the people in Dream’s life who feel similarly, except if he does he’s likely to run into that kid that’s sort of Dream but mostly not, not in the ways that matter to Hob, and even though he knows it’s not his fault, Hob feels kind of homicidal when he looks at that kid so. Probably shouldn’t.
God, would it be too unhinged to throw a couple shots of tequila in this wine? Would ruin it, but what does that matter.
He orders three shots of tequila at the bar and is in the middle of pouring them into the bottle when there’s a flutter of feathers and Matthew lands on the table in front of him. “Dude, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Can’t you guess?”
“Trying to die of alcohol poisoning?”
Hob points at him. “Bingo. You want some?”
“No.”
“Your loss.” Hob pours a glass and tries it. Dear god, that’s awful.
“I’ll take some fries if you have ‘em, though,” Matthew says.
Hob orders some chips on his phone. Why does this pub have a fucking app? Is nothing sacred?
“I didn’t know you were allowed to leave the Dreaming,” he says when he’s done.
“Yeah, whatever.”
No one says whatever with as much clinical disdain as an American. Why does Hob know an American raven? Do they even have ravens in America? You know what, it doesn’t even matter. Nothing does.
“I’m not taking orders from a two-year-old,” Matthew continues.
“Quite frankly, that is the least of my problems with the guy,” Hob says. “Known some wise infants in my time. Someone who thinks he can take the place of my friend—?”
It’s not his fault
It’s not his fault
It’s not
his
fault
He tsks in disapproval. “Well. S’a different matter.”
“Hob, how many people have you killed?” Matthew asks.
“In what time period?”
“Jesus Christ. I dunno, forever?”
“I don’t know. Plenty. Less in the past half-century. Killing people used to be more normal. Now you can only do it at war. Or by starting a chemical company and poisoning the water supply with Teflon. It’s too stupid now to bother with.”
“Okay, so you are actually insane,” Matthew says.
Hob shrugs, drinking more of his unholy wine concoction. “You never saw your boss kill someone?”
“Actually, he usually tried not to.”
“Huh.”
“Scared the bejeezus out of people, but killed them? Not really.”
“Too bad,” Hob says.
Matthew snorts.
“Too fucking bad.” Shit, he’s out of wine. “Wait, why did you ask me that? Did you want me to kill someone?”
A server comes by with their chips just then. Hob doesn’t know why he doesn’t get kicked out for having an enormous bird on the table. Maybe they think Matthew’s fake. Maybe he’s invisible. Maybe Hob’s getting a pass for having spent at least £300 on alcohol in two hours.
Matthew starts scarfing down the chips. “Not really,” he says, between huge mouthfuls. “I was wondering if you were gonna do it on your own.”
“If I find someone whose death’ll make a difference. Otherwise, I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I really don’t.”
“Tell me about it.”
For the time being, Hob opens the stupid pub app and orders another bottle of wine.
Shockingly, they deliver it instead of cutting him off.
He pours another glass and drinks half of it in one go. He’s starting to feel sick, headache-y, but doesn’t stop drinking. “Fuckin’ hate funerals.”
“Kinda glad I missed my own,” Matthew says.
“I’ve been to a few of mine. S’fuckin weird.” What Hob wouldn’t have given for Dream to have walked into his own, though.
Just to have something in his restless hands, he starts folding his napkin in half, then half again, smoothing the creases in brutal, sharp lines. “‘Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs,’” he quotes. “‘Choose executors and talk of wills, or not, for what can we bequeath save our deposed bodies to the ground?’”
“Now I get why you guys got along. You’re both fucking cryptic.”
“It’s not cryptic, it’s Shakespeare, God poorly rest his soul.” He keeps working on folding his napkin into tinier squares. It’s only possible to do it so many times. One of the rules of the universe. “‘Throw away respect,’” fold, “‘tradition,’” another fold, “‘form and ceremonious duty,’” he can’t fold it any more, “‘for you have mistook me all this while. I live on bread like you, feel want, taste grief, need friends. Subjected thus, how can you say to me, I am a king?’”
“I don’t know how you can recite all that while totally hammered,” Matthew says.
“Had a long time to learn it. Reminds me of someone I know.” He drains the rest of his glass and starts drinking straight out of the bottle. Manners are for those who have a reason to give a damn.
Matthew steps sideways on the table as he chokes down another chip. “I never got into that stuff when I was alive. You probably saw it in person or something.”
“It’s not that difficult to have seen a Shakespeare play in person,” Hob says.
“You know what I mean, dickhead.”
“I dunno. Probably did. I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember.”
“I had other priorities at the time.” Probably came out during the after portion of that time period. Yikes.
He unfolds his paper square and starts refolding it in the opposite direction.
“You know, I was alive then,” he says.
“Obviously?”
“In the time when the play was set.” He sighs. “Weird to look at a story like that, one that echoes back to your own experiences. Whenever they try to do a ‘realistic’ film adaptation they always get some of the details wrong… the clothes and the fucking, trees and shit— gets under my skin.” Asynchronous resonances. Weird rippling echoes.
Kinda feels like that being in this White Horse.
“Stage is better for it,” he says. “Abstracted. Doesn’t matter about the details.” He drinks more of his wine.
Things always circle back. Back and back and back again. Same but different.
“‘The great stories always return to their original forms,’” he says. Come back to me, he thinks.
“Is that Shakespeare too?” Matthew asks warily.
“No.” Hob grimaces. “Dream.”
“…Oh. Fuck.”
Hob slumps down in his chair, head tipped back, spine bent uncomfortably. Not uncomfortably enough to distract from how much it all hurts.
“Did you put more tequila in that wine?” Matthew asks.
“Not this time, you want some?”
“Yeah.”
Hob pours some out in one of the empty shot glasses and passes it to him. Then gets distracted for a few moments studying the mechanics of a bird drinking out of a shot glass. Always another new thing.
“Kind of appropriate, this place,” he says at last.
“Uh, how so?”
“The White Horse.” He taps his fingers along the stem of his wine glass. His phone is still playing Spotify’s Bardcore Lute Mix or whatever the fuck. “‘And I looked, and beheld a white horse, and her name that sat on him was Death, and all Hell followed her,’” he says.
“What is that now, fucking… Armageddon?”
“Come on, Matthew, it’s Revelations!”
“I’m not Catholic!”
“A pale horse, Hob,” says a new, but familiar voice. “Not white.”
“Didn’t know I could summon you with that,” Hob says as Death sits down at the table across from him. He doesn’t offer her a drink. He’s not feeling particularly charitable towards her right now.
“You can’t, I chose to come.” Death plucks a spare wine glass off another table and pours herself some. Takes, always takes, Death.
“‘White horse’ feels more correct to me,” Hob says, gesturing at their surroundings. “Life and death fall in the shadows of this place. Well, not this place, literally, but.”
“Its echo still captures you,” Death says, sipping her wine. “Cycles like the turning of a season.”
Her expression is kind. Hob fucking hates her.
“If you’re here to ask me a question, don’t bother,” he says. “I intend to drink so much of this that I die, and then come back and do it again.”
“I’m not here to ask you anything,” Death says. She studies them both shrewdly, cryptically. Matthew hops away from her and up onto Hob’s shoulder, nervous. “Have I told you about the Sunless Lands?”
“You told me you couldn’t tell me about the Sunless Lands,” Hob says.
“And I can’t, except that circumstances require that I do.” She studies the surface of her wine. She is so very still, even Dream would struggle to compete. “There are things outside of myself that govern my speech, so perhaps in a language that my brother would favor: ‘Everyone is right, as it turns out. You go to the place you always thought you would go, the place you kept lit in an alcove in your head.’”
“Billy Collins,” Hob says, as Matthew whispers in his ear, “How the f—”
“So, you see,” Death says, folding her hands together.
“What I see,” Hob says, growing increasingly incensed, “is someone dead who shouldn’t be, and what I’m hearing is a lot of absolute bullshit about how it’s meant to be that way. Oh, death gives life meaning, life already has meaning! Dream’s life has meaning. I've killed people-- you think me putting a sword through a soldier's chest is what gave his life meaning? You wanna know what death is?” Why the fuck’s he ranting about death to Death. “You want another quote? A fucking poem? What is death? ‘Death is absolute and without memorial.’ Just—”
“Wallace Stevens.”
Hob knocks over his glass.
Motherfucking Morpheus-of-the-not-Endless sits down beside him and steals Death’s half-empty wine glass. “He also wrote,” he says, “‘Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her, alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams and our desires.’”
“Arsehole!” Hob yells, throwing his arms around him, dislodging Matthew, who jumps down to the table crying, “Boss!”
Morpheus startles at the contact. He’s actually physically there. He’s got a heartbeat and everything. Far too many glasses of wine catch up to Hob all at once and he starts crying against Morpheus’s shoulder.
“Hob—” Morpheus tries, awkwardly patting his back.
“Are you really here?” Hob asks. “Truly?”
“Truly,” Morpheus says.
“How?”
“I don’t make any decisions, once someone’s crossed over,” Death says, eye twinkling. “I’m simply… obliged to take people where they are meant to go. Where they believe, and hope they will.”
So then… Hob? But then…
He’s not sure that makes sense, ‘rules of the universe’-wise. How can he be someone’s afterlife? He still lives in this life, for one thing.
But he doesn’t say so. He doesn’t say a damn word.
Death steps around the table, touching a hand to his shoulder as she goes. A chill runs through him. “Take care, Hob,” she says, then she’s gone.
“You must go, too, Matthew,” Morpheus says.
“But—”
Morpheus touches a light fingertip to the top of Matthew’s head, strokes his feathers. “Go back,” he says gently.
Matthew sighs. “Alright.” He pushes his head into Morpheus’s hand, then takes off and disappears.
When he’s gone, Hob pulls Morpheus tighter to him, pressing Morpheus’s head into his shoulder. “Hob,” Morpheus protests, but Hob keeps holding him, and eventually Morpheus sinks into his embrace, wrapping his arms around Hob in turn. “I am sorry,” he says quietly.
“Don’t. Oh my God.”
“I did not realize until… I did not know this would happen.”
“Just had it stashed away in the back of your head, eh?”
“Yes. I suppose I must have.”
God. Hob pulls back from him at last to look him in the eyes. “Welcome, then, to…” afterlife feels wrong, how can it be ‘after’ if it’s still a life? “your... second life?”
“Yes,” Morpheus agrees.
Hob scrubs at his eyes, though the tears keep coming. “So much for death being absolute, sorry Wallace.”
“I believe it still is, there is no way for me to turn back, to become… Dream again. However, there appears to be a way forward that I did not anticipate. I am…” his cheeks go a little pink; that’s never happened before. It’s adorable. “Glad to be here.”
Hob must be really drunk because he takes Morpheus’s face between his hands and strokes his thumbs over that blush, which only makes it deepen. “Can never really go back anyway, can you? Only catch echoes and memories.”
“Yes,” Morpheus agrees.
“Speaking of which”—he points to Hob’s phone—“this music is… strange and insufferable.”
Hob laughs. “Honestly, yeah, it kind of is.” ‘Bardcore.’ What the hell. “I’ll find you something you’ll like better.”
“You often do,” Morpheus says.
Madly, impulsively, Hob moves forward to kiss him. Morpheus’s lips are soft and warm, human, though Hob doubts he truly is, he’s something else, a shadow given back the shape that cast it, though not quite, exactly, the same.
Morpheus tilts his head back into the kiss. Is this just what you do in the ‘after’life? Finally let yourself have what you want? Hob could get behind it.
“I love you,” he says when he pulls back. “Always have.”
Morpheus’s cheeks go pink again.
“I’m glad you didn’t go,” Hob adds, pulling him back into another hug, pressing Morpheus’s scrawny chest to his.
“I suppose I did, but not as far as I expected,” Morpheus says.
“Good.”
Morpheus leans against him, tipping his head down on Hob’s shoulder. Hob’s heart sings. Forget alcohol poisoning, he might die from the emotional whiplash of it all. Doesn’t matter. He’ll come back.
"You get it now?" he says. "'Why should I give my bounty to the dead?'"
"'Shall I not find in comforts of the sun,'" Morpheus says, picking up the thread of the poem, "'things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?'"
"Exactly."
"Hmm," says Morpheus. "I suppose so. Yes."
Hob wraps his arm around his shoulders. “Glad I called it the ‘New Inn,’ and not, ‘White Horse 2’ or something,” he says.
“‘White Horse 2,’” Morpheus echoes. “That would be rather unoriginal. Not that ‘The New Inn’ is brimming with originality.”
“Excuse you.”
Morpheus chuckles against his shoulder.
“Nevertheless,” Hob says. “I think we picked well, with this place. Or. The original place. Whichever.”
“In what way?”
“‘Death rides a white horse.’”
“I believe the verse is, a pale horse,” Morpheus corrects.
“Yeah,” Hob says, smiling to himself as he squeezes Morpheus tighter. “Whatever.”
---
Citations:
"Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs..." - Richard II
death rides a pale horse - Revelation 6:8
"you go to the place you always thought you would go..." - Billy Collins, "The Afterlife"
"Death is absolute and without memorial" - Wallace Stevens, "The Death of a Soldier"
"Death is the mother of beauty..." and "Why should I give my bounty to the dead?" - Wallace Stevens, "Sunday Morning"
💬 preview: the seemingly 'extraterrestrial' man that occupies Cubicle #218 cannot seem to take a hint - no matter how many flashing signs you throw at him.
tw/cw: fluff, corporate vernon, vernon is an oblivious lil shit, allusions to sex, quotes from b.e.d by Jacquees, shameless flirting and banter
based on an ask (hi + thanks for requesting!) as well as b.e.d by Jacquees MDNI
🪽fic rating/wc: pg 13/ 3.5k
☁️ masterlist & a/n: i am forever stuck in this vernon loop - alas, here's a request that's been sitting in my inbox for awhile, brewing vernon thoughts the whole time. although this fic is entirely fluff, there are allusions to sex so please be mindful of your age and the fic rating.
Vernon would have quit his job a long time ago if it hadn’t been for you. A part of him still yearned for the stage, a trusty guitar in his hands and the sound of diehard fans screaming his name. Instead, he had found himself stuck, circling the corporate ladder, clocking in to work everyday just to sit in his one lonely cubicle, staring at numbers he had only pretended to understand when getting his degree.
He had his resignation letter signed and ready to go, and he would have handed it in if it hadn’t been for the notes that had begun to appear.
Colorful post-it notes that he’d find in the most random places - first his desk, then his lunchbox, in the pocket of his coat, stuck dead center on his computer screen. It baffled him, yet the notes kept coming, every single day of work without fail. At first he had scoffed, chalking it up to some silly office prank, but as time progressed, the notes became almost a given, as if the notes itself had rooted into his everyday routine. It filled him with anticipation and a reason to clock in everyday. As much as he hesitated to admit it, the silly notes made his day.
Of course, the notes were anonymous. Vernon had no idea that you were the reason he still showed up to work.
“This is basically workplace harassment.” Anne, your closest co-worker, commented, as she watched you pen your next note to Vernon. She was the only one who knew it was you behind the colorful post-its.
“If he didn’t like it he would’ve told HR months ago.” You argued, ripping the completed note off the pad of bright orange post-its. “Besides, you’ve seen him smile at the notes. Even got a laugh out of him a couple times.”
“But-” Anne snatched the note from you and read it aloud. “I hope our love will be like the number Pi: irrational and endless.” She shook her head, tsking. “Even for a compsci major, Y/N, Vernon would never find this funny. And if he does- he’s either mocking you, or his humor is just as broken as yours.”
“It’s funny!” You protested, snatching the note back. “Besides, I don’t even know where to leave this one. I’m running out of creative ideas.”
“What’s the point? You just need him to see it, right?”
You gave her a look. “There’s a higher probability of him laughing if he doesn’t expect the note. The less obvious the place, the better. He can’t be actively looking for it.”
Anne sighed, spinning her chair back to face her work desk. “Compsci nerds.”
Ignoring her, you continued. “I’m torn between leaving it taped to his water bottle, or taped to his bike.”
“Of course Cubicle Number 218 Vernon Chwe would bike to work.” Anne rolled her eyes. “How old is this man? Can’t he drive?”
“Hey!” You protested once again, defending him. “Maybe he just lives close, more cost-efficient you know.”
Anne sighed. “Tape it to his bike.” Her fingers tapped against her keyboard as she spoke. “He’s definitely not going to be expecting that one.”
Your smile widened, already imagining his little stunned expression. “Okay. Cover for me- I’ll be right back.”
“Whatever.” Anne mumbled, although you caught a glance of the amused smile on her face.
It was famously known throughout your office that the resident of Cubicle #218, Hansol Vernon Chwe, did not smile. He came into work and left while sporting the exact same facial expression the entire time. But you knew he smiled at your silly pick-up lines, no matter how stupid. And you knew that you might be the only person who knew just how pretty Vernon’s laugh was- even if it was from a distance.
If only you knew just how much Vernon wanted to know who was behind the silly notes that were his pick-me-up each day.
You: 1
Vernon: 0
“I wanna live in your socks so I can be with you every step of the way.”
Vernon snorted audibly as he read the note, this time written on a hot pink post-it. His neighbouring co-workers snuck glances at him, drawn by the sudden noise.
He ignored their stares, tucking the note into his jacket pocket for later. He was slowly amassing a collection of them, his desk back at home covered in multicolored post-its, each one from a different day. Sometimes the lines would be so terrible he’d shudder in cringe, but more often than not, he’d find them genuinely funny.
Grabbing a file he needed faxed, Vernon made his way to the copier down the hall. Someone was already occupying it- and he realized he recognized her, the pretty girl who lived in cubicle #17.
He could hear the loud music coming from her headphones, poorly hidden under her strands of hair.
“Charli?” He asked, recognizing the familiar beats and rhythm of the song.
He watched you turn around to face him, startled by his sudden appearance. “What?”
He pointed awkwardly to your headphones. “Is that Charli XCX? I didn’t think your name was Charli, don’t worry. It’s Y/N, right?” He rambled on, smiling sheepishly.
You blinked, a little dazed by the amount of words he was suddenly speaking to you. You had always thought, like everyone else in the office, that Vernon was somehow untouchable. Someone so mysterious and way out of reality that the two of you just didn’t exist on the same plane of the universe. But now here he was, talking to you like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Yeah.” You answered, after realizing you had just been blankly staring at him. “To both questions.” You quickly added, equally awkward. “It’s Charli XCX and my name is Y/N.”
“Great.” His gaze drifted past you towards the copier. “Are you nearly done?” Holding up the file in his hand, he gestured behind you. “I need to fax something.”
“Oh!” Hurriedly moving aside, you let out a tiny laugh. “I wasn’t really using it. Sometimes I just come in here and pretend I’m busy- to get away from how stuffy the office is. I don’t know why I just told you that.” You were mortified, glancing at him to make sure he wasn’t judging you.
Vernon’s lips were quirked into a smirk, as he tried hard to push down the laughter that was threatening to bubble up inside of him. Ultimately failing, his mouth widened into a smile as he laughed, the sound filling your ears better than any song could.
“I like you.” He stated, as if it was such a simple thing and didn’t have your heart racing. “You’re funny.”
His smile widened once he caught sight of your open mouth, stunned into silence at the new side of Mr. Cubicle #218 you were currently seeing.
“Close your mouth.” He mumbled, reaching a hand out to do it for you, his fingertips lightly pressing against your jaw. “You look like a fish.”
“I- what?” You spluttered, moving a step back.
Vernon shot you another melting smile, picking up his file and closing the copier. “Anyways, I’m all done. Are you going to hide out here some more?” He kept his eyes on you as he stacked the papers in his hands, organizing them against a nearby table.
You nodded dumbly, eyes following his movement as he walked out, stopping by the doorway to shoot you a tiny salute before turning away. He walked down the hall with a gait only he had, disappearing down the hallway, leaving you feeling extremely confused, your cheeks oddly warm.
You: 1
Vernon: 1
“Are you a worm? Cause I’d like to split you apart.”
Morbid, yes, but you were slowly running out of ideas. Placing the sticky note strategically in his work bag, you scurried off, ducking behind a bookshelf to watch his reaction.
“Are you a worm-” Vernon made a face as he read the note aloud. “Ew. Weird. Kinky?” He looked up at the ceiling, a concerning yet intrigued look on his face. A chuckle escaped him and you smiled in your success.
Your work days seemed to blow right by with the joy in knowing you had successfully made him laugh, mind still churning through your last encounter with Vernon by the copier a couple weeks ago. It had both startled you and ignited something within- a longing to know more about him.
“Looks like we’re the only ones left.”
You looked up, blinking your dry and strained eyes, spotting Vernon hovering right above your cubicle wall, a tired expression filling his face. You glanced around the office and realized he was right.
“Has it already been that long?” You wondered, rubbing your eyes as you shut off your computer, standing up to stretch your stiff back.
You could’ve sworn Vernon snorted at your words. “Do you enjoy working here? Time does fly when you’re having fun.”
You shook your head. “God, no. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.” Yeah, you.
An unspeakable look crossed his face as he grabbed your coat, helping you put it on. “C’mon, we can walk together.”
“Oh. Thanks- alright.”
The walk was amicably silent as you fell in step beside him, clutching your winter coat tightly as you both entered against the harsh wind. You spotted his banged up yellow bike across the street and bit back a grin.
“You bike to work and back?” You asked, although you already knew the answer. You often passed him on your own way to work, spotting him through the windshield of your car. Nearly ran him over once, in your earlier days of working, but you don’t speak of that.
“I do.” Vernon patted the trusty bike with a loving hand. “Never failed me once.”
A laugh escaped you, your breath hitting the winter wind and turning into a light fog.
His eyebrows raised. “Are you laughing at me?” His lips quivered up as he watched you descend into laughter once again.
“No!” You exclaimed through a fit of giggles, clutching your stomach. “Oh god, it’s just- Vernon Chwe- on a bike-”
A clear and infectious cackle of a laugh joined yours as Vernon too, doubled over in laughter. You paused, staring wide-eyed as giggles escaped him, thoroughly entertained by the amusement you had found in his transportation method.
Passerbys would have deemed the pair of you as mad, with the way you clutched onto Vernon’s arm to hold yourself up as you laughed harder, his own hand gripping yours in the bitter wind. It was numbingly cold but both of your insides were warm, cheeks flushed due to the ridiculous image of Vernon on a bike.
Y/N: 1
Vernon: 1
The universe(?): 1
“Yo.”
Your music paused suddenly, jolting you out of your zone. Spinning around in your chair, you frowned up at Vernon, who had somehow swiped your phone from your desk without you noticing.
“What’s up?” You sighed, taking off your headphones to glare at him. “You didn’t need to pause my music, y’know.”
“I’ve been sent on a coffee run, wanna come?” He spread his arms open in invitation. “We can take as long as we like.”
Ditching work for a while did sound like a nice pastime, especially with the lack of work you had currently. “I wouldn’t mind a breath of fresh air, actually. I’m down.”
“Put on your coat.” Vernon handed it to you, watching as you shrugged it on.
“I know you want to be in my b.e.d, grinding slowly.”
The last note had taken him terribly off guard and he needed a distraction to remedy that.
To be fair, you didn’t really know what had gotten into you- the sudden bravado and confidence put into the note had caught you terribly off guard as well.
“Do you know Joshua? He works in upper management but we’re pretty good friends.” Vernon suddenly asked, walking backwards along the sidewalk so he could look at you.
You nodded. “I’ve seen him around. He’s very social.” Unlike you, you declined to add.
“Yes. He’s hosting a social gathering later tonight, and asked if I could invite you.”
“He asked you to invite me?” You shot him a wary look, not quite believing him. You and Joshua barely passed as acquaintances.
Vernon’s hand reached behind his neck as he rubbed his nape, a sheepish and embarrassed expression on his face. You noticed his ears would turn pink whenever he was even mildly shy. “Okay, maybe I just wanted to invite you, alright?” He turned away, walking properly now to hide his face from your keen eyes.
A slow smile crossed your face. “Oh, no.” You mimed dread. “You’re in love with me, aren’t you.”
“What?” Vernon turned so fast you reckoned he must’ve gotten whiplash.
“I’m joking.” Punching his arm lightly, you gave him a lighthearted smile, ignoring the way your heart pounded at the brunt question. “I’d love to go to the little party. You didn’t have to use Joshua to invite me.”
“Well,” Vernon’s ears turned pink once again. “I’d say I’d pick you up and give you a ride home after, but- I don’t think we’d both fit on my bike.”
Both your lips twitched at the reminder of that night, where the two of you had laughed like it was the first time either one of you had found anything remotely funny.
“I’ll drive.” You offered, once the wave of silent laughter dissipated. “You can hitch your bike to the back of my car.”
“Me,” Vernon’s mouth dropped comically as he pressed his hands to his chest. “A passenger princess? How lucky.”
His smile widened as you laughed, and he shamelessly basked in the sound of it.
Y/N: 2?
Vernon: 2?
The universe: 1
The smell of musk was the first thing that hit you as the two of you entered Joshua’s townhouse. It was a small, quaint place, decorated to the brim with trinkets and flower pots, overflowing with both people and food. Vernon led the way as you shuffled in, greeting familiar faces and smiling at strangers.
“I thought you said ‘small gathering.’” You yelled, tiptoed next to Vernon so you could reach his ear.
You could tell from his eyes that he had no idea what you were saying. “What?” He yelled back, although his voice was carried away by the crowd as well.
“I said-” You felt like you might burst a lung trying to communicate. “I thought you said, ‘small gathering!’”
He stared at you blankly, blinking slowly, evidently still not in the loop.
Giving up, you were about to turn away when you suddenly felt his whole body shake, quivering against you as he laughed.
“What the fuck?” You yelled, this time right in his face.
“I heard you the first time, silly.” He yelled back, a shit-eating grin spreading wider as he watched your eyebrows furrow.
“Party Vernon sucks.” You concluded, moving away, only to be pulled back by his hand on your arm.
“Didn’t you complain that I was too ‘mysterious’?” He yelled, laughing harder when you visibly paled. “Yeah, I heard that. But it’s okay. I am very…how did you put it. Sullen, at work.”
Hiding your face, you slapped his chest, causing him to groan in pain.
“Ow.”
“Ow.” You mocked back. There really was no answer as to where the sudden childishness came from, but the way Vernon was staring at you- it made reason seem almost meaningless.
He threw his head back and laughed, soundless against the party’s atmosphere but somehow just as electrifying.
“Have fun, Y/N.” He said, grabbing your hands. “Let’s dance.”
Y/N: 2
Vernon: 3
The universe: 1
You had always sworn by the fact that driving late at night with the windows down, cold air blowing through your hair was the way to go.
“Admit it!” Vernon yelled through the wind, glancing at you from the passenger seat. “You had fun tonight.”
“I did.” You admitted. The party had been overwhelming at first, but the later the night got, the more fun you discovered yourself to have. “I haven’t had a night like that in a while.”
You braked at a red light and flipped through your playlist, switching on the one song you knew would get a reaction out of Vernon.
“I know you wanna love
But I just wanna fuck
And girl, you know the deal
I gotta keep it real
I know you wanna see
I know you wanna be
In my B.E.D., grinding slowly”
The light turned green and you continued to drive, the roads empty and deserted, street lamps illuminating the world in a soft amber. Occasionally, you’d glance over at Vernon, who was bopping his head to the beat, murmuring the lyrics under his breath.
Oblivious man.
Reaching over, you turned the volume up, as if the louder the music was, it’d somehow reverberate its message into his skull. Get a hint! You wanted to scream at him. I’m kind of in love with you and want to jump your bones! Hello??
Vernon continued to groove to the music without a care in the world.
“This is a good song!” He yelled in your ear, his voice mixed with the whistling of the air, whooshing past you.
“I know!” You screamed back. Oh my god. Is he really this dense?
The song kept playing as you drove, winds calming down as you neared his place. In between the gap of the song switching to the next, Vernon spoke, his calm voice contrastingly the loudness before.
“I think I’m going to quit the job.”
You nearly crashed the car at his words, jerking the steering wheel back as you computed his words. “What?”
“I mean,” he turned in his seat to face you, his hair catching the last pieces of moonlight and shimmering against his skin. “I’ve always hated my job. And I already wrote a resignation letter and everything.”
“Oh.”
He must’ve noticed your silence, because he quickly continued. “Who knows? I might try being a rockstar or something.”
“A rockstar?” You let out an astonished laugh. Vernon Chwe seemed to be surprising you at every turn, even when you felt like you'd already figured him out.
He hummed. “Yeah. It just keeps..calling me, y’know?”
“Well then you should go for it.” You parked into the driveway of his apartment complex and turned to face him. “Really.”
“You think so?” His eyes were sparkling like precious jewels.
“Yeah. I do.”
Even though you knew that meant your next note would be your last.
Y/N: -10
Vernon: 3
The universe: -10
The office seemed even colder without the presence of Vernon around you. Even though he had always kept to himself, you could feel the lack of “Vernon” in the atmosphere. How he’d entrance you with the funny way he’d walk down the hall, his countless snack breaks and your shared copier trips. But most of all- it was the lack of notes.
“First day without Mr. Cubicle Number 218, how do you feel?” Anne asked you from her own desk. “Although, I guess he’s not 218 anymore, huh?”
“Yeah.” You stared dejectedly at your computer screen. “This job sucks.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re quitting too.” Anne let out a loud sigh. “I still think you should’ve told him you liked him.”
“I did!” You protested, rather loudly, drawing odd looks from nearby coworkers.
“You played a sex song in the car.” Anne pointed out, lowering her voice. “That is not confessing.”
“Well he should’ve put two and two together. The lyrics on the note was from that song.”
Anne laughed. “We’re talking about the male species. They wouldn’t know subtlety if it ran them over with a truck.”
“Whatever.” You muttered, returning to sulk in front of your giant mountain of paperwork. “He definitely didn’t like me like that anyways.” Sifling through the papers, you sighed. “I’m going to fax these, I’ll be right back.”
Anne only hummed, too engrossed by whatever she was reading on her phone.
Opening up the copier, you frowned at the paper already sitting there, a hot pink post-it note with messy handwriting scrawled on it.
“With all the variables in life, baby can you be my constant?”
You didn’t remember writing this.
“Call me ;)”
A loud laugh escaped you as you covered your mouth, looking around to make sure you hadn’t been caught loitering in the copy room once again. Grabbing your phone from your pocket you fumbled the numbers on the bottom of the note in, raising it to your ear as you listened to it ring.
“Hello?” You whispered, cupping your hand around your mouth to avoid detection.
Silence.
“Vernon?”
The sound of shuffling from the other line reached your ears. “You didn’t think I was just going to leave without saying goodbye, right?”
Sooooo I reached out to the writer I send my FF promt to (in August) and again they never replied. I really want to clarify that I am not mad about. It was a long shot in the dark anyway :)
But since then I stumbled over your page and let us be honest TALENT XD I really love your storys and they always make my day a little brighter. (Especially cause in Germany it is cold, dark and rainy in the Moment)
Soooo I think I will take the chance again to give this promt over to you ^-^
__________________
Imagine a Gala in the hospital. Zayne is one of the faces for the campaign for the charity event. Everything is formal and kinda boring. But over the course of the night he is stumbling over the reader a lot of times. She is funny, loud and honest. She is so out of place but in the best possible way Her backstory is that she was smuggled to the event from her former Coworkers. She worked in a research lab (like as a technical assistant for example) in the cardiology department. Her former chef is also a Doctor and attending the gala with his research grpup. So her 2 former coworkers and good friends helped to get her to the party without an ineventaition. She is having fun and maybee is drinking (cause charity and free booze) and she is stumbling into Zayne, but even when they put there numbers in there phones at the Gala (they are to drunk to do it properly) Maybee the night will end with a kiss to remember (or more if you want) xD so after the hangover and them getting back to there lifes. They realized there mistakes with the numbers. But how do you find your mysterious lover when you forgot his name and one name is not even on the guest list ^-^
Pairing: Zayne X fem!Reader
Summary: To a new year of new beginnings - a new job, and maybe something more.
Word Count: 4,043
A/N: Thank you @januke for having the actual patience of a saint as I worked on this. My goal was for this to come out at New Year's...and it just didn't happen. Thank you for trusting me with your idea, and I hope that I did it justice. Thank you @humanitys-strongest-brat and @lordalastar for beta'ing this piece for me!
A new year - a new start. You had recently received word that you snagged the open research role of your dreams at a new hospital and, because you were lucky enough that you could, wrapped up your current job and allowed yourself a proper two week vacation through the holidays before starting up again.
You were excited, and a little bit terrified.
The one thing you had forgotten, however, was the fact that leaving your place of work did mean that you also missed out on all the holiday invites. Truthfully, it wouldn't have been too much of an issue, except this year your old team was up to receive an award at the annual Linkon Medical Gala for the progress made on finding a cure for protocore syndrome.
But alas…you would have to cheer them on from home.
"But you are part of the team receiving the reward, though! You were the one doing insane hours with some of the blood testing! It's not fair that you don't get to dress up and go with us."
Mable - old coworker and best friend - was refusing to take no as an answer from you.
"Mable, I wasn't invited. You each were given a formal invitation that says it'll be checked at the door!"
"Oh, I don't think that'll really happen, do you? I mean, there's going to be so many people -"
"Yeah, which is why security is tight!" Twisting the phone and clicking on the speaker button, you continued working on wrapping gifts for your family. "I agree, it sucks, but I'm not going to get you or I or anyone else in trouble by trying to sneak in."
There was silence on the other side of the line, a shuffling sound as Mabel grabbed something near her. "Hm…my invite doesn't have a plus one option, or I would proudly bring you in myself."
"And I would proudly go on your arm, but, May, it's okay. I promise! I'm going to see you guys at our annual winter-all-you-can-eat-fest in a few days, anyway! That's more than enough."
That's when you heard it, the hum - the warning that Mable was thinking, and whatever she was conjuring up in her mind that would, inevitably, need someone to clean up the mess in which it left behind.
"Whatever you're thinking, no."
"I'm going to have a plan, babe. You just wait - better buy a pretty dress now before they all sell out."
Rolling your eyes, you placed a piece of tape, finishing the last gift. "Sure, May. Whatever you say."
🎇🥂🥂🎇
It turns out that due to the nature of the invite, no one in your previous team had any additional people they were allowed to bring. However, the lead doctor who ran your department, and attended the gala every year, had a different type of invitation.
And, it turns out, as a man who was and is single by choice, but easily swayed by a bubbly personality that keeps motivation going when staff is constantly toeing the line at burn out levels, was more than willing to have you arrive as his plus one.
Your jaw nearly hit the floor when she told you - honestly your whole group's did. And, in your usual fashion, you all celebrated this achievement with a drink. Or two…or a few.
But it's a celebration - those don't count.
Your headache the next morning would beg to differ.
🎇🥂🥂🎇
Dr. Mayhugh, who, truthfully, was old enough to potentially be your father, was tickled pink leading you into the banquet hall on his arm.
"The hospital needs some new rumors," he had whispered with you conspiratorially. "I've heard the same ones at least three times now - I'm bored."
With a cheer of the plan working, the whole team happily gathered and chatted around the assigned table, enjoying the bounty that this year's Board had provided. The hors d'oeuvres had names you couldn't pronounce with ingredients that made your biweekly paycheck wince in pain.
They were absolutely divine, though - and more than once would pull an embarrassing sound from your throat.
Unfortunately, for you, was the fact that an open bar was also provided. Now, by no means were you an alcoholic, but you were also not one to turn down a free drink. Especially from bar tenders that seemed to have a magic touch in creating cocktails.
You were a smart woman, you could limit yourself, and, currently were doing quite well with your one drink, eyeing the high end crowd that was eating around you. Here, gathered in one place, were some of the smartest minds in all of medicine. And the fact that you were allowed to be a part of this? A core memory you would never forget.
One ear turned toward the table conversation, your eyes danced across the other facility tables, seeing if there was anyone else that you knew. You spotted a handful of techs and a couple of doctors that you had worked with on larger projects - waves and nods were given in kind.
But then, there was him. Young, enchanting, - and positively bored.
He looked like a protagonist from a romance novel - dark hair, a swoon worthy side profile, and what seemed to be that brooding attitude to match.
His eyes remained fairly narrowed at whomever was holding conversation at his table, but, by the looks of it, you wondered if he was going to fall asleep.
Mable was already leaning over to find your line of site. "Oh - the Akso Hospital. They're always getting something, aren't they?"
"Sure….but - who's he?" you asked, trying to make it obvious with your eyes and nothing more. All that earned you was a weird look until Mable was able to figure out why your eyes were jumping back and forth like a cookoo clock.
"The devilishly handsome one in the midnight blue tux?"
With the nod of confirmation, she grinned wickedly. "That, hun, would be Dr. Zayne Li. Never met him in person, but you know Yvette? My old college roommate? She works with him now, and she says that he is somethin' . Legitimately some sort of prodigy of cardiology - the head surgeon at just 28! And somehow still single. Pity."
"He looks like he'd rather be anywhere else."
"Yvette says he's not super sociable. Probably why he's single…If you're looking to switch up your date, I wouldn't waste your time with him," she said with a pat on your back.
With a heated face, you turned your attention back to your own table. "That wasn't what I was looking to do at all."
"Sure, hun. Of course."
Your date, however, had his own conspiratorial opinion. He leaned close before whispering, "Oh, please - switch it up. I can't wait to hear about it from a friend of a friend of a cousin in the break room." He ended his statement with a wink and a chuckle at your gaping mouth.
"Go on - your young, and here to have fun. Just let me know if I am to bring you home at the end of the night or not."
"Dr. M, I came here with you, and I plan to celebrate with you."
With a light pat on your arm, he shook his head. "I beg of you not to."
Before you could respond, however, the host of the evening took to the stage to begin the ceremony.
🎇🥂🥂🎇
The next few hours passed quickly enough with awards, grants, recognitions, and even more awards, before the evening gave way to the socializing aspect. Dinner was served, drink were poured, and poor choices were made out on the oddly small dance floor.
Your hydration choices had been questionable but, finding yourself with an empty glass, you slipped away from your group and back to the bar. Knowing your limits were important, and this would have to be your last one.
But damn if those Lotus Blossom Martinis went down wonderfully smooth.
If anything, they had helped you loosen up. You were feeling good. Confident.
The night was still young, and the world was your clam…or whatever the saying was.
Sauntering up to the bar, you leaned onto the lacquered wood, nearly jumping in surprise by the man sitting at it off to the side. He didn't seem to notice you, eyes locked onto the glass in front of him.
With a quick wave, you flagged down the bartender and made your order. And then, with an inflated confidence, moved even closer to the handsome doctor.
"What are you drinking?"
"Water," he replied firmly.
But the answer had you snickering. "Then why are you at the bar?"
"There typically is less social obligation to talk."
As you waited for your order, you took the next moment to look at him - really, truly look. He was even more handsome up close.
Dark hair trimmed and brushed neatly back, a jawline that could cut glass, and that midnight blue tux had been tailored in such a way that you would have sworn they would had to have sewn him into it before the gala.
He turned, dark brow lifted, and your breath caught under the full weight of his eyes. Green - but not like grass or an emerald. The green of a forest - the sun slipping through the trees. They were so bright that, for a moment, you almost thought that they weren't real.
You couldn't tell if he was eyeing you out of annoyance or something else, and teetering on the edge of too bold, you leaned inward. "And why would the great Dr. Li of … how many awards was it? Three? Prefer silence to conversation?"
"Because I have found that most people at these types of events prefer an audience instead of a conversation."
With a blink, you settled more into your seat, thanking the bartender as he dropped of your drink. "Okay, wow - wasn't expecting you to give a decent answer."
There was a huff of a breath as you took a sip, humming in delight. "Oh? What type of answer were you expecting?"
"I dunno - something with a little more flair? You know, like your ex dancing with your rival."
With a roll of his eyes, he studied your drink sitting on the counter. "This isn't a drama. My life sorely lacks in the necessary parts for your idea."
Another hum came as you studied him, eyes tilted. "Then why stay at all?"
Your heart hiccuped in your throat as those eyes landed on you again. "Look, if you don't like it here, there are so many places you could go to that even someone as non-drama-esque as you would enjoy."
He cleared his throat, straightening his tie again. "My life stays drama free due to my routines. I enjoy certain people, certain places, none which would be open at this point in the evening. My work is unpredictable enough. I'd much rather control what I can."
"No, Zayne, look - you have to live a little!" you exclaimed grabbing his arm to give it a little shake. "I know alll the best places in Linkon - not the ones the brochure tourists get, but the real ones. The holes in the walls with stories. The one where life is lived."
"I enjoy my life just fine."
"Really? Hospital, home, hospital, home, hospital, home, gala - repeat?"
He cleared his throat. "When you put it like that…."
"Gimmie your phone."
"Excuse me?"
Braver than you would be sober, you lifted your manicured hand from his arm and held it out toward him. "Gimmie. Your. Phone."
"Why?" Curiosity piqued, he had already pulled it out of his jacket pocket, but he didn't pass it to you just yet.
You snatched it from him. "I'm gunna be your tour guide. When you decide you want to actually see Linkon, you call me."
It took a blink or two for the screen to be clear enough in front of you from the sudden brightness and movement for you to find the contact section. Then, with a flash of numbers, you added your own and handed it back to him. Reaching for your drink, you flashed a smile, and then turned to walk back to your group. "Enjoy your water!"
For the first time in a good long while, Zayne found himself stunned into silence as he watched your form slip into the crowd. An amused scoff left his mouth, before looking down to the new contact on his device.
'Linkon's Best Tour Guide'
A chuckle escaped him, and the corner of his lips tipped up just so.
Then, deciding he had spent the proper required amount of time at this event, he left.
🎇🥂🥂🎇
The next day started as it always did for him. His alarm went off on his phone.
He went on a run down to the park, through the woods, and back again.
He showered.
He ate breakfast.
He grabbed his laptop to make progress on paperwork he still had for patients at Akso.
And at lunch, he chewed through a carefully balanced meal….and a macaroon.
And as he chewed, his mind wandered. A day off, and he was still working. Still following a schedule although he was not required to.
It was then that he glanced at his phone, and thought of you and your statement.
He doubted that there was really anything new that you could show him, but…something in the tone that you used, the confidence in which you added your number…
Maybe it would be worth finding out.
He didn't stop to think - if he did, he wouldn't follow through with the action - snatching the phone up and opening your contact information.
» I'm thinking of trying something new for dinner. What might you recommend?
There. Simple, professional…easy to brush off as a mistext should you no longer actually be interested.
He blinked at the reply.
Error - Invalid Number. Please enter a correct eleven digit number and try again.
For a moment longer he stared, and then, with a wry smile, pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course - he should have known better. Fate always seemed to have a way to remind him about his roles and responsibilities in this world.
It seemed, unfortunately, they did not include you. His mysterious Cinderella.
He doubted it was on purpose, not with the way you had talked, but it still wasn't much of a balm for his pride.
It was a silly thing to have tried, truly. Carefully, he placed his phone back down, and pulled his laptop forward to continue to work.
🎇🥂🥂🎇
It wasn't nearly as bad as you had anticipated - the hangover. You had gone home clear headed enough the night before with your friends.
Not long after you had forcefully handed your number away, Mable had linked your arm with hers and told you that you would be joining the after party for some decent food.
("And besides," she had said with a nod at your original date who was now talking low and very, very close with a handsome stranger, "I think your date found someone else." Both of you had giggled, and you managed to put on a pout as you left, just to egg on some of the nurses gossiping around you.)
A group of you piled into a taxi, stopping once to order the greasest burger you could find. After much giggles of your too posh dresses and tux in a fast food joint, and comfortably full, you each climbed into a different car to make your way home.
Still, you moved slowly enough - taking a long, hot shower and making a hangover cure tea. Comfy clothes on, and drink in hand, you settled on the couch, clicking through services until you found a show that was more comfort than entertainment.
For a while you watched, mind still a bit groggy, trying your best to run through what needed to be done before you first day of work - tomorrow. With a groan, you fumbled around for your phone, holding the bright screen up to your face - squinting at the numbers.
It was early afternoon, much later than you anticipated. Maybe you would shorten that list of yours to the absolute necessities.
Hours later, as you were more clear minded and packed your bag for the next day, it dawned on you the quietness of your phone. Sure, Mabel had sent pictures in the morning, and you had received a handful of good luck messages, but no new number.
Oh.
Well. That was that, then, wasn't it? You had drunkenly made your shot, and the good doctor was quietly telling you no.
It had been silly of you, really, to expect anything at all from Akso's most wanted bachelor…who was clearly fine with being single.
You groaned, thumping your head against the wall. Liquid courage once more a bit too brazen for your liking. Once more getting yourself hurt.
A soft chime and vibration pulled your attention back to your phone, abandoned on your desk. Too eagerly you reached for it, only to find yourself disappointed again.
Just an email from Akso about your orientation in the morning. 08:00 sharp. Joy.
Bag packed and double checked, and lunch and dinner for the next day in the fridge, you walked around the apartment, turning off the lights and closing blinds.
Silly girl, you were only disappointed because you had built this up in your head. That wasn't fair on Dr. Li.
Which, you realized with a start, would be in the building at some point the same time as you with this new research role.
You fell into bed, face straight into a pillow, and screamed. Fine - this was fine. Akso was a big building - it couldn't be that hard to hide.
🎇🥂🥂🎇
Orientation day.
Despite all that had occurred over the weekend, you had made it. Made it to the first day of your dream role. Taking a deep breath of air before the front doors, you shoved the butterflies in your belly into a box to place in the back of your mind.
So you never got a text. That was fine. You had this. You had people to meet, friends to create. A job to dive into - this would be your focus. Just like it was before.
But as you took a space in the open theater, greeting another new researcher you would be working with, you noticed something odd on the stage. Multiple chairs.
Wasn't this just supposed to be a quick welcome?
As you leaned over to ask, the Chief of Staff walked up to the mic, and as he did, a handful of doctors filled in the chairs behind him.
One in particular with dark hair and forest gold eyes hidden behind glasses.
You brain stuttered along with your jaw - a buzzing taking over your ears as you stared, barely comprehending the greeting.
"Of course, we will take a few minutes to introduce you to the main staff of doctors you will be reporting to. Many of you will be helping with a specific project, but there may be times we have to rotate who is where.
"All of our staff are wonderfully friendly, as you will come to find out, as you will be reporting to them often enough."
Oh, this could not be happening. Reporting to them? Often?
Fate hated you. Simple as that.
The chief mentioned that they would be available for questions at the end of the welcome, should you like to know more about them or a specific project, and you found yourself focused more on figuring out an escape route than the words.
The bathrooms were around the corner. You could leave, right at the end, hide in there for ten..fifteen minutes. That would be long enough right?
Applause brought you back to the room - the man wrapping up with a small bow. The doctors were already moving away from the stage and to the floor, and you hurried to grab your things.
Quickly, you turned to slip through the door, only to crash into a firm chest, hands coming out to steady you.
"I hope you're not running away because of me."
Rubbing your nose from the impact, your body seized at the recognition of the soft tone. Slowly, your eyes lifted up, past white collar, past the chin, and into forest green eyes watching you in clear amusement.
How on earth had he gotten back here so fast?
You stumbled back a professional amount of steps, heart hammering abnormally in your chest. "Dr. Li!"
"You seem surprised to see me here," the tone still light enough you recognized it as a tease. With crossed arms, he took a step forward, and then casually leaned against the wall, still effectively blocking your path.
A cold fear crept up your spine. With a forced, gentle smile, you gave a quick nod. "My apologies, I didn't think you would be at this orientation. Um, if you'll excuse me -"
But he move, body smoothly blocking your path again. The fear was quickly turning into irritation. Still, you fought to maintain your decorum. You were not going to lose your dream job to a drunken mistake.
With a steadying breath, and a bravery from somewhere deep inside you, you locked eyes with him once more. "Dr. Li, you've made it clear my previous actions from this weekend were overstepping, and …" your voice began to trail off as you caught a furrow of dark brows.
"Overstepping?" His hand came up, adjusting his tie, eyes darting away. "I fear there may have been a miscommunication."
With a clearing of his throat, he began. "You see, this weekend I met someone who intrigued me, and was very adamant that they knew more about Linkon than someone who had grown up here most of his life. They were even bold enough to put their number in my phone.
"The next day I couldn't help but dwell on these words, and wonder what hidden placed I had missed. I had decided to text this lively person to ask them out for coffee and to see this list." He looked at you then, sunlight from the window hitting in a way that the gold flecks of his irises stood out. "Imagine my surprise when I got back an error saying the number didn't exist."
Embarrassment sat heavy in your belly, heating you from the inside out. "Oh." It was all you could manage.
Then you caught the slightest movement on the corner of his mouth. The shadow of a hint of a smile. "I'm quite sure I am correct to blame this on inebriation, and not the person's character."
He reached into his pocket, pulled his phone free, and handed it to you, the message he sent still pulled to the top. Voice softer now, he said, "I would still like to learn about these hidden gems of Linkon. If the offer is still on the table."
Biting your lip, you nodded, taking his phone and opening your contact information. Mentally smacking yourself, you sighed at your error - flipping the last two digits around, and then quickly fixed it, handing it back to him.
"It is," you nearly whispered back, grinning sheepishly. "I..I'm sorry."
With a soft chuckle, he shook his head. "There's no need for apologies when it has all worked out." His attention pulled away as another doctor walked up to him, mumbling something low. You watched as his face changed into something more serious, and he nodded.
And then, once more, his full attention was on you. "I am needed elsewhere, it seems. I'm glad we ran into each other again."
You nodded. "Me too."
Once more, that ghost of a smile was present, and then he was turning, quickly following the other doctor out the door.
Your phone buzzed only a moment later.
» Zayne is fine, by the way.
» Maybe you can start this tour of yours with a breakfast place. To celebrate the end of your first shift.
Biting the inside of your cheek to keep you from grinning like a fool, you quickly responded back.
A/N: Thank you so much and thank you for your request :)
_____
Hands To Myself
Azriel x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 2.8k
Warnings: none
Summary: At a family dinner, Y/N and Azriel can’t seem to keep their hands to themselves.
Prompts Used: 21. You can't keep your u hands off each other, even though no one knows about the two of you. 48. "You've been smiling much more recently."
3000 Follower Celebration
A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist
•••
From across the dining room table, Y/N met Azriel’s hazel eyes. The eyes that she loved more than anything. From a distance, all of the colours that made up the unique colour blurred together but Y/N knew all of the different shades of browns, grey’s and the small flecks of green. Looking into Azriel’s eyes was Y/N’s own personal work of art that Feyre could never quite capture accurately. They were so unique to him.
Y/N watched Azriel raise his fork to his mouth, clearly trying to fight off the smile trying to break out on his face. Even though she knew that it was a bad idea, Y/N smiled in Azriel’s direction. There was a lot to love and admire about the shadowsinger but the one thing that stood out amongst the rest was his smile. It was what drew Y/N in in the first place.
At first it was those small smiles he would only offer to people he barely knew as a greeting. Then it progressed to his smiles of comfort, and Y/N had been on the receiving end of one too many of those smiles. However it wasn’t long before those smiles of comfort transitioned to the smallest of smiles where a sliver of Azriel’s teeth were visible. Those were the smiles that his family usually bore witness to. Those were the smiles when Azriel was most at ease.
However, as they grew closer and closer, Y/N began to notice Azriel’s smiles begging to get larger and larger. Showing off his one dimple on his left cheek. And it didn’t take Y/N long to notice that those smiles were reserved strictly for her.
Y/N found herself smiling down at her food as she cut into a potato. Underneath the table, she stretched her legs out until she brushed against Azriel’s foot. Touch he didn’t react visibly, Y/N felt the slight brush of his leg against hers. Y/N glanced up and met Azriel’s eyes once more. All she wanted was to abandon dinner completely and drag him all the way back to her apartment on the outskirts of Velaris.
But, alas, that was not an option.
Y/N and Azriel had only been together for a little over five months but they had known each other nearly two years, ever since Y/N had been brought in to help Feyre with her pregnancy. Of course two years was nothing compared to both of their considerable lifetimes, but to both Y/N and Azriel, it was like they had known each other their whole lives.
Soon after Y/N took Azriel out on a date, the two both agreed to keep their relationship private. Not because of what the rest of the Inner Circle would say, but because they both simply preferred their privacy and they knew that if the rest of the Inner Circle knew, it would only mean relentless teasing.
At first it was easy to keep their relationship private but as soon as it began to get more serious and the attachment grew, it was harder and harder to keep their hands off one another.
After dinner, the group headed into the living room to relax in a more comfortable environment. As they all walked the short distance to the living room, Y/N and Azriel hung back, his arm caressing her lower back. Goosebumps immediately spread across Y/N’s body. She had wanted to feel his touch all night and now that she finally did, she craved more.
“I can’t wait to drag you back to my apartment,” Y/N muttered, her hand wrapping around his.
Azriel bent down so his lips grazed her ear. “And do what?”
Y/N tilted her gaze to look at him, her eyes meeting his. “Whatever you want.”
That beautiful smile lit up his face as his grip on her tightened the smallest amount. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
Y/N glanced to where everyone had disappeared in the living room, the hallway was empty. “Well there’s no one out here right now.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, Azriel’s lips were on hers as he pressed her against the wall. Y/N sighed in content as she parted her lips and just let Azriel devour her. From hours of being deprived of his touch, all of Y/N’s senses were heightened and she could already feel herself becoming putty in Azriel’s arms to shape and mould however he wanted and she would allow him. Her fingers threaded in his hair and pulled him even closer. Azriel obliged and wrapped his strong arms around her body and pressed her against his. One arm was around her waist while the other gently cradled the back of her head so she wouldn’t bang it against the wall.
The feeling of being in Azriel’s arms was like no other. Of course Y/N had had her fair share of lovers in the past but none had been as attentive and caring as Azriel. He had waited over five hundred years for a love like Y/N and now that he finally had it, there was no chance he would ever let it go. Y/N savoured every touch, every word of affirmation, every single moment they spent together. She savoured them all. Of course she knew that there would be many more to come but that was just how it was with them, the amount of love shared between the two was unlike any other either of them had experienced before. They were each other’s salvation.
“Come on you two!” Cassian’s voice chimed from the living room. “We have Rhys’s good wine!”
Y/N and Azriel pulled away from one another and Azriel reluctantly stepped back. “We should go, before they get suspicious.”
“Yes we should,” Y/N agreed.
Neither of them made a move for the living room. Y/N simply chuckled as she leant up and pecked Azriel’s cheek. “Come on, or we never will.”
Azriel followed, his hand clasped in Y/N’s but as soon as they were outside of the living room door he dropped it. Y/N immediately felt the warmth of his hand disappear and she sighed.
“There you two are,” Cassian exclaimed. “I was about to search for you.”
Azriel simply rolled his eyes and took a seat on the couch and Y/N followed, squeezing herself in the only available spot next to him. Her whole side was pressed against his. Y/N wasn’t sure that this was a particularly good idea as all she wanted to do was curl up to his side. As hard as it was, she refrained herself.
Y/N tilted her head to look at Azriel and he sent her a smile. Y/N returned it.
***
The alcohol had hit everyone and Y/N had found herself with her back against the arm of the couch while her legs were draped over Azriel’s lap. She was on her fourth glass of wine and the only thing she could think of was the male she loved so dearly. His hand rested on her shin and his thumb traced patterns upon the soft skin. Of course when she and Azriel were more sober, they had refrained from any touching that wasn’t necessary, but now that had gone out of the window. Y/N wasn’t even entirely sure that Azriel realised what he was doing.
While Y/N sipped on her glass of wine, she threw her head back and laughed at something Cassian had said. The grip on her shin slowly rose until it rested just above her knee and Y/N felt like her body was on fire. She was just glad that everyone else was affected by the wine as she hoped that none of them even noticed.
“What about you, Az?” Rhys said.
Azriel tore his gaze away from Y/N for a brief moment to look at his brother. “What about me?”
“You’ve been smiling much more recently,” Rhys said, his arm tightening around Feyre’s shoulders. “Care to tell us the reason why?”
Azriel shrugged, though his grip on Y/N’s thigh tightened. Y/N knew that she should move position, maybe sit away from Azriel but his touch was simply addicting.
“I don’t know,” Azriel answered, looking around at the rest of his family, his gaze lingering on Y/N for a second longer. “I’m surrounded by my family.”
Cassian laughed, throwing his head back. “We should get you drunk more often, you turn into much more of a sap.”
Azriel glared at Cassian before his hand travelled higher on Y/N’s thigh.
“Oh, Cass, leave him alone,” Y/N said, laughing. “It’s not his fault that he loves us all so much that he smiles when he thinks about it.”
Azriel looked at Y/N and tried to fight the smile but failed miserably.
“See? He’s doing it now,” Y/N said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
Y/N wasn’t sure exactly what came over her as everything about their position was not subtle. Somehow throughout the duration of the conversation she had found herself sitting on Azriel’s lap and one of his arms was wrapped around her tightly holding onto her hip. She wished she had never drunk as much as she did, maybe then she would have more self control.
It seemed as if Azriel didn’t care as he only looked at her, nothing but love in his eyes. There was a smile on his face though not the one only she was allowed to see. This was different, it was one Y/N had never seen before and she wished to see again. This smile communicated so much in such a smile gesture. I love you, the smile seemed to say.
Those three words had never been exchanged between the two, of course they both loved each other but neither had said it yet. Saying it made everything real and even though both Y/N and Azriel were very sure that the only thing they wanted was each other, it was still scary.
Y/N found herself leaning closer to Azriel. She closed her eyes, wanting nothing more than to press her lips against his and utter those three simple words they held so much weight. But she couldn’t, not with everyone around.
Reluctantly, Y/N pulled away and Azriel pulled her closer, unable to keep his hand off her. The desire for him gradually rose the more he touched her. Even when he conversed with Cassian and Nesta and Y/N conversed with Elain and Lucien, she was hyper aware of the places Azriel was touching on her body. She needed him desperately. And from the way Azriel was gripping onto her, he clearly felt the same.
As soon as Azriel’s attention was back on her, Y/N leant down to whisper in his ear. “Let’s go home.”
Azriel looked into Y/N’s eyes and that one look held the same three words his smile did and he knew in that moment that he needed to leave with her in his arms.
Y/N finished the final sip of her wine before slipping from Azriel’s lap. “I’m going to head home, I’m quite tired and I’m meant to be at work early in the morning.”
“I can walk her home,” Azriel offered almost immediately, rising to his feet. Y/N smiled up at him before bidding goodbye to everyone.
As soon as they left the room and were safely around the corner, Y/N gripped onto Azriel’s hand and as soon as they were in the cool night air, she tugged him down and pressed her lips against his.
“I love you,” Y/N said, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Azriel smiled, the one smile Y/N had fallen in love with. “I love you too.”
Y/N sighed in content as she rested her forehead against his. “I am going to love hearing that every day.”
Azriel didn’t respond as he captured her lips once more in a short and sweet kiss before wrapping an arm around her waist. “Let’s go home, my love.”
Y/N smiled and happily walked home with Azriel, her heart bursting with love.
***
As soon as the group heard the front door close, Cassian turned to the rest of the group. “For the spymaster of the Night Court, he is not very subtle.”
“Did you see Y/N?” Nesta said. “She was practically undressing him with her eyes at dinner.”
“How long do you think they’ve been together?” Elain asked.
Rhys leaned back on the couch. “I can tell you exactly how long they’ve been together.”
“Oh yeah?” Nesta challenged. “And how long exactly, Rhysand?”
“A little over five months,” Rhys replied. “Az was late for a meeting with me and when he finally arrived over an hour later, I had never seen him smile as much as he did.”
A soft smile made its way onto Feyre’s face. “I always had a feeling ever since they met. They just click.”
Rhys smiled at his mate. “I’m sure they are mates, the bond hasn’t seemed to snap just yet.”
“And you are so sure of that?” Feyre questioned.
Rhys nodded. “I am, because he looks at her like she holds the world in the palm of her hands. And that Feyre, darling, is exactly how I looked at you.”
Feyre smiled and pressed her lips against Rhys’s in a quick but soft kiss. “I’m glad, they both deserve all of the love in the world.”
the adopting post can lead to so many interesting things. like for example them checking in to a hotel for whatever reason and the receptionist see that they’re family and thinks of them like a normal one. And then they get complaints about a room being too loud during an “intimate moment”. the receptionist checks which room and to their surprise it’s the family they checked in earlier.
maybe they even think dennis is being taken advantage of and is trying to let him know subtly to signal if he’s in danger. maybe this arrangement does start to feel like being taken advantage of but also dennis is to comfortable in his new life to change anything.
i don’t really know where i was going with this but you gave me ideas.
I'm glad you agree that it's an inspiring scenario. I tried to find any real-world studies or anecdotes of how these relationships progressed and how the legal parent-child status might psychologically impact the couples: alas, I found nothing. If there are any historians here, I suggest that this could be a fascinating study.
I like the event you suggest, Anonymous. Maybe gossip grows among the hotel staff when the housekeeper reports finding used condoms in the trash can and wetness in the bed. The room's sole bed, it should also be noted.
One thing I did discover in my research is that, depending on the US state, same-sex adult adoption between sexual partners would make them liable for incest charges. If this isn't already in place in Pennsylvania, let's pretend that it is. Presumably it would motivate Hucklerabbot to hide their relationship. Imagine the scandal if Dennis had vented about his sexual desire for Robby and Jack to a confidante such as, say, Santos. Do Jack and Robby suddenly have to backpedal on any open declarations or expressions of romantic love shared with Dennis? Tell Dana that she'd simply misinterpreted the kisses she'd spied? Psychologically, internally, what does this masquerade do to them? Do Jack and Robby adopt a squeamishness surrounding sex with Dennis? Does Dennis start referring to them as his dads and mean it? Could we even consider that their relationship—their little legal family—could take on a strange pseudo-nuclear quality, featuring a sort of infantilisation of Dennis? I must stop. I am spiralling out of control.
My point is: there is plentiful food for thought. Thank you, Anonymous, for allowing me to think about this further.
Every time I post one of these, I always make sure to say "I'm at peace with my pain so feel free to ask me anything!" which is totally true. But I've been ruminating thinking about why I'm okay with the fact that I'm constantly in pain, and I want to explore that feeling.
For me personally, I think it's all about grief, and maybe a little bit of control. We know the five stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I'm in the acceptance phase.
Denial is an interesting phase, and probably the longest-lasting one at first. Sure, I'm in pain, but at what point do I admit that it's chronic? At what point do I seek treatment, because no matter how much ibuprofen I take or how many heat pads I use, it's just not going away? If I'm lucky enough to get a diagnosis, I just have to live with that? Maybe I just won't go to the doctor unless it gets really bad. If I ignore it, it'll go away.
Anger, naturally, comes next. Why me? What did I do to deserve living in pain all the time? I can't do things my friends can do anymore. I can't stand up at work. It fucking hurts to do simple tasks. I can't fucking do anything anymore. I hate this life.
Bargaining, with regard to pain, often comes in the form of medication. Okay, if I take four Advil and two Tylenol, I can take some of the edge off. That's kind of a lot, and it hurts my stomach, so I shouldn't do that often. I can get a prescription for stronger pain meds, but I'm a little afraid of being dependent on something like that. Drinking definitely helps, but I'll feel worse the day after. I'll just combine methods until something works.
Depression. Nothing is working. I'm gonna be in pain forever, and there's nothing I can do. I've tried all kinds of meds, I've had surgeries, and I'm still in pain. I'm gonna lay on the couch all day, and it's still gonna hurt.
And finally, Acceptance. I've lived with this pain for so long that unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, I'm used to it. It's a little easier for me to think about it though, and I know that as much as it sucks, exercising to the best of my ability will help me in the long run. I'm gonna do everything I can to make my pain a little easier to deal with, because wallowing about it only hurts me. I can still hang out with my friends, I just have to modify some things, and that's completely okay. Everything's okay, my body is doing the best that it can and I have to remember to give myself grace.
We've discussed the chronic pain, now let's bring it home to the writing aspect of this post. I started applying this thought process to characters who experience chronic pain. I want to talk about my two favorite chronic pain representations -- Robert Robertson and Dr. House.
(Incoming minor Dispatch and House MD spoilers.)
Robert becoming a hero was not something he was in control of, and him losing the mech suit and going through a months-long coma was DEFINITELY not in his control. Yet, at the beginning of the game, he still blames himself. We see him with a sling on his arm, drinking mystery liquor out of a flask, practically asking a street gang to kick the shit out of him. He doesn't see a life without pain, so what's a little more pain gonna do? Hurt? He's already hurting. Kill him? Maybe he hopes so.
He's in the depression stage here. We know he also has chronic depression, but I'm speaking mostly in terms of the stages of grief ala pain. We're not shown his coma recovery, so we've missed every phase leading up to this point. But we do get to see him grow out of it.
His growth is subtle, but definitely recognizable. As he progresses with the Z-Team, he slowly starts speaking more positively about his chronic pain. He goes from picking fights with street gangs while he's injured, to acknowledging and even lightheartedly joking about his pain, praising the idea of therapy, and talking about how he does his best to work out and take care of his body. He forgives himself, and learns to live with his past. He may stumble here and there, but I like to say that progress is not a straight line. It’s also important to note that the bar fight is not him pain-seeking like the street fight, it’s purely self-defense. He ultimately reaches acceptance.
House, on the other hand, struggles to forgive himself.
House's diagnosis comes too little too late for any meaningful treatment, and we get to see him in his anger/bargaining stage. He's given the option to have his leg amputated, but he declines. His other option is an extremely risky surgery, which will either cure him or kill him. He chooses this, and it leaves him in excruciating pain. Every decision he's made up to this point has been out of extreme distress, which I believe equates to the anger stage. He goes into cardiac arrest, is revived, and still refuses to undergo amputation. He's bargaining for his life, and to keep his leg. He asks to be put into a coma, which to me is his way of bargaining for more time. It's not a long-term solution, but the other option is losing his leg.
While he's under, his girlfriend authorizes a middle-ground surgery. His life is saved, but his dead leg muscle is removed. It's not a full amputation, but it does leave him permanently disabled and with chronic pain. Most of the series follows him in bargaining/depression, as we see him struggle with his Vicodin addiction and take it too far. We know that he was stubborn and bull-headed before his infarction, but now he's become a fully bitter man who struggles to see the good in most things. He admits at some points that he probably should have just gone with the amputation. I believe he does reach acceptance by the end of the series, but he has to give up basically everything to get there.
In some ways, it's tough to compare these two, because House has more severe chronic pain than Robert and is, ultimately, a more realistic depiction of it. (I'm sorry, I truly love Robert, but Dispatch is a superhero fantasy world. People are getting thrown through walls and getting up like they're fine.) BUT the reason I like them both in this context is that they display the phases of grief regarding chronic pain well for their respective genres. And they both wake up from comas to a lifetime of chronic pain due to situations outside of their control. They are two sides of the same coin.
The Collaboration period has begun! In these quiet months before works are due, we want to foster a sense of excitement, camaraderie, and celebration among our participants. To that end, all participants were given the option of a formal interview by our mod, Dema, or an informal “ask-game” survey. We hope you enjoy getting to know our phenomenal creators as much as we have!
ELF FINDS HOT TIP FOR RETIREMENT (AND IT'S NOT GETTING BLIGHT)
Critta and Dema talk dopamine tasks, Date Everything, and Solavellan
Dema: Happy Friday! [Narrator voice: I am sorry, dear reader, if I have made you believe it is currently Friday. It is, in fact, Tuesday.] Do you have a weekend of writing planned?
Critta: I’m hoping to! It's been hectic this week but I try to write a little everyday.
Dema: Ooo wow, every day! Have you more or less accomplished that in this DABB writing period?
Critta: Just about! I allowed myself leeway because of the adhd and I knew that these last 2 weeks would be super busy.
Dema: Very impressive! Fellow adhder here – do you have any tips for tackling a project like this when the brain is full of squirrels?
Critta: Oh! That's a good question actually. When I usually write, I'm just following the flow of my brain, but with this there's so much structure that it's somehow easier! But I do also allow myself little rewards for hitting progress; like playing a game or going to do a dopamine task. Plus, me and the other writers often 'pact' words, with no time limit, so it feels almost like we're hanging out body doubling too.
Dema: What are your go-to dopamine tasks? And have you been playing anything good lately?
Critta: Right now, it's making air dry clay magnets, or the little Make It Mini balls you can get! I like fiddling with little things. As for games, I'm deep in Palia, Tales of the Shire, PEAK and Date Everything. I love me a cozy game!
Dema: Who’s your favorite in Date Everything? I have seen only fever dream accounts of this game.
Critta: Oh! A tie between Hector the air conditioner and Chance the d20! I love them both! Hector's voice is butter, and I can never resist Matt Mercer's voice.
Dema: Sentences we never could have imagined, ten years ago.
Critta: A mood, but a wonderful one, Hector is so very Spanish soap opera vibes!
Dema: Even better.
Critta: Though fever dream is accurate to describe the game!
Dema: Tell me about your magnets. I am feeling the siren song of air dry clay lately and I need to be talked out of it.
Critta: Then I am the wrong person. I make little food items! Sometimes I throw in a cute frog for good measure! But you're really only limited by what your brain conjures! I even made an egg (yes, that).
Dema: Intact or cracked?
Critta: Oooo now you've given me ideas! The one I made was intact, alas.
Dema: What is the most satisfying little food item you have made?
Critta: Oooo. These guys! A little bowl of ramen noodles, and the cutest orange I've ever seen.
Dema: Very impressive! I don’t normally include images in the interviews but I may have to for this. So you mentioned that the Bang involves more structure than you usually have – is anything else about this project different than how you usually operate?
Critta: So much! I'm usually yelling to all my friends whenever I write something I'm proud of, or noodle out scenes if I'm struggling. With this, I'm relying more on the other DABB writers. Which, thankfully, they're also the same brand of weird and wonderful I am, so it's worked out well. And it's also my first time properly outlining the actual fic!
Dema: Ok so you’re normally a pantser. Do you write a lot of one-shots?
Critta: So many! They're little bite-sized pieces of creativity! I collect one-shots like I do crafts, which is to say there's an entire room in my head of spinning ideas all begging for release.
Dema: That’s a great way to be! Is there a common element between them or do your interests really run the gamut?
Critta: Well, the common through-line tends to be smut, for reasons But I primarily also write Solavellan, and absolutely put that man through his paces. It's a little like, 'sir please stop being the most dumb man on the planet' but then follows with 'but you get a treat because i love you.'
Dema: Fantastic, you give the people what they want.
Critta: One can hope!!! I've gifted a few one-shots for friends too, which always gets amazing reception because 'YOU THOUGHT OF ME' is the highest form of showing how I love them.
Dema: Do you do a lot of events like this, or exchanges, or theme weeks? Or do you tend more to let your own muse take the wheel?
Critta: This is actually my first fandom event EVER! In any fandom! And it's been a blast.
Dema: Wow! You dove right in!
Critta: I’ve gifted fics but never done exchanges before, though those friends have given little gifts back in other ways. Mentions of OC's in their work is the regular way. First time I saw my OC's name in a friends fic I about died, I was so happy!
Dema: Aw I love that. As a Solavellan, is Inquisition your favorite game in the franchise?
Critta: Yes it is! Though I did play Origins way back when it first came out I played an elven mage (shocker) and romanced Alistair, dealt with that whole tragedy when he ended up King and I stayed just a mistress.
Dema: Brutal.
Critta: So when I played Inquisition, I kinda thought "Well, if I romance Cullen surely it won't happen twice!" And then Solas chuckled, the bastard, and put me in a chokehold. I went into DAI blind too! So I had no idea what was coming.
Dema: Well, you weren’t wrong about Cullen!
Critta: Which I discovered on a subsequent playthrough! I'm glad he got a wholesome romance, considering.
Dema: I also went in blind, and was completely flabbergasted when Solas broke up with me.
Critta: DID YOU KNOW! When Solas breaks up with you in Crestwood, thats when the romance locks in? You can continue romancing anyone else until that scene.
Dema: …… Wow. I did not know that. That’s rude as hell.
Critta: Yeah, hurt my feelings when I found out like 'damn, he do be out here being a bitch like that.' I think the exception is if you get really mad at him, but I can't remember off the top of my head. But yeah, locks in AFTER he leaves your ass in Crestwood, the bastard XD
Dema: Incredible. So: did you play VG, and if so, did your Inquisitor and Solas ride off into the sunset/Fade?
Critta: Yes to both, I needed my girl to get her happy ending!!! But in fact, I almost didn't play VG at all. My best friend bought it for me because I couldn't afford it!
Dema: Aw, good friend.
Critta: And I then very promptly started writing Dragon Age fanfic after I finished it coz I suddenly had SO MANY IDEAS. So he's directly responsible for the little corner of AO3 I now have.
Dema: Had you written before for any other fandoms?
Critta: A long fic I ended up abandoning! I wrote a Breath of the Wild fiction that kinda made no sense after Tears of the Kingdom came out. Mostly I just wanted to write Zelda and Link getting to be domestic.
Dema: That’s very sweet!
Critta: Sometimes my fic is to bonk the blorbo, other times it's to give them a break from their reality. I contain multitudes.
Dema: Ahahahaa. Does Solas ever get to be domestic in your fics?
Critta: That is a loaded question…Because yes? Technically…
Dema: Technically?
Critta: I’ve written him in a kitchen! What he was doing in the kitchen wasn't very sanitary, but hey, he was in there.
Dema: Getting scrambled? Put in a cake, perhaps?
Critta: Eating. Yes. Eating.
Dema: Hahahahaha.
Critta: There’s a blurry memory of him and Lavellan hanging out in the library, too. But mostly I just give them angst. "Angst with a Happy Ending" I think might be my most-used trope.
Dema: And you are so valid for that! In our last few minutes, I request of you a clickbait title for your Bang fic that contains no spoilers.
Critta: Ahhh how do i word this not spoilery…Oh! ELF FINDS HOT TIP FOR RETIREMENT (AND IT'S NOT GETTING BLIGHT)
Dema: A+. Thank you for taking the time to chat with me tonight!
Critta: No problem! It was so fun! And you got your feelings hurt free of charge.
