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jointherebellion215 · 1 month

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Worth

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader

Summary: You're swept off your feet by one Major John C. Egan, and you love every second of it. Sequel to Birdie.

Word Count: 3.0k

Tags: female!reader, mechanic!reader, women™, period typical sexism & misogyny, fun date night, dude w/ a small dick gets rightfully called out, mostly just fun date stuff, tons of fluff

A/N: Hello all! Thank you so much for the kind words on Birdie. I really appreciate everyone's comments, they warm my heart right up. I almost didn't write this, but the thought of having these two smooch it up was too good to pass up. I also completely headcanon that Bucky has the biggest sweet tooth, oops. As always, I'd be most gracious if you were to leave a like, comment, and/or reblog :)

Read the OC Version of this story on AO3!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, please don't copy, repost, or translate my writing without explicit prior permission. Don't even think about it, AI!

A knock at the door brings butterflies to your stomach.

“Oh, he’s here!” Irene shouts, which is immediately met with your shushing, as well as Teresa’s.

You nervously pat your hair and check over your outfit for the evening. You’re spending your second day’s leave on a date with Bucky Egan. He had approached you last night at the pub, asking if you wanted to grab dinner. Alone.

You, of course, said yes.

Teresa and Irene go to answer the door while you gather your purse, stuffing it with your essentials. Your friends greet him at the same time, sounding like twins.

“Good evening, Major!”

You hear his deep voice reply, only a small bit of surprise leaking into his voice.

“Good evening, ladies. Is Birdie around? We have dinner plans.”

“I’m here! Hi.” You step around the wall that hides you from the front door, taking a look at the man you’d been crushing on for months. He stands tall and confident in his neatly pressed uniform, hat covering most of his dark curls. His mouth gapes, giving you a once over and attempting to speak up.

“I- You-…Uh, wow. Y-you look…” But any sweet words he attempts to say are interrupted by Irene, who comes in hot with a manic smile.

“Did you know that my daddy taught me how to shoot when I was just a little girl? I’m real good at it. They call me Oakley, back home, cause of how great a marksman I am. Y’know, like Annie Oakley?” She stepped forward, puffing up her chest and giving a frightening grin to Major Egan. You and Teresa exchanged confused looks, not knowing quite where she was going with this.

“I’m not allowed a sidearm or a rifle over here, but I’m sure I could easily borrow one from any of the fellas on base should you break my best friend’s hea—”

“OKAY! We don’t wanna be late, all the tables might be taken soon. Gotta go. Love you. Bye!” You quickly shove past the blonde, stepping over the threshold. You take Bucky’s hand and practically drag his tall form down the hallway, away from your best friend’s attempt at a shovel talk.

You faintly hear Teresa’s well wishes to you amid the aggressively whispered conversation she has with Irene. The last words you hear before the elevator door closes in front of you are a heavily accented protest from Irene.

“What? I was just trying to..!”

The pair of you stand in the elevator in silence. A slight rocking indicates the starting motion of it, which snaps you back to reality. Looking down, you realize that you’re still holding hands with Bucky. You quickly separate your hand from his, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Your friends seem nice.”

Your head snaps to glance at Bucky, who is already looking at you. A sincere smile graces his face, not a hint of mocking in his eyes.

“I’m glad you have them looking out for you.”

You feel your face start to cool down, making you comfortable enough to respond.

“They drive me nuts sometimes. But they’re the best friends I could ever ask for.” You mean every word.

You see John nod, so you turn back to look to the elevator doors in front of you. An awkward pause.

“You look beautiful.”

Another pause. “What?”

“It’s what I meant to say earlier. That you look beautiful. Because you do.”

Heat quickly returns to your cheeks, spreading throughout your whole upper body. You give a bashful smile, peeking up at him through your lashes. You gaze into his eyes for a moment.

“Thank you, Johnny. You look quite handsome yourself.” The Major adjusts his hat, covering just the tips of his ears. He returns your gaze with an uncharacteristically nervous grin. The floor gives a slight rattle, elevator door and gate opening to reveal the lobby.

John straightens up, holding out his arm for you to take. You tentatively weave your hand within the crook of his elbow. He gently presses his arm in, bringing your body closer to his.

You meet your other hand in its position and let Bucky lead you out of the hotel and into the evening air.

✨

“That was so delicious! I never knew that a roast could be so tender…”

The pair of you were walking arm-in-arm down a cobblestone street, just having finished dinner. It was a wonderful time. Bucky had been the perfect gentleman, but made his interest in you clear without being sleezy.

He was entirely focused on you the whole time. He asked questions and was genuinely invested in your answers. Conversation came to the two of you like a duck to water. After a shared glass of wine, his hand had slowly inched towards yours. Soon he had cradled it in his, like you were a precious commodity, until your meals arrived. You could hardly keep your eyes off of each other long enough to even promptly acknowledge the wait staff, which you were sure annoyed some and amused others.

Safe to say, John Egan was doing his best to sweep you off your feet.

You hadn’t discussed any other plans for after dinner, but the walk you’re on now is nice enough to give you reason to stick close together.

Bucky nods along, “And that fruit tart? Incredible.”

You laugh, leaning into your date, “I knew that would be your favorite part. You’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth, don’t you?”

Bucky holds his hands up with a mischievous smirk on his face, “Hey, I plead the fifth.”

“I’ll admit, I’ve never seen someone so adamant on having some coffee with his sugar.” You continue to tease him. He nudges you playfully, giving a smooth grin in return.

“Hey, we’re in a war! If you see something sweet,” Bucky surprises you by picking you up and twirling you around, getting a full belly laugh from you as he sets you back on the ground.

“You gotta snatch it up and enjoy it while you can.”

You have a feeling that he wasn’t just talking about food.

By that point, you’re leaning against his front, hands on both of his shoulders. The moment has shifted into something else. Something different. His eyes roam your face, eventually stopping on your lips. Just as he starts to lean in, the moment is shattered by the sound of instruments starting up nearby. Bucky flinches, cursing the ill-timed disruption.

Oblivious to his turmoil, you gasp in delight and look around for the source of the music.

“Do you hear that? I think there’s a band playing!”

You spot a few people walk into what looks like a club. It barely a stone’s throw from where you’re both currently standing.

Bucky quickly recovers, “Should we grab a drink? Have a dance or two?”

You beam at him, and his heart stutters in his chest once more. After you give a nod, you place your hand in his arm and let him lead you into the club.

The two of you step into the establishment, and the energy is almost electric. There are mills of people walking about, drinking, talking, laughing. There’s a great score more on the dance floor, hopping and jiving along to the band you now knew you’d heard earlier. There weren’t a lot of uniforms present, but the ones that were were RAF.

Bucky guides you to the bar, hand on your back until you're both sat on a pair of stools. Your drinks are quickly ordered and served, so your night continues. You both allow yourselves to talk shop for a moment, so your conversation turns towards what you were working on before your leave. As you get to discussing the more intricate parts of your project, you hear a scoff from behind you.

John quickly looks over your shoulder, spotting the culprit.

“Excuse me, is there a problem here?”

You turn around to find a uniformed man taking a sip of his whiskey, RAF logo plastered on the lapel. He mockingly shakes his head, placing the glass down on the bar.

“No, no problem at all.”

Bucky, ever the confrontationist, persists. “It seems like there’s a problem here.”

You gesture towards the man, silently indicating that he was welcome to speak his mind.

“It’s not enough that you Yanks come over to our country, destroy our pubs and disrespect our women with your recklessness. But you can’t even keep your own women in check! She should be at home, away from the war, for God’s sake. Taking care of the house and the children. You know, doing feminine duties.”

You had heard all of this before, so it was no skin off your back to hear it again. You roll your eyes and decided to just ignore him. Then the man started to laugh, as if he was in on a private joke.

“I mean, a female mechanic? Between that and your daytime missions, it’s no wonder you’re all dropping like flies.”

You let out an exhale, letting the air stream out through your nose. In your periphery, you see Bucky start to stand— to, no doubt, escalate the situation. You stop him with a hand on his chest. He sits back down, looking between you and the man who had just insulted you. You set your glass down, hopping off the stool and giving a slow clap.

“I’m so glad to know that some people still live in the Stone Age, where apparently all a woman is good for is cooking and giving birth! Thank you so much for showing us exactly what a lack of education and individual thought looks like! See where we are—over in modern times— women can do whatever the hell they want. That includes fixing your planes and jeeps, operating your radios, driving your trucks, and even training your allies to use machine artillery!”

The RAF soldier realizes what he’s gotten himself into but is backed into a corner of the bar as you pace forward with each scathing word that leaves your mouth.

“Never mind all the bullshit you just spouted about what a woman is fit to do. I think that women can decide for ourselves exactly what we can and cannot do. As for my countrymen, I’m proud to serve alongside them. They go up every day willing to sacrifice themselves so that the rest of us don’t have to. They’re gonna be remembered for their bravery and grit. They’re not cowardly enough to hem and haw and stick up their noses at the thought of a woman doing something other than popping out a kid and ironing their pleats.”

The music has dulled down, but you don’t have the complete attention of the club. That gives you the courage to say your final piece.

“Never you mind. I'm confident that the men I serve with, including the man I have with me tonight, aren’t anything like you. Thank God for that! They're not so…” You take an exaggerated glance towards the man’s crotch, scrunching up your nose. “…small-minded.”

Leaving the gaping man behind, you turn to Bucky and ask if he wants to go get some air. He picks his jaw up off the floor quick enough to nod and lead you back outside into the street.

Hey, hanging around Irene pays off sometimes.

As you step out into the night air, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. You feel John step up behind you, voice carefully asking,

“Hey, are you okay? Birdie?”

You continue to stand with your eyes closed. You just needed a moment.

“I’ve come too far to let anyone’s opinion of me, or my career choices, effect me.”

You open your eyes and look over your shoulder at your date. He gives an understanding nod, stepping closer to you. He places his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion. You lean back into him, closing your eyes once more, letting him comfort you for the time being.

“Sorry if I ruined the night.”

You can feel a rumble from Bucky’s chest as he chuckles. “Oh, this night’s far from ruined. In fact, that was probably the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

One of your eyes pops open. You crane your neck to peek at him, “Even better than the time you told me about Curt knocking out an RAF officer in one punch?”

“Yep.”

“Winning that bet to get your bicycle?”

“Oh, for sure.”

“Better than your fruit tart from dinner?”

His smile widens, “Okay, let’s not get crazy here. Maybe it was top ten.”

“Top ten?!” You playfully gasp, turning around to face him again. You rest your hands on your hips, “What’s a girl gotta do to rank above a fruit tart around here?”

“Well…” You scoff and shove Bucky at the cheeky smirk he gives you. You’re quickly distracted by the sound of the band inside starting up again. This time with a familiar tune.

“Oh, your song’s on, Johnny!”

Bucky tosses his hat to the side, steps back and gives a very unserious bow. He then sneers with a hyper-nasal impression of the RAF officer you’d just affronted.

“My lady.”

You roll your eyes and give a joking curtsy in return, taking his offered hand. He pulls you into a proper stance for a waltz, which is a complete offset to the jive song that reaches your ears. You both jokingly hop along in the awkward squared formation for a moment, giggling to yourselves.

He gently pushes on your hip while outstretching his hand, so you take the cue and twirl until you’re both standing at each other’s fingertips. A quick grasp of your hand and a pull twirls you right back into his arms, bumping into his chest. The moment made you burst into laughter, leaning into your dance partner until the song ends.

The next song is a much slower tune, giving Bucky the chance to pull you in close. You hum along to the band playing, sidling up to the Major’s chest. He places a hand in yours and loops the other around your waist. Your free arm gently drapes under his and over his shoulder, encouraging a lean into his firm body. You both give a slow sway, leading each other back and forth in the quiet echoes of the street. Closer than before.

“You know, I’ve been plucking up the courage to ask you to dinner for a while now.”

You lay your head on the knuckles of your hand that rest on his shoulder, responding lowly.

“Really?”

You continue to sway.

“Yeah.”

You’re curious, so you ask, “What made you finally do it?”

He thinks on the answer for a moment, almost chewing on his thoughts. John is not the kind of person to typically contemplate over an answer, so you gift him all the time in the world to respond. You recognize how important that is to him.

“I… I think that it was a lot of little things.” He pulls you in closer. “Your smile, your eyes, the way you talk about the things you love. Birdie, you are so personable with everyone you come into contact with and it’s so magnetic.”

The flow of compliments shocks you, not expecting this barrage of details to come from the man in front of you. But you dance on anyways.

“But I really think what did me in was yesterday, at the pub. When you looked at me during your song.”

You remember. You know exactly what he was talking about. Whatever he must have felt, you know that you felt it too.

He continues to speak in an intimate tone as you sway along in the street.

“I felt my entire life click into place. It was like everything suddenly made sense. I didn’t have to wonder about what my life was going to be like in five, ten, fifteen years. Because I knew.”

He pulls back to look you in the eye, and the amount of vulnerability in his eyes floors you.

“I’ll be honest, it scared the shit outta me. It terrified me.”

You understand what he meant. This is all new to him, as it is to you. You pull his forehead to touch yours, noses gently brushing one another, as you offer your best words of comfort in that moment.

“Sometimes, you have to do what scares you the most to find out what’s worth doing.”

He cups your face, letting his lips ghost against yours. He made his intentions clear, but it was up to you to decide how you move forward.

So, you close your eyes and take the leap.

Your lips press into his, hands stroking the arms that were framing your face. He immediately responds in kind, lips moving in tandem with yours. You melt into him at the reciprocated motion. His arms soon move to your waist, pulling you impossibly close. Your arms reach around his neck, hands resting at the nape of his neck. As he deepens the kiss, you run your hands up, down, and through the dark curls on the back of his head, earning a groan from your partner.

A burst of warmth sparks from within your very being, traveling further and further through your body until you’re consumed by flames. Half of your mind is scrambling to make sense of reality, and the other half is completely consumed by passion.

After a moment, you reluctantly separate from one another, panting to catch your breath. It’s as if the world stopped spinning when you connected, and then started up again when you parted.

Giving a nervous look to the man you just kissed, you’re elated when he gives you an ear-to-ear grin. He grasps one of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers. His other hand comes up to cup your face again, thumb gently stroking your cheekbone.

You stay silent for the time being, letting the moment marinate. He brings up your joined hands to kiss the back of your palm. Your heart jumps with joy at the sight.

Bucky gives an exhale before breaking the silence.

“You are most definitely worth it.”

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givemearmstopraywith · 1 month

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do you happen to have any recs ie: books/readings on christian mysticism + theology? i've read a bit about catherine of siena for a history class in university and found her fascinating but i'm not quite sure where further to look as i am very much unfamiliar with the subject - ty !!!! <3

a strange quirk, you might say, of christianity is that we have mystical theology but we struggle to make practical sense of it. mysticism, especially when it presents in women, is often treated as dreaminess or romanticized rather than as authoritative theology (meister eckhart, augustine, and john of the cross, for instance, are regarded as authoritative in a very different way than catherine, hildegard, or teresa of avila, even though all of these women are doctors of the church and were regarded authoritatively in their lifetime). so i'll recommend some theologians who work within mysticism, but i earnestly think that the best way to learn about mysticism is by reading mystical texts themselves, my recommendations of which i'll list below.

bernard mcginn is arguably the foremost authority on christian mysticism. the varieties of vernacular mysticism, the crisis of mysticism, and his anthology the essential writings of christian mysticism is a very good primer with a wide variety of texts. caroline bynum walker is not a theologian but she's another major authority: holy feast and holy fast, jesus as mother, and wonderful blood are good books, but she's written a lot of wonderful papers as well: i especially like her reply to leo steinberg and women mystics and eucharistic devotion in the thirteenth century. michael sells is good too- a wonderful comparative religious theologian and i recommend his book mystical languages of unsaying.

in terms of mystics, simone weil's waiting for god and gravity and grace are indispensable; hildegard of bingen's scivias; teresa of avila's the interior castle, the way of perfection, and autobiography; marguerete porete's the mirror of simple souls; mechthild of magdeberg the flowing light of the godhead; mother maria skobtsova's essential writings; catherine of siena's dialogue; the book of margery kempe. you might also like the way of the cross by john of the cross and the work of meister eckhart. but i highly recommend getting mcginn's anthology- it was how i started off and is without a doubt the best way to begin getting a feel for mysticism.

#replies

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starrmarr · 3 months

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Sometimes I spend a fairly long time thinking of Rasputin and then I have to stop because why are we like this? Not that anyone asked but let me break it down.

The work I do, glory be to God, involves psychologically healing autistic children as a therapist. I’ve been doing this for almost 3 years now as I work towards my master’s degree. I’m really good at what I do, I’ve had allegedly nonverbal children count from 1-10 with me. I’ve worked with prodigious children with social issues, “severe” children with sensorial issues, French-speaking and Spanish-speaking homes, you name it! They love Miss Mia and do what she says. Yesterday the super rich/famous parents of my private client called me “Mother Teresa” because I was able to make their son, who rejects water, drink about a liter in the time we spent together, among other things. They also say I’m a gift from God. Didn’t the Tsars of Russia say this to Rasputin for the work he did on their son? Hmm.. Everything I do in this life has a bizarre mystic undertone. I’ve learned to manage currents but I still have so much work to do, it gets hard sometimes. It makes me crazy. And no I’m not a fucking “empath”, stop that shit.

Love-wise, I’m an irresistible force, sometimes I think there’s a certain hypnosis going on. These hoes do what I say, sometimes I feel bad for them. Rasputin saw all the women around him turn into his fiends. Not to mention the practices I do outside of my job, my insanely complex spirituality and how I see God everywhere and integrate everything into my practice, with my starting point being culturally influenced, just like the mad monk. I understand people even if they think I’m weird. It’s fine. When I worked as a medium, no one taught me how and so many people loved me, it’s the same with my herbal work and laying on of hands. I could go even deeper but I’ll probably end up writing an essay. I’ll also sound cocky and I hate that. None of this is me, it’s all God. Seriously. Ra-Ra Rasputin!

#try to poison me I dare you

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maya-chirps · 6 months

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Filipino Horror Movies for Halloween

My friends and I watched horror movies last night a day earlier than Halloween because they had prior commitments on the day and I have to say, it was more fun than we hoped for. We decided to watch two movies: a horror horror one, and a more funny horror one. Here's some of my thoughts for each one that we watched last night and some warnings if you want to watch them yourself.

Maria Leonora Teresa (2014)

Content Warnings: dolls, homophobia, child death, child abuse, gore, graphic murder scenes, demonic themes and imagery

Maria Leonora Teresa (2014) was our pick for horror horror. It's a pretty interesting film and although there were some parts that were a little corny, the overall plot was intriguing.

The story centers around three parents who lose their daughters, Maria, Leonora, and Teresa, in a bus accident during a field trip. Grief-striken and despondent, a mysterious man with sunglasses approaches them with a solution to help ease their pain — three dolls each with their daughters' likenesses. Things immediately start going wrong for the families and they're faced with the horrors of what the dolls would bring them and their loved ones.

The production wasn't the highest of quality but even with the cheaper CGI it was still a fun time and especially how uncanny some of their more practical make-up effects were. The writing was also awkward at times with corny one-liners that break up the tension of the movie too so it's not too scary, at least in my opinion (although I'm really good with horror so take it with a grain of salt lol).

The movie does deal with a lot of child death and even child abuse and is a very very gory movie so be advised before watching.

Watch Maria Leonora Teresa (2014) with English subtitles for free on YouTube here

Shake, Rattle & Roll XV (2014)

The second pick was for funny horror and we would be doing a disservice if we didn't watch the classic horror anthology series Shake, Rattle & Roll. We watched one of their last films before the sudden hiatus of the franchise Shake, Rattle & Roll XV (2014) and it held a lot of surprises.

Shake, Rattle & Roll is, as I said, a horror anthology series. Each movie is made up of three shorter films made by three different teams, and sometimes starring overlapping cast members. This is mainly the reason why this section is far longer than the first. The short films for SRR XV are: Ahas (Snake), Ulam, and Flight 666.

Ahas (Snake)

Content Warnings: snakes, child abuse, cannibalism, gore, vore(?)

Ahas is the first of these movies and centers around a local urban legend in the Philippines. Urban legend states that a local mall chain called Robinson's Galleria hides a dark secret in its basement — the serpentine child of the Mall's founders who stalk the women's changing rooms and kidnaps them when they're alone and vulnerable. This story takes inspiration from this and focuses on a similar mall that's about to reach their 25th Anniversary and the mysterious disappearances that had been happening in the building.

This was a pretty okay film with okay writing, with the main thing really pulling it back being it's special effects. With the limited budget, the concept of the movie wasn't met and honestly it's one of those films I wished had a larger budget and more time considering that a snake lady loose in a city would probably be really cool as a concept. Because of that, the ending also felt pretty rushed which sucks.

On the other hand, my friends and I were making monster fucking jokes the whole time so there's that I guess.

Ulam

Content Warnings: light sinophobia, vomiting, disgusting food, animal death (a dog dies), lizard meat, dog meat, rat meat, child abuse, child endangerment, gore, graphic murder scenes

The word "ulam" refers to the meat or vegetable that make up the main meal in a Filipino dish that is served alongside the rice that makes up our meal staple. The closest translation to this is the word viand, which isn't a commonly used word in English. Either way, you could understand the dread I felt when that was the title of the next movie.

Ulam was a standout of the night for us because it scared most of us more than we did with MLT which was supposed to be our actual horror movie. I don't want to spoil much because of that but the visceral disgust and creepiness that I got from watching it was exactly the feeling I was expecting with horror. It was surprising too considering how the typical SRR movie isn't too serious or is corny enough to not spook you.

This movie was different. It felt like the writer and director knew they had a limited budget and they worked within that realm. The limited CGI was used so expertly that it doesn't actually look bad and adds to the horror too. This was a horror movie that felt like it was made by a Filipino indie horror movie group which is a good thing. The restrictions to the budget and the limited run-time worked to this film's advantage and I don't think extending it as much or adding more money into it would've done it too many favors.

Besides the excellent writing and the amazing direction, the cinematography and stage direction was so good! There were so many shots of the film that me and my group of artist friends would just pause and say "Oh shit! That shot looks so pretty!". It definitely helps a lot that the sombre color grading gives it such a good atmosphere.

I have so many praises for this film, it makes up for some of the issues I have with it. It relies on creepy rural province things to get the plot rolling and especially, honestly, bothers me a little bit because there was a quick reference that points to it being a Bikolano thing. There was also some light Sinophobia but specifically the stereotype that Chinese people are superstitious and this is a bit important for the plot since one of the family is Chinese-Filipino. Of course, the elephant in the room is yes, the dog dies. It's a spoiler but I'm saying it upfront. How it's revealed is more of the horror anyway but yes, the dog dies.

Other than that, it's a solid short film and it definitely got under my skin more than MLT.

Flight 666

Content Warnings: gore, hostage situations, flight turbulence, implied dubious consent/nonconsensual relationships, child(?) death, demonic themes and imagery

Flight 666 was by far the weakest of the three but was a welcome palate cleanser after Ulam freaked us out.

It's your typical bad things happen on the plane thing but like, honestly, so many things were happening all at once it was almost comical.

The movie centers around a group of passengers who were boarded on an extra flight because of overbooking on the airline's fault, now in Flight 666. One crazy thing happens after another and the next thing they know, a tiyanak (a demon baby Filipino cryptid) is on the plane and they have to survive the flight until they land safely on the ground to escape. It's such an overload of a movie that I wouldn't be surprised if it's the very reason this has really low reviews.

I've noticed that this was also the movie with a shit ton of movie cameos from big names just cuz, and it's definitely something that I think Filipinos would sorta get more but confuse outsiders?

All you need to know is that most of the quirky characters in this movie are overexaggerations of these actors' public personas. Kuya Kim, for example, plays the role of a sort of adventurer-type professor, not unlike Steve Irwin, and that's just how the guy is. His whole shtick is giving trivia, so he's also doing this in this movie.

The CGI here is used front and center which kinda works because I really don't think this film specifically was supposed to be that scary anyway. The writing was over the top, there were so many corny and cheesy scenes, and the stupid shit in the film really adds to it. It was really jarring going from the freaky ending for Ulam and then going straight into this insanity but it was a wild experience.

Watch the Shake, Rattle, and Roll XV (2014) with English subtitles for free on YouTube here

With all of that being said, both MLT and SRR do suffer from some typical iffy tropes especially with the bury your gays trope though both films are nine years old so I'm not holding it too much against it. Both films also have really awkward and bad CGI even with both being 2014 movies but that comes with the territory of local horror. Either way, I guess we had fun watching it together regardless of the quality so there was that.

If anyone wants to watch these films, and honestly a lot more movies for Halloween, Star Cinema and Regal Films who created the two respectively have it free on YouTube with English subtitles for Halloween and I've linked it under each section! It has a lot of midroll ads, so make sure to use an ad blocker to watch them uninterrupted.

We had fun with these movies, so maybe you might too so give it a try if you can!

#mayaposts #mayapino #filipino #philippines #horror #horror movies #filipino horror #filipino movies #halloween #halloween movies #maria leonora teresa #shake rattle & roll #shake rattle & roll xv #ask to tag #there were too many triggers to tag so i hope just adding the content warning before the section helps a bunch #i mean it is horror #long post

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alarawriting · 1 year

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52 Project #51: Dex

This story is highly autobiographical in a way that's actually kind of painful and embarrassing, and you'll all know why after you read it. And you'll also know why it has taken me two and a half years to write one year's worth of stories and I'm still not done.

BTW I hope like fuck none of the Reddit handles in here are real, but I didn't have a chance to check them all.

***

Jason had promised his boss he’d have a debugged version of the code checked in by morning.

He’d been tracking down a bug when he’d gotten sidetracked reading Stack Overflow. Dammit. He’d just lost an hour, and he still had no idea why his code wasn’t working the way it was supposed to, and it was 10 pm. Teresa was expecting a new version to be checked in by 9 am and she was expecting that it would run.

This was a job for more Coca-Cola. Jason got up, went downstairs and got himself a slice of pizza and a cold Coke.

His mom, also burning the late night oil at the kitchen table, hunched over her laptop, said, “How is it going? You think you’ll have what your boss is expecting by tomorrow?”

No. “Yes,” Jason said. “I just need a few more hours to track this down.”

“Well, you’re running out of them. You’d be better off getting a good night’s sleep, then waking up fresh in the morning early enough to work on it then.”

Mom was 57 and had apparently forgotten everything she had ever known about how night owls worked, despite having spent her younger years routinely staying up until 2 am. “Is that what you’re doing?” Jason couldn’t help saying.

“I’ve got a house showing tomorrow, I just have to make sure that I have my talking points memorized.”

“Why? Does the house really suck?”

“It doesn’t really suck. It’s a good house, really. Great bones, a nice big yard. But I’m gonna have to redirect the prospective owner’s attention away from how ugly the carpet is and things like that, because the seller? Whoo-ee. There’s people who have no taste, and there’s people who never fix anything, and there’s people who own dogs, and then there’s my seller, who is all three.” She sighed. “I tried to get them to rip the carpet out and install hardwood flooring before putting the house on the market, but the market is hot right now; I don’t blame them for wanting to charge forward. I just think they’d get more if their house didn’t smell like dog and look like water damage had a horrible transporter accident with the 1970’s.”

“That bad, huh?” He leaned up against the fridge, sipping his Coke. “You wanna go over your spiel with me, Mom? Some late night practice before you go to bed?”

“Yeah, actually, that sounds good.”

So Mom talked enthusiastically, if hoarsely, about the four bedrooms and the two and a half bathrooms and the recently modernized kitchen and how great the neighborhood was, and Jason listened, because he wasn’t contributing nearly as much to the mortgage as his mom was and she was also paying most of the utilities, so her career was important, not to mention what stress did to her heart.

When he got back to his computer it was 11:30 and he’d finished his Coke and pizza. He thought about getting ice cream, but best not to do that until Mom went to bed, if he didn’t want to get sucked into another conversation. Not that conversations with Mom were bad; they were much more entertaining than debugging code, which was the problem.

He opened up his coding window, stared at it for thirty seconds while doing nothing, and then convinced himself that maybe Reddit would have an answer to his question.

It didn’t. It did have answers to how to solve a particularly difficult problem in his current favorite game, a number of people who wanted to know if they were the asshole, some great reviews of movies on streaming that he hadn’t had a chance to watch yet, political rants, and some really entertainingly stupid coding mistakes that people had posted.

It was 12:30 am. Teresa was expecting this at 9 and she was expecting it to work.

His eyes glazed. The act of reviewing the code for the tenth time, looking for the bug he hadn’t yet been able to find despite knowing the general area it had to be in, was almost physically painful. He checked his brackets, again. The error didn’t look like a missing close bracket, but that didn’t mean anything. If he had a dollar for every time the error didn’t look like a missing close bracket but turned out to be one, he’d have maybe twenty dollars, which wasn’t a lot in terms of actual money but was a lot of times for the same stupid thing to happen in his code.

The software was supposed to warn him when there was an unclosed bracket, but half the time, if the code was particularly complex, it didn’t. It just re-interpreted the bracket locations and then his code broke.

One more time. Stepping through. Why the fuck was it stopping there? There was nothing there that could account for the error.

Time to go get ice cream. Maybe some sugar would help him stay awake and focused enough to get this done. Another Coke, possibly, too.

When he sat back down, he had Discord messages, so he needed to check them. And messages on Slack, which he could be checking in the morning, and probably should be, but maybe one of his co-workers had found an answer to his problem. They hadn’t, but Priyal had a different question and that one, he thought he could quickly get an answer to, so he fired up Google, dug in, and got her answer for her, which he sent. She’d have it in the morning. Unlike Teresa, who probably would not have what she was expecting.

It was 2 am. Stupid of him to get sidetracked with Priyal’s problem when he was having such difficulty with his own. He flicked over to Reddit again because this was unbearably boring and if he didn’t give himself a break from it, he’d fall asleep.

But he had to go back to debugging the code. Or to sleep. He could handle Teresa being pissed off in the morning a lot better if he got some sleep.

Third page of the subreddit he was on. Four. Man, he needed to keep up with this stuff, there was so much here he hadn’t read yet.

Fifth page of the subreddit. He really, really needed to get back to work. It was 2:30.

A screenshot of something really stupid from Cicada. Damn, someone actually posted something that stupid? Over to Cicada to see if there was context that explained it. There wasn’t, but there was a lengthy thread of people absolutely shredding the OP. Including someone he followed, and he should probably catch up with that.

No, he should get off Cicada and go back to coding. Or bed. His eyes were burning. Bed was probably a better idea. Give up on finishing the debug, tell Teresa he hadn’t found it yet and would need another day.

That was an interesting news article, though. He had to check that out.

No, he didn’t. He needed to go to bed.

Jason’s mouse clicked the link to the article. His eyes read the page, despite burning with exhaustion. Some frantic voice in his head was yelling, screaming, get up, put the computer down, you need to be awake to deal with Teresa in the morning, it’s late, you’re doing nothing useful, get up.

Back to Reddit.

Stop this. Get up. Go to bed. You need to go to bed.

3:30 am. He could barely keep his eyes open, but they were still riveted to the computer, his butt still glued to his chair.

Get up get up get up and go to bed, go to bed, turn the monitor off, you need to go to sleep so you can deal with Teresa tomorrow, get up, go to bed, go to bed

4 am. Look, there was his Firefox home tab, with articles from Pocket. A few of those looked interesting.

Don’t read them, you need to sleep, you need to sleep

Right, right, he didn’t have time to read them right now. He just needed to open them all so they would be there for him tomorrow. If he didn’t do that, Pocket would refresh and he’d lose all of them.

Wow, did they really find carbon deposits on the moon? He had to check that out.

Stop it, stop it, you have to stop it, you need to sleep, stop it

5 am. There was no way he’d be up at 9 to deal with Teresa.

Email. “Hey, I’ve been up all night bashing my head against this thing and I’ve made progress—” This was a lie. “—but it’s still not running. I’m gonna have to look at it with fresh eyes tomorrow. I’ll be logging in around 11 am.” This was also a lie, it would probably be closer to noon. But since he worked from home, all he needed to do was drag ass out of bed around 10:30 to send everyone a status update, tell them he was diving into the code and probably wouldn’t see incoming notifications until he came up for air, and then dive back into his bed instead.

Set an alarm for 9:30 am. Set an alarm for 10 am. He’d blow through them both, of course, but they’d wake him up enough to actually wake up when the 10:30 alarm went off, and then he’d convince himself to get up and send the status message by promising himself he’d return to bed.

Check out that article about a different way to manage your ADHD?

No. Go to sleep. Off the computer. Sleep.

Right, but obviously, he needed to put on his Spotify for music to fall asleep to, and adjust the volume because he couldn’t let it be too loud or it would wake Mom up, calm and peaceful or not.

Pop over to Reddit one last time.

5:30 am. Sleep!

The panic finally overwhelmed the inertia and he managed to drag himself off his chair, turn the monitor off, and stumble to bed. Now to get some sleep.

Oh, except now, he couldn’t sleep because he was overwhelmed by his anxiety and fear about not getting enough sleep to deal with Teresa even if he slept until noon because she was going to be seriously pissed off with him because this was the third time he’d blown the deadline.

It was another hour before exhaustion finally claimed him, and he knew that because the sun had risen.

***

He’d never set the 10:30 alarm.

He’d never set the 10:30 alarm, he’d blown through 9:30 and 10 just like he’d planned, but he’d never turned on the 10:30 alarm, so it was half past noon and he’d never sent that status message, so everyone would know he overslept way past the point Teresa would be okay with after an all nighter, and there was a meeting at 1 pm and he had to shower and shave because it was going to be a meeting with video so he couldn’t look like he’d just dragged himself out of bed.

Or maybe he could. He sent Teresa a message on Slack. I think I’m sick. My throat’s sore, and I’ve got a migraine. And I don’t have the program working anyway, so there’s really nothing to show anyone. Can we postpone until tomorrow?

The response was almost immediate. You need to figure out how to manage your time better. You’re sick because you stayed up all night.

Yeah, but I was trying to solve the bug.

If you can’t get something fixed by 11 pm, it’s not going to get fixed. You should have gone to bed.

I know, but I wanted to try. I was getting close. This was a lie. I thought I could get it done before morning.

Yes, and instead you made yourself sick and the program still doesn’t work. ☹ I’ll postpone the meeting this time, Jason, but we need results before tomorrow. Sorry that you’re sick but you know as well as I do it’s because you didn’t get any sleep.

Yeah, I know. I’ll pull myself together, have some coffee, and get back to work. I’ll try to have it done before 5. This was a lie. He knew perfectly well he wasn’t going to get it done by 5, not when he was this tired.

Do you want me to have Jorge review it? Maybe he can see something you missed?

No, that would be the worst possible thing, because then Jorge would know that he’d made basically no progress last night. I don’t want to add to his workload, but if I’m running into trouble later today I’ll pass it over to him, see if adding some eyeballs might help.

All right, I’ll let him know.

And now Jason was awake, the imminent terror of Jorge finding out that he had done basically nothing last night flooding him with enough adrenaline that he could focus enough to turn on his monitor and get back to work.

***

He had to stop living like this.

Sooner or later he was going to get caught, and he was going to get fired. He couldn’t stay focused on his work when it was boring, which debugging generally was; he enjoyed the act of creating code, making things happen, but when it wouldn’t work, it was an exercise in frustration and soul-crushing despair. He couldn’t keep up with his own documentation, he missed emails and chat messages because he was obsessed with something else when they came through, and he wasn’t even spending his time doing things that were fun; endlessly surfing Reddit and checking the news and articles wasn’t something he did because it was incredibly fun. It was just more bearable than focusing on work, sometimes.

It wasn’t like there would ever be a programming job where you never needed to debug, or never needed to polish off the last few functions that you’d kept skipping because of how tedious they were. He knew that. He’d gone into the profession knowing that. But when he was younger, his meds had worked better. Or maybe he’d just been better at being able to go without sleep. Or not as acclimated to the panic. It was the panic that got him moving, that made it so he could do the boring jobs. He had to be terrified of the consequences of failure before the fear and anxiety could override the whatever-it-was that kept him sitting in his chair, playing video games or surfing the Internet, rather than doing the boring parts of his job.

It had gotten worse since he started working from home. In the past, he’d had the fear that his boss might come by and see him goofing off. So he’d still goofed off, but carefully, always prepared to jump back into his work at a moment’s notice. Sometimes he’d pushed himself, polished off what was normally three or four days’ work in one afternoon, and then goofed off for the next three days. Because he could. Because when he was on, he was magic. The insights were lightning, his speed was legendary, his accuracy was amazing. When he was on.

He was off most of the time. And more and more often, nowadays.

Medication didn’t work anymore. It just made him jittery and irritable, so he’d stopped taking it. Overdosing on caffeine did the same but somehow felt more palatable, and he’d grown to associate the feeling of being competent with the tastes of coffee and Coke, so he used those instead. Then he couldn’t get to sleep. On the nights when he actually managed to get a satisfying amount of work done, he might have a beer or two to unwind and let himself relax and sleep, but that was impossible to do when it was late and he wasn’t done. Which was most nights, nowadays.

He couldn’t keep living like this. He couldn’t depend on a state of fear to enable him to work. Sooner or later he’d slip up, he’d be caught, and he’d get fired. And then he’d have to admit to his mother that he got fired. That terrified him far more than the thought of having to get another job. Jobs weren’t that hard to come by, but his mother’s disappointment and sorrow was utterly horrible.

Jason had spent his childhood alternately disappointing her and making her proud. She thought he was stable now, that the problems that had plagued his childhood – the inability to do homework, the losing it when he had done it, the dishes he didn’t wash, the laundry he didn’t do, the leaves he didn’t rake – were gone. And it was true, nowadays he could get the laundry done, because he’d figured out how. Pile it up in front of his door, and as soon as it got too irritating to open his bedroom door, he could gather up the laundry in his arms and dump it in the wash. It helped that he’d finally figured out that he didn’t need to sort anything if he washed everything in cold water and never bought anything that was white.

He didn’t know any way to pile up a debugging project in front of a web browser. He’d tried using software that blocked him from doing anything that wasn’t work related, but the trouble was, Reddit was a legitimate source of information on how to fix issues he’d never encountered before, and Stack Overflow and other sites and forums dedicated to development problem solving were enticing time sinks of entertaining information. There was no way to solve this programmatically, because no AI was capable of telling the difference between “this is useful stuff you need to solve this problem right now” and “you’re just reading about all these other problems other people have had so you don’t have to work on your own problem.”

And even if there was…

Jason was one of the best programmers at the company. He was only 29, but he’d been doing this since he was 12. So people came to him with their problems, and he was usually able to solve those. Most problems people had were something he’d encountered so often he could fix them when asleep, which had actually sort of happened a couple of times – he had once or twice found that he’d sent an email at 3 am that he had no memory of sending, when he’d been pulling an all-nighter, that elegantly and correctly solved a co-worker’s problem.

Their problems were easy, and the feedback was immediate and gratifying. People thanked him profusely, told him he was a genius, sometimes gave him homemade cookies or delicious ethnic lunches (this was the thing he missed most about working in the office, but too many of his coworkers were also working from home; he’d gone in once or twice after lockdown was over, but it had never been the same again.) Everyone had nothing but great things to say about Jason’s willingness to help a coworker out and ability to solve their issues. His own problems, not so much. But he got a lot of leeway for being the genius who could fix everyone else’s issue.

When he was stuck, it was rare that anyone else could help him with it. And it was rarer that he was willing to let them. The humiliation of needing help, of what if it was a simple, stupid thing and it destroyed his wunderkind reputation that he’d missed it, made it so he never wanted help, not with the big problems he couldn’t solve himself. If your whole life was based on your skill at swimming, how close did you have to be to drowning before you were willing to call for help?

Jason managed to get the code working a little before 3 pm, after ignoring three messages from Teresa that maybe now it was time to bring Jorge in, and one from Jorge asking if there was anything he could do to help out. He then gratefully handed it over to Jorge. It’s working, but I could use some more thorough testing than I’ve been able to do. (I have done minimal testing because testing is so boring it makes me want to spork my eyeballs out, but I’ve made sure that it runs start to finish in the most basic scenarios and that the more complex functions kick in when given at least one example of data that should make them kick in.) The QA department would beat the crap out of it later, but the programmers didn’t hand over code to them until it at least ran, most of the time. Well, some of the time. Well, at least the one time they tried it.

He needed a nap, badly, but he was too wired to get one, and it wasn’t a good idea. If Jorge did find something in testing, he needed to at least look responsive. So he started reading the article tabs he’d opened last night, when he’d promised himself he’d just open them so they’d be available for him today.

Oh, and there was the article about a new treatment for ADHD. That was timely.

***

“The newest ADHD treatment on the market isn’t a pill, and it isn’t an app. Dex™ is an implant, that promises to revolutionize treatments for the long-forgotten invisible victims of ADHD… the ones who grew up.”

Oh, that was definitely promising. It had long been a source of deep irritation to Jason, and pretty much everyone else he knew with similar issues, that ADHD was treated as a disorder of childhood. Once you were grown up and out of the educational system, you were an adult and you could adult like an adult, because you were an adult! Right? It was a blind spot in the entire system. The go-to medications for kids could have long-term effects that got more and more unpleasant as you got older… such as developing high blood pressure. Or desensitizing to it, as Jason had. (His doctor had claimed that was not possible, but tolerance was a thing for pretty much every other drug, including allergy pills, so Jason thought that was bullshit. He was planning on changing doctors. As soon as he got around to picking a new one.)

But… implant?

“By utilizing dopamine, the natural chemical made by the body that promotes motivation, Dex™ enables adults with ADHD to stay focused on the important things in life. Their work. Their family. Their loved ones.”

Aaand it was off and running into marketing bullshit. Jason scrolled through the article, but it was pretty obviously pay-for-play.

Another article was more promising. “The idea behind Dex sounds frankly somewhat terrifying. A brain implant that uses AI learning algorithms to dose you with chemicals that make you want to do things? It sounds straight out of a science fiction dystopia. But in fact, the science behind Dex is rigorous.

“One of the biggest problems people with ADHD face is that they can’t motivate themselves to do what they know they need to do. This has long led to sufferers of the disorder being told they are ‘lazy’ and ‘unmotivated’, or worse things. But it turns out that this is a genuine medical condition. Science has identified the neurotransmitter in the brain that gives us motivation. It’s called dopamine, and people with ADHD don’t produce enough of it.

“By jolting the brain with a dose of dopamine every time the Dex user is doing something they need to do, it helps them stay focused and on task, even with the boring tasks that most ADHDers are famous for being unable to do. Wash the dishes. Remember to take out the trash. Finish that essay.

“Some have concerns because Dex is manufactured by Ulysses… the newest medical/pharmaceutical company to place its wares on the market. Ulysses’ focus has been on combining artificial intelligence with low-dose, just-in-time medication, such as the anti-anaphylactic implant Destiel or the—”

Wait. Wait. Did this company seriously name a medication Destiel? Who was that for, people who had never been in their teens on the Internet while a certain TV show had been airing?

“—or the virus-fighting Ajaxon, but—”

Too late, Jason couldn’t take a company seriously that named their product something like that. He flipped away to read about a nonprofit who would paint your roof with super-reflective white paint for free, to help fight climate change.

***

Jorge didn’t find any critical bugs, and Jason managed to take a nap after hours, which was good, because anxiety about the meeting that had been postponed started to creep in around 10 pm, and despite the fact that he knew he needed to be well-rested for the meeting, which had been moved to 1 tomorrow, he had to get online and play a video game to relax.

It was 3 am before the need to go to the bathroom forced him to get off the computer. He gratefully accepted the out his bladder had given him, and as soon as he was out, he went straight to bed. The light from the monitor was irritating, but if he got up and went over to the computer to turn off the monitor, he might succumb to the temptation of just checking one thing, and then who knew when he’d get to bed? It would go to sleep eventually, and in the meantime, he could use a sleep mask.

He hadn’t forgotten the alarms, this time. 9:30 am was probably too early to wake up when he’d hit bed at 3 am, but after yesterday, he knew he had to be online and responsive from early on to make up for his fuckup. Didn’t mean he had to actually work. As three cups of coffee made their way down his throat, he browsed online comics, read email, skimmed articles, answered Slack messages, pretended to be contributing to the discussion about the strategy for the meeting, and finally ended up at r/AMA, because when he googled Dex, he found that one of the people who’d developed it had done an AMA on it.

“I’m one of the lead scientists on the development of the new ADHD treatment, Dex. AMA”

He read over her initial post. Her name was Suzanne Burke and she worked for Ulysses, which was a subsidiary of the online retail-and-cloud-computing giant Jupiter.com. This was troubling. Jupiter was known for its forays into AI, having gotten its start with neural networks that recommended books to people, and was now well known for its near-ubiquitous AI household assistant, Ray-Ray. Mom had gotten one of those for Christmas last year, but Jason hadn’t let her hook it up. His specialty wasn’t cloud security, but he’d been working in IT long enough that he had no trust whatsoever in an appliance made by a giant corporation that could turn your furnace off and on and was probably sending all your data back to the mothership. On the other hand, he was guessing that Ulysses had been bought out by Jupiter, because naming a medical device after a fan fantasy of a gay relationship between a monster hunter and an angel from a TV show that had ended a few years ago did not seem like the kind of stupid mistake Jupiter would make.

[u/ineedcheese: How does it work?]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: Diving in the deep end I see! OK, for any of this to make sense, I have to give you guys a simplified run-down of how ADHD itself works, because it isn’t “ooh! Shiny!” It’s a serious medical condition.

[Firstly, ADHD is described as Attention Deficit Disorder because from the outside looking in, that’s what it looks like. A person with ADHD can’t pay attention. Unless they’re really interested, and then they can’t stop paying attention. But that’s really more of a symptom. What it should be called is Executive Function Deficit Disorder or maybe Executive Dysfunction Disorder.

[You can think of a brain as having multiple multi-threaded tasks, like a computer. One of those tasks is consciousness, of course, but the rest of them run in the background and you are rarely aware of them. Until they break. Executive function is the manager, the dispatcher that takes commands from consciousness – or other parts of the brain, I’ll get to that – and, generally, informs consciousness of what it should be doing. It handles the passage of time, so you have some idea how long an hour is. It remembers where you put your keys. It allocates your attention to speech, to reading, to tasks.

[A lot of this is performed by stimulating the brain to release dopamine. Now, if you’ve ever sought out help for depression, you’ve probably heard of neurotransmitters. There’s tons of them, but the ones you hear about most are serotonin, dopamine, and norepinephrine. Very very roughly, and with the caveat that some recent evidence calls some of this into question, we can describe serotonin as the happiness chemical, dopamine as the motivation chemical, and norepinephrine as the excitement, fight-or-flight chemical. Very roughly.

[Basically everything a person does, is done because it feels good to do it – in some way – or, being smart animals, we know that not doing it has a bad result. If we don’t wash the dishes we get roaches – brr! If we don’t do our homework, we get a bad grade and Mom and Dad yell at us. In a normal brain, small amounts of motivational dopamine are released when we set ourselves to a task that will prevent a bad thing, but that we don’t inherently like. Or, sometimes, to a task that we enjoy, but maybe it’s hard and we’re not always feeling it. Wash the dishes, get a tiny amount of dopamine because yay, you have successfully fought off the roach apocalypse for another day.

[People with ADHD don’t get that. The small amounts of encouragement dopamine aren’t there. We don’t wash the dishes because we enjoy it, and it turns out, we don’t do it because we are afraid of the roaches. We do it because our executive function has decided that roaches are bad, and it will reward us with some dopamine for doing things to keep the roaches away. Everything we voluntarily do, we do because it gives us at least a little dopamine.

[I want you to think about the mythical Sisyphus, endlessly pushing a rock up a hill, because he’s been told he can be free of Hades if he gets it to the top – a thing he wants, a lot. What if someone tells him, the deal’s off? You’re never getting out of Hades, no matter what you do? Well, he probably wouldn’t keep pushing the rock, because what’s his motivation?

[That’s what washing the dishes is like if you have ADHD. It takes time, it’s not pleasant, and it doesn’t reward you with that little bitty bit of dopamine. So what’s your motivation to push the rock up the hill? You can intellectually know that washing the dishes is a good idea and that not doing it exposes you to disease, yucky tastes, and maybe roaches, but you don’t do the smart thing because it’s the smart thing. Or at least, most of us do not. We do the smart thing because executive function rewards us for doing it. And people with ADHD do not get that reward.”]

[u/beepityboopbop: “It handles the passage of time, so you have some idea how long an hour is.” Unless your name is Karen and you’ve called for technical support, in which case five minutes is an hour]

[u/paleshadowofawoman: Suzanne Burke you seem to have a serious fixation with roaches]

[u/semicolonbang: Yeah did the roaches eat your baby?]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: They ate my last relationship. My girlfriend and I broke up because of roaches.]

[u/semicolonbang: that sounds like an interesting story]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: it is but it’s got nothing to do with Dex so maybe I’ll answer it in a few days if I feel like it]

[u/ineedcheese: that’s a lot of stuff about how ADHD works but how does Dex work?]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: Getting to that. People with ADHD gravitate toward things that overstimulate the dopamine reward system, because it’s the only way they get any. Playing video games generally gives you lots and lots of small rewards along the way. Endlessly bingeing Netflix feels good while you’re doing it because television is created to entertain and reward you.

[Now, being smart animals like the rest of humanity, ADHDers really do not want to spend their entire lives playing video games and bingeing Netflix. They want the same things anyone does – to do work that’s rewarding, to have satisfying relationships, to get along with family and make friends. But to accomplish those broad tasks, usually you have to do a lot of small tasks that aren’t inherently rewarding themselves. It’s hard to have a satisfying relationship if your girlfriend blames you for having roaches because you didn’t wash the dishes.

[So stimulants enter the picture. Adderal, Ritalin, and the most powerful and oldest stimulant of all: norepinephrine. Excitement, fear, anger, sexual desire, they all release norepinephrine, which tells the body to rev up. Charge up with energy. It’s time to run away from that tiger! Or beat the crap out of the guy macking on your girl! Or ride your horse, which is terrifying and exciting because you’re moving faster than a human can, on top of an animal who is perfectly capable of doing whatever it wants instead of what you want.

[People with ADHD procrastinate, because the fear of the consequences of not doing the task eventually becomes high enough that that provides the motivation. If you can’t have dopamine, you can at least have some norepi. I don’t want to write that paper, so I pretend it’s not happening… and my executive function is so bad at keeping track of time, it’s easy for me to pretend, until the night before I have to turn it in, and my professor has reminded all of us to do it. Now I’m terrified. I’ve done exactly nothing on this paper, I’m gonna fail my class, my mom and dad will be disappointed, my asshole ex will laugh at me, I’ll suffer shame and disgrace for generations to come. Now I’m scared enough, flooded with enough norepinephrine, that I can do the thing. And maybe I will even get a dopamine reward when I’m done, because “congrats on getting us away from that tiger, buddy!” is a thing that even most ADHDers get.]

[u/semicolonbang: “It’s hard to have a satisfying relationship if your girlfriend blames you for having roaches because you didn’t wash the dishes.” Personal experience much?]

[u/estesrocketsarenottoys: “Or beat the crap out of the guy macking on your girl!” not exactly feminist]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: “not exactly feminist” maybe not, but try being a lesbian with a beautiful girlfriend who all the guys are hitting on and she is really weirded out and upset by it and she just wants to be left alone, are you going to tell me you would not want to punch them in their sexist faces?]

[u/semicolonbang: your life story seems very interesting Suzanne Burke]

[u/ineedcheese: I still don’t know how Dex works]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: Dex works by releasing small amounts of dopamine when you do a task you know you have to do, even if you don’t want to.

[We’ve used sophisticated AI to analyze the brain states of thousands of volunteers who recorded a moment by moment diary of what they were doing for a week and how they felt about it, and from that we’ve figured out how to distinguish the brain state of “I really, really hate doing this and there is no good reason to” – Sisyphus pushing the rock up the hill after Hades has told him, the deal’s off buddy – and “I hate doing this, but it’s a step toward getting what I want.” When you make yourself do the thing you don’t want to do, but you know it will be good for you to do it, Dex rewards you with a little dopamine. Just like your own executive function would have, if you had one that worked.

[Dex can also tell when you’re caught in that paralysis loop – “I really should be working on my paper, but instead I am reading Reddit” – how many of you are in that place right now?]

Jason blinked. Wow, that was a little on the nose. This was posted a week ago, though, so she wasn’t talking about him. Specifically.

[If you’re doing a thing, but you feel guilty about doing the thing because there’s something you should be doing instead… Dex can uptake your existing dopamine. Basically, Reddit bores you! So you go looking for some other source of entertainment. Well, if you take that moment and use it to write your paper, or wash the dishes, Dex will make you feel good about doing it.]

[u/thisuserdoesnotexist: How good?]

[u/peterporkerthesuperbspiderham: Yeah, doesn’t like heroin or morphine also give you dopamine?]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: Not that good, and not exactly, but we’re not going to get into that. Dex isn’t addictive. Video games are a lot more addictive than Dex. Not that I ever blew a few hundred dollars on DLC, or anything.]

[u/thisuserdoesnotexist: How do you know?]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: Because we’ve tested it. There have been years of clinical trials at this point. There are a lot of people who were very, very upset at the thought of ever losing Dex… but we drilled down on that, and they were more like, wheelchair users upset at the thought of losing their wheelchair than addicts upset at losing their fix. They described how Dex made it possible for them to focus, to get things done that they’d always wanted to be able to do. Not that it made them feel good. Because it doesn’t. Tiny jolts of dopamine for washing the dishes doesn’t feel good. It just feels like it makes washing the dishes tolerable.]

[u/chaosisawonderfulthing: Should we be concerned about Jupiter’s involvement in this project?]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: Jupiter didn’t buy Ulysses until we were already in clinical trials, so no. They’ve been very hands off, actually.]

[u/ineedcheese: how does this fix me forgetting my appointments?]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: it doesn’t. But if you’re like most ADHDers you’ve been told, “Oh, just program a reminder on your phone!” And then the reminder to take out the garbage comes through, but you don’t feel like taking out the garbage, so you ignore it. Or you forget to add the reminder about the doctor’s appointment because that just seemed like a lot of work and you didn’t feel like it. What Dex will do is allow you to use those tools to manage the parts of ADHD that it doesn’t directly fix. You won’t remember the doctor’s appointment, but you will feel like putting a reminder into your phone about it was a worthwhile thing to do, when you made the appointment, and you will feel like getting up and going to that appointment is more worthwhile than checking Facebook, again.]

[u/stephaniestick: no one uses Facebook anymore]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: Or Cicada, or Instagram, or Tumblr, or whatever.]

[u/ineedcheese: so it’s not as good as medication.]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: In what way?]

[u/ineedcheese: medication helped me remember things I was supposed to do.]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: If medication works best for you, that’s a fine thing, and we’d advise you to stick with it. But a lot of adults can’t take the medication, or it doesn’t work for them.]

[u/mushroommushroom: Or they won’t prescribe it for you. I was diagnosed as an adult and my doctor told me, basically, no one will prescribe amphetamines for someone my age.]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: also true.]

[u/paleshadowofawoman: you said it makes things unrewarding to do if you feel guilty about doing them. What if you feel guilty about everything?]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: you absolutely should not use Dex if you have a scrupulosity complex, or in any other regard feel a lot of guilt over things you really shouldn’t feel guilty about.]

[u/beepityboopbop: so no Catholics, got it]

[u/mushroommushroom: A lot of people feel guilt over having sex, even if it’s healthy consensual sex.]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: Yeah, so it turns out that the human sex drive is so powerful, Dex can’t do anything with it. We tried. We recruited a few volunteers who wanted Dex to reduce their interest in sex, because they were trying to not cheat on their spouses, or they wanted to get more done… or whatever. We didn’t probe very deeply. It didn’t work for any of them. It can help with more traditional addictions, alcohol or smoking, but it does not actually seem to reduce sex drive even in people who feel guilty about having sex and want to have less of it.]

[u/supermansshorts: But you can use it to stop smoking?]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: If you feel bad about smoking, yes. If you know you shouldn’t smoke, and you would like to quit, but you are compelled to smoke anyway, having Dex will make smoking feel a lot less fun, which will help you quit. But you still have to do the hard work.

[Dex doesn’t magically solve all your problems. I’m pretty sure there is no implant that could do that. What it does is it gives you the tools you need to solve your own. When you have work to do, and you don’t want to do it, but you want to want to do it because you need to do it… Dex isn’t smart enough to know to reward you for that the first time you make yourself do it. It has to read your brain state while you’re doing it to know that this is a thing you should be doing that you don’t want to. You have to summon the willpower to do it the first time, yourself.]

[u/chaosisawonderfulthing: Because willpower and ADHD are so well known to be found together.]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: I actually think people with ADHD have enormous willpower, because they don’t get rewards for doing the useful things they have to do to stay alive and healthy. Other people aren’t really using willpower alone, they’re using the fact that it feels good to do a thing you need to do. People with ADHD have literally no emotional motivation at all, no brain chemical telling them to do the thing, but often they manage to force themselves to do it occasionally anyway. I think that takes a lot more willpower than doing a thing that rewards you with a little dopamine.]

[u/mushroommushroom: How do you get it?]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: Currently, only a psychiatrist can prescribe Dex.]

[u/mushroommushroom: Not a regular doctor?]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: No, and actually, we recommend that you be in therapy while working with Dex. Among other things, there’s a phenomenon called spin doctoring that you might need a therapist to help you recognize and work through.]

[u/chaosisawonderfulthing: You obviously want us to ask what spin doctoring is.]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: Haha, yes! OK, so you’re all familiar, I hope, with the fact that the brain has two lobes. They have a lot of overlap in function, though in a lot of people only the left side controls speech. But you are not two people, because there’s an entire wall of connecting neurons, the corpus callosum, between the two.

[Well, back in the old days, one treatment for really severe, life-threatening epilepsy was to sever the corpus callosum. So in a sense, patients became two people, but only one of them could talk. They did an experiment with those people. Sat them in front of a viewer where each eye could be shown a different image, and while they were doing tests, they sent a message to the right eye, go get a Coke. The right eye connects to the right lobe, which doesn’t usually have the ability to talk.]

[u/thisuserdoesnotexist: Doesn’t the right brain control the left side and so on?]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: Yep, but the crossover happens below the head. So the eyes, being in the head, are still connected to the lobe on the same side. Anyway, so they’d tell the right brain, go get a Coke. So the right brain would get the body up and head for the Coke machine. Now, keep in mind, the left brain has not seen this message, and without the corpus callosum, and given that the right brain can’t talk, the left brain has no way of knowing why the body is heading for the Coke machine.

[You would think this would be terrifying. Your body is doing something and you never told it to! Aaahh! Horror movie! But when they asked people, what are you doing? They got answers like, “I was thirsty”, or “I wanted to stretch my legs a bit.” None of them expressed any fear or uncertainty about why they were doing this, and also, none of them knew they’d been told to go get a Coke.

[So the theory goes, consciousness is not actually where all of your decisions come from! Maybe not even most of them! A lot of stuff is being done by deep processes in the brain that are black boxes, that consciousness has no insight into. But when those processes decide that the entire collection of stuff that is you needs to do something, consciousness often smoothly and easily rationalizes why you are doing the thing, without any recognition that that’s what you’re doing. It feels to you like you got up to stretch your legs, and while you’re at it, why not get a Coke? When the real reason is, the right side of your brain, which your left side can no longer hear, was told to do it.]

[u/supermansshorts: Is the right side of the brain, like, vulnerable to mind control?]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: Oh, no, no. These were volunteers who’d agreed to do the experiment and follow the instructions. It’s not like the right side of your brain is a completely different person from the left side. Even if you sever the corpus callosum, both sides are still you, near-identical copies who think and feel much the same way about everything. So if the left side signed the papers and spoke the agreement, it’s likely that the right side also agreed, for the same reasons. The right side wouldn’t have done something like “jump out a window”, it’s just as capable of making rational decisions as the left side is. But it agreed to follow instructions the same as the left side did, because if the left side was the kind of person who’d volunteer to follow the experimenters’ instructions, then so was the right side.

[Anyway, so spin doctoring. Consciousness is so good at coming up with rationalizations for why you are doing a thing that some deeper process said to do, it doesn’t even know it’s doing it. So a lot of the time, we make decisions based not on anything rational, or even an emotion we understand and recognize, but something deep down that we’re not even aware of.]

[u/mushroommushroom: Like Freud’s ego and id.]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: Similar, yeah, but it’s more like, there’s all these different processes happening, and consciousness isn’t actually aware of any of them, just their outputs. And when the body as a whole acts on one of those outputs without going through consciousness first, consciousness comes up with a reason why they wanted to do that.]

[u/ineedcheese: But I do things all the time that I literally have no idea why I did it, like one time I poked a cake my mom had just iced and when she asked me why I did that, I didn’t even know.]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: Yeah, spin doctoring doesn’t always work, particularly since the ADHD brain is particularly vulnerable to processes just totally bypassing consciousness and doing a thing. That’s called “poor impulse control.”

[But the point is, we do things for reasons we don’t even know, and then our consciousness comes up with a reason why we did that thing, and then it enters our database of “reasons to do or not do things.” Like… if I found it very hard to do a thing, I might, for the sake of my pride, come up with “I really hate doing that thing” or “I think it’s stupid” or “That thing is completely unnecessary.” But maybe the only reason it was hard was I wasn’t getting any dopamine from it, and maybe Dex could fix that for me… if I was willing to try to do it, but the spin doctor might have already convinced me, doing that thing is dumb and why should I?

[One of the roles a therapist or psychiatrist can play with a patient trying Dex is to work through the spin doctor’s bullshit. Help you try out things you have already written off, or break patterns you think are just the best way to do things when maybe they’re not.]

[u/ineedcheese: Like what kind of thing?]

[u/snowflakespecialaisle10: Writing documentation if you’re a programmer.]

Ouch. That one especially hit home.

[u/semicolonbang: How is the implant done? Like do they drill through your skull?]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: It’s a laparoscopic surgery done up through the nose. Outpatient surgery, you go home the same day.]

[u/supermansshorts: And that doesn’t fuck up your nose?]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: Oh, your nose hurts like a bitch for about a week. When I did it, it drove me a little nuts because I have allergies, but blowing my nose would cause giant nosebleeds. Now, we give people a cocktail of antihistamine, numbing solution, and decongestant in a nasal spray, and apparently that works a lot better.]

[u/semicolonbang: You did it yourself?]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: I told you that I lost my girlfriend because I never washed dishes and then we got a roach infestation and she blamed me, and you think I wouldn’t be signing up for the clinical trial the moment we opened it to human trials?]

[u/mushroommushroom: To be fair, the roaches probably came in on your groceries or from the next door neighbor or something. Not washing the dishes just gave them a source of food and water to breed from.]

[u/ohsuzannaburke: I mentioned that. Turned out that was not a helpful argument.]

At this point, a Slack message popped up, and Jason had to turn his attention to that. It was from Teresa.

Jason, I haven’t heard from you in a couple of hours. Are you going to be ready for this meeting?

Ready, eager and waiting, he typed back. Shit, the meeting was in ten minutes. And look, there was the Outlook reminder he had reflexively shut off the moment it popped up, popping up again. Good thing Teresa had decided to poke him.

***

The meeting went well. Great, in fact. Jason was able to demo his code, and nothing went wrong. There were a couple of features he hadn’t implemented that the upper-level managers were concerned about, but Teresa backed him up, because he’d told her a month ago that those features would have to come in a later version. She politely reminded the upper-level managers that she’d informed them in email a month ago that those features wouldn’t be in this version. “Controlling scope is a very important part of controlling costs,” she said, and they couldn’t disagree.

Afterward there was a second, internal meeting of the team, which didn’t go quite as well because Teresa was banging the documentation drum. “If you got hit by a bus tomorrow, no one here would know how to support your code,” she said.

“Good thing I never go anywhere. No bus injuries in my future,” he said, and everyone laughed.

“But you know, they say that most accidents happen close to home,” Adrian said. “Seriously, Jason, I know doc’ing sucks, but you gotta get it done.”

Adrian extensively documented his own code, and got it done approximately 20% as quickly as Jason when he was on. And probably only 75% as quickly when you factored in how much time Jason wasted. “I know,” Jason said.

Stacy, the business analyst charged with writing user manuals, said, “It makes my job a lot easier when there are docs.”

“I’ll take a few days and go back through and do that.”

Then they talked about next steps, and the QA team revving up to test. Duane tried to get Jason’s help with a different problem he was working on, but Teresa deflected it, unfortunately. “Jason’s focus has to be on fixing his documentation,” she said. “Jorge, maybe you could team with Duane, see if the two of you could get any traction on this?”

“Sure,” Jorge said, dashing what small hopes Jason had of being able to find an acceptable task to work on that was not documentation.

When the meeting was over, he opened up his code, stared at it for three minutes trying to figure out where to even begin documenting. Due to the lack of documentation, he wasn’t even 100% sure he knew what all these functions did.

Fuck it.

He jumped over to Reddit, where he still had the Dex AMA open, which reminded him that he’d wanted to google Suzanne Burke’s claims and generally the whole thing, because the idea of a brain implant that could help you control your own behavior wasn’t real far off from conspiracy theorists’ paranoid fantasies of the CIA putting mind control devices in your brain.

Three hours later he’d learned some things:

All the bad reviews of Dex came from people who had obviously never used it or didn’t even really know what it was, people who were complaining about absurd things (“I wanted it to help me stop eating snack chips so I filled my room with snack chips to test it and it didn’t work, I still ate snack chips”) or things no one had never claimed it could fix (“I still keep losing my keys”), or people who had gotten one of the earlier versions at the start of clinical trials. Most of the most recent reviews either raved about it or said something like, “It’s a lot of hard work to re-engineer your whole life even with Dex, but with Dex I can actually do that work without getting in my own way”, or “It’s an adjustment and you’ll find there are things you are used to wanting to do that you don’t even really want to anymore, and that can be bothersome, but they’re usually things you wanted to stop wanting to do”. Most of the complaints that remained after the positive reviews and factoring out the old and/or stupid ones were about the surgery – “They said my nose would hurt for about three weeks but it’s been six weeks and it still hurts when I blow it”. One person had a bad allergic reaction and they had to take it out.

There were many complaints from friends and family members of someone using Dex. “He never has time to hang out anymore”, “We used to spend hours chatting on Discord and now she blows me off after like half an hour”, “He’s like some kind of zombie drone where it’s all about work, work, work” (this was troubling, but when Jason drilled into that, it turned out to be a boyfriend who was annoyed that his paramour didn’t want to spend hours a day canoodling, because he had work to do.)

There were a lot of conspiracy theories about how Jupiter was using Dex to mind control people on behalf of the government, the New World Order, the Jews, the reptilians, the liberal left, fascism, or corporations. These were all presented with tremendous hysteria and very little actual evidence. One persistent theory was that the founder and CEO of Jupiter, who’d expressed an interest in space colonization, was going to use Dex to mind-control a sizable workforce into going into space to build his space colonies. Another one seemed to think that Dex had been created by the infamous tech billionaire who’d managed to destroy Twitter, as if all tech billionaires were the same guy, or had some kind of hive mind agenda.

One credible theory claimed that the device had a wireless component to receive updates, and that therefore it could be used in the future to send ads to people, somehow. The wireless component turned out to actually exist, and it really was sending brain scans back to Ulysses for analysis, and Ulysses really was sending out software updates. Ulysses claimed this was fully anonymized, that the analysis was necessary in order to improve the software that ran Dex, and that the software itself was so unusual and proprietary that it would be literally impossible to infect it with malware. Jason was suspicious. All of that sounded very plausible and also something a corporation could decide to throw out and do something evil with the moment the board of directors decided they could get away with it. He couldn’t figure out exactly how it could possibly send ads, but he was sure it could be nefariously used for something.

In the end, there were two factors that decided him on not bothering to look any further into Dex. The existence of the wireless connection to Ulysses’ servers, and the fact that he’d have to find a psychiatrist if he wanted to be prescribed it. Finding a psychiatrist sounded easy enough, but given that Jason had had “change doctors” on his to-do list for two and a half years, and hadn’t been to a dentist in longer than that because he just never got around to making an appointment, he had no illusions.

But without researching Dex as an excuse to himself, he had no good reason not to work on his documentation. Just the usual reasons. It was boring, he didn’t want to, and he couldn’t make himself do it without a stunning amount of caffeine in his system.

Well. Time for early evening Coca Cola, then.

Jason had a system. Complex carbs, he thought, slowed him down and made him sleepy. Simple carbs, sugar, were a quick shot in the arm of energy, but there’d be a crash afterward. Greasy protein was even worse than the complex carbs, so pizza was absolutely terrible for focus. (This did not stop him from eating it when it was available.) The secret was lean protein, cold vegetables (because warmth made him sleepy), and sugar. So grilled chicken or salmon on a salad, and Coke. It was a pain in the ass to make this for himself; salad, in particular, was annoying because you had to wash it and then somehow you had to dry it, or wait hours for it to dry on its own, or your croutons would get soggy. He put in an online order at a local place, and then turned to video games.

The good thing about ordering food online was that, when it showed up, it would automatically disrupt whatever he was doing, so it was a great way to break free from something he probably shouldn’t be doing to switch to something he should. The bad thing about ordering food online was that it resulted in multiple interruptions while he was trying to relax with the game, because they called to confirm the order, and then they called to find his house, and then they called to tell him they were on the porch downstairs. And then Mom called up to tell him his food was here, and why hadn’t he asked her if she wanted anything?

But now he had his food, and his Coke, so it was time to focus on this thing.

This boring thing.

This thing he would rather do almost anything than be doing.

He slogged through it, incredibly slowly. He’d add a comment, scroll down, pop over to Reddit or a newsfeed or Youtube or literally anything other than this documentation, do that for several minutes – he had no idea how many – and then abruptly remember he was supposed to be doing his documentation and go back to it. As the night wore on, he became less and less efficient, more time spent not documenting, less time unraveling his own code to figure out what he did and write it down. But he couldn’t just go to bed; he had to make enough progress that he looked like he was making progress. But he couldn’t stay up all night, because then he would oversleep tomorrow and he would look bad.

The two balanced each other at 3 am, and he was finally able to go to bed, the documentation close to sort of done. Not to sleep, though, because he’d had way too much Coke and he was much too worried about what Teresa would think. Was this enough to show due diligence, or would she be angry that it wasn’t complete?

***

It took four days.

Four days of Teresa pestering him about whether the documentation was finished, four days of having nothing required of him that he actually wanted to work on. Four days of dodging the documentation as much as he could by helping everyone else out. Including helping with their documentation, because as annoying as documentation in general was, it was much better when he was getting the warm fuzzies for helping someone else, directly.

There was a weekend in the middle of those four days. Jason promised himself he’d work on the docs over the weekend and then didn’t even open the file. Then he promised himself he’d get up early on Monday to do some work on it, and instead woke up at 10, having missed a 9:30 scrum.

At 2 pm on Tuesday, he was finally able to report being finished with documenting his code. He checked the final version in, breathed a sigh of relief, and got himself a beer. He’d finished the slog. Time to unwind. He didn’t officially clock out, because frankly he’d been working so ridiculously late each night that if he weren’t salaried, they’d owe him a whole extra paycheck, so it was only fair. While he didn’t log off Slack or close his email, he did dive into a video game that occupied the full screen and wouldn’t let him see if messages came through. He told himself he’d pop out periodically and check.

Six hours later, when he finally checked, he had a Slack message from Teresa to come into the office tomorrow. It was much too late by now to ask her why.

***

“You’re letting me go?”

He stared at Teresa, a feeling of cold and heat at once sweeping through his veins. “You know I’m the best programmer in the department, right?”

“No one disputes that,” Teresa said, conciliatory. “But it takes you too long to get your work done, because you’re always in late, or leaving early.”

“I’ve been working until 3 am for a week now! And I only left early yesterday because I’d finished my documentation, and I needed a break.”

“Right. Jason, other programmers do not take four days to finish documenting their code. They document it as they write it. If you’d been hit by a bus over the weekend, we wouldn’t have had any idea how the code works, and I’d have to put someone on tracing it back and figuring it all out.”

He realized, then, that she’d just been waiting for him to finish it before she fired him. “I’m always helping out everyone else in the department, that’s why I’m slow sometimes.”

“You’re a great help, and you’ll be missed, but we need programmers who can work standard hours and hit their deadlines. I’m sorry, Jason, but it’s out of my hands. Upper management looked at your metrics and told me you’ve gotta go.” She shook her head. “I know you have personal effects here at the office, so you can go get those. Charlie here will escort you.”

Charlie wasn’t dressed any differently than anyone else at the company, but he was probably security. Certainly Jason didn’t recognize him, so he wasn’t in IT. “Fine,” he snapped.

“We’ll need the work laptop back,” she reminded him. The one he had never taken out of the box, because the box had the specs on it and he’d realized that it wasn’t nearly powerful enough for his needs, so he’d been doing all his work on his personal desktop.

“I’ll drop it off.”

He knew that by now he’d already been locked out of all the computer systems, so he wouldn’t have a copy of any of his Slack messages, or the code he’d just finished. If he wanted his email he’d have to find a way to convert his Outlook OST to an archive without actually opening it, because if he opened it, it would probably ask for a password and then just endlessly prompt him for a login until he closed it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to keep his email that badly.

What a dick thing, to make him come into the office just to fire him. But then, it would also have been a dick thing to fire him by Slack message or voice call or email, and then he wouldn’t have had a chance to get his very minimal amount of stuff, which included a few cartoons he’d pinned to his cubicle wall and a family picture he’d photoshopped to completely remove Dad, so it just had him and Mom. Not that he couldn’t print out another copy of that, but the frame had come from a college friend he wasn’t in touch with much anymore, and he had sentimental attachment to it.

***

Mom was home, in the kitchen, on her laptop, as he came in, because of course she was. “Honey? You okay?”

For a moment he contemplated saying “Fine,” and stomping off to his room like he was still 17, but Mom would get it out of him sooner or later. Better bite the bullet now. “I got fired.”

“Oh. Oh, Jason, I’m so sorry. Anything I can do to help?”

Not tell me about how it’s my fault, I hope. “Not really, but thanks for the offer.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve got savings and I’ve got health insurance until the end of the month, and more if I take COBRA. I want to see a psychiatrist about these problems I’ve been having.”

Mom nodded. “That might be a good idea. Maybe there’s a new medication you could try.”

“There’s this thing I was looking into, called Dex. It’s like an implant that helps you train your brain to focus? I’m thinking maybe I need to take it more seriously.”

“That might be a good idea. Do you need help with finding a psychiatrist?”

He was about to say no, it’s fine, I’ve got it handled Mom… and then thought better of it, because that kind of thing was the strategy that just got him fired. “Yeah. I need you to keep reminding me I need to do it. Even if I get bitchy about it.”

“Oh, I can do that,” Mom said, amused. “Also, I don’t know how quickly they’ll get your COBRA paperwork to you, but you need to get on that immediately. Check the mail every day—”

“I’d think they’d email it.”

“They might, but probably they’ve turned off your email? Do they have a personal email address for you?”

A good question. “I think they have my Gmail…”

“Check that every day. Including the spam boxes. And check the regular mail every day. There’s some time limit they’re under for how quickly they have to provide you that, but I don’t remember what it is. And it’s to their advantage if they wait a few days so maybe you’ll forget. You need to be on that. You could try to go through the marketplace, since losing your job is a qualifying event, but that’s likely to be much more disruptive, and COBRA is probably cheaper than that.”

Jason nodded. “Keep me honest?”

“I sure will.”

“Gonna hit up Dice and Linkedin, maybe Monster, see how quick I can land a new job.”

“Good luck.”

***

But he had savings, and it seemed like a dumb idea to take a new job and then get brain surgery. Sure, the AMA had said it was outpatient surgery, but what if there were complications and he had to take time off? It might be a better idea to find out if he was getting Dex or not before he got a job.

He found a psychiatrist who didn’t take his, or anyone’s, insurance, which was expensive, but living with your mom for several years and paying only a third of the mortgage and half the utilities, while holding a good job, had enabled him to save up a fairly large nest egg. She was the kind of psychiatrist who never actually told you what she thought, but spent all her time asking you what you thought about things. She presented options and made suggestions and offered to help by writing prescriptions for whatever she had suggested that you had decided to go ahead with.

The company had given him one boon; they hadn’t told the state they’d fired him for cause, even though doing so would have saved on their unemployment insurance. Unemployment was less than a third of what he’d been making, but on the other hand, he didn’t have to order food out nearly so much when he wasn’t breaking his neck for the company that had just fired him. He could actually cook. He could help his mom when she cooked, and learn how to make some shit he didn’t already know.

Jason tried three non-stimulant medications over the course of eight weeks. One of them made him horny as hell, which was unfortunate as he didn’t have a significant other, and he felt like jerking off three times a day was a waste of his time. One did nothing. One made him overwhelmingly sleepy. He tried stimulant medication, again, a slightly different formulation, but still felt like it made him jittery and his heart raced and he got headaches and was irritable. A lower dose of stimulant medication gave him the same symptoms, just a little less of them, and lower than that didn’t actually work at all to help him focus.

This wasn’t the first job he’d been fired from for not being able to keep to a schedule or make deadlines, and if he didn’t do something, it wouldn’t be the last.

In the end, he talked himself into asking his doctor about Dex, just like the commercial said.

***

Outpatient surgery, it turned out, was still surgery… it just didn’t involve a lengthy stay in the hospital. When his mother came to pick him up, because he wasn’t allowed to drive after surgery, his nose was starting to hurt like a motherfucker. They’d given him a nasal spray that would keep the area sterile, promote clotting, and relieve pain, and they’d given him decongestants because it was EXTREMELY IMPORTANT, according to the aftercare nurse and the directions he was given on paper, that he not sneeze or blow his nose. If his nose started to run, they’d given him a second nasal spray that was a direct decongestant and antihistamine, and he was supposed to use that instead. If he had a nosebleed, he was to use his spray and lay down immediately until the bleed went away. Yes, his nose would clog up, because there was a healing wound and the spray was promoting clotting; he would just have to breathe through the other nostril. And this was supposed to go on for up to two weeks.

Joy.

They also gave him regular painkillers, which he quit taking about four days later because seriously, how do people get addicted to the sensation of having a fuzzy head? He had enough issues with being half-brained from exhaustion, he didn’t really want to add opioids to the mix. Tylenol and the nasal spray would do.

It was at that point that he decided to engage in the difficult task of trying to get a new job. He’d already updated his resume, but he hadn’t uploaded it; he’d already done some initial keyword searches for jobs, but hadn’t actually applied to anything.

He opened the job search site, logged into his profile, and began the laborious task of adding his newer skills from the job he was just fired from, and updating the length of experience he had with the other ones. It was nightmarishly boring, just like it had been every other time, so he popped over to Reddit. Just for a little while, just to do something more entertaining for a few minutes.

Except Reddit wasn’t entertaining.

He browsed around for a while, looking for something to catch his attention, but frankly nothing was as compelling as the idea of getting the goddamn resume done and out there, so he could get a job, get health insurance he didn’t have to pay an arm and a leg for, and stop making his mom anxious. So he went back to the job search site, and this time, managed to get the entire task done without interrupting himself. It wasn’t fun, but it was something he wanted out of the way, and he was able to power through it, and then finish doing the same thing with two other job search sites.

It wasn’t until after he was finished that he realized.

Holy shit. This thing works!

***

After that, Jason went a little nuts, self-admittedly, with his new superpowers of actually being able to focus and get shit done.

The AMA had been correct. He wasn’t any better able to remember where he put his keys than he had ever been. But he was able to order a bunch of devices that could be hung on key rings or slipped into wallets, that he would be able to use an app to find, and then get them set up and put them on the devices they needed to be attached to. He got “Find my Droid” configured for all the times he lost his phone, and a bunch of chargers he could plug in all over the house, including QI chargers, that he could leave the phone attached to whenever he didn’t want to deal with carrying it around, so now it wouldn’t die out of his custody.

He wasn’t any better at remembering that he had appointments. But he was able to focus enough to put in sufficient reminders, that would catch him at enough points in time, that he wouldn’t be blindsided… and enough to actually check the reminders when they showed up, rather than just absent-mindedly dismissing them. After he next saw his psychiatrist, he actually put his upcoming appointment on his calendar, so he didn’t have to run around like crazy trying to find the little appointment card when he finally remembered that there was an appointment.

He remembered to wash his clothes three days before a job interview, so he had options. (It was virtual anyway, but it did require his camera, so he wanted to look good.) He showered and shaved that morning, rather than forgetting and then racing to try to get it done before the interview. He actually ate breakfast, not just coffee, because he paid attention when his alarm went off, didn’t just snooze it, and managed to drag himself out of bed early enough that his mom was still home and making herself eggs and bacon, which she shared with him. He used Linkedin and Google to read up on the companies he was being interviewed for before the interview, so he actually knew who some of the people were and had some familiarity with what they did.

And in the meanwhile, he kept the dishes clean, the trash taken out, the kitchen floor swept, the toilet paper on the roll and the empty rolls in the trash can, the soda cans in the recycling bin, and he even got around to fixing the bathroom shelf above the toilet and taking his mom’s car to the mechanic for her, because a 30-year-old guy was a lot less likely to get scammed by a mechanic than a nearly 60-year-old woman.

This was fucking awesome.

He wrote a few of the personal programs he’d always wanted to get around to, like the one that helped him use his phone to take an inventory of his and his mom’s shit, so if there was ever a fire, they could back up their claims of what was lost… and then he actually went around taking the photographs, labeling them, and using the program to push them into the database he’d set up. He remembered, finally, after about twelve increasingly upset emails from Teresa, to bring in that work laptop and drop it off. He returned his library books, paid his fines, and checked some more out, and then returned them on time. He set up a blog and started writing about programming challenges he’d encountered in his career. He put a Pi Hole on his mom’s wifi network to block ads at the router so none of the computers had to work at that. He bought a cheap laptop and set it up with Linux like he’d always planned, and actually did the experimenting he’d always wanted to do.

His time on Reddit plummeted, and was mostly confined to subreddits about the games he was into, where he knew people and had stuff to say that he cared about, rather than endlessly surfing sites like r/AmITheAsshole and r/TodayIFuckedUp. He still gamed, in the evenings, for a reasonable amount of time that didn’t interfere with his sleep schedule, and felt no guilt about it because he was getting his important shit done, so he had every right to relax as hard as he worked. When he wasn’t doing job interviews or searching for jobs, during the day in what would be working hours, he was reading up on new technologies and actively teaching himself new skills.

Jason’s mom cried when she told him how proud she was of him for taking this step and getting his life turned around. He himself wanted to cry, sometimes, when he realized that he’d wasted 30 years of his life without this, and that ordinary people, people without ADHD, just lived like this. Out of the box. Without having to have a foreign object shoved up their nose and into their craniums.

The day he got the new job, he happily updated his LinkedIn, after making connections with old co-workers so they could see he’d landed on his feet and he wasn’t a total fuckup. A couple of them contacted him, asking if he could help out with some problems they were having. He asked them to go back to Teresa and get authorization to pay him as a contractor. They didn’t ask again after that.

He even went and updated his profile on some dating sites. Now that he had a job again, and now that he no longer felt constant guilt over what he wasn’t getting done at his job, it was time to try to get back into that game. He hadn’t had a partner since shortly before the first lockdown… that was a long time to go without.

And then his first paycheck arrived, and he grinned to himself. He’d been good… at least since getting the Dex implant. He hadn’t bought anything unless he needed it or it would help him improve skills and be more marketable. No new games, no new DVDs, no books, no new phone, no new speakers for his PC, no replacement pump and filter for the fish tank that had no fish in it and was at this point just an algae-growing experiment, no cast iron skillet because Mom had sold hers at a yard sale due to her hands being too arthritic to hold something so heavy while cooking, nothing.

It was spending spree time! He’d been promising himself this since he got Dex. Save his money while he didn’t have a job, keep spending as tight as he could, and he’d go on a spree as soon as he got a paycheck.

He went to Jupiter.com first, because that was where he could get most of everything he wanted, maybe even everything he wanted. Two new games he’d been jonesing for. Several graphic novels, a science fiction novel, and a memoir. A box set for a TV show he loved, because relying on streaming had gotten more and more erratic as fights over licensing continued. PC speakers with surround sound that were two generations better than what he had, and an upgraded graphics card. Fish tank supplies – maybe he was finally going to be responsible enough to keep fish alive. A hat, because it looked cool, even though he couldn’t imagine a circumstance where he’d actually wear it.

For clothes, though, and the cast iron frying pan, it was better to shop local, where he didn’t have to pay shipping, and he could immediately return anything that had an unpleasant texture. So he went over to Target’s web site, and was immediately bored out of his mind.

He tried to convince himself that the search tools for clothes were more specialized here, and he was more likely to be able to find one thing that fit and then six other things like it in slightly different cuts or colors. No go. It was like looking at the red color scheme and the font was draining the life out of him.

Which was ridiculous. He forced himself to look for the cast iron frying pan. That should be simple and easy.

But they had multiple options, and it seemed like just such an enormous amount of work to sort through them.

He went back to Jupiter.com. The fonts seemed cleaner, the pictures more inviting. The cost of shipping was challenging, though. But he could fix that. Just click the button for only free shipping, and look at that! He could even get three of different sizes. He added it to his cart without thinking about it much.

Clothes continued to be a challenge. It was kind of fun to go hunting, but his frustration was building, because there were so many items coming up in his searches that weren’t what he searched for at all. And no way to tell the texture of anything just from pictures, whereas with a local store he could go there and check things out.

So he tried going over to Walmart, which was disgusting, and JC Penney’s, which was overwhelming, and some of the sites for fancy mall stores, which just seemed to not have any kind of selection. He was used to buying from Target. They had good search filters for men’s clothes, that rarely pulled back complete bullshit. He should go there.

Except when he went there, everything looked overwhelmingly hard and chaotic and he just didn’t want to. All the fun of clothes shopping drained away.

And then he went cold.

Jason tried going to Barnes and Noble’s web site for a specific book. It was too hard to use the site. He’d used it before, but somehow it seemed really inferior now. He tried going to a PC online retailer to look for the video card he had already bought from Jupiter. The filters were too unresponsive. He went to Swappa to find a used phone to replace the one he had, and almost immediately gave up because none of the products looked good and he was feeling a general sense of unease about the idea of buying a used phone from a shady online store… even though he’d gotten his last three phones there and had been satisfied.

Shit. Shit.

He had to post about this. If this was happening to him… he couldn’t be the only one. He opened up Reddit and found the thread about Dex, clicked the new post button…

…and lost all enthusiasm for the task. Jesus, did he really have to write a post about this bullshit? Who cared? Probably everyone would jump his shit. It wasn’t like he had any scientific proof. And the idea of having to explain, in detail, what was happening? Humiliating.

No. No. That was more of it. He had to write this post. He started typing, grimly, using the same fortitude he’d used when he’d spent four days documenting his code so his boss could fire him.

“I really loved Dex at first, but”

“but some disturb”

“but I found”

“but there’s one thing”

Nothing looked right. The documentation, at least, had been right when he’d written it. Everything he was writing now just looked terrible and whiny and like there was no point to saying anything.

But he had to do this. He had to write this post. The thing in his head had to be making him not want to do this, not want to say this, but he’d gone for 30 years forcing himself to do things he really, really didn’t want to do.

“I really loved Dex at first, but its changing what I want, its bad, you shouldn’t”

No. Fuck. What was that? That was utter shit. Couldn’t he even be bothered to capitalize and use punctuation?

“I really loved Dex at first, but it won’t let me write this post about what it’s doing to me”

Fuck this, go read r/AITA.

Go read his video game subreddits.

Check Microsoft Teams, which his new company used instead of Slack. Maybe someone had a late-night request for help? Or something he was supposed to do tomorrow that he could get started on tonight instead?

No!

“I really loved Dex at first, but it makes me”

An hour of reading the news.

“makes me feel bored with shopping”

Just one round of his video game. Just one.

Six rounds later.

“shopping anywhere but Jupi”

This dog growled at the baby sitter, you’ll be shocked when you find out why!

25 screens later of a story he had predicted the end of when he’d started reading it.

“Jupiter. I go to tar”

Had anyone online ever posted that stupid ditty where they sang “shop at tar-jay” like the word Target was French? Go check.

“target or any other site”

Wow, it was late, shouldn’t he go to bed? Bed sounded really great. He really shouldn’t disrupt his sleep schedule for this now that he’d gotten a new job and finally established a good sleep schedule, right?

Focus.

“site and it makes me feel like it’s boring, or too complicated, or just bad”

How about his favorite TV show? Was there going to be another season of that?

“just bad, until I go to Jupiter, and then shopping feels fun”

Yeah. That was it. That was the message. He didn’t need to keep doing this. He could stop and post it here. Actually he should spell check first, right? And it was late, maybe he wanted to hold off on posting until tomorrow, when he could look at it with fresh eyes.

“feels fun. And it wont let me”

1 am. This was ridiculous. He had work in the morning. He couldn’t lose this job just because of something stupid like this.

Another half hour of reading the news.

“let me write this to warn you.”

Right! Wrap it up, turn off the monitor, go to bed! He’d done his part. The message was out there!

Jason absent-mindedly turned his computer off, and only then, wondered if he had ever actually hit post.

Well. He could check on it in the morning.

After work. And his chores. And he was supposed to game with his friends tomorrow, so after that, too.

Oh, fuck this. He'd spent his life struggling against things his brain didn't want him to do, and it was awful and it had traumatized him and he never wanted to go through that bullshit again. If he'd forgotten to hit post, oh well. Let someone else do it. Jason was done beating his head against the wall of things he really didn't want to do, that he thought he should do, forever.

#52 project #science fiction #adhd #near future #i made up jupiter so amazon wouldn't sue me #just so you know

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sidehugsnsideblogs · 2 years

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FCSU #70 Traitors

Allie-Jayne and Abigail managed to broker an agreement after Abby's ill-fated escape attempt. Get an education first and when you're an adult you can go back if you still want to. Abby reluctantly accepted and threw herself into catch up lessons with her aunt and uncle, desperate to bring an end to her exile. She chose to see the coming years as a test from Heavenly Father to see if she could remain faithful even while watching her entire family fall into the degeneracy of the townies. She clung to her familiar diet, books and clothing. She rose at five am to pray and fell asleep every night listening to recordings of Royce's sermons.

Unbeknownst to her mother, Abby also kept writing letters to the jailed Prophet. All FCSU members were required to send him monthly letters reporting on others, confessing their sins and delivering their tithes. Abby had volunteered to collect and deliver mail each day so she was able to hide her correspondence. She detailed the sins of her family: Teresa practiced townie medicine and worked outside the home, Isaac performed womanly housework activities and preferred not to rule over his family, the children were faithless and had no knowledge of the Word at all and they were corrupting her brothers too! Laughter bounced off every wall in the home, the boys ran with the dogs and behaved like beasts. They wore townie clothes and attended townie school and scarcely knew they’d originally been children of God.

Austin and Alex had both donned townie clothes and hairstyles. They were doing well in their studies and set to enroll in school that fall. Andrew at least knew the word but he'd become tense and argumentative whenever Abby brought up their religion. He was angry, so angry at the Prophet and all his "little men." Abby understood that the construction crew wasn't treated very well but she fully believed it was a test one must face in order to become worthy of a first wife and family. Every conversation ended the same way: "When was the last time someone was deemed worthy? Someone young, with no connections to the Prophet" He'd ask, exasperated. Unable to answer Abby had to let it go.

AJ herself was beginning to embrace townie culture. She was enjoying cooking all sorts of meals that had been banned by the church. She and Teresa would have the occasional glass of wine at dinner. She could teach Avery her imagination skill without Charlene admonishing her. She was free! Or at least she was in theory. Her body and mind still plagued her with terrible dreams, she still flinched every time someone came up behind, as though it was Elden coming to paw at her. She hated the sound of doors opening and closing at night, although she knew Elden would never again sneak into her bed at night as he'd done for many years, often when she was half asleep.

Teresa picked up on her sister's symptoms and after some gentle pushing was able to get AJ into therapy. Slowly but surely she began to improve. She even started mapping out a plan for herself and her kids. She loved cooking and she was damn good at it, so why not find a job in a restaurant? AJ applied for a job at the little fast food kiosk in the hospital where Teresa worked. She cried happy tears when the call came that she'd got the job! Finally, she could start saving up to move out. Every morning AJ and Teresa would get up early and go to work together. The work was fast-paced but AJ got the hang of it really quickly. It seemed like finally, everyone was on the upswing.

And then the threats began. The letters Abby was sending to Royce had Teresa and Isaac's address on them. The FCSU goons came out in full force to retaliate against the man who'd betrayed the Prophet. Large trucks with tinted windows parked just off their property line and stood watch all day. Isaac received phone calls every day from his family condemning him and his actions. Even his own mother called to voice her disappointment. She said they could have handled the matter within the family, without the involvement of townie police. The worst part for Isaac was finding out that they all knew. His brothers, his father and even his own mother knew how cruel Royce could be, how cruel was was being, and no did anything to stop him. No one tried to protect him. Their solution was to give Royce special treatment. Give him a wife or two and keep him close to the watchful eye of his father. Emotionally exhausted, Isaac had to quit his job as a teacher. He just couldn't do it anymore.

The harassment escalated. Bags of excrement began to appear on their porch each morning. It was no longer safe to walk the dogs. More than once Teresa caught the men in the trucks taking pictures of her children playing outside. Enough was enough. The more time everyone spent cramped into the house, the worse the mood became. The children were grouchy because they couldn't play outside anymore. The dogs became bored and destructive for the same reason. Tensions were rising. One day Autumn couldn’t take it anymore. She went to AJ and told Abby was sending messages to Royce. This was how he’d gotten their address and phone numbers. AJ believed her. She confronted Abigail right away. Abby immediately knew who’d ratted her out. She shunned Autumn as a "master traitor" and ousted her from the room. She had to move downstairs to sleep on a mat on the floor. Autumn was also trying to keep to her faith, wearing long dresses and piling her hair high but she was happy to expand her palette with some of AJ's new dishes.

Allie-Jayne felt horrible that her daughter's actions had caused so much stress for the family. Teresa and Isaac would sit up late into the night talking about moving. They didn't feel safe in their dream home anymore. They were looking into off-grid type cabins and mountain hideaways. AJ didn't bother asking if she was welcome to come with. She knew they were trying very hard not to blame Abby for ratting them out to Royce. She was a brainwashed child, after all. But something in the air had shifted, the atmosphere had become tense. No one said it outright but AJ knew they'd overstayed their welcome.

#fundie sims #fcsu #fundie tumblr #fundiesims #sims 4 story #cult blog #sims 4 #the sims 4

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mikumanogi-blog · 8 months

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2023-08-20 "Would it be okay if I opened your refrigerator?" Tereblog #107 [ENG}

Title given by: ioki mao)

You worked hard today, I’m Nogizaka46’s 5th generation member Ikeda Teresa 🫧 When I asked Mao to come up with a title, she came up with it on the spot.

Don’t you love being cool looking, refrigerator.

Thank you “MUSIC FAIR”

We performed Ohitorisama Tengoku, did you happen to see it? I’m so glad that we were able to sing like this on a music program. I hope that everyone that supports me was able to spot me through the screen. I love this costume. I’m like a mermaid 𓆛𓆜𓆝𓆞𓆟 I really like the headband

This is my opinion, the one person in Nogizaka46 that suits the word ‘mermaid’ is Tamura Mayu-san. Her smile is…blinding…(´つ_⊂｀)

Ohiten (Ohitorisama Tengoku) delivered to you 👼🏻‎🤍🏹

Also! Today, October 20th, is Iroha’s birthday 🎂

Happy Birthday

Her singing and dancing, I’m constantly secretly looking at her during practice (I’m pretty sure she knows though) Of course there’s a long ways to go but I hope to one day be able to put on as cool of a performance as her. I don’t think I can become a wonderful and reliable older sister but I hope that we can share both good and bad times as 5th generation members… I’ll continue to be in your care. 𓅿𓅿𓅿

-------------Divider--------------

( 'ω'o[ Announcements ]o

I, Ikeda Teresa, will be the general moderator for “J-WAVE INNOVATION WORLD FESTA 2023” that will be held on October 14th and 15th. I’ll be alongside Kawada Tomu-san.

■J-WAVE INNOVATION WORLD FESTA 2023

Appearance date: October 14-15, 2023 (←I’ll on be in the closing on the 15th!)

Time: <Doors open> 12:00 <starts> 13:00

Location: Roppongi Hills Arena

Streaming: stream from Roppongi Hills.

Official Website: https://www.j-wave.co.jp/iwf2023/

Thank you very much m(_ _)m

For this single the 5th generation members recorded an individual PV as a special bonus video! The preview version is available on the official Nogizaka46 Youtube channel.

▼ Ikeda Teresa individual PV preview “A certain woman”

If you buy Type-C you’ll be able to watch the full size.

Scared, not scared? Definitely summery? Please check it out.

Thank yo-yo for reading this far( ･_･)/-------◎

I’ll write again.

Today’s song of the day→Hitonatsu no Nagasayori…/Nogizaka46

#Tereblog #107

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hipbubble69 · 2 years

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Living An Existence Of Purpose: Making A Change With A Fulfilling Life

funeral programs

youtube

Professional wrestling is not only just a sport, however additionally a form of entertainment. Promoters, organizers and the wrestlers themselves do greatest to ensure that every move and stunt is carefully choreographed. Wrestlers are inspired to stay in shape, and to practice routines and moves frequently. However, as with all sport, accidents can and do come up. This article will discuss some of waistline incidents in history of the put on.

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Writing an obituary isn't easy if you will be grief-stricken and will eventually not ability to get the appropriate lines. However, an obituary is important. So there are some tips for writing an obituary. An urgent care medical center? Sounds like a clinic for that urgently need remedy. It is might more. Involved with also for folks with your run for the mill illnesses, say, cherish the flu who do not create the time to wait patiently around for hours on end to be treated. Training module place one wants to seek out themselves in when nevertheless sick holds back around to acquire a doctor notice him or her flankedby a ton of other sickos in a waiting bedroom.

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He pointed out that Rufus Crompton had devote a pin for orientation purposes, which he'd pushed all method in which gives him a mark. Dr Gall tipped it together with gloved finger to be sure it was what he thought it was, if this moved about an inch down the tissue, startling him. This is strange. He discovered might you remember about a pin head at all, but a loose piece of metal. This had rolled off the autopsy table onto the floor, always be most likely never to be able to discovered. Guidelines and meal plans less than 1.5 mm in width. He examined it under the microscope.

Others cleared sewage, repaired power outages, provided temporary shelters, food, water and medical backing. And true to the saying "charity begins at home"; many of the services began and ended at the funeral home. Mother Teresa of Calcutta once stated "Charity to be fruitful must cost united states. To love it is vital for give: to give it is important to be away from selfishness". And free from selfishness is exactly how above and beyond 25 funeral directors acted when "Hurricane Sandy" came crashing concerning our beaches, shores and homes. It's been my experience both personally and professionally that gets to process right, you can position yourself to become the salesperson these individuals turn to in the future. In conclusion printing funeral programs could be a daunting task a person can save lots of money by printing your family and friends obituary your. Enhance your love ones funeral ceremony with a pre-designed funeral program layout. Tip for Windows Users: is a good printer be given the data against the computer will not not print, clean the temp folder by deleting its contents. Clear your printer by resetting it and print the publication returning. The temp folder is found in the Windows directory close to C: Drive.

#funeral programs

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stteresaschool · 2 years

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The Advantages of Going to School

Waking up early in the morning and attending class at 7 am can be a pain. You would rather stay on your bed and listen to songs on your television or Bluetooth headphones. But do you realise that education can play an important role to achieve the dreams of your life?

Going to school should be interesting as in schools you learn many subjects but you also learn new skills as St. Teresa helps students in growing in every direction as it is the C.B.S.E Affiliated Schools In East Delhi.

Things that can be offered if you go to school:

1. Learn basic skills

Schools provide an environment where you learn new skills. Students who are 3 years old are taught how to read & write in pre-schools. They start to learn the alphabet, numbers & also some arithmetic problems. They also get the chance to draw, build solve problems & other skills also.

2. Gain knowledge

There is an abundance of knowledge and information that is present in the world. We study different subjects that help in covering history, biology, art, literature, maths, physics, physical education, geography, history and many more. That must help you to educate about all the hard work & efforts that are made by our ancestors, the struggle of people & all the wars and battles that took place in the country to the complexity of science & technology & so on. St. Teresa School is an English Medium Schools that aims at developing the mental and physical health of the child.

3. Develop your talent

So if you are interested in something and you want to be good at that so there are many schools around the country where there are student clubs that mainly focus on the hobbies & interests of students who want to dive deeper into their chosen field. So if you are in football or basketball, they can join the school’s football or basketball team so that they can learn skills and practice. St. Teresa School aims at developing the mental and physical development of each child as we are the best C.B.S.E Affiliated Schools In East Delhi

4. Learn from Experts

The key role is played by the teachers in any student’s life as they are the second parents, adults who are there to supervise when you are in the school. They have all the knowledge about many things that imparts a wide range of information on specific subject matters, as well as life.

5. Meet New Friends

Schools are so much fun as they have friends with whom you can hang out. These people share interests with you as they have lunch with you, laugh with you, walk home with you & are there to help you if you are having trouble with academics or life.

#English Medium Schools #high school education #c.b.s.e schools in east delhi #primary school education #public school education #top schools in indirapuram #private school education #private school #high school education in indirapuram #school #english medium schools

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jimlingss · 3 years

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can i request a yoongi chef au? i feel like yoongi's culinary skills are underrated, and I'm just a slut for chef aus in general

Anonymous said: Hi I saw ur request open posts for the new year!!! Could u write more yoongi stories🥺?!?! Your stories are so fantastic and i’m thirsty for more yoongi lolol🤪(hopefully u get enough votes to do more of him haha)

I feel like Jin’s the one who’s usually written as the chef, prob because he’s the better known chef in BTS, but you’re right! There’s gotta be more chef Yoongi!AUs, so here you go!!!

↳ Buttering Up

2.2k || 100% Fluff & Flirtation || Min Yoongi || Chef!AU

He clearly doesn’t know who you are.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

You hum, arms crossed as you eye him up and down. His black hair is practically a bowl cut, bangs covering his forehead. He’s in casual clothes — a taupe trench and black pants — looking like he’s ready for a trip to the grocery store rather than to cook. You wonder where this child crawled out from.

“You’re Yoongi?”

“That I am.” He approaches the door of the restaurant before plunging his hands inside his trench coat pockets. He fishes out the key and unlocks it, ushering you inside. “Hope you don’t mind that the restaurant’s closed down.”

You mind much more that he left you waiting on the cold city street for over ten minutes. You still can’t believe he was late. The audacity.

“I would’ve liked to see how you and your staff do your dinner service.”

“Unfortunately, we’re booked full for the next two months.”

You scoff — how doesn’t he know who you are? You’re a food critic who’s brought highly regarded restaurants to their knees through a review of five sentences. Your words alone has had rippled effects in the industry. Even the most talented chefs hold their breaths when you taste-test.

You make Gordon Ramsey look like Mother Teresa.

This Yoongi character is much too arrogant to not respect you. His new and upcoming restaurant might have raving reviews, but you’ll see what’s really going on.

“Sit wherever you’d like.”

There are no waiters in fancy garb, no hand sewn tablecloths made of silk. He doesn’t even pull out the chair for you. Instead, he’s off flickering on the lights of the restaurant while you choose a wooden table and chair right in front of his open kitchen — which is a horrible mistake in itself.

Open kitchens have always been a concept that has fallen short in your eyes. It’s much too noisy during dinner service and it gets smelly fast. Who actually wants to leave smelling like butter and oil?

It’s something you note as you get settled.

Your coat drapes at the back of the chair and then you watch him. Yoongi’s taken off his trench as well, revealing a white long sleeve that he’s beginning to roll up to his elbows. He’s lean and his build is small, but somehow, he’s far from being scrawny. You gawk at the veins running up his forearm until he casually asks—

“Do you have a preference for wine?”

“I’m fine with any.”

He hums and comes over from the glass cabinet with a bottle of chardonnay and a wine glass. Yoongi pops the bottle easily and pours into the pristine glass with a mere tilt of his wrist. You watch the stream fill the glass a quarter way full.

“Is there a menu?”

“You don’t need one.”

Your brows raise. “Excuse me?”

“If I were you, I’d put myself in the chef’s hands entirely and go with their recommendation.” He strides away, placing the wine bottle on the other table and then he turns with a glint in his eye and his mouth slightly crooked upwards. “Unless, of course, you don’t trust your chef.”

Oh. He’s confident.

You can’t wait for his ego to blow up in his face.

“Fine then.” Your head tilts upwards. “What’s your recommendation then?”

He rounds his way to go into the kitchen that’s only a few meters away from where you sit. “Risotto with grilled chicken breast, topped off with caramelized onions, mushroom, grilled zucchini and sautéed tomatoes.”

You roll your eyes. What a basic dish. Isn’t it just rice? And with chicken breast?! Ew. It's guaranteed to be bland.

“Alright then.” You give a smile that might be more mocking than intended. “We’ll see how it tastes.”

Yoongi starts and while sipping the chardonnay, you take a good look at the restaurant from your spot. The place is rustic with a hint of contemporary. There’s exposed brick, wooden tables and chairs, and low, yellow lighting. There’s nothing particularly impressive about the place.

Soon, the sound of rapid, rhythmic chopping fills the space and then sizzling. You watch him intently. And you’re appalled. This Yoongi guy commits the worst cooking sins — his pan is cold when he starts throwing on ingredients. He cooks with olive oil. He overcrowds the pan. And he doesn’t even taste test once as he cooks.

What the actual fuck.

There’s a line between arrogance and insanity, and he was crossing it.

You cringe when he starts using his metallic spatula on the non-stick skillet.

Is he even qualified to run a restaurant?!

Or maybe your assistant sent you information about the wrong restaurant? Or maybe this was not the guy you were supposed to be eating from. What if he poisons you or kills off all of your taste buds?! Your career would be ruined.

“Everything going okay?” you pipe up.

He glances up at you for the first time, eyes peering past his bangs. “Yep. Should be done in five.”

Food is simple. It either tastes good or it doesn’t. But the higher up you go and the fancier it gets, the more convoluted the food tastes with bland flakes of gold and the same old truffle shavings. That or it’s entirely boring and unoriginal.

Or in this case, it might kill you. Which would be the first. And you’re not happy about it.

You feel unsettled when he plops the dish in front of you.

“Chef’s recommendation.”

“Thanks.”

You feel unsettled because it actually smells good. The aroma that fills your senses is flavoursome and buttery, and the thyme on top adds a fresh hint. You’re also unsettled because the plating isn’t actually bad. It’s been presented in a pasta bowl with wavy designs and the chicken breast is thinly and neatly sliced on top. It’s clean. It’s bright. It’s colourful.

But the most lethal poisons are the appetizing ones.

“Are you going to wait until it gets cold?”

You look up, brows raising at how he’s gotten comfortable in the chair across from you. Usually the chefs and waiters or waitresses like to skedaddle off and leave you to your own thoughts, too afraid to stand in your intense scrutiny. But Min Yoongi twists off the cap of his water bottle and casually downs it in front of you.

“I’m just looking at the presentation.”

“Tastes better than it looks,” he exhales after swallowing his water.

Your expression becomes skeptical. But you take the silver spoon beside you anyhow and decide not to waste any more time.

The spoonful goes into your mouth. He watches you. You chew.

Instantly, you halt.

The flavour hits your tongue. Creamy. Thick. But each individual grain of rice still has some firmness with a discernible texture. It’s been done al dente. There’s sweetness from the caramelized onions. An earthy flavour from the mushrooms. A zesty touch from the thyme. The chicken breast is somehow still juicy and the tomatoes burst on your palate.

Suddenly, you’re thrusted back into your childhood. Those summer days spent in the cottage. Sun-kissed cheeks, dirtied knees, cotton dresses. You can hear your late grandmother in the kitchen. The way she calls out that it’s lunchtime. You can feel the comfort of family and love.

It feels like you’ve become the food critic in the ratatouille movie.

You almost cry.

“What do you think?”

You clear your throat. You have to be honest. There’s no way you can lie about something like this. “It’s good. I think...this is the best risotto I’ve ever had. You cooked it perfectly and the toppings you chose were absolutely immaculate with this dish—”

You look up at him. Min Yoongi has an enormous, cocky smirk plastered across his stupid face.

It’s entirely off-putting.

“But of course,” you quickly add, “there are many ways you could improve on it. You could add cilantro—”

“That would unnecessarily drown out the notes of thyme you taste,” he rebukes without a single beat and you scoff.

“I noticed you didn’t add any pepper to it which could deepen the flavour.”

“Except this dish doesn’t need it,” Yoongi deadpans. “You don’t need to help me make any adjustments. I think I know what I’m doing better than you are. Just do your job and I’ll do mine.”

You suck in your cheek and narrow your eyes on him before you take another bite of the risotto while it’s still hot. “The food is delicious, but I must say, the company really spoils it.”

Yoongi’s slumped with one cheek resting in his hand, elbow on the table. He lazily stares at you with that smirk of his. “Really? Because if I didn’t know any better, you look nervous rather than annoyed.”

You scoff for the second time. “Why would I be nervous?”

“Maybe you didn’t expect the food to taste as good as it does and that makes me unexpectedly attractive,” he states plainly. You almost choke. You hit your chest as you sputter. “Or maybe you’re intimidated by me. I’ve gotten both before.”

You wipe your mouth with the napkin. “I’m afraid you’re not very perceptive, Min Yoongi.”

“Really? I think I am.” He smiles, the corners of his mouth quirked. “I’ve read your reviews before.”

You’re unamused. “Have you now? So you must know how difficult I am to satisfy.”

His smirk is sly and it’s jarring against his softer, more tender features. He’s smaller than the men you’re used to being around, but somehow it feels like he’s taken up the entire space of the restaurant. His focus on you is sweat-inducing. Even if you don’t want to admit it.

“I don’t think so. You’ve just been eating shit food,” he says bluntly and your brow cocks. “You just need someone good you can trust. Someone who can take care of you properly.”

You’re not sure if the double entendre is purposeful. You wouldn’t put it past him.

“And is this someone you?”

Yoongi shrugs and sits back. “It could be.”

You grab your glass of chardonnay and gulp the rest in an effort to stop the conversation before it completely derails into a different direction. Yet, Yoongi’s half-lidded and darkened eyes stay on yours with each swallow. He’s unfazed. Unbothered. And that bothers you even more — bothered in a way that makes your face hot.

There’s a clack as you put the wine glass down and gasp.

“I’m a professional.” You won’t be swayed so easily. “I can’t be bribed.”

“Of course.” He blinks as if he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. You glare at him and he gestures to the dish. “Please. Keep eating.”

You finish the plate.

“Do you want any seconds?” he asks as he gets up.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Yoongi lingers, all too brazen and fearless. “If you don’t get any more now, you might have to come back for more.”

This time, you don’t try to hide the roll of your eyes. “That’s a presumptuous assumption.”

Yoongi smirks and his voice is husky. “After getting a taste from me, everyone comes back for more.

You scoff.

Min’s Restaurant Review

Three nights ago, I ate at Min’s Restaurant and met the main man in the kitchen. Unfortunately, he is a difficult person to interact with. I hope no one has the disservice of having to speak to the chef behind the dishes. Doing so may as well ruin the experience. Furthermore, his cooking methods are unconventional and unorthodox. It was completely shocking to watch.

However, and what I would consider most important, the food at Min’s Restaurant is spectacular. What Min’s Restaurant lacks in likeable personnel, they make up in the served cuisine. The meal that was prepared for me not only subverted my initial expectations, but overcomes, what I consider, what the food industry is lacking in this modern age exactly. Without unnecessary garnishes and ingredients, the flavours of Min’s Restaurant are both light and deep. It was an undeniable delight to consume and for the first time, I licked my plate clean.

It is undoubted that the man behind Min’s Restaurant has the hands of god.

You should have pride.

But you’ve always loved good food. It’s your Achilles heel. It’s the one thing you’ve been passionate about since you were a kid. The reason why you love your job.

Even after writing such a review, you find yourself booking another reservation. But as a customer instead of a critic.

Of course, they were booked full for the next six months, largely thanks to your review, and they swiftly refused you with numerous apologies. But they called back not ten minutes later. You have a feeling that your name finally sunk into them — that he had something to do with it.

That theory is confirmed when you arrive. The person in question is next to the seemingly nervous hostess as the noisy kitchen echoes throughout the busy restaurant.

In the low lighting, Min Yoongi stands there with a relaxed smirk. As if he was expecting you. As if he knew you’d come crawling back to him to eat out of the palm of his hand, literally and figuratively.

You hate that he’s right.

“Welcome back.”

#bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi scenario #yoongi reader insert #bts scenario #bts fluff #bts reader insert #yoongi x reader #honestly this is one of my favourite drabbles out of the entire collection #I think someone else mentioned there's not enough flirty Yoongi out there #AND I AGREE #this man naturally has big dick energy and I love it lmao #jimlings #Anonymous

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bqstqnbruin · 3 years

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Always be my plus one - part 3

Ok, look, it's 4 am, there are going to be typos, and we're just going to have to deal with it. I also tried to find a gif that was Tyson and Cale but I couldn't find one in the gif insert thing on here so I just went with this one (it feels weird to change it up but like, oops)

I make no promises that you aren't going to be mad at me for this part so have fun !

This is shorter than the last part, coming in at around 5k words.

The only warnings I have here are implied sex.

Translations for the Italian in here: "tu sei uno stronzo" - you're an ass(hole)

stronzino - little asshole

Also want to thank @justjosty @zinka8 @hockeylvr59 @hockeywocs anons and I'm sure I'm forgetting people for helping me write this part but ily all I'm just dumb and tired

Read the previous part here!

Series masterlist

____________________

Valentine’s Day

The Feast Day of St. Valentine is traditionally celebrated in the Western Catholic Church on February 14, to honor the patron saint of love. Though not traditionally celebrated as a Catholic holiday, millions of people celebrate the day of love with those who mean the most to them. While pessimists of the day say it’s a ‘holiday made up by greeting card companies,’ approximately 190 million Valentine’s Day cards are sent in the United States alone, not including cards given by school children to their classmates. Couples enjoy the holiday with a romantic night out, presents, flowers, chocolates, etc., while those who don’t have someone or don’t care do whatever they want without the pressure of living up to a holiday that doesn’t mean very much in the grand scheme of things.

=============

February 12, 2022

“Where are you going tonight?” Matthew’s voice came through his younger sister’s phone. He had called early in the week to see if Anne could babysit Harper so he and Stephanie could do something for Valentine’s Day without having to shell out an extravagant amount of money on a sitter.

“I’m, uh,” Anne hesitates, “going out with Tyson. Sorry.” She hears Matthew let out a sigh on the other end. “Hey, stronzo, why don’t you ask Lucy? Her and Jason never do anything on Valentine’s Day.”

Matthew starts talking about how the last time he asked Lucy last minute to watch his daughter, despite their girls being best friends, she ended up going on a fifteen-minute rant. While Anne gets her heels on, staring at herself in the mirror and admiring the floor-length, red dress she had on the slit going up the side for no one but herself, Matthew continues to tell her about how his twin goes on and on about needing a schedule at all times, how she can’t just drop everything in a moment’s notice because he wants to do something with his wife.

“Hey, Matthew,” she cuts him off, trying to shrug her coat on, “Why didn’t you ask Lucy or Sebby after I said no earlier this week?”

“Because I didn’t think you actually had plans.”

“Again, tu sei uno stronzo.”

“I am not an ass!” he detests.

“Fine, you’re a stronzino, happy?” Anne hears him stammer again, not letting him get a word in, “I have to go, I’ll talk to you later, ok? Ask Ma, Dad’s off in Florida right now so she would probably love to have Harper for the night.”

He lets out another sigh, Stephanie’s voice coming through in the background despite Anne’s inability to understand what she was saying. “Fine. Have fun with Tyson. I don’t need another niece or nephew around Halloween, though, ok?”

“Don’t be gross,” she says, hanging up and finally heading out the door.

Her cousin Adriana was getting married to her soon-to-be wife, Izzy. Her family had no idea that she was the only one who still talked to them, her mother having a fight with her brother after their parents died when Anne and her siblings were younger and vowing to never talk to him again. So far, the stubbornness that seems to run through her mom’s blood going strong since it had been over a decade since she had last seen her brother. Anne was invited to Uncle Frankie’s daughter’s wedding, but no one else in her family.

Adriana and Izzy had this Valentine’s Day-themed wedding, everyone asked to wear red or pink in theme with the holiday, Anne not doubting that there would be paper hearts and cut-out cupids as the decor. The wedding gift she bought them, one of the first things she found on their registry that Anne could afford, was shipped to the apartment they already shared two weeks ago, Anne just needing to remember the card.

She was fully prepared to just sit in the corner with a bunch of people she didn’t know and watch as her cousin got married to the love of her life. Anne wasn’t sure that that side of her family would recognize her after how many years, guaranteeing her to spend her time on the sideline.

Anne slips into the back of the church, seeing no one she knew or recognized to even go up to and sit with them. Everyone was dressed in red, pink, and black. A bit too much for her own taste, but at least she looked good in red and would have worn the color anyway. ‘Note to self, no themed weddings,’ Anne thinks, not particularly fond of the lack of color or real choice that everyone had in figuring out what to wear.

A blonde boy in a red suit walks by her, too far past her to get a good look at him. There was something about him that caught her attention. Anne knew that walk, but she had no idea where she knew it from. It didn’t stop her from admiring him from afar, though, the short blonde hair and the obviously fit physique under the suit captivated her for whatever reason, leaving her practically unable to pay attention to the ceremony in front of her. Not that she cared, at this point she was just there to enjoy the free food she knew would be good at the reception later.

Anne sat at the table against the wall, her cousin not bothering to make a seating chart and just leaving it up to the guests to sit where they pleased. That meant she didn’t have to talk to anyone she didn’t want to, being virtually left alone at a wedding where she knew no one.

“Anne?” a familiar voice snaps her out of the trance she fell into watching Ana’s sister and brother-in-law, Catie and Danny dancing with their two daughters, remembering seeing their pictures on Facebook when they were born, not realizing how much they had grown.

She turns to the man in the red suit who had her attention throughout the ceremony. “Cale?” she smiles at him, not sure how the two had missed they would be at the same wedding this weekend. Since New Year's Eve, the two of them had been texting, calling, FaceTiming, they had hung out, spent the night with each other, Cale insisting he buy her dinner at least once a week. The only reason they weren’t dating each other was because neither of them had said they were. They both said they were busy this weekend, but who would have thought they would end up at the same place. “What are you doing here?”

“Izzy’s brother and I grew up playing hockey together. I grew up with her. What are you doing?” he asks her, taking the seat next to her.

“Ana’s my cousin. Her dad is my mom’s older brother.”

Cale smiles at her, Anne’s heart racing at the sight of it. “So I get to meet your family?”

Anne shakes her head. “I’m the only one here,” she tells him, explaining the family drama that went on between Frankie and Teresa.

Cale looks down at his lap, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his suit jacket. The red bowtie, red pants, red jacket even against the black shirt were so much Anne couldn’t tell if his cheeks were red because of the reflection of his clothes or for another reason. “Tyson’s met your family, hasn’t he?”

She nods, taking his hand in hers. “I told you, Tyson and I are just friends. I needed someone to come with me to a family thing, so he came with me.” Cale nods, not entirely sure that something wasn’t up with her and Tyson. Something was off, there was something he was sure Anne was leaving out, but he wasn’t sure. “Hey, I’ve seen Tyson, what, three times since New Year's? All of them when I was with you. I like you, Cale.”

Cale leans over for a kiss, his hand grazing Anne’s thigh, sending a shiver down her spine. “How about we dance like we did on New Year's?” he asks, standing from the seat, shrugging off the red jacket before he extended his hand out to her.

She rolls her eyes, getting up with him anyway. “I told you then, too, that I don’t like dancing.”

“And yet,” he says, pulling her close, his hand finding the small of her back while he presses his forehead against hers, gazing into her eyes, “you danced with me all night then, and you got up to dance with me tonight.”

Anne laughs, knowing he was right, burying her face in his shoulder, swearing she heard some camera’s clicking, probably the wedding photographer hanging around somewhere and taking pictures of the guests dancing.

“I know I have to say this about the brides when they come in,” Cale whispers in her ear, “but you are the most beautiful girl here.”

Anne could feel herself blushing, her mind flashing back to New Year’s Eve when Tyson told her she looked beautiful. He seemed so genuine saying it, Anne thinking back and not sure if he meant it or was actually pretending. But with Cale, she knew. Cale meant it. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she tells him, ghosting his lips before kissing him.

Being with Cale felt fine. Not perfect, but fine. It was right, but not correct, and Anne couldn’t figure out why.

Everyone starts clearing off the dance floor, the bridal party getting ready to come in. Cale takes Anne’s hand and leads her back to the table where he left his jacket, some other people finding their home base at the same table. Cale knew one of the men at the table, probably from their little hockey group that involved Izzy’s brother. The bridesmaids and bridesmen, as the DJ put it, started coming in, Cale leaning back with his arm slung around the back of Anne’s chair. She leaned back into him, his fingertips dancing up and down her arm as they watched everyone come in.

They watched Ana and Izzy dance their first one as wives, Anne’s stomach starting to make noise as they waited for the food to come.

Cale leans over, nervous about what he was about to whisper in her ear. “Are you hungry for food or maybe something more?”

Anne felt her entire body go numb at his words. They had been seeing each other for a month and a half already, so was what he was insinuating really that strange of an idea? “That depends.”

“On?” he asks, nibbling on her ear before kissing the skin right behind it, losing any sense of care over who at their table was potentially watching.

“On how long you think we need to wait before we can slip out without it being rude?”

Cale inhaled sharply, wishing he could say right now. “At least until they cut the cake. Unless,” he says, his hand moving up her thigh, slowly in case she decided she wanted it to stop, “Unless you wanted to try to find somewhere to sneak away to now.”

“Not for our first time,” she tells him, reaching up to cup his cheek. “And not with my family around,” she laughs.

“I’m fine with that,” he tells her, kissing her. “Your place or mine, though?”

“Well, I drove myself here.”

“And I got a ride.”

Anne smiles, crossing her legs in hopes that whatever she felt would be stifled by that simple action. “So it looks like it’s going to be mine.”

They spent the rest of the night waiting for the moment the cake was cut so they could leave as planned, Cale’s hand never leaving her leg unless he really needed both hands to do something.

Anne could feel her heart racing as she watched Ana and Izzy smash their cake in each other’s face, Anne looking over to Cale and smiling. “You wanna go?” she asks, her keys already out of her bag and in her hand.

Cale drags her out without saying a word, Anne leading him to her car. He walks over to the driver’s side, his arms wrapped around her waist with her back pressed against her car. “You’re sure about this?” he asks her, his eyes flicking between hers and her lips.

“Yeah,” she says, kissing him before he opens the door for her. She couldn’t wait to get home, sure she broke a few traffic laws as she sped back to her apartment with Cale sitting next to her in the passenger seat, his leg shaking the entire time.

They got to the elevator, Cale leaning against her against the wall with his lips pressed against hers, Anne’s hands already working to unbutton his shirt. Cale’s kisses trailed down her jaw to her collarbone, his grip tightening on her waist.

Anne pulled away to lead him down the hallway, practically running, partially due to anticipation for what they were about to do, and because Anne could feel a breeze on her back, indicating that Cale had already unzipped her dress. That, coupled with the fact that Cale’s shirt was already open, his jacket in his free hand, Anne had no desire for any of her neighbors to be given the chance to see her and however Cale was to her already getting naked before closing the door.

As soon as she unlocked her door, Cale had her turned back around, kicking the door closed as he carried her to her bedroom, Anne able to feel everything about him against her body. Cale laid her down on her bed, his lips never leaving hers as he positioned himself over her, sliding her dress off while she did the same with his shirt. Anne’s breath hitched at the sight of him, his body perfect while he stared her down, the first time she saw the typically innocent boy she had been seeing with a mischievous grin covering his face, his eyes darkening at the thought of doing what they had both been wanting to do all night.

“You’re sure about this?” he asks one more time.

Anne nods, taking his face in her hands. “Yes, Cale. I’m sure.”

=============

February 13, 2022

Anne woke up the next morning, the events of the night before rushing back despite finding the space he had occupied in her bed empty. Her dress was on the floor, Cale’s red bowtie somehow having ended up on her night stand. Maybe he left it there as an excuse to see her again, making a mental note to put it in the living room so she would remember it the next time she saw him.

He had slipped out at some point that morning, Anne playing the voicemail that he left her while she slipped on a t-shirt to cover herself. “Hey, Anne. Sorry, I couldn’t stay, but morning skate was calling. I,” she hears him sigh, knowing he had a stupid grin on his face for whatever it was he was about to say, “I can’t wait to have another night like last night with you.”

It was her turn to have the stupid smile on her face as Cale continues, “Um, anyway, I’ve got something going on with JT and some of the other guys tomorrow for Valentine’s Day, a, uh, charity thing? I think? So would you be free this weekend for a proper date for the holiday? You know, not as crowded, not as much pressure, ideally the same outcome, if you’ll allow it? Oh, hey Tyson,” she hears him say, figuring that he was calling her on the way into the rink despite her being unable to hear Tyson. “Yeah, I’m planning Valentine’s Day with Anne. No, not tomorrow night, this weekend. Uh, Anne, I’ve gotta go, but let me know about, say, Friday night? Alright, talk to you later. Bye.”

Valentine’s Day date with Cale? Part two, more like, but still. Anne liked the sound of that.

“So, uh,” Tyson starts, already dreading what he was about to hear from his teammate given what he had heard him say into his phone. “You and Anne?”

“Yeah,” Cale breathes out, chuckling at the thought of what happened last night. “We, um,” Cale couldn’t even get a full sentence out, acting like a child who just got the toy he had been begging his parents for on Christmas morning. He couldn’t remember the last time he was that happy. “We spent the night together last night. I left from her place this morning.”

More of their teammates were filtering into the locker room, looking at Cale’s face turn bright red while Tyson stood there with him looking like he just about wanted to die. “Ok, but did you spend the night, or spend the night?” Ryan asks.

Cale started to stammer out nonsense, not really wanting to divulge the private details of his and Anne’s night despite the guys teasing him and congratulating him for what he wasn’t saying.

“Guys, keep it civil. Anne wouldn’t want us talking about any of this,” Tyson pipes in, Cale letting out a sigh of relief as the guys disperse to get ready for morning skate.

“Thanks,” Cale tells him, going off on his own to get his gear on.

JT appears by Tyson’s side, a stupid smirk on his face. “Would Anne not want us talking about anything, or would you not want us talking about anything?”

“Well, Anne definitely wouldn’t.”

“Oh, come on, we both know Cale would never.”

“Doesn’t mean I want him to have the chance.”

“You’re treading in deep water, dude,” JT sighs.

Tyson looks at him, hating that he knew what he meant. He had barely seen Anne, despite her brother’s texts from the night before asking if Anne really couldn’t watch Harper because of the two of them going out, Tyson going along with the lie just in case. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“It seems like you don’t know what you want from Anne, either,” JT shrugs. “But Cale does, and he got it.”

=============

February 14, 2022

12 hour shifts were the only shifts Anne knew. And they were the shifts that Anne detested the most. She was fine the first ten hours, but the last two always seemed to suck more than anything, leaving her exhausted for the rest of the day, into the night, depending on when she got home in the first place.

All she wanted to do was order dinner from the Thai place down the street, having it delivered despite her really not needing to since it was within walking distance, plop herself on her couch and watch whatever reality TV Lucy had texted her that she thought Anne would like. Anne knew she would turn it off after a single episode and switch to Food Network, but at least she could tell her sister she tried.

Anne walks to her apartment, dragging her feet to her door when she sees someone sitting on the ground, his head down looking at his phone. “Tyson?”

He gets up, grabbing the two bags he had with him as the smell of food filled her nose. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my fake girlfriend,” he says, raising the bags while Anne opens the door to let him in.

“I’m confused,” she tells him as he sets everything down.

“Well, Matthew called me on Saturday asking if the two of us were sure we couldn’t watch his daughter, and I figured he might as well have some sort of photographic evidence as proof of us spending Valentine’s Day together,” Tyson explains. “So, I figured I’d go all out: flowers, dinner, and a present. You know, really convince them that we’re together.”

Anne stares at him for a second, not sure why her heart was racing at the thought of him going out of his way to keep up this facade with her family. “I don’t think I like that you and Matthew are so ‘buddy-buddy.’ Or that fact that he didn’t believe me the first two times I told him I was busy on Saturday night. And I thought that you guys had a charity thing tonight?”

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Tyson asks, handing her the container of food as she joined him on the couch, the Thai food she was planning on ordering right in front of her. “We have a groupchat. Yeah, it’s me, Sebby, Lucy, and Matthew.”

Anne scoffs, rolling her eyes at his failed attempt at a joke. “And let me guess: you gossip about me the entire time.”

“Actually,” he says, his mouth full of food, “you never come up. They think of me as the fourth sibling. The name Anne means nothing.”

Anne laughs, Tyson admiring the way her eyes closed as her smile grew. God, he wished he had gotten to her before Cale did. Why did he have to leave her alone at all on New Year’s Eve? If he were by her side the entire night like he had wanted to be, then he wouldn’t have to pretend to be her boyfriend, he could actually be getting somewhere with her.

“Hm,” Anne hums, swallowing her mouthful of food. “You said flowers and a present. When do I get those?”

“You can get them now on the condition that I can take a video to send to your siblings,” he offers, pulling out his phone and pushing the bag with the flowers and gift behind him. Anne rolls her eyes, smiling and nodding while he starts the video. He hands her the card first. “Read it.”

Anne pulls it out of the envelope, glitter getting everywhere and making her cringe, knowing that it would be impossible to get off her scrubs later on. It was covered with roses and hearts, bringing her right back to the wedding that weekend. “No one has ever made me feel like this. To the woman I love: Happy Valentine’s Day,” Anne reads, feeling a lump forming in her throat. The card was so corny, a little too corny for her taste, but coming from Tyson, she didn’t know why she loved it. She shakes her head, laughing at Tyson. “I love you, too,” she lies.

Tyson swallows hard at her words, wishing she meant them, pulling out the flowers from the bag and handing them to her. She looks down at the flowers, trying to figure out what they are before looking up at him. “Queen Anne’s Lace?”

“Queen Anne’s Lace for my Queen, Anne,” he tells her, cringing at his own words.

Anne giggles, placing them in her lap. “And my favorite flowers, anyway. Thank you, Tyson.”

“Wait, I have one more thing,” he says, hoping that the camera wasn’t shaking too much while he reached for the gift he bought her.

He hands it to her, a small red box wrapped with a gold bow. She unties it carefully, opening the box and gasping at the sight of it. A golden necklace with a white enamel heart as the charm, a golden pattern outlining the heart. “Tyson, it’s,” she starts, unable to find the words, “it’s beautiful.”

He stops the recording, figuring he had enough to hit send to his ‘girlfriend's' siblings. “Let me put it on you,” he says, Anne turning around and moving her hair out of the way. “I thought you would like it.”

Anne studies his face, the smile plastered on it despite her knowing that he didn’t mean it. “You didn’t have to do this.”

He shrugs, grabbing his food off the table and staring at it now in his lap. “It was fun. I’ve never had a girlfriend who I could buy presents like this for. I mean, I still don’t, but I have you.”

“Oh, come on. You, Tyson Jost, have never had a girlfriend? Look at you,” she says, praying that she was careful with the words she chose. “You’re gorgeous, you’re sweet, you’re funny, you get along with everyone you meet.”

Tyson hated hearing Anne go on about him, knowing that she was just saying it as a friend instead of something more. He scoffs, trying to save face from whatever pain or other emotion he was feeling. “Come on,” he says, not believing her anyway.

“I’m serious!” she insists, reaching up and starting to fidget with her new necklace. “Any girl would be lucky to have you as her boyfriend. I’m lucky to even have you as a fake boyfriend.”

Tyson nods, turning his body to face the TV instead of Anne. “So what are we watching?” he asks, changing the subject and putting his feet up on the table, Anne doing the same.

“Whatever’s on Food Network?” she suggests, holding the remote in the air pointed at the TV.

The two of them settle in, Tyson not paying attention to the show she had turned on. “Hey, what’s that?” Tyson asks, racing over to the red fabric that was on Anne’s coffee table.

“Oh,” Anne blushes, taking it from Tyson. “This is Cale’s. He, um, let it the other night,” she explains, Tyson watching her turn his teammates bowtie over in her hands.

“So you and Cale are doing pretty well?” he asks. Anne looks at him, not sure if she really wanted to tell him about it. “Come on, we’re friends. You can talk to me about anything.”

“I mean,” she says, putting down the bowtie on the table, not taking her eyes off of it. “We’re together? I think?” Tyson already hated that he even offered to listen to her talk about her and his teammate. “I like him. A lot. And I know he likes me, but,” Anne lets out a sigh, not sure where to even take her sentence.

“But, what?” Tyson asks.

“I don’t know,” she shakes her head, looking confused. “Everything is great, but it’s, I,” she stammers. “Something is off, and I can’t figure out what.”

Tyson stares at her for a second, trying to figure out what to say. “It’s probably just that it’s new,” he shrugs. “Everything seems weird when you’re still figuring it out. You and Cale will be ok,” he tells her, hating hearing those words come out of his mouth.

=============

February 19, 2022

Anne stared at herself in the mirror, the black turtleneck she borrowed from her sister coupled with a beige skirt and black tights on her as she got ready for her date with Cale. He was bound to show up any minute, promising each other they weren’t going to do gifts due to a general lack of time on both ends. She didn’t believe that he wasn’t going to get her a gift, however, sneaking out to the bakery down the street and buying some pastries that the two of them would like, giving them an excuse to both show up back at her apartment. And if he didn’t give her a gift, then she got the pastries all to herself.

If not, she could share them with Tyson, who had been showing up at her place or asking her to go to his place any free chance they both had.

She heard Cale knocking at her door, Anne rushing as fast as she could in her heels to answer. Cale was standing there, a black crewneck similar to her own turtleneck, paired with dark jeans, black boots, and a grey coat. Cale kisses her hello, one hand behind his back with the other resting on her hip. “Every time I see you I don’t think you could get more beautiful, and yet, you do.”

“You’re cheesy,” she jokes as he kisses her forehead, Cale laughing against her skin. “But you,” Anne says, resting her hands on his chest, “get more handsome every time I see you, too. And, you’re hiding a present behind your back, aren’t you, even though we said no presents.”

Cale laughs, closing the door behind him. “Maybe I saw this and had to get it for you,” he admits, kissing her again and holding up the bag near her head.

“Should I open it now or should I do it later when we come back here?” she flirts, holding the bag in her hand.

“Oh, we’re coming back here?” he teases her, trailing kisses down her neck.

“I might have gotten some dessert for us so we had an excuse to relive last Saturday. Plus, you left your bowtie here,” she gestures to it, still sitting on her table, “And I was thinking maybe you wear that tonight instead of keeping it off?”

Cale raises his eyebrow at her, a silly smile on his face. “And what else would I be wearing?”

Anne shrugs, pretending to act innocent. “I was thinking only the bowtie,” she tells him, feeling his grip around her tighten at the thought.

Cale kisses her again, unable to keep his hands off the girl in front of him. If he could, he would forget dinner altogether and just go straight to dessert, but he knew Anne wasn’t that kind of girl, and he wasn’t about to force her into anything she didn’t want. “Hey, I like that necklace you’re wearing,” he says, twirling the charm around in his fingers. “The heart is perfect for Valentine’s Day.”

She reaches up and takes his hand in hers. “Thanks. My sister got it for me a few years ago for my birthday,” she lies. She couldn’t tell him that Tyson had gotten it for her for Valentine’s Day.

#tyson jost #tyson jost fic #tyson jost imagine #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #colorado avalanche fic #avalanche #avalanche imagine #avalanche fic #tyson and anne

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sharkbait77 · 3 years

Text

The Singer (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

Chapter One

Summary: Reeling from his failed engagement a year later, Marcus had nearly given up hope on finding love again. A spur of the moment night at a local bar leads him to you and he is immediately entranced. However, you are also still healing from a bad relationship; can you and Marcus help heal each other?

A/N: Omg okay I'm so nervous posting this because I just don't know how people will respond and my writing is nowhere near as good as anyone else's on here but I've never been this excited about a fic I wrote so I'm going for it 🥲 be gentle pls lol also I'm horrible at summaries, that's taken from a future chapter but it pretty much sums up the feelings from both sides lol this is the only time I'll post it, but it'll be on the story masterlist.

Warnings: I just wanna say really quick that Reader is a victim of domestic abuse & she describes it later (the future chapter is an optional read) but it is indicated/mentioned throughout the story so I totally understand if you'd rather not continue reading to avoid it! Also for future reference I will put the 18+ warning now. Refer to masterlist for more warnings.

There's not really any warning for this chapter, a mention of a degree in the arts not being a practical one (it's only meant to be part of the stigma, it's not my actual opinion), mention of alcohol, a cop joke & mention of Teresa 🤢 lmk if I missed anything!

W/C: 3.9k

Side note: This fic has its own soundtrack, just a song or two in each chapter (give or take) so I will link the songs mentioned at the top if y'all would like to hear them.

I'm rambling so without further ado, please enjoy & I would love the feedback!

Songs mentioned:

(I recommend listening to this one ↑ first cuz I describe it starting at the 2nd chorus & it just might help with the visual)

Chapter Two

The Singer Masterlist

Letting out a deep, frustrated sigh, Marcus flipped the confidential file closed and threw it on his desk, rubbing his eyes until the kaleidoscope of different shapes and patterns appeared behind the darkness of his eyelids. He knew he wouldn't get anywhere closer to putting together the new evidence the department received today, no matter how much he stared at the paperwork. He figures it was time to call it a day and he decides he'll stop at his favorite bar on the way home, just a beer or two to help him relax.

"Hey Pike," his coworker, Anthony, said as he knocked on the open door twice with his index finger knuckle. "Today beat my ass and I could really use a drinking partner."

"You read my mind," Marcus replies, standing from his swivel chair and cracking his stiff back in the process before grabbing his suit jacket and leaving his office.

"There's this new-ish place, it's called Cecil's. Really easy going and laid back; they have an amazing live band and singer. I think you'd like it." Anthony explains in a convincing tone, hoping Marcus would say yes.

"A live band?" Marcus groans.

"What, you're not into it?" Anthony chuckles.

"Music in general, I don't really listen to anything anymore." Marcus brooded as he thought back on his failed engagement last year.

He had moved on from what happened, but it was a wound that left a scar on his heart, never to be forgotten. As a result, he learned to tune out melodies as he walked through the grocery store or mall and always kept his radio off in the car now for fear of catching a song that reminded him of Teresa, of the hurt she caused him.

"C'mon, I promise you'll like it!" Anthony persuades.

"Well...I've trusted your judgement so far, I don't think you'd let me down now. Let's go," Marcus gives in, mainly because he just really wants a beer and doesn't feel like arguing. He flashes a tired smile and walks behind Anthony, who grabs his own jacket from his desk before they both head out of the building.

They continue walking a few blocks down from the bureau when they reach what looks like a hole in the wall bar with a bright, marquee style sign above the entrance lit up with the name Cecil's. They walk in and hear the band playing a tune that Marcus immediately ignores out of habit. They greet the security guard and walk towards the bar top, all while Marcus takes in his new environment; a quaint little bar that has dimmed, recessed lighting and small, round tables, each one with an oil lantern as a centerpiece, creating only enough light for the couple sitting there. It seemed more of a romantic setting, confirmed by both young and elderly couples basking in the ambiance and giving one another flirtatious glances. Marcus thought to tease Anthony about it, grinning to himself as he thinks of a joke.

Marcus opens his mouth to speak when finally he hears you, your soft, yet powerful voice bursting through the walls in his ears. You're singing the song "Blue Bayou" by Linda Ronstadt, one of his favorites he used to have on rotation in his playlist. His breath catches in his throat as you belt out the chorus with ease. He stops walking, completely entranced by your voice and for the first time in a year, he lets the sweet melody dance against his ear drums. He begins to stare unapologetically, the spotlight shining bright on you and helping to isolate you in his mind.

After catching his attention with your voice, he takes note of your features and couldn't help as his eyes gazed upon you from head to toe. You were swaying in rhythm to the song, the long, boho style skirt flowing along with your movement. There's no doubt he would have thought you were attractive just in passing, but with a voice like that coming out of that body, Marcus knew he needed to know who you are. Anthony comes up next to him and nudges Marcus's arm, startling him out of his stupor.

"I told you she was great!" Anthony exclaims in Marcus's ear, careful not to be too loud to interrupt your singing. Marcus could only nod, never once taking his eyes off you; the longer he looked, the more he felt a familiar flame of desire burn within him.

He watches your eyes close as you get caught in the feel of the song, your face crinkle with passion during the louder notes and smooth out with a beautiful grin as you hit the softer ones, your voice adjusting perfectly to help the audience feel the emotion of the song as well. You clearly love singing and he could tell it wasn't just a hobby or paycheck for you. Marcus knew a lot about art on canvas, but you were art come to life, being painted right before his eyes. Since his whirlwind romance in Texas, he had never felt so inclined to know more about a person that wasn't involved in a crime he was trying to solve.

The small, slow break comes in the song and it gives you a chance to look around at the members sitting in the audience in front of you, some with their eyes on you and some with their eyes on their lovers. As you glance to the patrons sitting at the bar top, your heart skips a beat when your eyes lock on to a pair of soft, brown ones, belonging to a person you've never seen at the bar before.

He's staring at you with such an intensity and admiration you haven't felt in all the years you've been a singer. Your stomach flips and suddenly you feel very nervous and self conscious, something else you haven't felt since you started singing live. It doesn't help the fact that he's very handsome as well and from where you're standing, you can see scruff lining his jawline, matching the dark brown hair on his head.

His friend pats the intense man on the shoulder and he finally breaks his gaze from yours as he sits down in one of the stools, just in time for you to continue singing the last lines of the song. You close your eyes and hit the last high note a little shakier than usual, your nerves now rattled from the stranger, but you hold the vibrato steady until the last chords of the guitars are played. You lower the microphone, opening your eyes once again and smiling at the cheering and clapping crowd.

"Thank you, thank you," you tell the audience and as you wait for them to quiet down, you can't stop your curious eyes from flicking up to look at the man, goosebumps littering your arms when you see him staring intently at you once again, now with his jacket off and sleeves rolled up his forearms. He has a beer waiting for him on the counter, but his hands are busy clapping for you and his whole body is facing forward to give you his undivided attention. You look away quickly, trying not to stare and the clapping dies down.

"We've got one more song before we join the crowd," you smile as you speak softly and even toned. "We'll have some drinks and we'll have some fun. Thank you for being a wonderful audience tonight."

There's some light clapping once you finish talking and your band mates begin to play the intro to "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac. You glance up at the man again and you see his eyes perk up even more and he starts smiling widely. He must like this song, you think to yourself. Something inside you wants to impress him and show off, but the practical side of you starts singing like you've been practicing. You sing the lyrics in all the highs and lows of the song, occasionally stealing looks from the brown eyed man. You manage to make it all the way to the end without messing up and the audience cheers for you again.

"Thank you everyone, I hope you enjoyed the show tonight, you all have been great and we will see you next week," you say with a smile and the generic soundtrack picks up over the speakers, playing a mix of classic rock and instrumentals.

You place the microphone back on the stand and turn to face your band. You all praise and congratulate each other on another successful show. As the other half of your group walks off the stage, you're left with your closest friend from the band, Celina, as she slowly puts her guitar back in its case. She calls you over to her, wanting you to get close enough so she can whisper. You chuckle and step close inside her personal bubble.

"There's a guy at the bar who would not stop staring at you," she whispers, fiddling with her guitar case unnecessarily longer than usual to make it look like she's busy.

"I know, I saw him too. He's kinda cute," you giggle and Celina gives you her famous 'excuse me' face. "Okay, he's hot," you correct yourself and Celina nods erratically, agreeing with your statement.

"Should I go talk to him?" You ask and Celina's eyes dart from yours to beyond your shoulder.

"I think he beat you to it," she whispers, trying to contain her excitement.

Your heartbeat speeds up and you turn around to see the well dressed man walking onto the stage and towards you. Your skirt trails behind you as you walk forward and the motion catches Marcus's eyes as he looks down at your legs being outlined underneath the fabric. His eyes then trail up to your torso and catch on the strip of skin peeking out between the top of your skirt and underneath your white, knotted t-shirt.

"I'm sorry sir, only the band can be up here," you explain, closing the gap and preventing him from walking any further.

"Oh...I, uh-," his eyes move back up to yours and he stutters and freezes, unsure if he should turn around and leave or try to get you to let him stay, but you already had your own plans.

"I'm on the way to the bar now if you'd like to walk me," you smile and dial up the charm slightly, not wanting to come across too eager.

He smiles at you and you detect a dimple hiding beneath his patchy beard on his right cheek, but not the other. Damn, he's much more gorgeous up close. He lets you walk off the stage first and follows close behind as you weave through the tables, stopping to wait for you as you briefly say hello to people.

The breeze you create as you walk wafts into Marcus's face, a gentle, floral scent from your perfume mingling in his nostrils and he finds it irresistible as he feels a primal instinct build inside him, like a caveman finding his mate. An elderly woman stops you to start up a conversation and you turn to the man to apologize for the hold up, squeezing his arm softly as you do.

It makes Marcus's heart flutter and he blushes and feels his skin heat up at your touch. He looks down at your delicate fingers and painted nails, contrasting against his skin as they apply the lightest pressure on his bare forearm. He still can't take his eyes off you; you've already been so charming both on and off the stage and it only further intrigues him to get to know you.

"Hello Ms. Lidia, did you enjoy the show?" You ask the silver haired woman and her wrinkled eyes nearly shut close with how wide she smiles at you.

"Dear girl, in all my years I've never heard such passion come from such a beautiful young lady, you've got what it takes to blow all these other singers out of the water!" She says passionately as she grips your hand tightly.

"Oh my, I'm flattered, but there's no way I could make it to the big leagues. Besides, that would mean I wouldn't sing for you anymore and I'd miss you too much!" You tell her and before she can say anything else, you end the conversation, saying that you'll see her next week. You and the gorgeous man finally make it to the bar, the bartender walking over to you as you walk up.

"Hey Jim, can I get hot water with lemon and a vodka cran?" You reach down instinctively to grab your purse when you realize it's not on your body. "Oh shoot, I left my purse on the stage," you pat your hand on your forehead and giggle. "Just the water then."

"Please, allow me," the handsome stranger says and you look up at him, just now noticing the considerable height difference between you two. You smile warmly at him.

"Yeah, sure," you bite your bottom lip to keep your mouth from stretching into a wider smile than it already is as you watch him order a drink as well. "Thank you."

"Of course, it's the least I could do after that amazing performance," he smiles at you, once again showing off that ridiculously adorable dimple. Jim swiftly returns with your water and you begin to sip slowly, sitting down on the barstool and Marcus sits in the stool next to yours, his and your legs pointing to each other.

"Ah, you exaggerate," you wrinkle your nose and shake your head. "I wouldn't go that far."

"It's true though, and for what it's worth, I agree with Ms. Lidia back there. You've really got what it takes," his smile never leaves his face and you feel like your heart could just about fly away at this point.

Jim returns to place your drinks in front of you and the brown haired man pays him with a $20 bill, telling him to keep the change and Jim thanks him and walks away. You bring the glass to your mouth, instantly smelling the strong scent of vodka mixed with the cranberry and it tingles your nose.

"No, no... Thank you, but no," you smile back and chuckle awkwardly into your drink. Marcus tweaks his eyebrows slightly, confused at how you suddenly became very shy and demure when on stage you seemed so confident in your singing abilities.

"My name is Marcus Pike," he introduces himself and you hold your hand out to shake his, giving him your name as well. You feel a shock of electricity as your soft hand brushes against the skin of his slightly calloused one, his handshake firm, but gentle. It's like Cinderella's glass slipper, your hand fitting perfectly in his.

"So how long have you been singing?" He asks and takes a sip of his drink.

"Oh, I've always loved to sing since I was little," you beam as a memory pops into your head of a seven year old you singing to your audience of stuffed animals. "I kept it up throughout middle and high school, but once I got to college I had to focus on my schooling more."

"What did you go to school for?"

"I got my bachelor's in art history," you look at him and his eyes widen. "I know, you can't ever make a job out of anything in the arts." You shake your head as you feel the regret of your confession creep in, hoping he doesn't look down on you for not having a more practical degree.

"Well, I wouldn't say that," he laughs and it piques your curiosity. "I uh..." He pauses for a moment, leaving you in suspense. "I work for the government in the art department."

"What, really?" You ask, unable to hide the excitement in your voice. He grins at how interested you seem. Whenever he mentioned it to a girl he was on a date with they would think it was so boring.

"What do you do? Are you like a special agent? Can you even answer any of my questions?" The questions spill out of you faster than you can stop yourself.

"Well, I can't talk about certain things, but yes I'm an FBI agent. I lead a task force dealing in international art theft."

He explains past cases he's worked on as you rest your cheek in your hand, eyes gleaming with interest and his heart beats a little faster now. He finds himself reciting Romeo's monologue in his head. O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek.

"So like, if the Mona Lisa disappeared, you would try to find it?"

"Yeah, that might be something we'd have to do," he smiles.

"Wow, that's so cool!" You smile as you take another drink. A moment of silence passes and you realize he's now alone when you know he came with someone. "Wait, where'd your friend go?"

"Ah, he ditched me. His wife was waiting for him at home." He chuckles and you're starting to enjoy the prominent smile lines in his cheeks and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he grins, wrinkles that don't have as much to do with age and are just a reflection of the happy life he must have lived so far.

"Oh," you giggle and he finds himself just as mesmerized in your soft laugh and the expression your face makes when you do.

"And you?" You start off nervously, knowing your transition to this question is anything but graceful and you stare at your glass in embarrassment. "Your wife wouldn't mind you hanging out with me at a bar?"

"I'm not married," he replies softly and you feel the blood rush to your face and ears.

"That's what they all say," you look back at him and give him a teasing look. Before your mind can stop you, you reach to grab his left hand, looking for a ring. You can see his cheeks turn a light shade of pink, matching your own sentiments.

"Hey, you can check all you want, check my pockets for that matter," he flirts casually as he laughs, not pulling his hand away from your grasp. "I'm single."

You mouth an oh and smile as you place his hand back on his thigh, your fingers grazing the fabric of his pants as you pull away. Your head is whirling now with adrenaline and you decide to blame your boldness on the alcohol.

"Your husband wouldn't mind me buying you a drink, would he?" Marcus asks in the same tone as your initial question.

"No, he wouldn't," you tell him and his eyes dart to the side and back to you, confusion creeping on his face. "I'm divorced." You smile softly and try to push the thought of your ex husband out of your mind.

"Oh..." Marcus sighs in relief. "I've been there before," he shrugs at the thought of his other failed relationship. You frown slightly when you see his saddened expression, but before either of you can dwell on the mention of divorce, he speaks again.

"It's his loss," he smiles, now finding his own courage to flirt more openly.

You bite your lip nervously and his brown eyes stare into yours softly and full of kindness. Something about him gives you a gut feeling that he'll be different, that he'll treat you right should you continue pursuing a relationship with him, but the walls around your heart prevent you from looking too far into the future and you decide you're content with this moment you're in now.

"Hers too," you affirm. You both look away and take another sip of your drinks, the silence getting a little awkward as you struggle to find something to say.

"So, I've-" "Would you-"

"I'm sorr-" "You go ahe-"

You laugh together when you realize you both tried to start up a new conversation and both apologized at the same time.

"Please, you first," Marcus insists and you nod.

"I was just going to say that I've never seen you here before. What made you decide to come in?" You look at him with a puzzled look as you take another sip of your drink.

"Well, my friend — the one that ditched me —" he chuckles. "He suggested this place and said it was really good. I really just wanted to get a beer so I took his word for it."

"Ohh..." You say almost disappointingly and Marcus feels a pang in his chest as he senses he might have hurt your feelings just now. His words came out more truthfully than he meant, but it was too late to take them back. He scrambled in his mind, thinking of a quick apology.

"I was thinking maybe our Instagram page was starting to reach new people. I guess we should just stick to Facebook," you jest and Marcus feels the stress exit his body, glad you didn't take it the wrong way. Marcus chuckles, a slight relief hiding behind it.

"Well, I'll be sure to post some flyers up in the break room at the bureau. This place will be crawling with FBI agents before you know it."

"Maybe you should just keep it between you and your friend, we don't need the cop vibe in here. It's already bad enough with two of you," you joke and playfully nudge his elbow with yours.

"Hey!" He laughs and nudges you back. You both laugh until it fades into smiles and you turn to face him again.

"Where are you from, Marcus?"

"Originally I'm from Wisconsin, but I just moved here last year from Texas."

"Oh really? What part of Texas?"

"I lived and worked in Austin for a few years," he says as he swallows the last of his drink in one gulp, shoving the thought of his life in Texas to the furthest recess of his mind.

"Wow, I'm from Austin," you say excitedly and he looks into your eyes in shock. "My parents still live there. I moved out here last year too."

"What a coincidence," he smiles. Suddenly he doesn't hate Austin as much anymore. "I wonder if we ever passed each other and didn't know it."

"It's possible," you chuckle. You finish your drink as well and take a look at the watch on your left wrist. "Oh shoot, I need to get going," you frown genuinely. You truly don't want to end the conversation.

"Well, maybe I could get your number? And we can go out for coffee or something," Marcus asks and you hesitate as past words and insecurities flood into your mind. You want to say yes so badly, you want to get to know him and see where this goes, but your guarded heart stops you.

"Ask me again next Wednesday," you say as you stand from the stool. "Thanks for the drink."

You smile at him, taking in one last look of his features to hold you over and you leave his presence, walking back to the stage to grab your things. On your way to the front, you stop by a table where Celina is sitting and sipping lemonade, tapping her on the shoulder to let her know you're ready to leave.

Marcus sits there discombobulated. He watches you walk away and he wishes he could have left with your number, but he'll take all the time in the world, going at your pace, if it meant getting to know you. He smiles to himself as he stands up, grabbing his jacket and leaving the bar. He will definitely ask again next week.

Chapter Two

The Singer Masterlist

#marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction

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gooddaykate · 4 years

Text

You Already Mean the World to Me

Marcus Pike x Reader

Word Count: just under 8500

Tags: childhood best friends, pining idiots, King Arthur/Monty Python references, some cursing, roughly unedited terrible writing

A/N: It’s finally here! Again, absolutely would not have been finished without the constant support of my dearest @thedaysarenotfull. @hdlynn helped me talk through my roadblock. Let me know what you think!

You had been friends with Marcus Pike for as long as you could remember. You grew up together. You were toddlers together. You went to the same schools together. You fell in love with art together. You went to every gig his band had. He went to every art show of yours. You stood up as his “best man” in the wedding to his college sweetheart, and sat with him while he cried after she’d handed him the divorce paperwork.

You weren’t sure which broke your heart more.

You were certain that Marcus was the love of your life. He had just… never felt the same. And that was okay! You were perfectly fine loving him as much as you could. When he left a quiet but excited voicemail at three in the morning telling you that he met someone, you let all the love you held for him mold into the cracks in your heart.

Three months and many conversations about Teresa later, you got a call from him.

“Hey, Lance, I have news. Guess what.”

“Oh, it’s good you called, I’ve got news, too. Yours, though? I don’t know, Art. You’re finally moving to DC to come be with your best friend?” you asked sarcastically. The line was quiet for long enough that you took the phone off your ear to look and see if the call had dropped. “Marcus?”

“How did you know?” You could practically hear his furrowed brows.

“Wait, what?”

“How’d you know I’m moving to DC?”

“I was being facetious, you asshole. Are you serious? Are you really moving here? You’re not going to be halfway across the country anymore?”

“Nope. I got a promotion. I’ve got about a month left here in Dallas, and then I’m headed your way. I’m invincible!”

“You’re a loony,” you laughed, continuing the phrase you’ve said to each other since you were kids. “Oh my god, Marcus! That’s so incredible! I can’t wait to show you some of my favorite places. I mean, you haven’t even visited me here, Marcus, and I’ve been here for three years.”

“Yeah, I’m excited. It’ll be nice to be in the same city again, huh? Tell me your news, though.”

You laughed. “Forget city, just the prospect of even being in the same time zone is getting me excited. My news doesn’t really feel all that important, now. My show kind of took off and I had to get an agent. Now I’ve got three galleries wanting my paintings.” You knew Marcus couldn’t see you, but you shrugged anyway. “I’m not as excited by that anymore. Not when I’ll get to see you very soon. I can’t wait to have you here, oh my god. I’ve missed you so much, Art.”

“Hold the hell up, you mean to tell me that the first art show you’ve had your work in got so much traction that you needed to hire an agent? So you’re actually painting full time, now?”

“I guess when you put it that way, it does sound kind of important.”

Marcus let out a sarcastic laugh. “You freakin’ think? Man, I’m so proud of you, Lance!”

That brought a smile and heat to your face. “Thank you, Marcus,” you said quietly. “But yeah, painting full time. That triptych I did of the valley back home, remember that one?” Marcus hummed in affirmation. “That one sold for nine k. Three grand a panel, Marcus. I about crapped myself when Jenny told me how much the guy was offering.”

“That’s awesome. Did you ever meet the buyer so you could thank him in person?”

“Nah, he was some anonymous guy out of Texas somewhere. Apparently he grew up in the same general area we did. He told Jenny it reminded him of home. Enough about me, though! When will you be here officially? I’ll help you move in.”

“Three weeks. I don’t know the actual date, yet.” Marcus was quiet for a moment. “I, uh, I asked Teresa to come with me.”

In the euphoria of the galleries and having your best friend back, you’d forgotten about his potential plus one. “Oh! Oh, that’s… quick.”

He immediately jumped on the defensive. “It’s not like I demanded she go with me. She has a month to think about it. I’m going to talk to the director there and see if a place could be made for her, so she’d have a job to go to if she wants it.”

You tried to backpedal. “No, I know, Marcus. I know. It’s just,” you tried to find the words. “I don’t know, Art, you’ve been dating for three months. And I know you don’t want to hear it, bud, but I just… I just don’t think she’s all the way in like you are.”

“What?” he spat.

“From what you’ve told me I just-”

Marcus interrupted you. “Oh, that was rhetorical. You really don’t have to say it again.”

“Art, I’m sorry I just don’t think-”

The way Marcus said your first name stopped you in your tracks.

“If you can’t support me in this, then maybe I need to take a step back from our friendship.”

“Wait, Marcus, don’t you think that’s a little dramatic? I mean, I just don’t want to see you get hurt again. Art, you’ve gotta-”

“That’s enough. I’ll talk to you later.”

The line was quiet again, but you knew the line was dead this time.

“Bye, Art.” You sucked in a heavy breath and could feel your lower lip starting to quiver. “I love you.”

•

DC didn’t feel right. Marcus had moved with mostly excitement. He put a down payment on a house not far from headquarters. Teresa would be joining him today- he needed to leave to pick her up from the airport in about an hour, and then they’d start life as an engaged couple.

But Lance was missing.

It’d been almost five weeks since he’d spoken to her. He knew he’d been hasty and rude the last time they’d talked. He also knew she was just trying to help him protect his heart. But he didn’t need his heart protected. Lance didn’t know Teresa like he did. She’d see that when Teresa was finally here and they could meet. Everything was going to work out.

Marcus picked up his phone to call her for the hundredth time since moving to the same city she lived in. He missed her, and he knew it was his place to pick up the phone and apologize, but he just couldn’t.

A call from Teresa lit up his screen.

That’s odd, he thought. She should be on a plane right now.

•

The next five weeks passed slowly. The longest you’d ever gone without talking to Marcus was that one weekend when you were in high school and he went on a camping trip and didn’t have service.

This was slow torture, and you knew it was your fault. If you’d just kept your mouth shut and supported him like you had with Ashley, this wouldn’t have happened. It would have hurt you, but at least he’d still be around.

You knew he was in DC by now. Because of the way things were left, you didn’t even know if Teresa had decided to come with him, though you figured she’d be stupid not to. You had considered going to the fbi headquarters and asking for him, but then you thought better of it. The fbi probably wouldn’t appreciate some random person coming in and asking for an agent, and you didn’t really want to be detained. That probably wouldn’t win any points back in Marcus’ book.

Going to your studio was just depressing. Everything you painted was spoiled by your sadness. Your agent had laughed and called this your blue period. You just threw a pained smile her way with a nod and a shrug.

It was nearing the end of the sixth week without any contact from him, and you felt the Marcus sized hole in your heart. The other day, you ordered Indian takeout, and only when you were sitting on the couch with it on your lap did you realize that it was the malai kofta that he would usually get. That realization just served to make you cry and lose your appetite.

You were getting ready for bed when you heard a knock on your door. Thinking it was the sweet old woman from next door in need of some honey for her nightly tea again, you shrugged on your robe and swung the front door open with a smile.

But it wasn’t Miss Agnes.

Marcus’ eyes were rimmed red. He just stood there in your doorway looking at you. The sight of him brought you tears of both relief and concern. His chin wobbled and more tears sprung up in his eyes.

“Marcus, I’m so sorry. I never should have-”

He cut you off with a shake of his head. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m so sorry, Lance. I just didn’t want to hear it. I’ve missed you so much.”

You let go of the door to open your arms to him. He fell into your hug with a heavy sigh. You closed the door behind him and then just held him. You both had silent tears rolling down your faces.

Marcus mumbled something into your shoulder.

“What, sweetheart?” you whispered.

You could feel the wobble of his chin when he moved his face to answer. “You were right.”

“Oh, Marcus. I’m so sorry. That’s the last thing I wanted to be right about, hon. I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t want to be the first to let go, so you just stood in your front hall holding him. After a few more minutes of tired silence, you moved your face from the crook of his neck so he would be able to hear you.

“Marcus, honey, why don’t we move to the living room? It’ll be more comfortable. And then maybe you can tell me about it? If you’re up for that. We’ve missed a lot the last month and a half.”

He stayed quiet and glued to you for just a bit longer, before mumbling a ‘yeah’ and letting go. You grabbed his hand and led him to the couch.

“Tea?”

Marcus grabbed one of the fluffy throw blankets you had folded in the basket by the couch. “Yeah. Please.”

Walking into the kitchen, you grabbed a chamomile mint blend from the shelf and spooned some of the loose leaf into a steeper. You squeezed a honey stick into each mug and waited for your electric kettle to come to a boil. When you got back to the living room, Marcus was sitting cross-legged on the couch with the blanket pulled over his head.

“You look kind of like a sad nun, Art.”

The corners of his mouth twitched up as he took a mug from you. You sat facing him on the other end of the couch and just waited. He’d tell you when he was ready.

“I had, uh,” Marcus cleared his throat. “I had asked her to marry me.”

Your eyebrows shot up, but you didn’t say anything. You just waited for him to continue.

“She had said yes. She said she’d move here with me and had agreed to marry me. I put a down payment on a house. I was so happy.”

“Did she change her mind?”

Marcus scoffed. “She didn’t just change her mind. She left me for Patrick Jane.”

“Wait, the asshole clairvoyant?”

Marcus rolled his eyes, but the ghost of a smile lit up his face. “Yes, the asshole clairvoyant. I guess she’s been in love with him for years and it just took the prospect of her being taken away for him to finally realize he wanted her.”

You put your hand on his blanket covered knee. “If that’s the kind of man she wants, then you’re better off, Marcus. She made it clear that she only wanted him to see what he’d lose without any regard for who she hurt in the process. I know it won’t fix anything, but I’m so sorry, Marcus. You didn’t deserve that.”

He looked over at you with more tears in his eyes. “What’s wrong with me, Lance? Why am I not wanted? What am I doing wrong?”

“Marcus Alexander Pike.” You reached out to your coffee table to set your mug down. When you looked back at him, his eyes were wide. “My best friend in the entire world. Sunshine of my life. My literal favorite person. There is nothing wrong with you, okay? Let’s pick this apart, shall we? Starting with Ashley. I can guarantee you’re not going to like this part of the conversation because I’m going to be blunt and say not nice things about people you’re too kind to stop caring about, but it needs to be said, okay?”

He nodded slowly and looked down at the mug still in his hands. You put your hand on his knee and nudged so he would know to turn and face you. When he got the memo, you nodded and continued.

“Marcus, what is your degree in?”

“Art history with a specialization in art conservation. But you know that.”

“I do. Did Ashley?”

“Well, I mean, I assume so, yes. We met in art history in undergrad.”

You blinked at him. “Marcus, why did you join the fbi?”

“Well, the job I had with the museum didn’t exactly pay a whole lot, and Ashley knew someone in the art recovery department that got me an appointment. And it pays a lot better, so…” he trailed off.

“So you gave up your dream job and safety for the sake of a higher paycheck?”

He scoffed. “Well, of course. There are just some things that you have to compromise on in a marriage. You’d know that if you ever let anyone close enough to try.”

You shot him a glare. “First off, we’re not talking about me, asshole. Uncalled for. Second, compromise, I get. But what did she compromise? Marcus, you gave up your dream job, friends, a town you loved all for a dangerous job because your wife said she wanted more disposable income to spend at Nordstrom?”

“I was happy to do all of that because we loved each other and she-”

“Marcus, Ashley cheated on you,” you interrupted.

“No she didn’t, Lance. And even if she did, I was just too overbearing. I pushed her away.”

You heaved out a sigh. “Okay, let’s look at the facts. I know you’ve kept tabs on her. How long after your divorce was final was she engaged to that Todd guy?”

“Tedd, actually, but three-ish months.”

“You cannot tell me that she wasn’t with that guy while y’all were still married. She was never someone to rush into things. I mean, you asked the girl three times to marry you, and she said ‘not yet’ the first two. So three months after she wasn’t Mrs. Pike anymore, she rushes into another marriage? You’re a smart man, Marcus. Use that big fbi brain to look at the facts.”

“Okay, sure. She cheated on me. But like I said, I’m the one who pushed her to that in the first place. I was too much. Overbearing, or whatever.”

“Don’t make me bring out your middle name again, sir. I’ll do it.”

Marcus just rolled his eyes.

“Roll reversal, Marcus. Let’s say you were married to a wonderful woman who gave you her all.”

He scoffed. You shushed him.

“No interruptions. Quiet. Let’s say this wife gets a new job because you didn’t think the one she loved paid enough to support you.” You held your hand up to silence the start of his protest. “Ah, ah. Theoretical, Art. Roll reversal, remember?”

His eyes rolled, but nodded for you to continue.

“So she gets a new job that puts her in danger on the daily. Still passion-adjacent, so she figures ‘at least she’s got that’. And then you meet some other woman at some country club you insist on having a membership to and you refuse to work like this is the freaking fifties because she’s the breadwinner and you’re the absolute worst.”

Marcus’ eyebrows had shot up. “Wow. You really didn’t like Ashley.”

“No, I didn’t. She was a shitty person and a worse wife. Stop interrupting.”

He shook his head. “You’ve made your point, Lance. She wasn’t right for me. I didn’t pick well there, either.”

You placed your hand on his knee again and gave a soft squeeze. “The point I’m trying to make, Marcus, is that you’re already worthy of love exactly as you are. You deserve someone who’s going to support you in everything, just like you’d do for them. You’re also allowed to feel used, Marcus. Ashley used you to get herself into a specific station so that she could live a charmed life. Teresa used you to show the man she actually wanted what he’d be missing. Neither of those relationship failures are your fault. You are the kindest man I know. You deserve to have your love returned tenfold. You more than anyone I know. It breaks my heart that you’ve had to deal with these horrible women.”

He gave you a sad smile. “Come on, Lance. They aren’t horrible.”

“Just because you choose to see the good in people, doesn’t mean I have to. And to be quite frank about it, if I ever see either of them, I will be throwing the first punch, I don’t give a damn. I’ll go to jail. I don’t care. They broke your heart, they can go through me.” You crossed your arms over your chest and mumbled, “Bitches.”

Marcus barked out a laugh and you smiled.

“And that’s why you’ll always be my Lancelot. I know you’ve got my back.”

Your smile dropped for a moment, but you plastered another on and placed your right fist over your heart. “Always, my king.” You dropped your hand and just sat smiling at each other, and for a moment, it felt like you were kids again, just playing a silly game.

“Alright, Art. I’ve got a hankering for pancakes, so I’m going to call Bob & Edith’s and order some. I swear, they’re the best here. I’ll go pick them up and then we can chow down, yeah?”

“Sounds like a plan to me, Lance,” he said with a yawn.

You knew he wouldn’t be awake for much longer, so you decided to just hold off on the pancakes, but walked into the kitchen anyways. You busied yourself by cleaning out the tea steepers and dumping the water left over in the kettle.

“On second thought,” you called, “I know I’m tired. I’m sure you’re exhausted. So I think I’ll just hold off until we can go sit in together.”

When there wasn’t a response, you turned the sink off. “Marcus?”

You walked down the short hallway and came back into the living room to find that Marcus had fallen asleep on the sofa. His long legs were stretched out taking up all of the space, and he still had the blanket wrapped loosely around his head and shoulders. You grabbed another to drape over his body.

Standing above him, you gently ran your fingers through his hair. He let out a satisfied hum, but didn’t stir.

“There’s another thing that I didn’t say, Art,” you whispered. You didn’t have the courage to say it to him while he was awake, but you needed it said out loud. “Watching you pick these women who only want to break your heart is torture for me. I have loved you for so long, and they have just hurt you. I wish they could have seen you like I see you. You’re such an incredible man, Marcus. You’re so kind and selfless, and so, so handsome. You make me laugh. You indulge me in late night pancake runs. I just wish I would get the chance to show you the love that you deserve.”

Marcus shifted a bit, and you paused your hand working through the curls on his forehead. When he didn’t wake up, you continued. “I know I’m not who you want, though. It’s not ever going to be me. I’m okay with that, I promise. I will just keep quietly loving you because you’re the best man I know and you deserve it. Sweetheart, you are worth so much. I hope one day you can find someone who appreciates and loves you like I do. I really, truly hope so. You really are the sunshine of my life. You already mean the world to me. I love you, Marcus.”

You leaned down to place a soft kiss on his forehead and then turned to head back to your room.

When you woke up the next morning, Marcus had left, but he had written a note and put it on top of the folded blankets he had used.

Your neighbor came over to see if you could help move her new couch in. If you need me, I’m over at Agnes’.

Making your way over with a Tupperware of scones you had made, you heard Miss Agnes chatting Marcus’ ear off.

“It’s been so nice having that sweet girl next door. She always indulges my whimsy.”

Marcus laughed. “Mine, too, Agnes. For entirely too long. I’ve known her since we were two, ma’am. She’s had to put up with me for years.”

You knew if you walked in, you’d see her hand on his shoulder. “That’s certainly not the way she puts it, my dear boy. That girl is enamored with you. I’m glad to see you’ve finally come to your senses.”

There was a deep sigh. “I was wrong for not talking to her for so long. I was mad, but she’s my best friend, so that’s not an excuse.”

Miss Agnes’ chuckle was breathy and her chair creaked as she sat down in it. “It was like her heart had been ripped out for weeks. You can’t leave the love of your life stranded like that, young man.

“Love of- no, Agnes, I think you’ve got it wrong. Lance and I are- we’re just friends. We’ve been friends since we were kids. Friends. She’s not the l- we’re just friends.”

Rather than let Marcus flounder and also have him casually break your heart without knowing it again, you walked into the room. Marcus was sitting on the flowery print couch and Miss Agnes was sitting in her usual reclining chair across from him.

“Are you done with your interrogation, Miss Agnes? Can I have my friend back?”

“Oh, fine, sweet girl, but you need to promise me that you’ll be straight with this one.”

“I always am, Miss Agnes. I brought you some scones for your tea. I’ll leave them on the kitchen counter, okay?”

She gave you a pointed look. “Well I think he needs to know that-”

“Miss Agnes,” you gave her a small shake of your head. “Please.”

Her sharp eyes stayed on you and she raised her eyebrow, but didn’t say more.

Marcus looked between the two of you with furrowed brows. “Okay, well, it was good to meet you Agnes. I’ll probably see more of you, now that I listened to reason.”

“Not all reason, boy, but enough. Keep thinking about what I said. The both of you.”

With both of you back in your home, you turned back to him with a smirk. “So what had she talked to you about that she wanted you to think about?” you asked, as if you hadn’t had your heart stepped on by his response.

“Oh, uh. She was just under the impression that we were more than just friends. Or maybe that we should be. I don’t know what she was saying, for the most part. What was that look you two shared at the end there?”

You brushed it off with a shrug. “Oh, Miss Agnes just likes to tease me, that’s all.”

Marcus hummed like he didn’t fully believe you, but he didn’t push it.

“Well, I’ve got to go to the office today, so I’ll see you later?”

You smiled. “Of course, Art. Text me your address. I’ll bring you some dinner?”

Marcus reached over and pulled you into a hug. “That would be great. Thank you, Lance. For everything.”

“Of course, bud. Any time, you know that.”

With a wave, he was out the door.

•

The decision to take the undercover case in Dallas was not an easy one.

He knew it would be a relatively easy case, but the prospect of seeing both Teresa and Jane was… daunting, to say the least. Marcus was over his anger at Teresa. He still had the lingering sadness of the ‘what if’, but Lance had helped him see that she wasn’t right for him in the first place.

He’d been off since the night he’d apologized to her. He could tell that she knew something was up, but he also knew she wouldn’t say anything about it until he did.

The truth was, he’d been awake when she came back out to her living room that night. He hadn’t meant to deceive her like that, but he knew from experience that she would have been embarrassed if he’d given away that he was actually hearing what she was saying. And he couldn’t believe it. Lance? In love with him? It didn’t add up.

And that’s why he’d been off. He didn’t know where his head was at. He’d had a crush on her his freshman year of high school, but that was it. He’d never actually considered her as a romantic partner, and it was throwing him for a loop. How the hell was he supposed to say that he wasn’t interested in her. Did he even need to say anything at all? They’d gone this long as just friends, they’d be fine, right?

But more importantly, what if he was wrong, and she was exactly who he actually needed? What if the butterflies he felt every time he looked at her were real? Lance helped him slow down, helped him breathe. She was the eye of his storm, whenever he was out of control. She knew when to apply pressure and when to leave him alone. She’d been the person he turned to when he was at his most broken.

What if Agnes was right, and she was the love of his life?

All of that was running through his head as he bent over Teresa’s desk to leave her a note saying he was happy for her.

“Uh, excuse me, can I help you?”

Marcus stood with a sigh. “Jane.”

“Pike, hello.”

He turned toward Patrick and then shifted back again. “I was, uh, looking for Teresa.”

Jane came closer. “Yeah, I’m sure she’s uh,” he looked around the glass-walled office. “I’m sure she’s around here someplace.”

This is weird, Marcus thought. “Yeah, she probably is.”

“Beard looks good.”

“It’s for an undercover thing.” It felt like they were at the start of some measuring contest and all Marcus could think of was Lance’s voice saying ‘that asshole clairvoyant guy?’ He shifted his weight to the other leg and decided to hell with it. He wanted to know. “So it’s, uh,” he smiled at Patrick, trying to show he wasn’t angry. “You and her.”

Jane walked closer still. “Yeah,” he looked down and at least had the decency to look guilty. “I’m sorry, we didn’t intend for it to happen like this.” Jane took a breath and Marcus had to look away from him. “I know it was the last thing on her mind, the idea of hurting you.”

Marcus wanted to laugh, because he knew that wasn’t the case. Asshole clairvoyant rang in his head again. Jane couldn’t have given a care less, and Teresa’s goal was to show Jane what he’d miss.

“I know,” was his response instead. “I know that.”

Asshole clairvoyant. “So do you have a plan?” He crossed his arms and stepped away from Teresa’s desk.

Jane rolled his eyes and looked away. “I don’t really understand.”

Asshole clairvoyant. “Well, I was offering her a life, a home, a family if she wanted it. A future. Have you thought about any of that?” Marcus knew the answer was no, but he wanted to hear Jane say it.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead, yet.”

Marcus hummed and furrowed his brows in mock thought. “Well, what are you offering her? I mean, other than,” he gave Jane a once-over. “Patrick Jane?”

Marcus turned at the sound of footsteps approaching.

“Hey.” Teresa looked spooked, like this was the last place she wanted to be.

Jane looked up at him with a smug twist of his lips. “Excuse me.” He walked over into the hallway, far enough away that he wasn’t in the conversation, but close enough that he’d be able to hear it.

Asshole clairvoyant.

Marcus looked down at Teresa and sighed.

“What’re you doing here?”

“I was upstairs giving a deposition, and uh, thought I’d say hi,” Marcus looked away. “Stupid idea,” he said with a sad chuckle.

Teresa responded with a nervous chuckle of her own. “No, it’s fine.”

She still hadn’t actually looked him in the eye. He looked over at Jane and watched him angle his face away like he wasn’t listening in. “Anyway, it’s good to see you, Teresa.”

“You too, Marcus.”

“Jane.” Patrick nodded back at him.

That one tense conversation was all the closure he needed. Teresa was never his, Lance had been right about that. She had been right about a lot of things. The ‘what if’ brought the storm of butterflies back to his stomach. He walked out of the office with a smile. For maybe the first time in his life, he knew the next time he gave his heart away, it would be safe. He needed to have a conversation with his best friend.

•

Two months after ‘the absurdity’, as you and Marcus had taken to calling it, he had to go back to Dallas for some work thing. He had grown out his hair and beard, said it was some undercover job. You were a little worried for him, knowing he’d have to be back in the Dallas office with Teresa and that clairvoyant guy. He told you he’d be fine, and you hoped that was true.

You hadn’t left your studio in almost seventy-two hours, but the wall sized landscape you were working on was almost finished. Marcus still hadn’t been to your studio, and that was fine by you. You’d started a portrait of Marcus because Jenny had asked you to paint something personal to get back to “your emotional roots”. Whatever that meant. Marcus being out of town and not coming to your studio meant that the portrait could sit out undisturbed while you made slight changes to the oil paints.

Jenny knocked and let herself in. “Okay, love, how’re we doing?”

You stepped back from the landscape. “Done with this one. I’ll let it sit for a week or so, see if anything needs to be layered over after it’s dried, and then it can head to the gallery. What do you think?”

Jenny hummed as she looked up at it. “It's difficult to enter into this work because of how the disjunctive perturbation of the purity of line endangers the devious simplicity of the essentially transitional quality. With regard to the issue of content, the disjunctive perturbation of the spatial relationships brings within the realm of discourse the distinctive formal juxtapositions. I'm troubled by how the mechanical mark-making of the emotional signifier visually and conceptually activate the remarkable handling of light.”

You paused and took a steadying breath. “Jenny, what in the blue blazes are you talking about? You sound like you’re talking out of your ass. Would you have said all that bullshit to Bob Ross? It’s just some happy little trees and a majestic mountain.”

“As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t have. But I’m not Bob Ross’ agent. I’m yours.”

You scoffed. “That doesn’t mean you can make up critique-y phrases. If it’s bad, just say it’s bad.”

“Oh, whatever.” She turned to the smaller piece to her left. “Is that portrait the one I asked you to do? The personal project?”

You tried to school your features so they wouldn’t soften too much at the sight of Marcus’ profile. “Indeed it is.”

Jenny looked at you with wide eyes. “Whoa, do you have a boyfriend I don’t know about?”

Your eyes snapped back to her. “No. Why would you think that?”

Jenny chuckled. “Well, if that reaction wasn’t enough, this is a pretty… striking portrait, babe.”

“I’ve just known him my whole life. That’s all that is, Jenny,” you said, still trying to deflect.

She hummed. “Then I may ask him out when I see him. He’s quite handsome.”

You swallowed and tried to collect yourself. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I guess he is. I could, uh,” the lump forming in your throat was making it difficult to speak. “I could introduce you, or whatever.”

Jenny’s eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms. “Girl. Just tell me the goddamn truth.”

You threw your arms up. “What do you want me to say, Jen?! That I’m in love with my best friend and have been since the second grade when he climbed a tree to get my teddy that a big kid had stuffed up there? That no man will ever measure up to him because he’s everything I’ve ever wanted? That it kills me to think of him with someone who isn’t me, but also kills me to know that it’s my reality? That Marcus will never love me the way I love him because all I’ll ever be to him is his fucking Lancelot?!”

Your chest was heaving after yelling most of that at Jenny. A dry sob clawed its way out from your chest.

She uncrossed her arms and engulfed you in a hug. “Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry. I was teasing, I didn’t think. I’m so sorry honey.”

Jenny patted your back and pulled away. “Why don’t you go home, hon? You haven’t showered. Have you even eaten anything?”

You looked away from her disapproving face. “Dry granola,” you said sheepishly.

“Girl. Go home. I’ll clean up here. Go get yourself cleaned up. Make yourself something to eat. I’ll be by in a couple hours to make sure you’ve actually taken care of yourself, okay?”

“Okay, Jenny. Thank you.”

“No worries, babe. Can’t have my star’s light dim, can I?”

•

Marcus pulled up to Lance’s studio with a stupid smile on his face. He wasn’t sure how this was going to go down, but he knew he needed to tell her he was in love with her. He’s not even sure when it started, only that hearing what she said and listening to Agnes made him realize what was in his own heart.

He pulled the door open to a quiet, well-lit room. The windows were large, so it lit everything in the most wonderful natural light. There was a massive landscape painting directly in front of him that was stunning. The mountain was towering over him like the real thing would, and the oranges of the autumn leaves were a beautiful contrast.

He heard footsteps behind him, but didn’t turn to face them. “You’re so talented, Lance.”

He looked around the studio, and his eyes landed on a portrait of himself. He couldn’t remember this ever being a picture that was taken. It was his profile, and he looked a little sad. He’d never cared for his nose, always thought it was too prominent and made him look like a bad guy, but she’d taken so much care in painting it. He could see the emotion in his painted eyes.

“When did you know you loved me?” he asked quietly.

“I can’t say that I’ve ever known, because I don’t actually know who you are.”

Marcus startled at the voice that was definitely not his best friend. He turned quickly to find a small Asian woman looking at him with bright amusement.

“Sorry, I, uh. Who are you?”

The woman laughed. “I’m her agent, Jenny. I sent your Lancelot home about an hour ago. She’d been here for three days straight with only dry granola in her system.”

“That sounds like her,” he sighed. He held his hand out. “Marcus, by the way.”

Jenny shook his hand and smiled. “Oh, I’m well aware.” She gestured to the portrait. “I wanted her to paint something personal. She’s been in her own head a lot recently, hasn’t tapped into the emotion she usually uses to paint. It’s in that one, though, don’t you think?”

Marcus looked over at it again. He’d never really considered himself a very handsome man, but he certainly felt it right now. The way she had captured his likeness… “For sure. She’s a brilliant artist.”

“And she loves you a great deal.”

Butterflies erupted in his stomach again. “It was nice to meet you, Jenny, but I have to go.”

She just smiled and waved him out the door. “Make sure she actually eats something.”

•

After you’d gotten home, you decided self care was actually in order. You washed your face and put one of those weird face masks on. You poured a glass of sweet red wine and sank down into a hot bath filled with a de-stress bath bomb Jenny had given you. You turned on your audiobook of Pride and Prejudice and settled in.

About an hour and a half later, the Bennets were talking to Mr. Collins about Rosings Park when you heard a noise in your kitchen. Assuming it was Jenny coming to check on you, you unplugged the bath and toweled off.

With your hair stuffed in a cotton t-shirt and your robe secured around your middle, you stepped out into the hall.

“Sorry for my meltdown over Marcus earlier, Jen. It’s been a particularly rough season in our friendship. And I think he knows, now, that I’m in love with him, because-”

You rounded the corner and stopped short.

“Well, if he didn’t, he does now,” Marcus joked.

You felt the dread settle on your lungs like smoke you’d inhaled. Your eyes closed. “Oh, god,” you whispered. “What’re you,” you swallowed hard and fought the bile rising in your chest from the amount of dread you felt. “What’re you doing here? I thought you were going to be in Dallas for another three days.”

You couldn’t see it, but you could hear the smile in Marcus’ voice. “They didn’t need me anymore. Got done early. I stopped to see your studio. Met Jenny. She said you hadn’t eaten anything, so I let myself in to make you dinner.”

You rubbed a hand over your face, and still hadn’t opened your eyes to look at him. “That’s nice of you, Marcus. Unnecessary, but nice, thank you.”

“When did you know?” he asked quietly.

“Know what?”

You could hear the smile in his voice again. “That you were in love with me?”

Your eyes snapped open and fell on a shit-eating grin. “There’s no need to be cruel. I will smack you across the face, Marcus, I’m not even kidding.”

He said your name and reached up, but you took a step back so he couldn’t touch you. His brows furrowed and his hand dropped. “It’s a serious question. Please indulge me?”

You shook your head and turned away, feeling the beginning of tears fill your eyes.

Marcus cleared his throat. You could hear the scraping of a wooden spoon in a pan. “The first time I realized that I am fully, truly and completely in love with you, I was standing in the office of the fbi’s special crimes unit in Dallas having a conversation with the man who took a woman I now know never actually loved me away.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“But I think what really got me thinking about it was knowing that my best friend has harbored feelings for me for, seemingly, a long time, and even though it must’ve broken her heart, she was always there when I needed her.”

You turned to face him again. He looked into your eyes and gave a small smile. “The truth is, I think I’ve been in love with you for a lot longer than I have even realized. You’re everyone’s comparison. Even Ashley, thinking back on it. You’ve always been it, Lance. It just took me a while to see it. I’m sorry.”

You let out the breath you’d been holding and brought the heels of your palms up to your eyes. “This isn’t some type of sick, joke, is it? I’ve never known you to be cruel, Marcus, so don’t start now. Please.”

He took a step closer and gingerly took your forearms in his hands. When you moved your hands away from your face, he dropped your arms and brought his hands up to your face to brush the tears away.

Marcus whispered your name and tenderly stroked your cheek. “Agnes was right. You are the love of my life. I’m so sorry it took me so long to figure that out, sweetheart.”

“You have to be serious about this, Marcus,” you whispered back. “You’re it for me, and if you decide you don’t actually want me, it’ll break me. I won’t recover, and neither will our friendship. So I have to know you’re sure.”

The slow smile he gave you was filled with reverence. “What do you want me to say so you’ll know that I’m serious?”

You pressed your lips together and shook your head. “I don’t know, Marcus.”

He let out a soft sigh. “How about this?” He took your hands in his and stepped closer. Marcus whispered your full name as he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. “We’ll go at your pace, sweetheart. I know you’re skeptical that this is real for me, so we’ll go as slow as you need. I’ll wait for however long it takes for you to trust this. I trust you. I know you’ll keep my heart safe. And I’ll do my very best to reassure you that I’ll keep yours safe, too.”

Marcus tilted his head to leave a soft kiss on your forehead.

“So, my dear, sweet, wonderful, beautiful, lovely friend,” he pulled back to look in your eyes. “Can I take you on a date and get to know you?”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but him asking to get to know you definitely wasn’t it. You chuckled. “Get to know me? Marcus, you’ve known me since I was three years old. What else is there for you to know?”

He grinned and glanced down at your lips. When he looked back up, he lifted his eyebrows, asking silent permission.

With your slight nod, he leaned closer. “There’s so much to learn, Lance. What makes you smile,” he tilted your chin up and kissed below your ear. You let out a soft whimper and he smiled. “What inspires you,” he kissed the underside of your jaw. “What makes you feel like the most important girl in the world,” he moved up to kiss the tip of your nose. “What makes you cry,” he kissed your forehead. “How I got lucky enough to have a woman as wonderful as you love me.”

Marcus paused long enough for you to open your eyes to look into the deep brown of his. “How to make your knees weak.” He brushed his thumb along your cheekbone and whispered, “How to kiss you properly.”

He looked back down at your lips and waited. You knew he wanted to give you the time to pull away if you weren’t ready to take that step. You had waited so long to kiss him, though. You had wanted it for so long that you were a little afraid that if you didn’t kiss him, you’d never have the chance again.

He glanced back at your eyes and smiled. Just as he moved to give you space, you closed that distance. Your lips met his with an almost desperate passion. You brought your hands up to cradle his face, and he moved his around your torso to pull you closer. He brushed his tongue against your bottom lip and you let him in.

The two of you stayed like that until the oven timer went off, startling you into separating. Marcus rested his forehead against yours again.

“Dinner’s ready,” he laughed.

You chuckled and let go of him to grab dishes, but he tightened his hold. “I love you,” he said, looking into your eyes. “I love you, and I will wait as long as you need me to. You already mean the world to me.”

Your breath caught in your throat again at his reuse of the words you said to what you thought was a sleeping Marcus two months ago. He gave you a quick peck on the cheek and turned back around to turn off the timer and pull whatever he made out of the oven.

“So is this what I can expect for my relationship with Marcus Pike?”

He looked at you with a small smirk on his face. “A relationship, huh? I thought I’d have to take you on a date, first.”

The heat in your face was immediate. You’ve loved him since you were seven, of course you wanted a relationship with him. But he was right, there was no need to rush this.

“Well, a date would be nice, I guess.”

Marcus’ smile softened. “I’m just teasing you, Lance. I plan on romancing the hell out of you for as long as you’ll let me.”

“You’re a loony.”

He set the baking dish on a hot pad and turned to mime drawing a sword. “The black knight always triumphs.”

You hummed and matched his smile. “The only time you ever let me be King Arthur was when he faced the black knight. Did you just like having me pretend to cut all of your limbs off?”

Marcus chuckled and a light blush spread across his cheeks. “It always made you laugh. So yeah, I guess.”

“That’s it, right there.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you.

“That’s how I fell in love with you. Those little things. You gave up playing your favorite character just because you knew it would make me laugh.”

He blushed deeper and looked bashful.

“I’d follow you anywhere, Marcus.”

“You won’t have to. Because whatever happens, it’ll be together.”

Together.

You liked the sound of that.

•

Everything was planned out. The two of you had gone to Bob and Edith’s for breakfast pancakes in the morning, you’d gone to the Smithsonian to see the O’Keefe exhibit they’d just brought in, and then you decided you’d have a little fun with it and go to a wine and painting class together, completely ironically. You’d secretly flown both of your parents in, and his sisters decided they wanted to be there, so they came in, too. The wine and painting would be just the two of you, and then they’d all come in and be there for the big question itself.

What you weren’t ready for was the instructor to recognize you, and ask you to lead the staff and Marcus in a painting.

“Well, this is really just something fun for my boyfriend and I to do together, I’d rather-”

Marcus put his hand on your shoulder and drew your attention to him. “How often does an opportunity like this come around? It’ll be fun, Lance.”

You sighed and closed your eyes. Damn him for being able to talk you into anything. That’s how two dogs and a cat had found a home in your shared townhouse. “Okay.”

The instructor squealed and rushed to hug you. “Oh my god, this is going to be great! Can we do a mini version of that mountain in autumn one you did last year? Please?” Her please was drawn out long like she was a kid asking for ice cream.

“Yeah, that’s fine, I guess.”

“This is going to be amazing! Okay, I’ll set everything up, you don’t have to do a thing except walk us through your process.”

Marcus ran his hands down your arms. “I know it’s not ideal, but you’re giving them such a cool experience. How often do they get to have such a legitimately professional painter show them how they work?”

“That’s not- I mean, sure, but there was a plan, and it’s getting messed up, and-”

“Breathe, baby. It’s just a silly date night. We’ll have many more, my love.”

You glanced over his shoulder and saw your family silently filing into the shop. The panic you felt suddenly multiplied.

“Why are you so upset about plans changing? You’re usually okay with a bit more of a go with the flow date.”

The instructor came out from the back room and looked past the two of you. “Oh, I’m sorry, this is a private party.”

Marcus turned to look at who they were talking to.

“Mom? Dad? What are all of you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you, but...”

Your dad nodded for him to look behind him, and when he turned, you were already knelt down.

“I have loved you since I was seven years old when you climbed the tree at the park to get my teddy that Blake Jones had thrown up there down. I loved you while you loved someone else, twice,” you winked at him. He had tears gathering in his eyes. “I will love you for as long as I’m breathing, and I’m sure long after that, too. You already mean the world to me. And I figure it’s about time you’re the one getting romanced. So, Marcus Alexander Pike,” you opened the black velvet box to reveal a simple platinum band, “Will you marry me?”

He looked up at the ceiling and chuckled as a tear fell. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

Your family and the staff cheered as he pulled you up from the floor. “I love you.”

You took his hand and slid the ring on his finger. “I love you, too, Marcus. With everything I have in me.”

And as he leaned in to kiss you, you knew your heart was full. That this man was everything you’d ever wanted, and you knew he wanted you right back.

TAGS: @seasonschange-butpeopledont @plexflexico @din-damn-djarin @dirty-dancefl00r5 @cinewhore @aplaceofpeace @just--a--snail @thecrystalgempearl @mrschiltoncat @campamcam @littlevodika @keeper0fthestars @greengrassandcyansea @uncomicalhumour @agentpike @yespolkadotkitty @chaotic-noceur

#marcus pike x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction

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