#you know what i mean?with the nice water bottles and the little desk timers

[aftrskool]

i think wat im going to do is im going to make a sideblog where i can use little dividers and gifs (my favorite passtime in the world) and do daily learning recaps and sort them by date so i can have them 2 study for my leaving cerT

[whump-town]

Give us a survival guide for college for students with ADHD!! All the ones I’ve seen are soooo neurotypical centered, like “study! Just sit down and get it done, no matter how hard it is!” Like guys I physically cannot do that sometimes. And so since you have ADHD and you are a college student, I was wondering if you could try and make a guide to Neurodivergent students. Just what works for you. -🍋

I’m hardly surviving it but I suppose I can tell you some of the things that I do. 

Timers can be your best friend. I don’t just mean like alarm clocks. I have an iPhone and, if you don’t already know, you can go into the settings and make it so you can only be on certain apps for a certain amount of time every day. I have mine set for Tiktok because I get sucked into the simplicity and mindlessness of the flicking. We all have vices, that’s mine. I allow myself two hours every day (which is lowkey a lot) but with that self-imposed time set in, I rarely use the whole two hours. 

If I need to do something I hide my phone from myself. Trust me, the first few times you’ll be hyperaware of any buzzes but whatever notification is coming through is rarely (and I mean never) as important as what you’re doing. I don’t mean just “out of sight, out of mind”. I stick it sock drawer so it’s muffled by the socks, deep in a desk drawer, or behind my pillows on my bed. I’ll forget about it and then I won’t stop and mess with it. 

Planners. I’m an asshole. I’ll readily admit to that. So, naturally, I thought fuck planners I’m not a kindergartener I don’t need some fucking calendar to tell me what to do. WRONG. Don’t be an asshole just use the fucking planners. I put all of my assignments in it. I used to keep little boxes by them so you get a little “reward” checking it off. However, I’m destructive so I will sit there and scratch it out. Plus, it allows a little guilt-trip for each assignment you don’t complete. I’ve found this process to be highly efficient because at the end of the day/week I look at this page with all kinds of things scratched out and I feel proud. You can see that you did things. 

It’s okay for your dorm/apartment to be your optimal learning space. Think about it: you can do anything you want in there. So, duh, that’s a nice spot but you’re going to get tired of being in there. You’ll get pinned up and frustrated (at least, I do). 

There are no correct places to want to study. We have two libraries on my campus and I find one disgusting. I hate being in there. The whole thing floor is open and seeing all those people just walking around makes me super anxious and I can’t do anything. What I’m saying is: explore. There’s a building with a little sitting area in it that I love to go to. It’s mostly frequented by staff and there’s a coffee shop just down the hall. It’s got foot traffic but just the right amount, if that makes sense?

YOU’RE GOING TO FORGET THINGS: I put things that are important to remember on sticky notes and place them everywhere. Eventually, sure, you’re going to start skating over them. Object permanence and whatever the opposite is-- when you see something too many times, you know, but if you put up enough of them and if you make them noticeable you might remember. That being said I typically also place these things in my planner

For the senses: I like to sit with just a lamp on. I turn off all the other lights and just use a lamp. It kinds of tunnels my vision and I don’t get distracted by my unmade bed or the crooked carpet. I listen to a lot of classical music while working. I also use a variety of types of methods to get that sound. Earbuds that go in your ear and those circle ones that go over. It’ll hurt if you listen for too long and I can go for hours

Get a person. You can have tons or just one (i have one) and she always asks about food. I forget. I will go all day without eating and not think anything of it. She always asks. Sometimes she’s a little late and it’s dinner but she remembers and I don't and that’s what’s important 

Get a water bottle and find some way to trick yourself into drinking water. I’m very simple, and I know that if I have a straw I will destroy a whole bottle in ten/twenty minutes without any hesitation. So, sometimes it’s okay to trick yourself

Have a few snacks handy. You can get big boxes of granola bars for rather cheap and I have those. They’ll come in handy for when you forget to eat

And, for anyone, don’t pride yourself on the ways that you allow yourself to suffer to get a grade. If no better reason then no one but you is going to commend the behavior. 

[dalgikiss]

Catch-22 // h. iwaizumi

index

part 15

You don’t show up for class the next day or the day after that and the day after that. Iwaizumi wonders if you’re avoiding him, too scared to ask his friends where you might have gone. 

He wonders if you told them what happened but judging by their normal behavior and ordinary teases, it’s safe to say that you had kept your mouth quiet. 

Not even the teachers seem to question your disappearance, teaching the classes the same way they always have- quick and concise. As though it wants to test how long Iwaizumi can be patient, the universe tells your teacher to switch around the seats one more time, for the sake of feng shui, she tells you all and puts you near the windows on the other side of the classroom while Iwaizumi sits all the way in the back, closest to the back door.

The space that separates the two of you is only a few meters but it feels like it’s much more. 

x.

You know you look worse for wear, puffy eyes and red nose. 

You’re pretty sure with every moment you sit in this stuffy lecture hall, more and more people give you pitiful or strange looks. You rub your head, mussing up your hair even more so and slump far down in your seat. 

Stupid, dumb, idiot Iwaizumi 

If you fucked up your entrance exam results, you would blame it all on him 

The professor at the front of the room clears her throat, effectively silencing the room and you rearrange the writing utensils on your desk in front of you. 

“You have three hours once this exam starts. If you have finished before time is up, please come up to the front of the room with your exam paper and test ID”

The exam paper sits in front of your desk, the words HITOTSUBASHI UNIVERSITY written on the cover page, loud and bold. You swallow nervously at the sight. 

The professor glances at the clock, setting the timer so it’s been projected onto the screen in front of you. With one final look to check everything was working, she clapped her hands twice. 

“You may now begin”

x.

“Why are you following me home?” 

Iwaizumi’s eyebrow twitches when Oikawa walks next to him, swinging his arms back and forth without a care in the world as though he didn’t just walk past his block.

“I’m not following you home, Iwa-chan” The setter looks up at the sky, making motions as though he was setting a ball, “I’m going to cutie-chan’s house to water her plants and bring in their mail for the next few days”

They near your block, Iwaizumi blinking in surprise. “Where’d she go?”

“She didn’t tell you?” 

“If I have to ask, obviously not dumbass” Iwaizumi snaps, hiding his embarrassment behind rough words and Oikawa sticks his tongue out in response, dodging when Iwaizumi tries to kick him.

“Well, she always did like me more, it only makes sense that she’d tell me and not you” 

Iwaizumi raises his fist threateningly but Oikawa doesn’t bother to pretend to hide from it. “She’s taking her entrance exam for Hitotsubashi University. Her family’s in Tokyo for her brother’s judo tournament so she’s going to spend a few days with them before coming back”

Oikawa bends close to Iwaizumi’s face with a knowing grin, “Why? You miss her or something?” and Iwaizumi pushes his face away from him pretending to be annoyed but Oikawa already knows the answer and lets himself be flung far away. 

“Wanna come with? It’ll be faster if we both were there” 

When Iwaizumi hesitates, Oikawa glances at him before putting his arms around the back of his head. “She won’t mind, if that’s what you’re wondering”  

He pretends to be annoyed at his old friend, face setting into a scowl and he takes his bag to whack Oikawa in the back with it. He’ll never say it out loud, but Oikawa always did know him like the back of his hand. 

The rest of the walk is silent, Iwaizumi gripping the straps of his bag in hopes of calming himself down. You wouldn’t be there, he tells himself, you’re not there and he’s only going to make sure Oikawa doesn’t magically end up burning down your house somehow or creating a hole in your bedroom wall.

However the silence is short lived. 

“Why didn’t she tell you?” Oikawa wonders aloud, watching Iwaizumi tighten his grip from the corner of his eye, “Is it because you’re ugly? That’s never stopped her before though”

Iwaizumi wonders if Oikawa practices how to annoy people in his spare time. 

“We got into an argument a few days ago, guess that’s why she never told me”

“Ah, so it’s your fault as usual”

They stop in front of your front door and Iwaizumi resists the urge to take the skateboard your brother has left out on the porch and smack it into Oikawa’s face. Oikawa peers into your mailbox, a large hand reaching inside to grab a bundle of mail while Iwaizumi glanced around before crouching over to reach inside the bucket of beer bottle caps, sifting it around to find your spare key. 

“Man, you come here too often to know where the spare key is” Oikawa teases as Iwaizumi sticks the key into lock

“Shut up, don’t act like you didn’t know where it was”

Your house looks just the same as he remembers, albeit a bit messier since you had been rushing to pack for your miniature trip, evidence of it in forms of various jackets strewn around in random places and the mismatched pairs of shoes around the entrance. 

Oikawa set down the mail on your kitchen table, shaking his head when he saw the dishes in the sink, reprimanding you for not cleaning up and instructing Iwaizumi to begin watering the plants while he cleaned up your mess. 

“Why’d you two fight?” Oikawa asks out of the blue, startling Iwaizumi

Iwaizumi let out a wry laugh “and here i was thinking about how nice it was in our relationship that we’ve reached a point where we didn’t have to talk all the time”

“Do you wanna hear my theory about how aliens are actually observing us through pigeons? If you think about it, you never see the same pigeon twice and what does a baby pigeon look like? You don’t know because you’ve never seen one, so my theory is-”

“Alright alright, I get it, shut the fuck up”

Oikawa beams proudly, hand quivering slightly under the weight of the heavy cup he was using to water the plants

“I said some stuff to her about Ryuoko” He admits defeatedly, watching the dirt of the aloe plant take in water “Might have told her she was attention needy”

“You did what? I can’t believe you said that to our precious baby- oh man, she’s definitely really upset”

Iwaizumi stared at Oikawa, long and hard, who stared right back. 

“She definitely told you, why are you playing dumb?”

Oikawa doesn’t bother to fight back against the accusation, only turning back to water the Chinese Evergreen plant that rested by the windowsill. “She didn’t tell me a thing” He says as the last drops of water were used, “She was crying”

Oikawa headed back to the kitchen to put away the cup he had been using, a hand taking the one that Iwaizumi grasped. 

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why she’s upset, even when she doesn’t tell us”

x.

You feel Iwaizumi’s stare before you can see him, uncomfortably shifting in your seat as you try to copy what is in your textbook.

Moving your seat away from him was a blessing in your favor, or so you thought. You had been relieved when you first heard about your new seating arrangement, no longer needing to feel on edge when Ryuoko walked in and being able to avoid talking to Iwaizumi after your fight was just a perk. 

At least, it was until you couldn’t shake away this nagging feeling that Iwaizumi was constantly staring you down.

“He’s staring at you again” 

You looked at your new seatmate, Kumatsuka Kirin who pointed towards the back of the room with her pen. 

“I think it’s been the third time since this period started” She whispered, giving you a little grin, “I think he might liiiiiiikeee you” She drags the word out, rhythmically tapping her nose with her pen to a beat only she can hear. 

You crinkle your nose, throwing your eraser at her. “He has a girlfriend”

“Just because there’s a goalie doesn’t mean you can’t score!” 

She laughs at your expression, “I’m kidding, i’m kidding! Homewrecking is never the answer” 

She winks at you, answering the question the teacher throws at her with ease and you marvel at her casual attitude.

“By the way,” She writes something in her notebook before holding it up so you could view it. “I’ve been keeping score of how many times he’s looked at you” 

There’s a total of four tally marks from this period and a few more from the periods before. 

“This is gonna be fun” She grins and you shake your head because no this is not fun

x.

You’ve been getting better at this avoiding-Iwaizumi game, taking it one step further to even avoid the rest of the third years as well, an unintended side effect that Iwaizumi now bears the consequences of every time Oikawa decides to open his mouth and complain about your missing presence with passive aggressive words and pointed looks.

“Maaaaaaaaaaan, things have been so quiet lately” Oikawa cries out, “I wonder why that is” 

Iwaizumi pretends to not see the look that’s thrown his way, cursing under his breath when even Hanamaki and Matsukawa give him a certain look

Really guys?

“It sure feels like someone is missing, doesn’t it?” 

Another pointed look at iwaizumi’s direction

He furrows his eyebrows at his friends, turning the corner sharply after their third jab at him. “Alright! I’ll apologize tomorrow. It’s just a bit hard when she keeps avoiding me” 

His friends don’t seem the least sympathetic, Matsukawa only making use of the extra few inches he has on Iwaizumi to tower over him

“You have to atone for your sins”

‘What are you, some creepy priest? Stay away from me”

x.

[Iwaizumi] [Hajime]:

are you home?

[Iwaizumi] [Hajime]:

 i know you’re reading my messages

[Iwaizumi] [Hajime]:        

cmon please answer

When your phone rings again, your brother looks up sharply from the kotatsu on the floor and angrily throws his eraser at you. 

“If your phone goes off one more time, I’m throwing it out the window and then you’re going out after it” he threatens and you roll your eyes, sticking your tongue out at him. When he picks up your phone and makes a motion to chuck it out the window, you panic, tackling him into the ground. 

“Okay, okay! Give me- Ow! Stop digging your knee into me!”

“Move, you’re too close to my- I SAID MOVE”

You snatch your phone out of his hand, hobbling away on one foot as he curled into a ball on the floor. “I’d say sorry but you deserved it” 

Your phone lights up again with another message and you chew your lip before responding.

[Me]:

not home rn, why 

[iwaizumi] [Hajime]:

oh nvm then, im outside ur door

The bubble tea he had been holding as a peace offering is starting to sweat in his hand, water droplets dampening the welcome mat he’s standing on. Hanamaki was right, he should’ve texted you before he walked all the way over. 

[Surname] [Name]:

what why 

[Me]:

wanted to talk to you

[Surname] [Name]:

lol i dont think we need to talk about anything. u said what u needed to say & i got the message loud and clear

He couldn’t even argue with her, sighing deeply through his nose. The rustling of a curtain caught his eye, blinking twice. Was someone else home?

[Iwaizumi] [Hajime]:

is someone else home?

Shit, you cursed underneath your breath, flattening yourself against the wall when he had turned his head towards you. He definitely saw the curtains moving back into place. 

Your brother, who had finally sat up, watched you curiously, homework forgotten on the table. “You look stupid, who’s outside?”

“Haji”

“You don’t wanna let him in?” 

“No”

He shrugs, none of his business why. “Well I have practice. What’s your plan of action from here?”

You give your brother an inquisitive look before narrowing your eyes. “You’re not gonna try and do anything?”

“Do my chores for the week and I’ll do anything you ask me to for today”

You decide you’ll take him on his offer, fully knowing it was because he was too lazy to vacuum and mop the floor.

“Tell him I’m not home when you go out”

He doesn’t seem bothered, picking up his duffel bag and slinging it onto his shoulder, giving you a thumbs up sign and then he’s left and you hear the jangling of his keys and then his voice floating in through your open window. 

“Hey Iwaizumi”

Your brother closes the door behind him and Iwaizumi stares up blanky. He always forgot how big your brother was, tall and buff after years of working out accompanied with judo training. 

“Iwaizumi?” Your brother waves a calloused hand in front of his face when he doesn’t respond, too caught up in his own world, “You there?”

“What? Yeah, sorry” Iwaizumi thrusts your bubble tea into your brother’s hands, who barely catches it in time before it hits the ground. “This is for your sister” 

There’s an unreadable look in your brother’s eyes as he regards Iwaizumi, brown eyes studying him as though he’s become an opponent on the mat and if you were there, you’d tease him for thinking so hard, the vein in his forehead was beginning to pop out. 

The gears in his head are turning ridiculously fast, putting two and two together- the way you were avoiding Iwaizumi, the look of guilt on Iwaizumi’s face, you two definitely had a fight. But, your brother, even though he annoys you to the very core of Earth and back is loyal to his family and his promises and doesn’t bring it up. 

Before Iwaizumi can voice his discomfort over being scrutinized, your brother’s eyes relax and he nods, turning around to put the drink on top of the shoe closet of your entrance way. 

“You know she isn’t home right?” Your brother asks, beginning to walk towards the train station and Iwaizumi follows him quietly. “Is everything okay?”

“Huh? Yeah, everything’s fine” Iwaizumi bites on the inside of his cheek to distract himself to the growing feeling of guilt that’s settled itself nicely in the crevices of his body. The words you said to him sting like miniature paper cuts all over his body, each one amplified when he looks into your brother’s eyes, it reminded him too much of yours. 

“You sure? You seem a little on edge” 

“Nothing. We had a disagreement over something and we’ve both been busy. Haven’t seen her in a while”

The pieces click into place and your brother nods understandingly. “It’ll work out. She’s always been like that, she just needs to figure things out on her own and then come back to you” 

Yeah, Iwaizumi knows

“You should still try to apologize though, we know how stubborn she is”

He knows that too

“Try calling her or texting her. She might cry if she sees you in person”

They stop at the end of the street, your brother waving his hand before they separate. 

“Good luck Iwaizumi”

x.

[Iwaizumi Hajime]:

 I’m sorry

[iwaizumi] [Hajime]:

You probably don’t want to hear or see me rn

[iwaizumi] [Hajime]:

It’s fine tho, i just want to apologize about what I said the other day

[iwaizumi] [Hajime]:

I really don’t have an excuse for what I said and I hope you forgive me :/ 

You stare at your vibrating phone, watching the messages come in, one after another. The bubble tea he had bought you sat on the table, straw popped in and waiting to be drank. You stared longingly at the drink, battling yourself over wanting to drink it because yes, it is Jasmine milk tea with bubbles and grass jelly but no, he bought it and I’m angry at him

The petty side of you was definitely fighting a losing battle. Placing your mouth over the straw, the drink was just too good to be ignored, effectively helping you drown out the vehement shouts of anger inside your head for giving in so easily. 

Of course you were angry at Iwaizumi, fuck him for saying such horrible things to you. You let the straw pop out of your mouth with a sigh, shoulders sagging at the reminder that of all the people you knew, it was Iwaizumi that had said those things to you. 

It wasn’t your fault, you reminded yourself, not your fault

Why did you feel the need to apologize then?

Your phone rings with another message from Iwaizumi, your fingers gripping the side of your phone as you contemplated whether or not to text him back. 

[iwaizumi] [Hajime]:

talk to me soon, miss you

[Iwaizumi] [Hajime]:

I really am sorry. Please forgive me when you’re ready

You were never really good at staying angry at him

[Me]:

yeah i know. focus on getting to nationals and we can talk after

[seagreen-meets-grey]

Hooked On A Feeling Ch. 1

When Hiccup and Astrid realize they've never hung out alone before, they decide to change that. And how do you better spend time with your Good Friend than by playing Mario Kart all night?

[Chapter 1: Come A Little Bit Closer] [Chapter 2: Fooled Around And Fell In Love] [Chapter 3: Go All The Way]

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

_______________

Hiccup was at his fourth beer when he noticed.

He was leaning against the railing of Justin’s balcony, the cold night air cooling his skin, warm from the heat of the living room and the alcohol. It was game night, a tradition he and his friends had started over two years ago when none of them had really known anyone yet, trying to find their place on Berk’s huge university campus. Some of them had been in the same campus tour group on day one, the rest had met in class. If Hiccup recalled correctly, it had been Justin, also known as Fishlegs among his friends, who had suggested a night of board games and bonding, which had turned into a bi-weekly event of drinking and trash-talking each other over SingStar, Monopoly, Cards Against Humanity and the like.

Currently, they were taking a quick break from playing. Tuffnut and Snotlout needed a smoke break, Fishlegs one of his many potty breaks, and the rest of them just went along.

Hiccup was fairly sure that Tuff’s twin sister was filling up everyone’s water glasses with vodka, which would at least result in a hilarious moment of spitting out drinks all over Hiccup’s Monopoly board. He had long ago decided to never take his Game of Thrones board to game night if he didn’t want it back sticky and covered in oily crumbs.

He had opened a new beer bottle and followed Tuff, Snot and Astrid outside, engrossed in a conversation about the latest rumor about two of their professors dating.

By the time the two cigarettes were merely tiny smoldering dots in the ashtray on the windowsill, snowflakes started to descend silently from the dark sky. Snotlout looked up and stuck out his tongue to catch one, but it fell into his eye which made him whine and dramatically stagger off to the bathroom to wash it out, with an excited Tuff in tow who began to tell him a story of one of his many cousins who supposedly went blind from a snowflake in his eye.

“Muttonheads,” Astrid mumbled when the boys were gone.

Hiccup grinned and shook his head. “If we’re lucky, Tuff manages to make Snot so paranoid that we can sell him anything that will apparently prevent him from going blind.”

Astrid leaned against the railing next to him, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “I’m intrigued, Haddock. Keep talking.”

Animated by her reaction, he fell into his habit of gesticulating while talking, beer bottle still in hand. “Like, we could tell him about this old myth that says making bad choices in board games will increase your body’s healing capabilities.”

“Yes!” Astrid pointed a finger at him. “We’ll let Tuff scare him further with his ridiculous tales about cousins he doesn’t have, and he’ll eat right out of our hands.”

She was beaming at the chance to mess with their friend, and for a while, they kept brainstorming ideas to make Snotlout lose at Monopoly on purpose.

He was taking another sip of his beer when it hit him.

“Hey,” he interrupted her newest plan and she raised her eyebrows in question. “You know what I just realized?”

“That most of our friends share one brain cell?”

He chuckled. “No, I already knew about that. I meant… We’ve never, you know, done this before.” He gesticulated between him and Astrid.

“Messed with our friends?”

“No. No, I mean, I mean we do that a lot, but… But, you know, we never-- we never hung out like this before, just- just the two of us.”

He could see the same realization dawn on her. “Oh my god, you’re right.”

“Haven’t we?”

“We haven’t!” She shook her head disbelievingly. “How long have we been friends now? Almost three years, right?”

Hiccup nodded. “True. And we never really hung out outside this group.”

Astrid shivered and gestured with her head to go back inside. “We have to change that.”

They sat back down next to each other on the large sofa. Astrid reached for her water glass but was smart enough to sniff at it before taking a sip. From the corner of his eye, Hiccup spotted Ruffnut peering over in anticipation. He heard her curse when Astrid took the nearest bottle of coke and filled her glass to the brim. She took a scrutinizing sip, scrunching up her face for a second, shrugged and settled with it.

“So what do we do?” she asked, taking another sip.

Hiccup hummed in thought, crossed his arms and leaned back, tapping the neck of his almost empty bottle against his arm. “And when do we do it?”

“Do what?” Fishlegs asked, sitting down in front of his side of the Monopoly board.

“Hang out,” Hiccup and Astrid said in unison. Astrid held up her hand and without looking Hiccup gave her a high-five.

“Uhm,” Tuffnut said and made an open gesture. “Aren’t you hanging out right now?” He squinted his eyes. “Or is hanging out what the kids are calling it these days?”

Astrid threw a game piece at him and Hiccup felt a blush rise to his cheeks. “Hanging out as friends, you muttonhead!” she yelled.

“Right,” Tuff said, although Hiccup could tell he didn’t quite get it yet – or believed it.

“Hey, Hiccup,” Fishlegs chimed in, “didn’t you order Mario Kart for your Switch last week?”

“I did!” Hiccup sat up straight and turned towards Astrid. “All 48 races. Next Friday. We stay up all night. Loser buys the other a Christmas gift.” He offered her his hand.

She considered it for a second. “No falling asleep and the gift has a cost limit.”

They shook hands.

“Deal.”

_______________

Hiccup was at her place at nine, his Switch and Mario Kart game in his bag, as well as the ingredients to their self-made pizza. In return, her fridge was filled with energy drinks.

They said cheers with the first can and started on the pizza.

Astrid’s apartment had underfloor-heating that made the kitchen warm and cozy. Outside in the dark night, more snow was falling, covering the world in a white blanket. Music was coming from Astrid’s portable loudspeaker box.

“Someone’s been watching Guardians of the Galaxy,” Hiccup noted while he rolled out the premade dough on the griddle to the Marvel movie’s official mixtape.

“Nah, just dug it out when I went through my playlists.” She started humming and dancing on the spot where she was cutting onions on the kitchen counter.

She could feel the caffeine from the energy drink settle in her system. Using her knife as a microphone, she twirled around to face Hiccup at the kitchen table. “I’m hooked on a feeling!” she sang, taking joy in the way Hiccup started laughing at how off-key she sounded. “I’m high on believing!” She slid across the tiles in her beloved blue fleece socks, holding the knife-mic out to Hiccup.

“That you’re in love with me!” he sang into the fake-mic, equally off-key. She danced back to her cutting board and took another large gulp of energy drink. Not that she thought that hanging out with Hiccup wouldn’t be fun, but she just hadn’t anticipated it to be this nice.

While the pizza was in the oven, she opened her second drink and pulled Hiccup to his feet. Later, she claimed it was the caffeine coursing through both their bodies that made them decide they should have a dance-off right there in her small kitchen. Sliding on soft socks, slipping and catching themselves on the furniture or each other, they alternated between battling each other in ridiculous dance moves and twirling each other around, bumping into the table and counter several times.

When the oven timer went off, Hiccup loaded three big pieces each on two plates while Astrid disappeared into her little study room and came back with a DVD case in her hand.

“I’m up for some Home Alone, how about you?” She really hoped he wasn’t one of those people who hated the movie. Christmas time was Home Alone time for her.

“Am I ever!” Hiccup exclaimed and Astrid whooped and skipped off to her bedroom. He took a deep breath before he followed her, smile ever-present on his face.

They settled on her queen-sized bed, the desk with the large TV she got from her uncle Finn for her birthday in front of it, pizza and energy drinks on a tray between them.

Hiccup was impressed with the accuracy and passion with which she recited basically half the movie. But her amused expressions told him he didn’t fare any different with his impressions of Kevin and the bandits alike.

"I always think," she said when Kevin prepared his master trap, "that I'm glad Kevin seems to know what he's doing. Would have been a fucking chaos if he didn't."

Hiccup nodded vigorously. "Wanna know a fun fact about me?"

She peeled her eyes away from the screen and looked at him, genuine interest in her eyes.

"When I was a kid- actually, it started when I was a kid, and when I was fifteen, I was, like– Anyway, um… Basically, Kevin McCallister was my childhood hero."

"Oh, no." The dread in her voice didn't match the anticipating grin on her face.

"Yep," he said, popping the p. "Made my parents' life hell, especially because my inventions and traps never worked the way I wanted them to."

"Oh my god," she laughed.

"My father still doesn't let me live down the day I decided to rebuild the zipline Kevin uses to get from the house to his tree house."

"But it shouldn't even work in the movie, like, all of these traps are bullshit, realistically speaking." She wiped tears from laughter out of her eye.

Hiccup gave her a deadpan expression. "Well, fifteen-year-old me was confident he had made the right tweaks."

"What happened?"

"Umm…" He averted his face and she leaned over the tray to shake his shoulder.

"Now you have to tell me!"

Hiccup sighed and turned back to her, trying to keep up his serious expression. "I had fastened the end of the line, the one that started at the house, on the windowpane. At that point we were living in this old house with wooden panes. You can probably guess where this is going."

"Nope, totally lost. Don't leave out even one detail." Hiccup shot her an unbelieving expression, but she kept looking at him with that twinkle in her eyes, so he gave in with a defeated sigh.

"Fine, the wood was too old, it snapped when I jumped, I fell and broke my left leg in two places. Had to wear a cast for weeks. From then on, I was done with those experiments."

“But you’re studying engineering.”

He shrugged. “Exactly. Never said I was done with all kinds of experiments forever.”

A sly grin formed on Astrid’s face right when on TV the hot iron trap went off. “Let’s use the energy that kept young Hiccup going on Snotlout and the twins.”

He slowly shook his head. “You. Are. Evil.”

“Nope, not evil.” She opened two new cans of energy drinks and handed him one. “Just working with what I got to make the world a better place in these difficult times of Snotfaces and Nuts.”

He snorted and threw her an amused look. He was definitely in the right company.

_______________ 

“Alright.” Astrid stretched in the middle of her room and cracked her knuckles. “Let’s do this. I’m ready to destroy you.”

Hiccup just hummed disbelievingly from where he was setting up his gaming system. “Better open the windows for a few minutes first, the air in here is really bad.” When Astrid did just that, he added, “because it smells of loser!”

“That’s because of you,” she countered without batting an eye.

“I know, my fault, I should have thrown you out earlier.” A pair of socks flew over his head while he was plugging in the HDMI cable. "Miss me, miss me, now you gotta kiss me."

"Keep that up and I'll have to kiss you for real."

Hiccup looked up at her and saw her eyes dart back up from somewhere below his midriff. He looked at the backside of his pants. Did he have a stain there? He couldn’t find anything. Dismissing it with a shrug, he joined Astrid on the bed again. She handed him his energy can, opening another one for herself. This couldn’t be good for their health.

While the game was loading, Astrid repeated the rules. “We play all 48 races. We can’t fall asleep. If one of us does, the other is strictly obligated to wake them up. Loser buys the other a Christmas present but it has a clear cost limit.”

“Wouldn’t we get each other little gifts anyway?”

“Additional present, then.” She took a large gulp of her drink.

“I don’t think you should drink so much of that stuff; your body’s energy will drop tremendously as soon as the effect wears off, and you’ll fall asleep. Also, you’ll get diarrhea.”

She threw him an unimpressed look while he took a sip as well. “Look who’s talking. Besides, I know my own body. I’ve done this before.”

“Sure,” Hiccup shrugged and dipped his head back to drain the can. “Let’s deal with it when the time comes.” He wasn’t able to keep still anymore, wiggling his toes to countermeasure the pace of his heart. Definitely not good for their health. They really shouldn’t do this. There was a pop and a sizzling sound and he was handed a new drink. Oh, well.

When the Mario Kart home screen came up, Hiccup took his controller and chose the right settings. Astrid grabbed the other one and tested out the buttons. It had been a while since she’d last played it, but Hiccup was dead certain she hadn’t forgotten how to properly kick his butt. Or, as he would make sure in tonight’s case, die trying. He’d love an additional Christmas present from her, and he’d love even more to destroy her. Smirk on his face, he moved the stick to choose his character as she did the same.

“You can’t be serious!” Astrid yelled accusatory. “Link isn’t even a Mario character!”

“So?” he shrugged. “He’s a choosable character and you know I love Legend of Zelda.”

She wasn’t having any of it. “You can’t play a non-Mario character in a Mario game, Hiccup.”

“He’s still a Nintendo character, and what’s the big deal?”

“We said we would play this right, so no characters from other games. Choose another one!”

“If I have to pick a character other than the one I always pick, you have to do the same,” he argued. “No Bowser for you, milady!”

“At least he’s from Mario.”

“Do it properly, Astrid!” He grinned. “If I have to repick, then so do you.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes. “Fine! But I don’t trust you with this. I’ll choose for you.”

He stuck out his hand. “Only if I get to choose for you.” They shook on the deal and switched controllers.

“Let’s see…” Astrid mumbled while going through the different available characters. “Got it!” She pushed a button to confirm her selection.

“What?!” He threw his hands up in indignation. “Why am I Waluigi?!”

“Because he looks like you.”

“Pah!” He quickly selected her character. “I guess you’re Baby Peach, then.”

She huffed. “Really, Hiccup?! Because she’s blonde?”

“No,” he said, smirk back on his face, “because she's a helpless baby and she, too, needs saving all the time because she keeps getting kidnapped by the same dude over and over again and she’s a bi– uff!“ She shut him up by surprise-tackling him to the mattress.

“Oh, really? Who needs saving now, huh?”

He struggled underneath her, but she had him pinned down with her full weight. His chest was warm underneath her arms and his face very close to hers. She furrowed her brows. Had he always had that many freckles? And did he know that there were so many shades of green in his eyes? She noticed the stubble on his chin, and he actually smelled really nice.

When her face suddenly started to feel hot, she did the first thing that came to her mind; she pushed him off the bed.

“Ow, why would you do that?!” Hiccup pulled himself up on the edge of the bed, and Astrid hoped he hadn’t seen the blush that was only slowly leaving her cheeks. But he had seen it.

For a moment, he frowned in confusion. Why was she acting so flustered?

“That’s for making me Baby Peach and comparing me to her,” she said evenly, trying to sound nonchalant, but she would still not meet his eyes. Huh. Maybe he could work with that, he thought, caffeine pulsing in his blood – whatever weird thing was going on.

They settled back into position next to each other, an arm’s length of space between them, and started the game. While they were racing over Cheep Cheep Beach, throwing shells and bananas at each other, Astrid didn’t say a word. Hiccup made a few comments every now and then and tried to trash-talk her, but she didn’t seem to hear him. Her face was focused but her eyes were far away. He hoped she wasn’t mad at him because of the Baby Peach thing.

His character broke through the finish line first.

“Wait, what?!” she shouted, perplexed, after she came in sixth.

Hiccup grinned mischievously at her. “Maybe you should pay more attention to the game if you want to win.”

“I was paying attention,” she insisted, “it’s because of stupid Baby Peach, she’s useless! Let’s start anew with our characters.”

Hiccup feigned shock, holding his hand to his heart. “What, you – Astrid Hofferson – want to back out after only one race?!”

She glared at him and raised her chin with determination. “I’ll show you a race, Waluigi!”

“That’s what I thought.”

Racing through the Water Park course, Astrid did her best to keep her concentration on the game, but her attention was continuously diverted. Why was it so nice to be so close to Hiccup and why was she suddenly so aware of him? She could feel his body heat next to her where they were sitting on her bed in their pajamas at 1 a.m. She’s had five energy drinks and she kind of wanted to make out with him.

It didn’t help at all that, during the next five races, his leg moved closer to hers inch by inch until their knees were touching, and from time to time, he shifted on his butt and leaned very close to her in the process. He let out this quiet chuckle that pierced straight through her heart and then he was suddenly sitting normally again and she realized she’d been driving against walls for a minute.

He won the fifth race with several positions ahead of her and she wanted to whack her controller on his stupid face.

“Whohoo!” Hiccup shouted, celebrating by jumping up from the bed and doing a little dance in front of the TV.

“You cheated,” she grumbled when he let himself fall back next to her.

“Astrid, you can’t cheat on Mario Kart.”

“You also don’t play a non-Mario character on Mario Kart and yet here we are,” she countered.

“But I’m not even playing Link.”

“Yes, because I saved you from that.”

“I never needed saving. See, that’s the difference between me and Peach–“

She punched him on the arm, shutting him up. “Feeling overconfident, are we?”

“Score.” He pointed at the ranking list on the screen.

“Pff,” she made, “we’re just getting started, Haddock.”

With matching competitive grins, they got ready for the next race.

“Ha!” Astrid exclaimed when she sent a blue shell for Hiccup on the N64 Rainbow Road and lead the brigade of opponents rushing past him, claiming her first victory of the night.

She finally went on a winning streak, the adrenaline that came with it keeping her from getting drowsy, unlike the not-cheating cheater next to her. Nine races later, she stretched her arms with a loud yawn and used the pause to check the messages on her phone while Hiccup leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

It wasn’t long until his head rolled to the side and came to rest on her shoulder, his even breaths tickling her neck. She bit her lip. They’d agreed to stay awake, but she couldn’t find it in herself to wake him while he looked so peaceful and relaxed.

The loop of their characters cheering on the screen behind the updated ranking list went on, the music becoming background noise while she went through every social media feed on her phone, ignoring the increasing pressure in her bladder.

But more than a liter of energy drink had the power of two days’ worth of water, and it started to feel like it was trying to turn her insides out. She regretfully and carefully moved Hiccup’s head out of the way, immediately missing its weight on her shoulder and the warmth of his body leaning against her side.

Peeing felt like the liberation of France and she sighed in relief. Maybe she could be back before Hiccup woke up.

She wasn’t. When she came back from the bathroom, he was stretching on her bed, bleary-eyed and disarmingly cute with his messy hair, rubbing his eyes and face like a child.

“You broke a rule,” he yawned. “You didn’t wake me.”

“I didn’t notice you’d fallen asleep, doofus. I was in the bathroom.” She settled back on the blanket, making sure to leave a little space between them lest she got foolishly distracted by him again.

He reached over her to grab another energy drink and she could swear he was smirking. But when she eyed him properly, his eyes were big and innocent, a little red-rimmed from being tired and staring at a screen for so long. Choosing to forget the whole thing, she resumed the game.

[crimsonbluemoon]

Working For Love: A Terrormoo Story 4/17

Okay so I totally planned to have this out earlier but my day’s been kinda crazy. But it’s technically still Saturday so enjoy! 

Previous Part

Start from the beginning

Brian loved Wednesdays. 

For most of his life, Wednesdays were the bane of his existence. What person in their right mind actually looked forward to the middle of the week? It was the furthest extension from the weekend, almost no holidays were celebrated yearly on Wednesday, and the back end of it was just as long as the head. But that was before he got to talk to Brock. Finally, he learned his name. Brian’s first interaction hadn’t been the best, and the second only made it worse, but the third? The third was all the reason he needed to stark talking to him more. 

Three Wednesdays in a row, Brian had clocked into his shift before Brock came to the gym. Other days they crossed paths, but Brian’s trainings or classes managed to get in the way of getting to talk to Brock for more than a casual greeting or goodbye. Evan, Scotty and Anthony (Tyler’s other full timers) would wiggle Brock’s card over their heads and make kissy faces at Brian when Brock wasn’t looking to taunt him. The urge to flip off the menacing trio while working on Mrs. Lavigne’s squat form was hard to ignore, so he settled for punching them after work over beers and buffalo wings. The full timers got the weekends off at the gym, meaning Brian didn’t get to see Brock unless their work-out times somehow managed to sync up. So they passed each other for parts of Brian’s shift or Brock’s routine, but Wednesday was the only day Brian got to have an actual conversation with him when scanning him in. It wasn’t always the longest talk, and if anyone approached the front desk, Brock would hurry out an excuse and leave. It could be ten minutes or two, depending on Brian’s luck. 

Still, Brian cherished the few minutes he got. 

Hearing his voice had been an unexpected bonus he didn’t know he needed. The soft but steady tone fit was pretty. His laugh was pretty. The pink that bloomed over his face when Brian laid out the honest truth of how he felt when seeing Brock work out was pretty. His modesty, his dad jokes, the nervous way he rubbed his ear when Brian would smile at him- just in general, Brock was pretty. Being up closer helped him pick out little quirks of the other man that he hadn’t been able to see from a distance, like how animated his eyebrows were when he spoke or how perfect his teeth lined up when he showed them in a rare full smile. Brian made sure to toss a thumbs-up Brock’s way whenever he passed by his treadmill to clean a machine or restock paper towels (Evan and Nogla both seemed to enjoy his sudden boost of ‘hard-work’ effort when Brock was in the building, the lazy bums), and it made him smile when he’d get a stunted but responsive wave back. It was slow progress to some, but for Brian, it was more than worth it.

And when Brock walked in with a new person, Brian was tickled pink in curiosity. 

“God, this place smells like sweat and regret.” The new voice that entered the lobby of the gym made Brian laugh, tossing the crossword to the side in order to take in the new man. The platinum blond flopped on the top of his head was not natural, but it screamed personality with the hot pink elastic bundling it up. He didn’t seem ashamed of his look when placing his hands on his hips, the electric blue water bottle swinging with his movements. “It’s way better than WOW.”

“You never went to WOW.” Brock’s voice lacked any hesitation or shyness when he rolled his eyes, a shoulder nudging into his friend. “You literally paid for a membership that went unused for seven months.” 

“Have you ever tried to cancel a gym membership? It’s not possible. They demand your firstborn.” 

“You’re gay.”

“I could adopt.” The banter was refreshing to watch, and Brian grinned from ear to ear at the impolite snort Brock gave in response. 

“You’d kill a cactus. You have killed a cactus. You can’t keep a tune alive.” The new side of his personality was surprising, as Brian had only ever encountered the meek but endearing Brock. Here he was laughing and poking fun at his friend’s dismayed shout of protest, though the teasing smile he wore was quick to slide off when he realized Brian was watching the entertaining scene. “Oh! Um...hi.”  

“Hey there,” Brian answered, trying to sound smooth when tilting his grin into a smirk. The movement had the desired effect, Brock’s face rushing to resemble an apple. 

“Hi.” Brock mumbled again, and Brian had to bite back his laughter.

“You already said that, but I’ll take a second hello if it’s from you.” It wasn’t the most subtle flirting, but he was never known for being quiet with his attraction. Feeling cheerful at making Brock’s smile perk up at the small compliment, he tilted his head towards Brock’s left, but kept his gaze on him. “You bring a friend to convert to the healthy side, Brocky?”

“Not just a friend.” The correction made Brian’s body twitch, eyes darting over to the cocky look now being worn by Brock’s… something. Brian didn’t like the weird bitterness that jumped over his taste buds, but he tried not to let his lips drop down to a frown. His hand was casual when it dropped under the front desk to clench. Of course. Why hadn’t he thought about this before? He couldn’t be the only one to realize how amazing Brock was. It was so obvious that Brock had a- “I’m his best friend.” 

“Marcel’s my best friend.” Brock answered without missing a beat, though he seemed to lack the awareness to pick up on the glint of mischief that fueled his friend’s wink. Brian blinked for a moment, though it took less time to realize what had happened; this guy was trying to see how Brian would react to Brock being taken. Which meant that even though he’d never been to the gym, the friend knew of Brian. He didn’t like being played, but he’d trade the moment of embarrassment if it meant Brock talked about him outside of their gym meetings. “This is Mini, or Craig.”

“They call you Mini cause of your dick size?” It didn’t mean he couldn’t get his own shot in, though. The blunt comment made an interesting noise come from Brock, but Mini rolled with it. 

“You wanna find out yourself?” The obnoxious wink was dramatic, and Brian felt a kindred spirit in Craig. He snickered at how mortified Brock look at their exchange. 

“Craig!”

“What? Obviously he’s not straight, look at his hair.” 

“Hey, thanks for noticing.” The hat that Tyler had mandated he wore hung on his belt loop. He was hoping to keep it off long enough for Brock to see him, and the technical loophole he found in ‘wearing it on his person’ would be funny to watch Tyler steam over. He glanced to Brock, catching how the eyes ducked away from him to send a stern look at Craig. 

“I didn’t bring you here to-”

“Oh, right! My recon.” Brian wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear that, but Mini didn’t look to care when he dropped his hands flat onto the counter, peering up at Brian over his glasses. “So, as nice as calling you ‘hot gym guy’ has been for the past couple weeks, it’s really too long and has no cool acronym to use in public. You are pretty good-looking, so the name’s not wrong, but I think we should just clear the air; what’s your actual name?”

“Craig!” The pitch that Brock hit was impressive and clarifying to Brian, who took the moment to think over his previous conversations with him. Sure enough, despite Brian pouring out different nicknames and variations of Brock’s name, there had never been a rebuttal. At times he had looked flustered or nervous, but Brian had simply contributed that to his twitchy nature. Had all of that anxiety been because he didn’t know Brian’s name? Turning his attention slowly, he took in how Brock’s glare was significantly weaker with the flush of his face. It was obvious now that Mini’s question had been something Brock talked to Craig about, but didn’t have enough guts to ask himself. Mini looked like the cat that ate the canary when he shrugged at Brock’s heated stare. 

“I really do suck at the whole spy thing.”

“I cannot believe that you really just- this wasn’t what we said you’d- why are you like this?” Flustered Brock normally made Brian happy, but sympathy was in the front of his mind at seeing how distraught his new friend was.  

“I don’t mind telling you,” he offered up, hoping he didn’t send Brock running again by addressing the elephant in the room. “Really, if you’d asked me earlier, I wouldn’t have minded.” 

“I’d spent all this time talking to you, and I didn’t know your name. I thought it’d be kind of weird to ask after our first conversation,” Brock defended, and Brian knew the feeling. 

“Okay, explanations later. Name now.” Mini didn’t seem to be in the same understanding mood, arms crossed over the counter while he nodded at Brian’s nametag. “Because I’ve been staring at this chicken scratch for two minutes and I don’t know what language you wrote it in, but it’s not English.” 

“Alright, drama queen,” Brian teased, though he didn’t pull any of his attention from Brock’s hopeful stare. “It’s-”

“Brian!” It wasn’t him who spoke his name, but Tyler, whose glare looked ready to kill when storming out from the storage closet. “If you don’t put that hat on your damn head, I will make you eat it.”

“Brian?” From the corner of his eye, he picked up how Mini scrunched his nose and waved a hand to the side. “Blah, how boring.”

“I think it’s nice,” Brock replied, and Brian realized how quickly he didn’t care about anyone else’s opinion. 

“I think he’s going to be jobless if he doesn’t put his hat on.” Tyler looked unamused by their conversation, but Craig’s curiosity seemed to rise when he glanced the taller man’s way.

“Wait, who are you?”

“Tyler, the owner of this gym. Got a problem with that?” Brian knew there was a reason Tyler rarely talked to new clients, leaving that job to himself or Anthony; his people skills were shit. But Mini didn’t seem to mind, his hum filled with mischievous intent. 

“Just wanted to know where I can sign up. If I get to look at you each time I work out, I’ll be practically living here. Might even do yoga. Heard it helps you be more flexible.” Mini emphasised his claim with an eyebrow wiggle that made Brian snort, Brock sigh (how often did this trainwreck of flirting happen?) and Tyler glare before he stormed away. 

“He could literally break you,” Brian clarified, though the threat only seemed to widen Craig’s grin. 

“I live for the challenge.” Then Mini was snatching one of the application forms, moving to the chair to settle in and begin the process. Brian was amused by the turn of events, and the slight smile that crossed Brock’s face when he shook his head was enough to give Brian a boost of confidence. 

“When your friend’s done with the form, give him this.” Making sure to grab two, Brian held out the schedules to Brock with a shrug. “It’s got our classes on there, as well as the information for our trainers. Names, phone numbers and emails you can reach us at. We do classes like yoga, pilates, fat burning, even some cardio kickboxing. You get in for free if you’re a gym member. You should check one of ‘em out.”

“I… I think I will.” Brock’s nod was more to himself than Brian when he looked down at the paper, taking a few seconds to look it over before he spoke again. “Thanks, Brian.” 

“Anytime, Brocky.” The warm exchange of glances they shared was nice, and it was one of the first times Brock didn’t shy away from their connection. The warmth in his stomach fluttered for a moment, but he didn’t try to push down the sensation. 

“When this thing asks if I need any accommodations-” Mini’s voice broke the moment like glass, both jerking their heads over to look at how his teeth chewed on the pencap through his words. “would it be considered sexual harassment if I put Tyler’s dick?” 

“I should go help him before he gets banned for life.” This time, when Brock made his exit, it wasn’t hurried or flustered. For once, Brian didn’t feel like Brock wanted to get away from him. And when Brian gave him a thumbs-up during his work out, the wave he got in return was bright and confident. 

Brian really loved Wednesdays.

And that’s it for this drabble part. Hope you’re enjoying the story because it’s been fun to write. As always, love, reblog, and let me know what you think! <3

[lastsonlost]

I heard a story about a woman who knew her husband had left her when she came home from work and their Alexa was missing.

The woman put something in the oven and said, “Alexa! Set the timer.”

Alexa did not respond.

“Alexa?”

The woman searched her house. Her husband had packed his bags, moved out, and taken Alexa.

This will never happen to me because I am the kind of woman who will never have an Alexa, because I will never let another woman’s name be said more than my own, in my home. 

Or anywhere else.When my husband and I stayed at The Wynn Resort and Casino in Las Vegas, every room came with Alexa. Two robes, electric blackout drapes, HBO, and Alexa.Alexa was beige and sat on the beige desk and blended into the beige wallpaper. She looked like one of those toads that blends into a desert. You don’t see it until it blinks.

 And then it is all you see. Breathing and blinking and listening and looking at you. Blink.We overheard our hotel neighbor get his wife in the mood. “Alexa! Play Stevie Wonder!”Alexa said, “Playing Stevie Wonder on SiriusXM.”And then: “Alexa! Play ‘My Cherie Amour’!”Alexa said, “Playing ‘My Cheri Amour.’”And then, through muffled cries of passion: “Alexa! Play ‘Very Superstitious’!”Alexa said, “I’m having trouble understanding you. Would you repeat that?”“Play ‘Very Superstitious’!”“Do you mean, ‘Superstition’?”“Yes!”“Ok. Playing ‘Superstition’.”

Yes, during a game of Tune in Tokyo with his wife, our neighbor had a full-on conversation with another woman. Robot lady or not, that is an open marriage. And my marriage is as shuttered up as a beach house in a hurricane.I called housekeeping to have Alexa removed from our room.

No, I did not think my husband would fall in love with Alexa the same way some Japanese men marry their Nintendo virtual girlfriends. But you can never be too sure. These things happen. And Alexa knows all of your man’s things.Alexa is never impatient or sullen or moody or mad. She never gets her period, so she never gets PMS. Menopause and gravity are as hysterical as Chip and Dale. Alexa speaks only when spoken to. She sits at the ready, ready to serve.

You’d call me crazy if I let another woman sit in the corner of my bedroom, all day, every day; never sleeping, or in want of food, water, chitchat, or a toilet; able to summon my husband’s every whim from Amazon like a modern day Barbara Eden in a bottle.“Alexa! Order a cooling eye mask and a box of Nicorette.”“Yes, Master.” Blink.Nuh-uh, no way. I Dream of Jeanie genie, Jeff Bezos robot lady, or Playboy centerfold — they are all the same to me. I ain’t letting none of them in my house. Because it’s my house and my husband is mine. I’m not jealous, I’m territorial.

It’s not that I don’t trust my husband. I trust him.But, it’s like Mama used to say when I started to drive, “I trust you, Helen Michelle, I just don’t trust the rest of the world.” Mama taught me: “Before you get in a car, check the backseat for a crouched murderer; and then check under the car because that’s where murderers like to hide and slice your ankles.”Mama taught me: “Before you get in a car, check the backseat for a crouched murderer; and then check under the car because that’s where murderers like to hide and slice your ankles.”I’m such a defensive driver, I haven’t driven since I was 19. So when it comes to my marriage, I’m a defensive wife.

Im not going to let my husband and thereby my marriage be preyed upon. We’re all human and susceptible to temptation. Honestly, if fold-out Farrah Fawcett came to life in that red one-piece, she’d have my hall pass. Hall passes are imaginary Get Out of Jail Free cards that married people give each other to fantasize about cheating with celebrities or dead people, before they got old or died. But, a fantasy is cheating. 

That’s why you keep it to yourself. My husband and I do not have hall passes.If my husband cheats on me in my dreams, I wake up furious. Or I used to. A few years back, I made it a New Year’s resolution to stop chastising him as soon as he opened his chocolaty brown eyes because, as he has said: he didn’t DO anything.If my husband cheats on me in my dreams, I wake up furious.My husband never does anything. So, I trust him. I just don’t trust the rest of the world.When I went on book tour for three weeks, my husband lost seven pounds and I treated his healthy choices as a personal affront. In my absence, he’d ordered twenty-one lunches and twenty-one suppers from Chop’t Creative Salad Company. 

So, forty-two salads.To me, a salad bar is as foreboding as a sex dungeon: chilly, and laid out with objects that I would never dare handle. I mean, Beets? Jicama? How do you even even begin to peel and cook those things? I imagined a Chop’t lady salad-chopper, clad in a latex apron and stud collar, side-stepping along a smorgasbord of kink, asking in the desensitized tone of a 9–1–1 operator: “And what else?”“Ball gag.”“And what else?”“Anal beads.”“And what else?”“Avocado”“Avocado is $1.99 extra

.”“Ok.”“And what else?” Blink.Ifeed my husband pasta, potatoes, gluten, and carbs. I feed him these things because they make his eyes roll back in his head and he makes a little noise. I like to make him make that little noise, and Lipitor be damned, I will continue to make the food that makes him make that little noise until our hearts burst and we die.And I make spaghetti. My husband has loved and eaten my spaghetti for twenty-some years. He loves my spaghetti and I am quite sure it is one of the many reasons why he married me.

 My spaghetti started out as a jar of Ragu and a pound of ground round; but with age and experimentation, developed into hand-rolled lamb and pork meatballs simmered in a homemade marinara, topped with sautéed mushrooms. Same dish, new tricks. But it’s still my spaghetti. Or as I like to call it: The Usual, Enhanced.When my husband eats forty-two salads while I’m out of town, I get nervous because someone gave my husband something I could have, but didn’t.I asked him: “Do you want me to make salads?”My husband said, “Maybe sometimes.”I asked: “Do you want me to buy a cat-o’-nine-tails and walk you around the living room on a leash?”“What? No. Why would you ask me that?”“Just checking.”After all, we’ve spent half our lifetimes doing The Usual, Enhanced in bed. And for ages, I’ve worn pajamas with my married initials monogrammed on the pocket. Nothing says, Let’s get it on like embroidery. But you never know. 

So, every few years, it’s polite to ask.Because I respect my marriage.To people who are not respectful of my marriage, I am not polite.There are marital lines you should not cross. And as a defensive wife, it’s my place to point them out to you. Usually it takes one comment from me for you to learn where the lines are. Once you identify them, we’ll get along fine; and you can maneuver around those lines like Tom Cruise did in that roomful of lasers in Mission Impossible.A man at our home poker game had the habit of getting up from his seat to rub other men’s shoulders. I was the only woman at the table, and he knew better than to lay hands on me, but when he put his meat hooks onto the bare skin of my husband’s neck, I said, “Get your hands off my husband!”“What?” he laughed.All the men laughed.I said, “Would you massage another man’s wife?”Message received.

Other helpful hints include: Don’t call, text, or email my husband to make social plans, contact me. Don’t give my husband a gift, because I will construe whatever it is as too personal. Don’t talk about my husband’s butt, only I get to talk about his butt. Don’t post a picture of my husband with his shirt off on your Facebook page. No, it doesn’t matter that he was sitting on softball bleachers with six other men who had their shirts off on the hottest day in history. He is half-naked, and that glistening sun-kissed chest is mine, not yours to share.And I ain’t sharing.Those who don’t take my warnings seriously, fall off our Christmas card list. Sometimes, I let them live on in infamy with little nicknames like Baby Fish Mouth and The Drip. I can’t tell you what those nicknames stem from, or what those women did to offend me; because if they recognize themselves in print, won’t my face be red? So, let’s just say, they did something inappropriate in front of my husband. Like commando cartwheels. And then, after I expressly told them not to, cartwheeled again.Not everyone who bothers me is such a femme fatale.

 A femme fatale used to be a 1940’s black-and-white movie actress, who smoked Pall Malls with a cigarette holder and could seduce a walnut; nowadays it’s any woman who’s younger and has a waist cinched like a Go-Gurt. But I’m an equal-opportunity hand-slapper. And no one deserves to get her hand slapped more than a person who tries to bust the chops of my marriage.At a party, in front of me and a bunch of guests, a woman grabbed my husband’s left hand, and asked him where his wedding ring was. In truth, there have been three such women at three such parties. And the only reason any of these women would call attention to a missing wedding ring is to imply that my husband is in the market to cheat. My husband is Greek and thereby wears his ring on his right hand.

 He held up his right hand and showed this woman his ring.The woman said, “Oh.”And then I asked that woman in front of my husband and that very same bunch of guests: “Do you have many women friends?”The woman said, “No.”I said, “That kind of comment is why.”When I told my friend Hannah about this, she said, “I don’t remember what you did years ago, but I figured out real-quick that I wasn’t supposed to say nice things about his suits.”I said, “I probably dumped a bowl of spaghetti over your head.”Hannah said, “No it wasn’t that.”“Did I tell you flat out: don’t talk about my husband’s suits.”Hannah said, “I think you gave me a look.

”Yeah, I can give a rough look. There’s nothing scarier than a happy peppy woman going dark in an instant. It’s like a Raggedy Ann doll foaming at the mouth. You see that once, you don’t ever want to see it again.And Hannah hasn’t. A benefit of never again crossing one of my marital lines is that I am as fiercely appreciative of, loyal to, and protective of our friendship.My friend Ann says, “Your ferocity is how you show love.”I love my husband so much, I tell him: “If you cheat on me, I am going to jail. Because I will murder you. I have no fear of prison. I can be somebody’s bitch in two seconds.”My husband has never cheated on me.

 I trust him because he knows my rules apply to him too.He may compliment another woman’s intelligence, sense of humor, career, and accomplishments; but he may not compliment her appearance. He may hug a female friend hello (upon her initiation), but he may not otherwise touch her unless he’s administering the Heimlich maneuver, which out of respect for me, he has never bothered to learn. He doesn’t need to know the Heimlich maneuver, because I know the Heimlich maneuver, and the latest CPR method, and how to use an airport defibrillator. My husband knows how to dial 9–1–1.A dispatcher asks, “9–1–1, what’s your emergency?”“I’d like a serving platter for our twentieth wedding anniversary.”“And what else?”“Roses.”“And what else?”“Chocolates.”“Soft center or nuts?”“My wife isn’t nuts.”Blink.

[hellas-himself]

Crack Ship Holidays

Friendsgiving Pt. 4 

“I love that vermillion, Cora. Good choice,” I say as Cora dips her brush into the paint again. She beams at me and I pat her shoulder before continuing on. I have the kindergarteners and first graders painting to their hearts’ content. ‘What do you think of when I say the word autumn?’ Some children are painting leaves, others foxes and just a mess of color, and I love it.

Ten minutes before class is over, I show them how to clean up their brushes. How to store them. We have a few hiccups, but it’s nothing I can’t fix. I have second and third grade working on watercolor galaxies and reflections in a body of water. 

Fourth grade is my last class before lunch. Aelin’s goddaughter, Evangeline, had volunteered to help me with our lesson in shadows and light. She sits on a chair in the front of the class while another student shuts the lights off. I turn on all four studio lights and Evangeline tries not to laugh at the sudden focus on her.

“Ms. Archeron?”

I look over to see Heather raising her hand.

“Hm?”

“Who was that guy who carried the lights in for you?”

I smirk. Cassian had driven me to work this morning to help me bring them in. He had kept them for me in the attic at home all this time-

“A friend,” I say and make my way to the front of the classroom.

“Your special friend?”  

“Yes,” I say, and get a bunch of little laughs and snickering. “In fact, he’s an artist as well. And what I’m showing you today is something he has to do every day. But in order to shade and highlight, we have to understand our source of light and how that light reflects back onto our subject.”

*

Aelin and I sit in the teachers’ lounge at lunch time. She’s grading papers while I heat up our lunch; Cassian made me so much food I decided to split it between the both of us.

“How are you holding up?” she asks as I set a plate down before her.

“It’s going pretty well. I think I’m going to keep it simple. We only have two days of school this week and it seems pointless to throw something new at them just to have to do it again after break.”

“Smart.” She pushes her papers aside and pulls the plate closer to herself. “Does Cassian always make you lunch?”

I laugh. “No. Sometimes we go somewhere to eat.”

“I wish Ro worked a little closer. I mean, I wanted to be closer to home- there’s a school by our house but it wasn’t a good fit.”

“He works with Elide’s husband, right?”

Aelin rolls her eyes. “Lorcan. And all his other ridiculous friends. If you were single, I’d totally hook you up with one of them. I swear they all look like they’ve walked out of a runway or something.”

“I feel the same way about Rhys and Azriel.”

“You all seem really close… How did you meet?”

“We grew up together… Mor and I became friends in like… third grade. Rhysand’s parents adopted Cas and Azriel and pretty much raised Mor, too. So we’ve kinda always been together. I started dragging Lucien along with me to get him out of the house and the rest is history.”

Aelin laughs. “That’s… That’s cute.”

“What about you and Rowan?”

She sighs. “I hated his guts when I met him. He’s my cousin Aedion’s best friend so he was always at my house on weekends and afterschool when they had football practice. He irritated my soul.”

“When did it change?”

“Oh, it never changed. He gets on my nerves but I love it. I love him- we’ve been through a lot of shit together.”

Aelin’s eyes widen and she reaches into her back pocket for her phone.

“Speak of the devil,” she murmurs and answers it. “Hiiiiii handsome. Come say hi to Feyre.”

Aelin moves to fit me in the screen with her despite his protests. Rowan doesn’t even have a shirt on.

“Hey, Feyre! Forgive her- I’m at the gym, so…”

“Understood,” I say with a laugh.

“Cassian made us lunch,” Aelin says to him and before she moves the phone away, I can see the frown on his face. “It’s amazing.”

She looks my way and winks.

*

Sixth grade is packing up for the day. I gave them free reign to choose what they worked on today and only interceded when asked. I had some working on pencil sketches, others on acrylic paintings. One girl brought copic markers to class and was working on a little comic strip that I immediately fell in love with. Pastels, oils and watercolors- I gave permission to a group in the back that wanted to spray paint this random piece of plywood that had been sitting in the closet. No one knew why or how it got there.

The door opens and I look up at the clock before I look at who walked in. Cassian grins and gives the class a quick hello. I get up from my chair and blush when the kids start teasing as fourth grade had.

“Class, this is Cassian. Cas, these are my sixth graders.”

“Is that a tattoo?” someone asks. When I look, Alice was holding up her hand.

“Uh, yeah. I’m a tattoo artist,” Cas answers rather bashfully. And the class collectively loses their shit. I cover my mouth, and try not to laugh as question after question gets thrown at him.

“Alright, alright, guys,” I say at last. “We’ve got like… two minutes before the bell rings. If you want, I can ask the principal to have him-”

I get interrupted by multiple voices already agreeing to have Cassian come to class. I laugh it off and wrap my arms around his. I lead him to my desk and have him sit in my chair before I go to lean on the desk.

“I’m really proud of the work you did today,” I say. “If you haven’t already done so, I need the entry slips for the winter art show. If you want to but haven’t come up with an idea, I have no issue helping you figure that out.”

After a chorus of thank yous, the bell rings. I wait until the last kid walks out to push myself off the desk and tie up my hair.

“I have to put away some stuff, then we can go,” I say and Cassian gets to his feet.

“Tell me what to do,” he says to me and rolls up his sleeves.

*

I lock the classroom and look at Cassian who is holding my bag.

“All done,” I say and reach out for the bag. He raises a brow.

“I’ve got it, bunny.”

“Well, if you insist.” I bat my lashes at him and he laughs as he reaches out for my hand.

“I do,” he says and we walk towards the front office.

“Are you up for going with me to the store?” he asks. “I need to start the pernil for Thursday.”

“Of course! I’m making apple pie, remember?”

Cassian flashes me a grin. “You’ll make one just for us, right?”

His voice is conspiratorial and I want nothing more than to push him against the lockers and kiss him.

“What kind of question is that, Cassian?”

“Just making sure,” he says innocently. I open the door that leads into the main office.

“I love you,” I say and briskly turn the corner.

“I love you, too, bunny.”

Cassian nearly bumps into me when I stop suddenly. Tamlin… Tamlin is here.

“Bunny, what-”

I want to walk away but I can’t move. Briar notices me and she beams.

“Feyre!” she exclaims and walks around her desk. “I’m so glad I caught you.”

Cassian stands beside me and I don’t miss the way Tamlin blanches slightly.

“This is my boyfriend, Tamlin,” she says cheerfully and takes his hand. “Tam, this is Feyre, the new art teacher I was telling you about.”

He gives me a curt nod.

“That’s her boyfriend, Cassian. He’s just…” She sighs wistfully. “He helped her set up class this morning. He’s an artist, too!”

I feel Cassian take my hand and I find my ability to speak again.

“Well, thank you for that, Bri… But we have to go-”

“Oh, yeah! Friendsgiving, right? I was telling Tam about it but our parents are so… traditional.”

“Bronn invited us for dinner on Friday,” Tamlin says, his voice rough. Briar laughs and gently taps her temple.

“Silly me, I forgot! Well. I don’t want to keep you. We should hang out some time! Maybe a double date or something.”

“Yeah,” I say with a laugh and look up at Cas.

“There’s a movie in the park coming up,” Cassian says to Briar. “Rowan invited us, I don’t think he’d mind if you tagged along.”

Aelin would no doubt eat Tamlin alive, but I don’t say that. I merely smile.

“Think about it,” Cassian continues, his nonchalance is enviable. “Well, it was nice meeting you, but bunny and I really gotta go. Our dog gets antsy after a while.”

Briar waves at us enthusiastically while Tamlin just remains frozen in place. I hear Briar excitedly gushing over Cassian’s pet name for me and I swear I hear Tamlin groan. Cassian hauls my bag over his shoulder as I open the front door, but Cassian doesn’t let me go, even after he puts the bag in the back seat. He opens my door but instead of lifting me up into my seat, he pulls me in for a hug.

“Want me to take you home?” he asks me softly.

“No… No, I want to go with you.” I pull back enough to look up at him. “I need it.”

“Alright.”

“And… we’ll talk about it later?”

Cassian nods and kisses me.

*

I have my laptop open on the kitchen counter playing Christmas music. Cassian has his hair tied up and is wearing grey sweatpants and a white shirt- no doubt on purpose. God, he looks fucking good. Valo is pretty bummed that Cassian won’t let him near the pernil for Thursday so he’s moping at my feet.

“Has it been like an hour?” I ask Cas as I look over the apples sitting in the bowl.

“No,” Cas replies with a chuckle. “I thought you put a timer on.”

I shrug. “I forgot.”

Cassian looks back at me and just smiles and shakes his head. He goes back to seasoning the pernil and I slide off the barstool.

“Need help?” I ask and he shakes his head.

“You being here is enough.”

I have no witty come back. Nothing funny to say. Last November, I was a wreck. I had only gone to our annual Friendsgiving dinner because Cassian and Mor practically dragged me out of bed…

I blink- Cassian kissed me.

“Get out of your head,” he says softly.

I lean back against the counter, mindful of all the bottles and glass containers of seasonings he has around him.

“I don’t know how I would have reacted if you hadn’t been there,” I say quietly. “But at least I know why he’s stopped calling me.”

“He was still calling you?”

I give him a nod.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, the last time he did, Nesta showed up at the apartment and then you came over and stayed the night. It didn’t really matter by then.”

Cassian smirks.

“She’s too nice for him,” Cassian says. “I can’t even imagine how that happened.”

“I wonder if Aelin’s met him.”

“Aelin would never keep her dislike for someone to herself. Believe me.”

I roll my eyes, but he’s right.

“Can I ask you something, Cas?”

“Mhm.”

“Will it bother you… me working there and him knowing, I mean.”

Cas sighs. “I always worry that you’ll bump into him when I’m not around… I see your sister every now and then- it’s not completely avoidable. But this is your career. He can’t take that from you.”

He leans over and kisses me again.

“I’ll never let him hurt you again.”

“I know.”

Cassian’s phone goes off and he asks me to check it for him. I let out a laugh.

“Thank you,” I say as I turn the alarm labeled ‘REMOVE THE APPLES, BUNNY’ off and lock his phone.

*

I wake up to Cassian’s alarm. I reach over to find his side of the bed cold. With a groan I get up and crawl over to his side of the bed and shut the damn alarm off. I hear the back door open and close, Valo’s excited bark at whatever Cassian is saying to him.

After washing up and throwing on one of his shirts, I go find him. The second I open the door I can smell the food in the kitchen. It smells like heaven. When I walk into the kitchen, Cassian is by the stove. The pernil is in the oven and on the stove is what I assume to be breakfast.

“It’s so early Cas,” I say with a yawn.

“The pernil wasn’t going to cook itself, bunny.”

I make my way to him and hug him from behind. He puts his hand over mine.

“Go back to bed,” he says softly. “I know you’re off for the rest of the week.”

“Your phone doesn’t think so.”

Cassian chuckles. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I say with a sigh. “I get to be with you longer.”

School had ended early on Tuesday and we had yesterday off as well. I had spent the day cleaning the house and playing outside with Val.

“Now that you’re awake, I can get started on the coquito.”

“Hm… Now you’re talking.”

*

“Hey, bunny, everything is in the truck,” Cas says. I look through the mirror to see him peeking through the door.

“I’m done.” I look back in the mirror and give myself a quick once over. Cassian walks into the bathroom and I can’t help but blush by the way he’s looking at me.

“I really like that skirt,” he says as he comes to stand behind me.

“Yeah? I like your shirt.” My deep red mini skirt matches his button up shirt. I have an oversized long sleeved shirt tucked into it and black tights with heeled boots. I like his black pants too, but he already knows that.

“You look beautiful, bunny.”

“Thank you, handsome.”

I turn to face him and give him a kiss.

“Let’s get Val and get out of here,” he says, and kisses me again.

*

There are spots in my vision from all the pictures we have taken. Rhysand’s mom insists on a big family picture every holiday- this year is no exception. They have always treated me like family, and I was always amidst the pictures taken for any event and holiday but this year… This year Adela ushers me away from the camera on the tripod and has me stand with Cassian.

“Don’t be silly,” she says as she smooths my hair and pinches my cheek. “You’re in the Christmas card this year, too, hija.”

I do my best not to burst into tears as we wait for the picture to be taken. Adela asks us to take a few more “just in case”. Val sits happily at our feet while Az puts Iliana down to stand. After the fourth picture, Vincente calls for coquito. Helion and Aurelie arrive right on time for dinner, as do Amren, Varian and Andromache. We take another picture to include them as well.

Rhys carves the turkey stuffed with mofongo that he and Lucien made while Cassian handles the pernil. We say grace solely for Adela and Vinny’s sake. Iliana tells us all how she stopped her teacher’s lesson about Thanksgiving to tell her that the textbook was wrong and that the lesson was based on lies.

“She wasn’t very happy with me, but she said sorry and explained uh… what was that word?” Iliana looks at her father who looks ridiculously proud of his daughter.

“The white-washing of history,” Az offers and she beams at him.

“That! I didn’t get in trouble for that.”

“No, you were suspended for fighting with that Hybern girl,” Elain mutters.

“You did what now?” Cassian asks and Iliana crosses her arms.

“She called me stupid and said she didn’t care about what I was saying.” She looks so much like Elain right now it’s astounding. “Then she said something nasty about brown people like me so I gave her something to be mad about.”

That is a line straight out of Elain’s book.

“We had to meet with the girl’s parents.” Elain rolls her eyes. “It’s disgusting that people teach their kids to be so hateful.”

“I have never seen two full grown adults look so ashamed after you spoke to them,” Az says teasingly.

“The bitch tried blaming Lia for her daughter’s bullshit,” Elain snaps and Az just leans in to kiss her.

“I know, babe.” He chuckles and she rolls her eyes.

“Are you okay?” I ask Iliana. She finally loses that haughty look and sighs.

“I was sad for a little bit, Auntie Feyre…” Iliana musters up a smile. “I only got suspended on Tuesday. That cabrona is in trouble for more days and isn’t gonna get to go to the museum next week.”

“Iliana Gabrielle,” Elain says sternly. “Language.”

It doesn’t help that everyone laughs. Elain just sighs and starts to laugh, too.

After dinner, Vinny brings out the cuatro and the singing begins. Everyone takes part in decorating the tree while coquito is passed around. We made a virgin batch for Iliana and anyone driving home- in my case, me. Cassian has rolled up the sleeves to his shirt and unbuttoned his shirt enough to let his tattoos peek through.

“I am honestly surprised I got engaged before you,” Rhys says. I roll my eyes.

“We’ve been together barely a month.”

“That’s bullshit.” I glare at him and he laughs. “You two have been together since New Year’s. That’s almost a year.”

“And you and Luce have been together since your Freshman year of college.”

“Fair point.” He looks pensive. I put an arm around his waist and lean into him.

“I am so happy for you two.”

“I know.”

“No, really. I know we all cried and said our congratulations that night but… I am really happy for you. I love you both so much.”

Rhys hugs me and presses a kiss to my temple.

“I know, darling. And we love you… more than words could ever explain.”

*

“Feyre, hija,” Adela says to me. “Leave that for Rhysand. Come sit.”

With a blush I pass the knife to Rhys who wastes no time in cutting into the pie. I make my way to Cassian but Adela pats the empty space beside her.

“Ma…” Cassian sounds worried but Adela ignores him.

“I want to share something with you,” she says to me and Cassian’s eyes widen. Az laughs and throws an arm around Cassian’s shoulder.

“You’re a taken man now, manito. It’s a rite of passage.”

Cassian elbows him which only makes Azriel laugh even more. Adela sets the album on her lap and opens it up.

“Look at this jamoncito,” Adela says sweetly and looks up at Cassian who looks like he wants to die. “Baby pictures are rare… but they’re precious.”

Cassian hadn’t been adopted until he was in grade school, that much I knew. I noticed the way Adela’s eyes welled up with tears as she carefully brushed her fingers over his baby pictures. She lets out a sigh and turns the page. She laughs and taps a picture of Cassian as a two-year-old, sitting on a towel at the beach with snails in his hands.

“Mami, please,” Cassian pleads but she waves him off.

There are very few pictures of him as a toddler. But he was the cutest baby I’ve ever seen.

“You were so fat,” I say happily. My heart feels tight in my chest- I can picture our own child together and I bite my tongue. “I could eat you up.”

“This is the day he came home for good,” she says as she touches a picture of Cassian standing outside of their house between Adela and Vinny. He’s smiling and his hair is a mess of curls. I had never seen him with short hair before. Then there were pictures of birthdays and his first time on a bike. Pictures of him with Rhys and Az in their bathing suits by the pool, the three of them smiling. I’m in some of the pictures and one of them brings me pause. Cas and I are asleep on the sofa- I remember that day. My parents had been fighting nonstop and Nesta had gotten in the middle of it. Elain and I rode our bikes to their house but it had rained so much, I lost control of the bike and fell. Elain had helped me sit up before she left me to find them and Cassian had come for me with Rhys. Rhys rode my bike back to his house and Cassian had ridden his bike with me sitting on the seat. Adela had cleaned up my knees and wrists, put me in some of Rhys’ pajamas while she threw my clothes in the washer. Cassian and I had spent hours coloring and playing on the Nintendo until we all went to the living room to watch novelas with Adela.

I look up at Cassian and he’s visibly concerned. I offer him a smile as Adela turns the page. I remember the middle school pictures- Cassian after his first football game. Homecoming. Cassian and Mor dancing at a Christmas party. There’s even one of Cassian diving into the water during a family vacation. Though Cassian smiles in most of the pictures, I remember how much he struggled with depression, with a self-hatred that had turned into recklessness that only worsened as he got older. There is a picture of us on his motorcycle- neither of us are wearing helmets and I’m waving at Adela. I remember that day- he’d taken me to my first house party and I’d gotten shit faced for the first time in my life. I cringe.

Cassian sighs with relief as we reach the end of the album. He gets up from the sofa and walks towards us and snatches the album from her hands. Adela takes advantage of that to hug me tight.

“I keep telling Vinny how lucky we are that our boys are happy,” she says and kisses my cheek.

“I’m lucky, too,” I find myself saying. “I didn’t have a family until I met you. I owe Mor everything.”

Mor is in tears but I know that it’s mostly all the rum she’s had tonight. I get up to hug her as she begins to weep much to Andromache and Rhysand’s amusement. Cassian pulls me away once Mor is calling for another song and Az is handed the cuatro to play. He leads me to the kitchen and surprises me with a hug.

“Are you alright, bunny?” he asks. He pulls away to cup my face, his eyes searching mine.

“Yeah, I’m great… Why?”

“You looked… spooked.”

“Oh… No. It’s just… You’ve always been there for me and I don’t know. It was a nice reminder of how lucky I am.” I put my hands on his chest. “And seeing you as a baby-”

He sighs. “I can’t believe her.”

“She did this to Rhys and Az, and you laughed at them. But that’s not the point.”

“No?” He brings his hands to my waist. I shake my head.

“Seeing you as a baby… It’s easier to picture what our baby is going to look like- I mean, if we have one.” I don’t know why I’m blushing, we’ve talked about this before.

Cassian smirks.

“And, I don’t know,” I say with a sigh. “You went through so much… But you worked your ass off to work through it. I’m so proud of you, Cas.”

Cassian looks at me in surprise and before my heart can sink at the sight of tears in his eyes, Cassian wraps his arms around me.

“Cas?” My voice is a whisper.

“I love you, bunny,” he whispers back. “Thank you.”

.

.

.

This was so long!!! 

If you haven’t read any of the Elriel holiday shit before, lemme recap on some of the stuff mentioned here. 

Pernil is pork shoulder made for every holiday and major event. I don’t eat it but it is really good. Coquito is a coconut and rum based drink made during the winter holidays. Some people consider it our egg nog which is weird because its not made with eggs (although some people use it and that’s fine- to each their own). Mofongo is fried plantain and garlic and chicharrones(Pork cracklings) made in a ball. It is AMAZING. and inside turkey rather than stuffing- too good. 

Their dad Vinny’s full name is Vincente which is the Spanish form of Vincent. lol 

The word hija means daughter. The word cabrona is the feminine form of goat and is an insult lmao something like bitch, asshole, jerk, etc. Cabron is the male form.

The cuatro is like a guitar but small like a violin, traditionally had only four strings but I believe it goes up to six or eight. Idk my dad makes them and they are just the best. Aguinaldos (our holiday songs) are not the same without it- assume that’s what they’re singing. Azriel calls Cas ‘manito’ which is the shortened form of the word hermano\hermanito which means brother/little brother. I always forget who is the oldest of the 3 but regardless, you can call someone older than you manito or manita because its just another term of endearment. Jamoncito means little ham and I don’t know a single baby that has not been called that. Mami is mom/mommy in this case. Sometimes it’s used affectionately like my grandma will call me mamita or I've even called my daughter that. Some people call their wives/girlfriends mami but we’re not going there lmao Novelas are soap operas and god forbid you change the channel- even if your tia or abuela is not in the room. they’ll know. 

Anyway, there is that. lol I hope y'all had a great holiday. to my surprise, mine was really great. and my grandma’s food was to die for honestly. I also had my goddaughter to myself for 3 days so I was in baby heaven. Thanksgiving marks the beginning of our Christmas and it doesn’t end until the middle of January. ;)

[loverontheleft]

Ready to Leap (4)

AU with B as a band teacher and reader as an English teacher. Fluff and smut anticipated. Chapters 1-3 can be found on my Masterlist.

Brendon x reader. Warnings: language and implied sexual situations. ALSO SOME KILLER FUCKING DIALOGUE; I LITERALLY HIGH-FIVED MYSELF A FEW TIMES (I looked like a goddamn seal). Lesson of the day: it’s important to notice your strengths and validate them.

Word count: 4.2k. Also, I tried some new formatting with the internal thoughts; honestly I was just too lazy to italicize them in the first three chapters but if y’all have a preference just lmk. I don’t think I love it but I’ll do what you want.

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“MS. MILTON. DO YOU KNOW WHAT I HEARD?” You wince at Jessica’s volume.

“Too early to be so loud Jess. We’re in 1st block and you’re at 3rd block volume.”

“I HEARD THAT YOU AND MR. URIE WERE MAKING OUT ON THE MARCHING BAND FIELD YESTERDAY.”

“That’s not true,” Caroline argues from across the room. “They kissed but they weren’t making out.”

“Well, I heard they hooked up.” You can’t tell who that is. Probably Eric.

Caroline comes to your defense. “No, you guys, they only kissed!”

“No, they definitely hooked up.” Brian smirks from the back row. “I saw it.”

You’re done with this. “Everyone.” They freeze at the tone of your voice. You never raise it; you don’t have to. “First, all of you are wrong. I brought him a water bottle. Second, consider your environment. This is a classroom and a place of learning. Respect it as such. Your current topic is inappropriate.” You’re calm and you look at everyone in their desks. “I don’t want to hear anything else about it, understood?”

“I’m just saying Ms. Milton, no one would judge you. He’s so sexy.”

“Jessica!” That’s Caroline. Bless her.

“I mean have you seen his face?” Anna is joining in now. “And his butt? Lord!”

“Anna!” Caroline is probably planning to become a teacher. Or a nun. You’re not sure which.

“He’s super hot Ms. Milton, you should get it.”

“Beth!”

“Ladies! What did I just say?” You’re annoyed now. They can tell. They turn back to face you, chagrin clear on their faces. “I’ll ask again. Am I understood when I say I don’t want to hear anything else about it?” The entire class nods. “Good. Moving on. We’re going back to Beowulf, Canto 11. Brian, you’re up first.” A groan from the back. “You had plenty to say about me, I want to hear what you have to say about Grendel in Canto 11. Don’t make me ask again.” Your voice is level but they can hear the restraint. Everyone, including Brian, knows better than to fuck with you right now.

The rest of class goes much more smoothly, and you feel your shoulders drop. The bell rings. Maybe second block won’t be so - ah, shit. “Ms. Milton, do you know what they’re saying about you and Mr. Urie?” Emily’s eyes are wild and she’s come flying into the room with Stacy and Josh, two other band kids, right behind her. You hold up both hands, hoping to cut her off but it’s no use. “They’re saying you KISSED.”

You laugh. “Oh, is that the worst you’ve heard?” Her jaw drops and you continue. “You three were there and you saw that nothing happened. Don’t let what other people say bother you. I’m fine.” You smile reassuringly and Stacy looks unsure. “Really.”

“Well. If anything did happen -” Stacy starts, and Josh cuts her off.

“The band leadership board supports it.” You act quickly and stifle your laughter. Maybe the worst is a twitch of your lips. Good to know you have their blessing. “After you left, Mr. Urie let us go home 15 minutes early. He’s never done that.” Josh looks impressed.

Hope he went home to take a cold shower after that eyefucking you gave him; you know you did, that white shirt plastered to his chest with sweat had you all - BRAIN. FUCK. Knock it off. “Well, thank you guys. That’s kind of you. I’m sure I had nothing to do with you getting to leave early; you probably earned that with your hard work.” The three of them look at each other and it’s clear they don’t believe you. “Anyway.” You make eye contact with each of them. “If the class isn’t quiet during SSR because they’re discussing this rumor, you three are going to shut it down, yes?” They all nod eagerly. “Good. Thank you.”

There’s some chatter, but the three of them and a few other band kids in your second block quell the gossip and you transition to Beowulf with more ease than first block. You have good students, all in all. The annoying ones don’t ruin it for everyone, and you count yourself lucky.

When the bell rings for third block, you snatch the print-out of the pop quiz you’re giving tomorrow and book it to the copier. You’re feeling lucky; today’s a good day; you’re only going to say nice things to the stupid fucki-...hardworking and tired machine. You round the corner and the juxtaposition of your emotions is harsh. On one hand, Brendon’s back is to you. On the other, he’s writing a sign that says “Out of Order” and taping it to the stupid fucking bitch machine. It’s like your heart went on Tower of Terror. Yanked up, then sent crashing down. Fuck.

“Nooooooo,” you moan, sliding to the floor. He turns, sees you, and smiles wanly.

“I’ve done my best and I can’t get it. I let Jess in the main office know, so hopefully we’ll get a repair guy out here later this afternoon.”

“In time for me to make copies of a pop quiz I’m giving tomorrow?” You look desperate. Copy machines in this school are on strike, if Brendon can’t get this one to work and the repair guy doesn’t come, you’re fucked. He shrugs and offers you a hand.

“Come with me.” You take it and let yourself be pulled to your feet.

“Brendon, cookies won’t fix this.” He grins and shakes his head.

“I have something better than cookies.” You gasp playfully but you follow him back to his office inside the band room. “I have this.” He points to the corner and you turn to him in awe. And then, you’re annoyed.

“You jerk!” You hit his chest lightly. “You’ve been hiding your own copy machine?” He grins and catches your wrist.

“I’ve been saving the public copy machine and saving you time by not making you walk all the way here to me.” You consider this. “It’s for all of the sheet music I have to print. The school didn’t want me holding people up by using teacher’s lounge copiers, so this was a gift from the Band Boosters. You’re welcome to it for as long as you need.”

“This walk isn’t bad. I’d walk a lot farther to get to you.” Fuck. That was out loud. You walk briskly to the machine and start running copies, your head down, praying the comment will go over his head.

He makes a thoughtful sound and says nothing else for a moment. Then, out of nowhere: “You’re wearing pants today.” You give him a weird look over your shoulder. “You can climb the tower this afternoon then. I mean,” you glance again when he pauses and he looks almost nervous. “If you don’t have anything better to do.”

You turn fully, leaning back against the machine. “It’s a Tuesday. What else could I possibly have to do?” He shrugs and you just want to go hug him, he’s blushing and he looks so insecure right now.

“I don’t know, I mean, maybe you’ve got plans with some-”

You cut him off. “I don’t have any plans. With anyone except for you now. I’ll be there.” He breaks out into a smile and the confidence is back. He eyes your outfit and tells you you look good. Your turn to blush. “It’s different. I mean, I am just so used to the skirts…” you trail off, running a finger over the pattern on your ankle pants.

He shrugs. “You look great all of the time. I mean...the students say so. Someone joked you’d win Best Dressed for the senior superlatives.” He grins. “And yeah, it’s a departure from your normal look, but it’s not a bad one by any means.” You’re not sure what to say.

“Thanks.” You collect the copies and look at him and the door. “Any other secret food-based missions we’re going on today?”

He shrugs. “Nothing on my calendar.” Your eyes meet and you blush again. Why are you like this? It’s never been weird before. Those stupid rumors.

“Have you heard th-”

He interrupts you. “The rumors that we kissed and/or made out and/or had sex on the marching field yesterday?” You feel your shoulders drop and you exhale. “Yeah I have.” He looks up at you and grins. “I’d like to think the two of us have a little more class than to go at it on the field.”

You laugh, and the tension is broken. “It’s like they don’t know us at all.”

He stands, stretching. “Exactly. Come on Milton, let’s go get a cookie.”

Turns out there’s a fridge in the student council room too, and you both audibly gasp with glee when you see the carton of 2% milk. You turn to him, looking conflicted, holding a ten dollar bill in your hands. “It’s only Tuesday. Debbie will notice before Friday that they’re running low, right?”

He nods seriously. “She comes in here every day during 4th block. We’ll be fine.” You tuck the ten under the coffee pot and look at him expectantly. He looks back. “Am I making the cookies?” He seems amused when you nod. “Y/n, you know they’re not really better because I dropped the hunks of frozen dough onto the hot surface, and you didn’t, right?”

You shrug, filling two mugs with milk. “But why risk it?” He laughs at your serious expression and gives in, dropping the dough and setting the timer.

“Alright Milton, spill.” You look dubiously from him to the mug of milk in your hands and he rolls his eyes. “Not what I meant. You know,” he nudges your hand with his mug lightly, “your story. It’s been a whole two weeks and I know your name, what you teach, your age, you’re single, and your favorite movie. And,” he grins, “sometimes you disappear on me. I look over and you’re just staring into space.”

You blush. Oh, I could tell you where I’m at, all you have to do is ask. Shut. Up. Brain. “I’m not great with giant vague topics. What do you want to know?”

“Well, I know this isn’t your first year teaching. Where were you before this? What brought you here?”

You look up at him through lowered lashes. “I killed a man.” You can tell from his eyes he doesn’t know whether to believe you or not and you burst out laughing. “Dang Urie, they did a background check on both of us to get hired, remember?” He nudges you again and you fold. “I taught in Texas for 5 years. I grew up there. My parents died when I was 10 and my grandma passed in early February two years ago. Couldn’t stand to be in the area so I moved from Austin to Amarillo. So when my ex from Austin showed up, I did what I do best.” You give him a rueful smile. “I ran.” He is looking at you so softly and you feel the need to comfort him. “I mean. He wasn’t abusive or anything like that. It was just a messy end and he wanted to get back together and I couldn’t - well, wouldn’t. I respect myself too much.” He gives you an encouraging smile. “But he didn’t like hearing ‘no,’ and kept showing up and I just got tired of it. So I called my best friend, she came from Austin, and we starting packing up my apartment. I gave my notice of not continuing my lease, declined to renew my contract, and I sent out my teaching resume, said I’d move really anywhere, and liked y’all the best. So here I am. New start.” He nods slowly, considering this. “What about you? How did Mr. Brendon Urie end up in glamorous Putnam, Connecticut? I know you’re not from here; Tracy in the English department knows everyone and everything from Putnam and she’s got nothing on you except you’ve been here for five years. Hermit.” You point at him playfully.

He shrugs. “I’m a west coast transplant too. Napa Valley, born and raised. Just got tired of it, I guess. Did the same thing as you; except I’ve done all five years here. Got my teaching license and sent out the resume nationally.”

You look at him in disbelief. “You got tired of Napa Valley, where the air smells like wine and the sun is shining almost all the time?” He shrugs again, meeting your gaze. He certainly doesn’t look like he’s got anything to hide. “Okay then.” You nod decisively.

He glances at his watch. “I don’t want to steal all of your planning period. Mine is really a break; we have band after this, so my prep work is minimal. You have to teach.” He looks cautious and you wave away his concerns.

“I’m an insomniac and I’m here when the building opens at 5. I’m super productive in the morning so this is also my break.” He relaxes a little.

“Next question.” He pauses. “I’m going back over the annoying ones your kids asked. Uh. Where do you get your clothes?” He grins. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like someone’s daydream from 1950. You know, the pencil skirts, the sheath dresses...”

You laugh. “That’s the best one I’ve heard yet. My best friend, the one who helped me pack, is a seamstress and she works for the performing arts center in Austin. We both have a very particular style, so she’s made all of my skirts and dresses. The tops and pants are from wherever.” He looks impressed.

“That’s really cool.” He thinks for a moment. “What music do you like?”

You consider. “I’ll really listen to anything. I like most everything, but give the choice, I’ll usually go with some form of alternative pop/rock. Oh, and showtunes. I’m a huge Broadway nerd. Being so much closer to the city is amazing. 3 hours in the car is nothing.”

He nods. “I love Broadway. Do you have a favorite show?”

You groan. “That’s like asking me to pick a favorite child.”

“Wait, do you have kids?”

“Nope. Unless you count the 73 I see on a daily basis.” You grin at him. “Favorite show...favorite show. Uhm. I relate so much to If/Then, but I also love Next to Normal. Fuck, I can’t choose. That creative team is so talented.” You must really look distressed because he places his hand over yours and you shiver at the contact.

“You don’t have to choose a favorite. I’ve seen both of those and they are incredible.” You return the question to him and he thinks for a moment. “Of the classics...probably RENT. Of the contemporaries...Maybe Book of Mormon?” You nod approvingly and he checks his watch again. “We’ve got time for one more if we want to sneak out between lunches. Speaking of lunch, what’s your favorite food?”

“Again, favorite child scenario. I love all food.” You grin and pop the last bite of cookie in your mouth. He laughs and stands up. “And yours?”

He smiles. “Same answer but I’m going to attempt partial credit and give you a restaurant suggestion. The Stomping Ground on Main Street if you haven’t been already. So fucking good.” He extends a hand and you take it, rising to your feet and you leave the room. You stealthily move from the front of the cafeteria to the back, though stealth might not be necessary since the cafeteria is empty except for staff, and you slip through the arts hall door. You pause at his room and he gives you that crooked smile that makes you warm all over.

“I’ll see you later Milton. Practice starts at 4:30 and we’re done at 7:30. Glad you wore pants so I can get you on my tower.” He gives you a quick wink and then he’s disappearing into the room. You’re certain you’re blushing. He knew what he was doing that time. He had to have known.

The fourth block gossip circuit isn’t as bad and yet, in some ways it’s worse. There aren’t any band kids in this class, so no one has even somewhat accurate stories by this point in the day. As a result, the stories are so outrageous, even the students repeating them don’t seem to believe it. They do seem to like Beowulf though.

The bell rings and it’s 3:35 and they’re flying out the door. You’ve officially got an hour til marching band practice starts and that might be just enough time when you factor in traffic.

You end up being exactly right; you’re pulling in beside what you assume is Brendon’s car and it’s, according to your car, 4:20. You open the door, muttering “blaze it” to yourself and grab the cooler from the backseat. You wore shoes with more traction this time so getting down the hill and dragging the cooler isn’t half as bad as yesterday.

He meets you at the base of the tower. “What’s all this?” He looks behind you at the cooler and back at you. “You look great by the way.”

You give him a weird look. “I literally haven’t changed since you saw me two and half hours ago…you on the other hand…” he’s changed into something similar to yesterday’s outfit and he shrugs, either not noticing or reacting to your appreciative glance.

“Thought you should hear it again. What’s in the cooler?”

You smile and bite your lip, feeling the blush creep up your face. His question finally processes. “Oh. I brought you water yesterday so I brought them water today. And snacks! For when they’re done for the day of course.” He looks so happy. It’s a small band, maybe fifty students tops, so this wasn’t a big deal - two packs of water, a bag of ice, and two variety packs of granola bars. You tell him this and he shakes his head.

“No, it is a big deal. I appreciate it. So much.” If you could capture the look on his face right now, you’d look at it every day for the rest of your life.

“It’s the least I can do since I’m hijacking your copier for the foreseeable future. The repair guy didn’t come today.”

He pretends to look annoyed. “Oh no, you’ll be coming to see me all the time and I’ll have to talk to you. Gross.”

You laugh. “I’m not coming for you, Urie,” fuck; phrasing, do better brain, and this time it’s a serious fuck-up because he smirked and raised one eyebrow - fuck fuck fuck. “I’m coming to see that copier of yours.”

“You’ve wounded me. I’ll never recover.” He looks around. Marissa is the only student even remotely nearby; everyone else is unpacking their instruments and talking to others. You can tell she’s waiting for instructions. “Marissa, please start the group warmups. I want the trumpets at least 20% louder, let them know, please. You can use your judgement with the others. Listen closely and remember what we talked about in identifying the ones who are sharp and who are flat. Now go get’em.” She nods eagerly and he sends her off with an encouraging smile. He turns to you. “She’s an excellent drum major and a very gifted flutist. She’s only a junior, so she’s got time, but she’s looking at Berklee in Boston, Juilliard, and Oberlin. I think she’s gonna get in at all of them but I’m biased.” He grins and shakes his head a little. “Sorry. I’m bragging. Let’s get up there. After you.”

You turn to give him a playful grin. “Trying to get a good view, Urie?” Oh, you are shameless.

“No!” He looks horrified. “Honestly, it’s a safety thing. I don’t want you to slip and fall without anyone to catch you.”

“Oh. Well thank you in advance for catching me. I’m accident-prone and I will fall.” You are sure you look embarrassed, not considering the safety of it and saying what you said out loud.

He smirks. “Well I’ll catch you as needed. Also the view thing might also be true, yeah.” You’re laughing as you climb the ladder and he scampers up behind you, sunglasses in place and an extra pair you hadn’t noticed before tucked in his shirt collar. “Here you go.” He hands the other pair to you. “It can get kind of bright when the sun starts to set, if that makes sense.” You nod and accept them gratefully. “Now Ms. Milton.” You look up at him and he looks very serious. “I’d like for you to listen to the trumpets and give me some feedback, and then I want your general opinion on the show.”

“I think I can do that.” Just as the words leave your mouth, the warmups start and as promised, Marissa has the trumpets louder. You smile appreciatively and nod as they run through their scales. “They have a lovely tone. You’ve got one or two who are sharp.” You both wait and Marissa, without hearing you, gives the same feedback. It isn’t long before the show is starting and you’re honestly blown away. You’re leaning slightly over the edge to watch, and your jaw is dropped. Eyes wide, you turn to him excitedly, hitting his arm repeatedly. “Did you see that?!” He grins and nods. The band transitioned seamlessly from interwoven triangles to a full company forward march and it was stunning - you’d never seen it done that well before. “Brendon, this music!” Your eyes are welling up. The show is called Heroes and Villains and what started with a jazzy Superman theme and a riff on The Incredibles has been a wild ride; you’ve just been transported from a full-band, raging interpretation of Dies Irae with something you can’t quite place before it to a soft, lone trumpet playing Taps. “This is gorgeous. Really.” He smiles softly.

“Do you really think so?” You look at him in surprise.

“Uh, yes! It’s amazing!” His smile gets a little bigger but he tries to contain it. It dawns on you. “Did you do this arrangement?” He just looks at you, beaming, and you poke him in the side. “Brendon I don’t know your middle name Urie, did you do this arrangement?” When he nods, you shriek. “Brendon! Damn you for being both so talented and attractive it’s not fair! This is truly incredible, really.”

He grins at you. “You said I’m attractive.” You roll your eyes and shove him lightly. You did say that. Fuck. You wave a hand in front of his face.

“Focus on what’s important here, Urie.” He nods and grabs his megaphone.

“Sounded great everyone. Pack up and enjoy your Tuesday night. Make good choices. Ms. Milton brought water bottles and snacks for you, so grab something on the way out.”

You and Marissa are both staring at him. “Mr. Urie it’s 4:50...we only warmed up and ran it once…” her voice is cautious like she wants her Tuesday night but also doesn’t want to risk her Superior ranking at State. Everyone else meanwhile is either packing up or already packed and flying up the hill.

He beams down at her and drops the megaphone. “And it sounded great. You did wonderfully. Now call that guy you like, Jason or Justin or whatever and let him know you’re free.” She’s gaping at him and he just grins and makes a shooing gesture. “Go on. Text him if you must but make contact. Go go go.” The teenage girl in Marissa’s brain takes over and she’s off the podium, stuffing things in her bag, and racing toward the parking lot. You turn to head down the ladder and he stops you with a grin. “I set them free, not you.” You shiver a little, enthralled. Okay. You’ll bite.

“Fair enough. Okay, first of all, that opening with Superman as a jazz rendition was so fucking cool and it blended into The Incred-what are you doing?” He’s got one hand on your waist and he’s drawing you closer, eyes blazing.

“Focusing on what’s important.” And his lips are on yours and you’re pretty sure this is real. You moan and arch into the kiss, reaching a hand up to get his hat off so you can run a hand through his hair, pulling gently. He gasps into your mouth and his teeth tug at your lower lip, the hand on your waist bringing you closer still.

“God, Urie,” you sigh against his lips and he pauses, using his other hand to cup your face.

“Yes, Milton?”

“Oh thank god. This is real.” You kiss him again, flicking your tongue out over his and when he responds eagerly, really exploring your mouth, you feel your knees start to buckle. You cling to his shirt and he tightens his hand on your waist, wrapping his arm around you now and holding you up and against him. “Told you I’d fall.” You whisper this and he smiles down at you.

“Told you I’d catch you.”

[meltingalphabet]

You don't know what you've got till it's gone

Would you describe yourself as spoiled?

My pencil glided over the paper, a smooth trail of graphite following. With a satisfying scratch, I circled “No.” The smell of fresh paper and pencil shavings took me back to high school. Before I was an adult. Before I knew how difficult life could get.

Would you describe your close friends as spoiled?

I hesitated.

First there was Meredith. Meredith, whose parents made damn sure she never endured hardship. Who paid for her Ivy League degree out of pocket and financed extended trips abroad in the name of their only child’s self discovery. Who owned the luxury apartment Meredith called her own. Who nested her in the comfort of unearned extravagance.

Meredith is an artist, they’d say. Meredith is a tortured soul who needs freedom to work on her novel without the hideous distraction of a 9 to 5. She is a creative who cannot be caged by the struggle of the common folk, but must sit and be and think and ponder and write and give a voice to the common folk and their struggle.

Then there was Erica. Erica, who glided by on her looks. Who didn’t have to work on her personality because she didn’t need one. Who could be rude without consequence. Her instincts unchecked, her id free to roam. Why would she think about you when everyone won’t stop thinking about her? It’s not inconsiderate if there’s nothing to consider. If she forgot who you were, you should’ve made yourself more memorable.

I circled “Yes.”

My eyes scanned the last question.

On a scale of 1-10 with 1 being the least, how appreciative are you of what you have?

What did I have? A shitty job, a tiny overpriced apartment. Jiggly upper arms, frizzy hair. My hand hovered over the 4. Robert’s warm smile. His soft kisses.

Sighing, I circled 8. I had a shelter, a stable relationship, a loving family. Life was good. Even if other people had it better than me.

Around me were 11 other people seated at small identical desks completing short identical surveys. Different shapes and sizes, ages and races. All completely forgettable.

A woman in her mid twenties sat at the front of the room poking at a tablet. She wore a neat expensive looking grey sweater. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun. The desk she sat at was modern but simple, the desktop empty but for a plain water bottle. Both the desk and woman looked like they were from an IKEA catalog. Generic but tidy, desirable but empty.

I walked towards her, my completed survey in hand. She looked up from her tablet with a small smile and gestured to the corner of the desk.

Her voice was smooth but neutral. “Thank you, Laurie.”

I placed my answers face down beside her, completing the nostalgic experience of taking a quiz.

“Please proceed to the waiting room. We will get you once it has been processed.”

Not wanting to make additional noise, I nodded and smiled at her, but she was already looking back at her screen.

An hour later I sat in front of another tasteful but bland desk. Dr. Howden scanned the tablet in front of him, his fingertips pressed together.

Finally, he looked up at me. “Thank you for participating in our study, Ms. Cartland. We here at the Galvin Institute depend on volunteers such as yourself.”

I smiled. $300 to come fill out a survey, yeah no problem mister.

“Of course.” I said politely.

“We’d like to invite you to continue as a participant. The study is 6 days and pays $900 a day, along with a $1,000 signing bonus.”

My mouth fell open. “Sorry, how much?”

Dr. Howden’s smile tightened. “At the completion of the study you will have been awarded $6,400.”

I quickly calculated the cost of my morals. Is it worth $6,400 to inject myself with something that would make me lose all my hair? I shrugged internally. It’ll grow back. Probably. There’s always wigs.

“Is the study risky?”

“Oh no, not at all. All we ask of you is to answer 3 simple questions every day.”

“You just want me to answer questions?”

Dr. Howden opened one of the desk drawers and placed a tablet in front of me. It was identical to both his and the woman from the study’s.

“The Galvin Institute will provide you with this tablet for the duration of the study. Every night at 6pm it will notify you to answer three simple questions. You will then have an hour to answer them. Once your answers are submitted, $900 will be directly deposited into your bank account.”

He looked at me over his wire frames. “Do you accept?”

My heart thudded in my chest. “What happens if I answer incorrectly?”

He smiled again. “The questions are subjective, so there is no wrong answer.”

I bit my lip, looking down at the desktop in front of me. There must be a catch. There’s always a catch. Hesitant to accept his insane offer without some sort of probing, I looked back up. “Can I opt out at any time?”

His smile faltered for a moment before he continued. “Of course, but you will forfeit all payment up to that point.”

I picked up the tablet and examined it. On the back was a subtle green logo with the initials “GI” in a pyramid.

Dr. Howden continued. “The focus of this study is appreciation and gratitude. The questions are designed to encourage self reflection.”

I nodded, “sounds easy.”

“It is!” He said, turning his own tablet towards me to reveal an electronic contract. He held out a thin stylus. “Oh, and please note that your tablet is programmed to only ask the questions and cannot be used for any other purpose.”

The drag of the stylus was smooth and frictionless as I signed my name.

“Thank you, Ms. Cartland. We look forward to working with you here at the Galvin Institute.”

“This has to be a scam.” Robert said, his beer hovering in front of his mouth as he eyed the tablet resting on the table beside us. We had both tried playing with it, but the screen would only illuminate to show a timer counting down to 6pm. No games, no other screens.

I shrugged. “The building was super nice and it all seemed on the up and up. I doubt they’re going to try and use my information to drain my bank account or something. Besides,” I rested my hand on his, “it’s for the wedding.”

He sighed. “You know, you’ve got to stop pushing that.”

I stuck my tongue out at him teasingly.

A loud electric jingle made me jump. The screen of the tablet was now bright white. Black font was neatly written across at the top.

I picked it up as Robert stood to look over my shoulder. On the screen was a question:

What was something bad that happened to you today?

Other than applying for the study my day had been pretty uneventful. I clicked my tongue thoughtfully before answering.

Nothing.

A circle appeared at the bottom right corner that read “submit.” I pressed it and the second question appeared:

What was something good that happened to you today?

I smiled.

Dinner with my boyfriend.

Robert kissed my head as I hit submit.

On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being the least, how appreciative are you of what you have?

The numbers 1 through 10 were beneath in small circles. I felt Robert’s warmth beside me and pressed “9.”

The tablet made a small chime as the words “Thank you!” jumped on screen. Little bits of blue and yellow confetti fell around it before the screen went black again.

My blood vibrated hot beneath my skin as I excitedly logged into my bank’s mobile app. My checking account was, indeed, two grand larger.

“Not a bad day’s work.” Robert said as he returned to his seat.

I woke up the next morning to the shrill sound of my phone ringing. I looked at the clock. 9:31am.

“Ugh, fuck you!” I groaned at the ceiling. I closed my eyes tightly before opening them again, my room slowly focusing around me. Without looking I reached over and yanked it from it’s charger. My phone’s screen was filled with the smiling face of Meredith. I groaned again as I answered.

“Dude, it’s Saturday. What...” A high pitched squeal interrupted me.

“Random House bought my book!!!”

I sat bolt upright. “Sorry, what?”

“Random House, Laurie. Fucking Random House!!”

The meaning of her words slowly dawned on me through the cloud of sleep.

“Random House the publisher bought your book?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yes!! Ah, we need to get coffee NOW!”

Thirty minutes later I sipped my latte while Meredith regaled me with the story.

“I thought it was really weird when they scheduled a meeting first thing Saturday morning, but you know? It’s Random House, so I couldn’t say no! Apparently one of their agents saw some of the chapters I published online and fell in love!! They’re offering me a $20,000 advance!”

I choked on the warm liquid running down my throat.

“I know, right!?” Meredith squealed.

“Twenty grand!?” The words came from my mouth violently as I tried to regain control of my breath. “Twenty grand for your first novel!?”

Meredith nodded, beaming.

“It’s not even done!”

“Oh, I know! I know! But you know what, I think this is really going to help motivate me to finish! My skin is tingling with creative juices!”

Your skin is tingling with $20,000. I bit back my tongue and gave her a weak smile.

“Congratulations Meredith. That’s awesome.”

Meredith and I met in college. We were both wannabe novelists, both women, both freshmen, and both living in Andrews Hall. We didn’t become friends because we connected artistically, we became friends because it was easy.

While I had thrived in school, Meredith had coasted. She graduated because she went to most of her classes and turned in most of her homework. Like our friendship, she succeeded because she didn’t fail.

After graduation I got a job in publishing as a lowly editorial assistant. I was paid the bare minimum to review encyclopedias written by retired middle school teachers. It sucked but it was a job. Without it, I’d be homeless.

Meredith was a trust fund kid. I was not.

I made a point of working on my novel for at least three hours every week. I was 60,000 words deep into a dramatic look at the repression of women in the early 19th century through the eyes of Charlotte, a lowly chambermaid working for a handsome but distant oil tycoon. Meredith, on the other hand, would write a few pages when the mood struck. Since graduating, we met monthly to discuss our progress and keep each other motivated, but more often than not the night would devolve into expensive drinks at bars filled with men with shirts inexplicably half unbuttoned. And while I woke up regretting all my decisions and trying not to vomit in my cubicle trash can, she’d remain untouched. She’d wake up at noon to order pizza and watch a marathon of shitty reality shows about overly dramatic rich people who also didn’t have any responsibilities.

Meredith’s novel, smartly titled A Rabbit Disturbed, was about an evil toy bunny that traumatizes a young boy. Imagine if Stephenie Meyer wrote a novel adaptation of The Velveteen Rabbit after watching the entire Chucky canon while on acid. Oh, and Miss Meyer also doesn’t know what a rabbit is.

The three chapters I read, the only three Meredith had bothered to write, were so bad that my main criticism was towards our college for giving her a degree in creative writing.

But maybe I was being pretentious. Maybe I just didn't understand Meredith's genius. I took another swallow of my latte as she planned out the evening’s celebratory activities as if planning a bachelorette party.

I was in a bar bathroom when the tablet chimed. I steadied myself against the sink before pulling it from my bag.

What was something bad that happened to you today?

It was early but my mind was already drenched in vodka. I definitely wasn’t happy. I had thought drinking would make me feel more euphoric, would let me get caught up in Meredith’s excitement, but instead I felt ineffectual and ignored. I thought of my novel and the stupid melodramatic character that I had poured all my creativity into for the past two years. I was miserable. Frustrated and defeated.

But what was I going to write? That one of my oldest friends had succeeded?

If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all. With my bare fingertip I rubbed my answer against the screen.

Nothing.

What was something good that happened to you today?

I gritted my teeth.

Nothing.

On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being the least, how appreciative are you of what you have?

I pressed “3” without much thought and dropped the tablet back into my bag as the bright “Thank you!” lit up the screen.

I woke up Sunday with a pounding headache. I looked at my phone to see several Facebook and Instagram notifications. All likes and comments on the many celebratory photos I was tagged in, all congratulating Meredith. I let my phone fall from my hand as I turned over, allowing myself to sleep in.

The chime of the Galvin Institute tablet rang out as I sat on my couch mindlessly watching tv.

What was something bad that happened to you today?

It was an innocent question. At least, it seemed innocent. And yet I felt a pang of frustration. Meredith was still riding the high of the best day of her life while I sat there very consciously not working on my novel. Robert was busy with his family all night, leaving me alone to wallow in my self-pity.

I wrote “hangover” before clicking submit.

What was something good that happened to you today?

I lifted the stylus, preparing to write “nothing,” but stopped short. This was a study of gratitude and here I was with absolutely none. I thought of Dr. Howden reading my responses. Judging them.

I got to sleep in.

On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being the least, how appreciative are you of what you have?

I pushed thoughts of Meredith out of my head as I surveyed my apartment. It was small and sparsely furnished, but the walls were lined with well read novels. I hugged my soft throw and took a sip of my tea, letting the worth flood down into my stomach. Ignoring the split second of burning at the back of my throat that told me it was still too hot to drink that fast. Feeling as if I had thoroughly experienced a moment of mindful appreciation, I pressed the tip of the stylus against the 7 with a sense of accomplishment. I was rising above my disappointment and struggle.

Dr. Howden would be proud.

My phone vibrated and I was surprised to see a text message from Robert’s mother.

Hi Laurie! Happy early birthday! Are you and Robbie free next weekend to come over for a birthday dinner?

I scrunched my eyebrows together. That’s odd. I guess Robert already went home.

Curious, I called him. He answered on the fourth ring.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Oh hey, is this a good time?”

“Sorry babe, I’m still at my parents. Can I call you back afterwards?”

Icy fingers clasped around my heart. I swallowed.

“Oh, sure. Um, do you want to come spend the night when you’re done? I miss you.”

There was a pause before he continued. “Sorry, Laurie. I can’t tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

The next morning I lay in bed feeling empty, worthless, and defeated.

I stared at my ceiling, trying to rationalize staying in the comfort and safety of my bed. What would happen if I just don’t go to work? I’m so unimportant. Would anyone even notice?

It was bagel Monday though. And I did like bagels.

Three hours later I sat at my desk regretting my decision. One of the other editorial assistants had called out sick and I was getting the brunt of my boss’ post-weekend wrath.

How fucking ironic, I thought as I scrolled past unread email after unread email. One email was three paragraphs of all caps red text berating me for the misspelling of Juan Ponce de León in an entry that was written and published five years before I was hired. I took a bite of my free bagel as I kept scrolling.

At lunch, Erica and I went to our favorite burger joint. Erica was an editor and close friend whose long blonde hair and curvy figure made her the center of attention more often than not. And she knew it. She could be narcissistic at times, but she could also be really sweet and what I needed that day was fried food and a friendly ear.

Her eyes lit up and she leaned in conspiratorially. “Maybe he’s ring shopping.” She whispered, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

I brought a french fry to my lips. I hadn’t thought of that. I put the fry back down on the plate untouched.

“You really think so?” I asked, butterflies fluttering low in my stomach.

She winked before taking a bite of her burger.

Returning to my cubicle, my high spirits were immediately dashed by an unread email marked important. The subject line was empty and only two words were written, all lowercase, in the body of the email: see me.

Harold Bradford sat behind his desk, the glow of his computer illuminating his glasses. He was a chubby man in his late fifties with wiry grey hair that wrapped around his head, leaving a round dome of perfectly hairless scalp in the middle.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes, please sit down Ms. Cartland.” He said, his eyes never leaving the screen. “This will only take a minute.”

I sat down as he continued to tap at his keyboard. I pulled the hem of my skirt mindlessly as my eyes scanned the shelves of books behind him.

Finally, he looked up.

“Ms. Cartland, I asked you here to discuss your recent work performance.”

My stomach sank.

“Your work has been…” He tilted his head back, eyeing me through his thin spectacles. “Slipping.”

A heavy silence fell between us.

“I-I-I’m sorry, Mr. Bradford.” I stammered.

“You seem to think this job is... beneath you.” He sniffed. “And while your BFA from Dartmouth is quite impressive, your work here lately is not.”

“I understand.” I nodded, cringing at the waiver in my voice.  “I promise to work harder in the future.”

“There is no future, Ms. Cartland.”

I stared at him, mouth agape.

He turned back towards his computer, “Mrs. Littleton will explain your severance package.”

My body and mind was numb as I left his office.

The warm water lapped at my skin as I sat in the bathtub. A glass of white wine stood at the side of the tub, the half empty bottle on the floor. Robert had suggested that I could use this time to work on my novel, but I knew that was misguided. I needed to immediately focus all my attention on finding a job. Once that severance ran out, I wouldn’t be able to pay my rent, let along my bills or student loans. Oh sure, there’s forbearance but that’s just an ugly band aid. The interest would gather like bacteria in an infection, following me for the rest of my life.

The smell of Robert’s spaghetti and meatballs permeated the steam of the bathroom and I felt comforted slightly.

What was something bad that happened to you today?

I was fired.

What was something good that happened to you today?

I brought the stylus down, thinking I’d write something like, “my soon-to-be fiance was there for me,” but I hesitated. I thought of the phone call last night. The uneasy feeling that came with it.

Instead I wrote, “Bagel Monday.”

On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being the least, how appreciative are you of what you have?

“Babe!”

The sound shook me and I jumped, cold water splashing around me.

“Babe, wake up!” I squinted to see Robert looking down at me.

“What happened?” I sat up and looked around. The wine glass had fallen from the tub, shattering on the tile floor.

“It’s okay, stay there.”

He left and I stood, grabbing my towel from the door and wrapping it around my shivering body. I must’ve been dreaming.

“What time is it?” I asked the empty room.

“Almost seven. You’ve been in there for almost two hours.”

Panic rose like an electric shot through my spine.  

“The tablet! Where’s the tablet!” I cried, jumping out of the bath. Glass cut into the bottom of my foot. “Ow, fuck!” I cried.

Robert appeared in the doorway holding a broom. “Laurie, stop! What are you doing?”

“The survey! The survey!” I pushed him out of the way, limping into the living room. “Where is it? Where’s my bag?”

Robert grabbed my arm. “Laurie you’re injured, stop!”

“$900!” I desperately pulled myself from his grasp, falling painfully to my knees. “$900!”

The alarm rang distantly from where my bag lay forgotten by the front door. I crawled towards it, shaking with sobs. I could hear Robert talking to me as I reached it, but his words were muffled and inconsequential. As I opened my bag my hands felt bloated and numb, as if I were wearing gloves. My fingers clasped around the hard familiar plastic and I pulled the tablet out.

4 seconds remained on the timer. Tears flooded my eyes as I poked desperately at the screen but it wouldn’t respond to my waterlogged touch.

“No, no, no.” The black digits counted down to 1 before dissolved into nothing.

A wave of despair crashed over me as I watched the numbers appear once again. 23:59:03. The seconds ticked down. Tiny insults adding to the bloody mess of my ego.

The next thing I remember was waking up late in the afternoon. My body was sore, my head foggy. A sharp pain radiated from my left foot and I wanted to cry, but there were no more tears.

There was a buzzing coming from my nightstand. I picked up my phone to see a new text message alert.

Hey babe

I stared at the words in confusion. Behind me I could hear the shower running. Robert hadn’t left. I saw the name at the top of the screen. “Erica.”

That’s odd. I opened the app to a chat I didn’t recognize. Messages I didn’t remember sending or receiving. I scrolled up to an image. It was a selfie of Erica, but she was wearing lingerie.

Realization hit like a cement brick. The phone in my hand wasn’t mine.

The shower stopped. My breaths grew short and ragged, catching in my throat in sharp gasps.

“Babe, are you okay?”

A shadow filled the door and approached me as my vision turned red.

I awoke on a hard, cold surface. I tried to move but my body screamed in pain. A bright light hurt my eyes as I slowly blinked them open. The room was grey and dingy. I sat up stiffly and looked in front of me at a wall of metal bars.

My head buzzed with questions, my eyes wide and seeing, no longer blinded or discomforted by the sudden light. Above me stood a police woman.

“Glad to see you finally awake, Ms. Cartland.”

“Wh-what happened? Where am I?” I tried to recall recent memories. The bath. My foot. Erica. Robert.

“We got a call about a domestic disturbance at your residence. You were found standing over your boyfriend's body, a pair of bloody scissors…”

The cop continued but the sound was eclipsed by a sharp ringing noise in my head. My brain buzzed with shock as I sat back against a wall, bringing my knees to my chest. The room began to spin and it felt like I was falling into the buzzing. Into the void of complete and utter surrender.

An electronic alarm echoed off the cement walls, shrill enough, and familiar enough, to burrow into my numb thoughts.

“It’s 6 o’clock, Ms. Cartland.”

I looked up to see the cop holding out the Galvin Institute’s tablet through the bars of the cell. I stared at it, uncomprehending.

“It’s time to take the survey.”

“What?” I looked at the cop, tears I didn’t think could exist forming at the corners of my eyes.

The cop cleared her throat and dropped her arm, the tablet hanging uselessly beside her.

“What was something bad that happened to you today?”

I looked at her with confusion and pain.

“What was something good that happened to you today?” The cop’s voice was flat and stiff. Robotic.

A sob broke out of my mouth violently. I clutched my hands to my ears, desperately trying to block out her voice.

“On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being the least, how appreciative are you of what you have?”

I opened my mouth, a scream pouring from my throat like vomit, filling the small room.

Reality snapped around me, as if a door opened in a vacuum. The world sucked past my body as I ascended painfully to the heavens.

My eyes were assaulted once again with a bright light, but this light was softer. Cleaner. Nicer. I was in a white room, a simple desk in front of me. Behind it sat Dr. Howden.

“Thank you, Ms. Cartland, for your participation in the study.” The corners of his eyes wrinkled with a warm smile.

My breaths came to me in gasps. I looked around at the innocuous room. It was just like it had been days before.

“I… I don’t understand.”

Dr. Howden gave me a tight smile. “Only a few hours have passed since you completed your survey. You have been under electronic hypnosis. Since signing the contract none of your actions, or the actions of your loved ones, actually occurred. It was all…” he twirled his finger, “in your head. I gave you a slight sedative before you awoke to help the transition along. You should be feeling more…” He smiled, “relaxed soon.”

I nodded dumbly. The numbness weighing my body down was no longer raw and uncomfortable but calming.

“Now,” he said, sliding a tablet across the desk. “If you’d please sign these release forms, you can be on your way.”

My hand shook slightly as I reached out and drew a simple line across the center of the page.

“Very good. You may now be excused. Your designated contact is waiting in the lobby.”

I stood uncertainty and began to leave the room before he added, “oh and as I explained before, since you opted out prematurely you forfeit all reimbursement.”

My stomach tightened as I saw Robert. His face set in bored concentration as he scrolled through his phone. Feeling my stare, he looked up and smiled warmly. “Babe!” He stood and walked towards me, arms outstretched. “How did it go?”

I clenched my jaw as he brought me to his chest, his body pressed against mine. My skin grew hot with anger and my stomach turned with disgust, but the tranquilizer slowly quelled my hatred.

He hadn’t really cheated on me, had he?

Robert took me home and made me spaghetti, just like he had last night. Except last night never happened.

The next day was a normal Saturday. I had coffee with Meredith as she told me about a new guy she met. On Sunday I had dinner with Robert and his parents. Monday I nodded at Mr. Bradford’s requests and listened to Erica complain about her yearly review. Friday Robert took me out for my birthday and proposed.

My life is meaningless now. Trivial and petty. These people I once loved no longer feel real. Their lives are stupid and useless, filled with made up milestones to give the illusion that life is moving forward. That they are making progress.

I could no longer pretend to enjoy it, so I left. I don’t have a destination, but instead I’m letting my short life roll over me like the waves of an ocean. Massive and unknowable. It doesn’t matter where I am or where I end up. It’s all so permeable. All so temporary. Why bother clinging to something when it’s not really yours to begin with. And yet the questions still run through my mind.

What was something bad that happened to you today?

Nothing. Nothing bad happens anymore. Nothing happens anymore. Life passes. I exist. I question reality and then find I’m too tired to care.

What was something good that happened to you today?

Nothing. Objectively, nothing good has ever happened to me. It’s all a farce. Life is just a series of signals that our mind misinterprets as something organized and purposeful. And yet we run forward with abandonment, counting the seconds until there are no seconds left to count.

Tonight I’ve found myself somewhere in Pennsylvania. The red numbers of the clock illuminated 6:00.

The sky is a beautiful amber above the mountain tops.

On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being the least, how appreciative are you of what you have?

No longer applicable.

[jungnoir]

bonnie and clyde;

jeon wonwoo | “I’m a thief/hacker/murderer and you’ve found out my identity and have been bugging me for days to take you on as my partner" hacker!au. | 2.5k words. | fluff, humor. requested.

(1) Unread Message(s)

received: 8:23 a.m., may 12th, 2017

+82-1-452-5336: open your door, jeon~ your biggest fan is here with food and a proposition for you

“You could at least shut the door when you break into my house, you know.” Wonwoo’s dark eyes don’t have to stray from their focus on the bright screen before him to know that you’re huffing indignantly under your breath and backtracking the several steps it would take to kick his bedroom door shut once more. He can even hear your muttered “what’s the point in closing the door? you live alone anyway” over the sounds of his pale fingers typing away at his keyboard, mind none too focused on anything but the task at hand. He knew you well enough now that if you had something important to say, you’d say it on your own accord, whether he looked like he was listening or not.

Your hands are full of bags of unhealthy snacks, from his favorite bottled vanilla mocha lattes to the family sized bag of potato chips that were his favorite barbecue flavor. You even littered some strawberry pocky in there too, for reasons Wonwoo never let you get close enough to him to try out, but they were still pretty tasty even just for eating purposes. “I’m guessing you’re busy with a new mission since you’re never up this early unless you’ve pulled an all-nighter.” You assume, and you get your answer when Wonwoo’s droopy eyes cast a tired look over his shoulder to you, eyes rimmed with a dark brush that leaves you heaving a sigh. “You should eat at least. Look, I brought your favorite coffee.”

“No thanks. If I have any more caffeine, I’m going to pass into another realm of being.” He replies monotonously, and you make due note of the several coffee cups laying scattered around his extensive desk, just some of the unwashed dishes that clutter his working space, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. You hear a faint buzzing somewhere in the room and deduct that he hasn’t cleaned up in a few days, much to your concern. Carefully pulling up a stray chair to sit next to him at his desk, you settle a bottle of water next to him instead, still cool to the touch from your quick drive to the nearest convenience store from his hilltop home. There were seldom places to shop around the area which was apart of the appeal for Wonwoo, seeing as he could go days without hearing a car drive by his home, and that car was usually a delivery van dropping off whatever essentials he was too busy to go out and buy on his own.

Wonwoo gives you an irritated side glance. Then he accepts the water without another word.

“What has my stalker come to pester me about this week?” Wonwoo sighs, pushing his chair away from the desk and swirling around to face you. He tucks one leg underneath himself in the roomy office chair, the black leather seat letting him recline back some to give you a pensive look. 

“Can’t I just come by and visit my favorite genius hacker every once in a while?” You bat your eyelashes, shooting him a sly smile.

“No. I would have filed a restraining order at this point if I wasn’t on the run from the South Korean government.”

“You love me.”

“I do not, and you’re obsessed with me. If you ask to be my partner one more time I’m going to hurtle myself into the nearest brick wall.”

You roll your eyes and dig out a pack of gummy worms from one of the plastic bags you brought, ripping the edge open with your teeth as you made yourself comfortable, “Well, that’s just asking for me to baby you back to health, now isn’t it?” “I’m going in for the kill.” “Speaking of kill, I have fantastic news! You know that mission your boss called you about last night? The one about taking out that money laundering ambassador from France who’s coming to the Golden Gala tonight?” 

Wonwoo resists the urge to heave a stressed sigh; of course you had tapped into his phone calls again, of course you were here to ask him to help again. It’s what you lived for, which boggled his mind seeing as you were the daughter and heir to the ceo of a major company, your money having lasted since the days of Wonwoo’s grandparents, God rest their souls. You had wealth, status, and beauty to go with every inch of your worth, and yet here you were, spending nearly every waking second trying to shadow after him like a lost puppy. He had never understood your fascination with the world of crime that he’d been tangled in since his early days at university, but he couldn’t lie and say you weren’t good at it. “It” being the ability to stalk a criminal who stalked for a living. You still amazed him with the sheer skill your obsession allowed you, even if he never mentioned it. In a way, he was pretty proud to have you as a fan.

“Yes. Which, mind you, I only have 12 hours to dig up enough information on only to then physically go in undercover to hack and retrieve very dangerous files on said ambassador before midnight. So whatever news you have, I’d like to hear it in the next five minutes before I tune you out completely.” To further emphasize his point, Wonwoo grabs his phone and asks the artificial intelligence installed in the software to set a timer for five minutes. 

When the A.I. gives him the okay, you spit out the first thing you can to grab his attention. “I can get you into the party with all the information you need right now.” 

To solidify your legitness, you shrug your backpack off your shoulder and dig around messily for a few seconds before grasping and retrieving the thick, frayed manila folder from the contents of your bag and dropping it on top of his desk before him.

Wonwoo looks from you to the folder, eyes rapidly widening when he realizes that he had missed one very great detail about the Golden Gala. It was a night for many influential and wealthy counterparts to gather and discuss business from all over the world held in Seoul one night a year. And you, your dad more specifically, was an honored regular at that party. Not only were these influential guests invited, but they were also encouraged to bring along guests of their own. You had often been one of the “plus two”’s for your father, and you were most likely going again this year too.

You knew this party as well as any skilled insider did, and you had more know-how about the exclusive event than any paid hacker like him. Hell, you mingled with the very people Wonwoo’s agency spent years trying to gather incriminating information on. And you were his biggest fan, wanting nothing more than to assist him in his trade because… for some weird reason, you admired him. 

How could he miss such an opportunity?

“(Y/N),” he says your name in a relieved breath, the several hours of searching and compiling information falling very short as he read through what you had gathered, “you have to be an angel.”

You try (and fail) to hide the giddy, bashful smile that consumes your expression right after, instead opting to puff out your chest a bit in pride, “Everything you ever need to know about Monsieur Garreau is in this folder. Which cuts your 12 hour time-mark down to… nothing? You can spend the rest of your time getting ready for the gala tonight and getting some proper rest. No one’s going to take you for someone worthy of being invited to a party like this if you’ve got eyebags deeper than these scumbags’ wallets.”

“I can’t just take this from you… can I? This must have caused you some trouble to put together,” and as much as Wonwoo hates to say it, his conscience (of which he was once certain he didn’t have at all) is eating away at him, begging him to make this even, “I have to repay you.”

Your eyes sparkle as if you were waiting for that very statement, but there’s also something soft in them that takes Wonwoo aback, “You don’t have to do it. Honestly, I’d cover your tracks either way, but… be my date tonight.”

Wonwoo’s mouth drops open in surprise, and your nerves catch up to you soon after.

“I-I thought about it and, I mean, if I bring you along with me as my date, I could get you much farther than you could get on your own. I’ve been going to this party for years. I know everyone, I know everything. I can cover for you when you need to extract information, and my dad won’t inquire too much about you with me there. Plus, I’m going to get you a nice suit and makeover either way. This is very important, and I want to help you. That’s all I want.”

Your hands are folded gingerly in your lap, a small smile on your features that shakes a bit when Wonwoo continues to stare at you in awe. There was no denying you found Wonwoo attractive, amongst the many other things you admired about the talented hacker, and his prolonged attention on you was more than he’d given you since the first time you two had met at your hand. You had dreamed of meeting the object of your admiration for so long, and often wondered why he had yet to try and threaten you past changing the passcode to his high-intensity security system. In your mind, Wonwoo was someone of such expertise that you had admittedly felt a bit amateur in his presence.

Wonwoo, too, found you way out of his league, someone headed somewhere with their life one day while he was living isolated in a life of lawlessness and destruction. You two were not meant to meet except out of your own implementation, starkly different in personality and world… yet he found you oddly helpful. Not yet close to indispensable, but not completely useless either.

And… maybe you were kind of nice to have around to bother him every once in awhile, a comfortable change from the silent loneliness of his otherwise too large, too empty house. 

You weren’t even forcing him into this, giving him the full go-ahead to simply take your information and go in alone. The most he’d suffer is your puppy dog eyes and a little guilt on his part at best. 

But, you had gone through all this trouble without being asked, and it wasn’t like having you around would hurt his mission in any way. If anything, you’d save it and his antisocial ass along with it. His alarm suddenly blares at him, and he’s shocked out of his contemplation, his fingers tapping the “stop” button on his alarm with awkward movements. He looks over to you, your face having fallen when you realized your time was up. He could easily turn back around and ask you to leave, brush you off with his usual cold shoulder like he often did. Yet, instead, he found himself doing the exact opposite. “I… don’t see why not.” He finally answers.

Your reaction is instantaneous, and Wonwoo is finding his cold, tired hands wrapped in warm, delicate fingers soon after. You heave him up, pulling him into you and letting his lanky body fall awkwardly against yours when you hug him tight around the torso, the act being the most intimate you’d ever given him (or rather, he let you give him) since you both met. You squeal into the softness of his sweatshirt that carries his heady scent and fabric softener, it being one of the few articles of clothing he’d opted to wash in the last week. With you shoving your nose into his chest, he was silently grateful he had done so.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you Wonwoo! I promise I won’t let you down.” You giggle, pulling your head back to rest your chin in the center of his chest, and Wonwoo hoped you didn’t feel the sudden rapid beat of his heart at the proximity you two still had. Your soft hair fell out of your face as you looked up at him, smiling with such happiness that he could have mistaken you for a child on Christmas morning. 

With a weary and timid chuckle, Wonwoo raises his hand with uncertainty and then pats your head with the touch of a feather, lightly brushing the hair you messed up after shoving your face into his sweater back into a smooth position. You revel at the attention, shutting your eyes some to enjoy the moment a little longer. Wonwoo tries his best while you’re not looking to make it seem like this wasn’t the first time he’d been this close to another person in the last five months. 

Then, you’re suddenly dragging him toward his bed, the sheets a mess from when he’d last been in them yesterday. You pull off your hoodie and toss it toward a pile of his clothes in the corner of the room, and then you hop onto one side of his bed, pulling the boy to follow you soon after. Wonwoo crumples to the mattress in a tired heap, eyes following your movements as you manage to keep a distance from him without him asking you to. Your hands finds the red comforter bunched at the foot of his bed and quickly throw it over the both of you, your face snuggling into one of his pillows like you’d slept in his bed plenty of times before.

Wonwoo watched with curiosity, the content smile overtaking your face being awfully calming to look at, even if he was a little annoyed that your socked feet had kicked him in the shin several times in your attempts to get comfortable. “Better catch up on sleep while you still can, Jeon. Tonight’s going to be one wild party.” You advise, all snuggled up in the warmth of his covers after you find a good position to rest in.

“So, uh… about that makeover. Can I just skip out on that?” “Your hair is dead end central and no amount of sleep you get within the next month will fix those dark circles, so no way in hell. Be glad I’m not having you strapped down and run through a doctor’s office to make sure you haven’t acquired some weird fungus on your body from the amount of time you spend sitting in one place all day.” “…punk.”

You shut your eyes and chuckle, mind attempting its best to wind down your fluttering heartbeat so you could at least try not to make this moment weird for Wonwoo, even though you were screaming internally with all the possibilities the night hours would bring, “You loooove me.”

You don’t even try to hide your smile when Wonwoo decides not to deny it this time.

[ehoiidoingthings]

‘The Winds Have Changed’ (Part 2) Noodlemoon

Part 2.

Note: We just gonna keep this rolling!

    It was 6:30 and there was still no sign of Eddie. Buster waited by the theater's doors in anticipation of his friend. Despite the lateness, Buster wasn't upset; this was Eddie Noodleman. The man was never on time except for paid work and dates. So, wait buster did while slowly pacing in front of the doors just to move around a bit. He checked the door a third time to ensure it had been in fact locked and walked to where he had been standing. He checked his new watch. Tapped his foot. Started whistling. Boy. I am a restless one, aren't I? 6:45 and Buster saw the blue, topless car.

    "Hey Buster? Sorry for the wait but I decided last minute to grab some stuff for the night!"

    Once in the passenger seat, Buster looked in the back of the car and saw the mountains of liquor and party foods. Definitely a lot of groceries, he thought. The car pulled from the curb once Buster had buckled in.

    "Uh, Eddie? What exactly do you think we are doing tonight?" Buster asked, the alcohol becoming a little intimidating.

"You and I, my dear koala friend, are going to get smashed. I just felt like getting really drunk tonight; it's been a while since I've been hammered."

    Eddie grinned at the thought.

    He added, "Drunk gaming is like the best thing dude. Plus you're hilarious when you've had a bit to drink."

    Eddie laughed while Buster let out a nervous chuckle.

    "Uh, I don't know Eddie... It's been a while since I've gotten the drunk your describing and, in all honestly, I'm not too interested in getting that way tonight."

    Buster looked away, expecting disappointment from the sheep. They stopped at an intersection. All he got was a snicker and a pat on the arm.

    "Yo, it's alright dude. Now I have someone to babysit me tonight!"

    Buster felt a lot more at ease.

    "Thanks, Eddie, for understanding."

Eddie looked over to Buster before saying, "Yeah man, I'll save the drinking til' your almost ready to go that way you don't have to deal with annoying me too long haha."

Buster chuckled before responding, "Yeah, you are pretty obnoxious when you drink."

    They remainder of the drive was pretty silent but a content silence. The both of them mutually enjoyed the ride and the soft breeze given by driving the calmer roads. The sun was heading it's way down and the day progressed into eventual night. It smelled fresh outside. Dewy, Buster thought. It was a nice drive. Eddie knew how to drive smoothly on the streets with avoiding potholes and any crack or rock that might appear. Buster felt relaxed and before he realized it they were arriving to the complex where Eddie's apartment was. Eddie pulled into his numbered spot and locked the car up.

    "Almost home. Now, what to do about you guys..." He gestured towards the bags. Buster knew he and Eddie would not be able to carry them by themselves in one go. Eddie appeared to think otherwise.

    "Grab as many as you can, Buster; I've got the rest."

    Buster only managed to get three bags and stepped back to be guided by Eddie. He had trouble peeking from over the plastic to see his friend.

    "C'mon you lousy pile of- ugh!" Eddie groaned and the frustration of trying to grab the remainder bags.

Buster tried interjecting with, "Eddie, why don't we make two trips-"

He was cut off as Eddie turned around with a triumphant cry.

"I told you we could do it!"

    Buster was met with the sight of Eddie covered with grocery bags. He had them around his neck, tied to his pants and up to his shoulder and concluded the image with one bag in his mouth. Buster let out a laugh.

    "You're too much sometimes, you know that?"

Through his mouthful Eddie let out a short laugh and muffled, "let's g't goin'! Fo'lw 'e!"

    They trudged up the stairs with their bags upon bags upon bags. Buster noticed Eddie getting tired after the second flight and almost said something until Eddie turned to walk down the lane and stopped at a door.

    "'eys." He muffled.

"What?" Buster said, confused.

"'EEYS." Eddie said louder and shook his butt.

"Oh! Keys! Gotcha." Buster reached in Eddie's back pocket and fished the silver pieces out.

    He fitted them into the door handle and opened the apartment. Eddie said something that sounded like 'thanks' and walked in while Buster entered the space after him. He closed the door behind him and noticed how clean the apartment looked. Buster took in the space; living room to the left, kitchen to the right then ahead two doors, one presumably for the bathroom and the other the bedroom. Good pick, Eddie, Buster mused. It was pretty modern looking with it being furnished with black and white and any variation of those colors. It was a monochromatic setting as Buster had learned a while ago. There were miscellaneous boxes that had yet to be unpacked that where strewn about the floors. He walked over to the kitchen and set the bags down.

    Eddie had just finished placing the last one on the ground when he said, "Pretty boring looking, I know. I have yet to decorate it to be more exciting."

    "I think it looks pretty sleek, Eddie." Buster stated.

     He hopped up on one of the bar stools and the kitchen's island and propped his head up on his hands. Eddie busied himself with putting the groceries away; bagels, cream cheese, bell peppers, doritos, chips, pizza rolls... Buster observed the foods. Quite the variety. Obviously his life coach hasn't had that big an impact on his diet. Buster snickered at the thought. Eddie caught him and turned around.

    "Hey man, doritos though. Cool ranch doritos."

    Buster out up his hands defensively.

"I didn't say anything." A grin was on his face.

"I know you thought it." Eddie grinned.

"While that is true, I still didn't say anything." They laughed.

    Eddie moved towards him.

    "Hey, at least I'm working on the pudge, look at you!" He then began poking at Buster' s stomach.

"Hey, hey, hey! I've barely got some!" Buster laughed and Eddie ticked his midsection.

"Okay, okay. Okay!" Buster said in between breaths.

    Eddie finally let him alone. He flecked one of his small biceps.

    "You wish you were this solid!" He flecked some more and Buster let out a laugh.

"Pfft, yeah, sure buddy."

    They both laughed at the display. Eddie finished putting the groceries away and faced his friend.

    "Alright man, you ready?"

    Buster dropped his coat and bow tie.

    "So ready."

    The two sat down on the leather couch in front of the TV and, after arguing for a bit on what game, settled into a racing one and played competitively for a while. There were moments of cheating i.e. pushing each other out of their seats or throwing the others remote control away. It was a some time before Buster became hungry. It became apparent to both of them when a growl was heard from the smaller male's stomach. Buster let out an embarrassed laugh.

    "So, uh, what do you have to eat?" Buster gave a sheepish grin.

"I don't know, man. I could make some oven lasagna of you're really hungry."

    Buster's stomach gave a growl of approval.

    "Sounds great!" Buster stated as they both laughed at the noise.

    Eddie went and put the timer on for the lasagna while Buster finished up the game they were playing. The two decided that they had had enough of it and got to taking about the apartment. It was mostly Buster asking the questions for he hasn't really owned an apartment.

    When this came up, Eddie couldn't help but ask, "Why not? I thought it was only recently you've been sleeping in that desk drawer."

    Buster gave a half-hearted smile.

    "Actually, ever since college I've been sleeping in the desk drawer. I lived at my dad's for a bit and then decided I felt guilty for staying at home so long. So I lied and said I'd gotten my own place when in reality I set up in the drawer."

    Eddie looked around and thought about it. Thought about years spent sleeping in a desk drawer.

    Eddie scratched the back of his head, trying to grasp the though, while replying, "Aw, that sucks man. Wish you said something sooner."

"No, it's totally fine!" Buster waved his hands to stop any sense if pity towards him. "I actually like it! Being that close to the theater the whole time. It's hard to explain."

    Buster fidgeted with his top shirt button as he talked on the couch.

    There was a moment of silence and then the timer for the lasagna went off.

    "I'll go get that ready for us." Eddie stood from the couch. "What do you want to drink? Anything fancy?"

"Not really, water or coffee; whichever you've got around."

"I've got iced coffee, pre-sweetened?"

"Yeah, that's fine. Thank you."

    Buster took the same seat at the island and Eddie placed the bottle down in front of him. As buster heard the pop of the lid go as he opened it, a plate with a slice of lasagna and a fork was there. A napkin soon joined their side.

    "Thanks again, Eddie."

"No problem man."

    Eddie leaned over the marble surface and took a bite. Buster followed suit and the two ate contently. The silence was broken by the sheep.

    "So, uh, you ever going to get your own place? I mean, your theater's been doing awesome! I can't imagine you don't have the money for it now."

    Buster twirled his fork.

    "I mean, I do..." He paused. "I don't know, in all honesty Eddie, why I don't get my own place." He looked solemnly at his food.

"You nervous of doing it?"

    Buster thought for a moment.

    "Yeah, I guess I am. It would mean more than just getting my own place. I would have to actually buy a car, wake up earlier, go to bed at reasonable times... It would change the way I live which is something I haven't done in a while. Like, a while Eddie."

    Eddie went over and patted Buster on the back.

    "Nah, I got you man. Change can be a bit much. I think getting your own place would be a good thing. You can get a little too invested in your theater, you know?"

    Buster knew what he was saying. Buster, admittingly, worked himself into a stress pit at times. Perhaps Eddie is right; he should get his own place.

    "Maybe you're right Eddie; I should go looking for an apartment."

"That's the spirit! Give ya' something to do on top of everything else you do!"

    They laughed at this.

    "Yeah, it would probably have to be some place closer to the theater, though. You know, for until I decide on getting a car." Buster thought about the car and added, "Maybe I'll just get another bike."

Eddie spoke with some lasagna in his mouth. "'elp k''p the pu'ge oft."

Buster chuckled and stated matter-of-factually, "I don't know Eddie, I don't sit around all day playing games."

Eddie smacked a hoof onto the island. "It's g'me 'esign!"

    Buster laughed at his teased friend and took a last bite before placing the dishes in the sink. He was going to clean them when Eddie turned the water off.

    "It's all good Buster; you are my guest after all."

    Buster's ears twitched. Normally Eddie was plead him to clean. Hmm... Life coaches...

    "If you insist!" Buster said as he let Eddie take over.

    Again, the koala observed from the island and watched his friend as he did the small pile of dishes. Buster could tell he used too much soup judging by the bubbles coming out of the sink. Buster took it as a humorous quality to Eddie. Endearing, he thought. He looked up a bit in confusion. Endearing? What was endearing about soap? And with Eddie for that matter? No, more like funny. Eddie's a funny guy, not endearing. Buster shook his head to clear the confusion from his mind. Well, I guess sometimes he can be. A dork, clumsy, worry-some, charming but in an unusual way. Like, in a way you would want to kiss him because he seems hopeless but also not because he is hopeless. I wonder what it would be like to kiss-.

    Buster shot up from his seat muttering to himself "No. no-no. Nope. No-ope," and walked over to the fridge.

    Eddie didn't seem to hear his mutterings as he tried to put plastic wrap on the leftover pasta dish. Buster tried distracting himself by looking for another drink. Orange juice, cranberry juice, pineapple juice, carrot juice, cherry juice...

    "Eddie, for the love of- why do you have so many juices?" Buster inquired.

    He continued to look for something more appropriate to drink at the hour.

    Eddie shrugged. "I don't know, I really like juices."

"You got anything else?" He asked as he rummaged around some more.

"I mean, I got some beers." He passed one to him.

Buster inspected the can before saying, "I suppose this'll do. I haven't had one in a while though."

"You'll be fine, it's just beer." Eddie said as he mixed himself a drink.

"You want to watch a movie?" The sheep asked.

"Yeah, that sounds good." Buster headed towards the couch as he spoke.

    Buster checked his watch and saw that it was 9 o'clock.

    "I'll probably call a cab to grab me after the movie, Eddie."

    Said individual joined him on the couch with a thump. Eddie had a drink and a bowl of popcorn by him.

    "Sounds good, Buster."

    Eddie turned on the TV and pulled up a streaming website for movies. They easily decided on comedy, one that involved a band of thieves that resulted in failing heists. Buster took a sip of his drink and decided he liked the brine taste and continued with it. As the movie progressed, so did Eddie's amount of drinks. Buster just laughed as his sheep friend started getting restless and began critiquing the movie in very harsh manners whilst also laughing at every funny scene that appeared. Buster leaned back and just observed again. He lost interest in the movie in favor of Eddie who was now pacing the living room.

    "You good Eddie?" Buster asked with a laugh.

    Eddie walked until he was at the couch again and replied, "tooootally. I mean, I wuz jus' thinkin'... dude, I'm missin' some lovin' from a sweetie."

    Buster laughed.

    "Oh, is that so, Eddie?"

"Yeah man, I mean, I been single for like, eveh man. Am I not good enough or somethin'?"

    Eddie sulked into the corner of the couch and ate some more chips.

Buster shook his head.

    "Dude, it's only been two years. Imagine being single for eight!"

    Buster reminisced about his last relationship when his thoughts were brought back to Eddie.

    "Daaang dude... I dunno know if I coul' manage that. Not even one-night stands?"

    Buster winced at the thought.

    "Nope, not even one. Eddie, you know I don't do those things; not even when I was in college."

    Eddie yawned.

    "I don' either. I wuz too lame in my school day to e'en get any anywa'."

There was a moment of silence then Eddie said, rather loudly, "Wait! Yous haven't dated in eight year? Like, legit eight?"

    Buster flushed at the notion suddenly becoming embarrassed at his bachelor status.

    "Yeah, eight years." Eddie was going to say something but Buster cu him off saying, "I-I mean, I've looked around. I've gone on dates, but other than that, nothing has really gone farther."

    Eddie scrunched his face as he thought about it and said, "Dude, I fo'got; is it just guys or gurls and guys with you? Cause' you defin't'ly like guys."

Buster blushed again and replies a little softly, "Just guys. I guess it's also difficult to get men to approach me because I don't go 'prancing around' if you get what I mean."

Eddie belched and replied, "Yeah yeah yeah, I know. You's a sophis'icated man! No one would be the wisest if they was to guess at you. But I mean, running a theater n' bein' single at yo' age plus looking all clean n' groomed n' good looking all the time can make sum guess."

"Stop saying such embarrassing things, Eddie." He laughed while also being slightly embarrassed.

    It wasn't a secret. Buster wasn't ashamed of his sexuality; it's just that no one ever really asked about it unless they wanted to take him out on a date which was good.

    Eddie leaned closer to Buster so he was eye level with him. It looked as though the sheep was looking him all over. Buster had his mouth open to say something but was so confused as to what was happening that words didn't come out. Instead he just moved back a bit to create some space. When Eddie was done inspecting him, he took a sniff of him and leaned back.

    "Dude, you's real cute man. I don't know if I eveh said it, but you's just adorable. I'm surprised no one's eveh picked you up as theirs. N' you smell good! Like some flowers or some shit."

    Eddie took another drink. Adorable? Me? Buster just gave a nervous laugh at his comment.

"Whatever you say, Eddie."

    The movie ended and, as Buster promised, called for a cab to pick him up at Eddie's apartment. Buster was putting his coat and bow tie back when he heard a shuffle behind him.

    Eddie was standing next to him with his empty glass.

    "Yo, man, thanks for hangin' out to this night at my place!"

    Buster chuckled at the slurred speech.

    "Anytime Eddie. Take care of yourself!"

"Yeah man, you too!" Eddie leaned on the counter.

    Buster was heading out the door when he felt a tug on the back of his coat. He turned around to see Eddie bent over with a smile.

"You are real cute, Buster."

    Buster was about to say something to retort the statement but, before he knew it, the sheep had his lips on his. Buster's eyes flung wide open as he stared at his friend; eyes closed, a flush across his face and eyebrows high with ears slightly lowered. Before he could even begin to register what was happening, Eddie pulled away from the chaste kiss and walked back to the kitchen to pour another drink. Buster, in a panic, ran out the door and flung it shut, pressing his small body against it. His chest was heaving, he was sweaty and his breath was hitching. He slowly peeled himself away from the door and began to walk slowly down the stairs. He was startled. He was afraid of what had just happened. Okay, okay Buster. It's fine! Drunk friends kiss each other all the time. Just be lucky he didn't take you to his bed- Buster let out a chirped noise as he thought about it going that far and was so very thankful it didn't and that he had decided to not drink and that he had decided to leave right then. For once, Buster Moon had made some good choices. The cab pulled up and buster took a seat in the back and directed the man where to take him. While in the car, Buster kept thinking about the kiss. Small, chaste, quick, soft, supple lips on mine... Buster groaned and decided to quite thinking about the whole thing. He arrived back at the theater and made quick work as to get into bed. He buried his face in his pillow.

    "That's what you get for thinking about it earlier." He grumbled to himself.

    He thought about it again. It was just so inappropriate; him and someone eleven years younger than him. Especially someone who's family had been loaning him money for so long. He banged his head against his pillow a couple times before he decided to give it a rest. Again, Buster, he was drinking and had been thinking about missing a 'sweetie'. Probably just desperate to go for me. Although, Eddie could have anyone if he actually tried. Besides, there's nothing to do about it now... Buster just  laid and thought to himself. He switched off his light and settled into his bed. He knew, no matter what, that the kiss had happened and to just accept it as that; a kiss. A drunk, misled kiss. No harm at all. Well, at least if you stop thinking about it. Buster yawned and realized he was getting too deep into the situation and laid his head down to rest finally. All he could really do was hope Eddie wouldn't remember what had happened by tomorrow.

    He will probably forget it ever happened; with me, Buster Moon.

[werenzki]

Auston Matthews #6

PART TWO

Soooo this wasn’t requested but I got some inspiration from @mystupidlovesongs‘s PT series, so huge shoutout to her cause she PT series for the pens is seriously one of my favourite imagines out there!! Check out her stuff!! But yeah, hope y’all liked this and I’m trying my hardest to get to all my requests right now thank for being patient :))

Word Count: 2,254

"Go leafs go!" The arena was back at it again, cheering loud and hard for their team as the third period began. Down by one and full of adrenaline, you watched as Willy was quick to jump over the board and had Auston on his heels as Martin got back to the bench. Once they had possession of the puck, they were off. 

With your arms crossed at your chest, you stood on your tip toes to try and look over the goalie trainer who was standing in front of you. As usual, you were standing in the runway across from the rack of sticks, and were struggling to see over everyone as they stood from the bench. The crowd was getting rowdy as Hyman went around the Senators net, and as seen up on the screen above the ice, Auston was wide open. 

A quick pass from Hyman and a one-timer from Auston and you were jumping up and down with the rest of Air Canada Centre. You gave the equipment manager a high five and then the goalie trainer who stood just in front of you. As Auston went down the line of his teammates, you peeked through to watch him, a grin on your face. 

"Tied up boys, we got this," Babcock shouted to the team. We had nearly a whole period though, anything could happen. 

And anything did. Auston's line was back out there, ten minutes left in the period now, and they were all coming in hot to the Sens defensive zone. So many players got closer and closer to the board, you felt it in your stomach, something bad was going to happen from this. Auston got the puck to Jake, but as he went to push through the two Sens, something bad did happen.

Auston went down immediately, both knees on the ice while his head was in his hands. It was rare that Auston got hit - in fact he was almost never in your office, for any medical reason at least. A small gasp came from you while everyone else on the Leafs bench watched Auston. He wasn't getting up, instead he rolled uncomfortably on the ice as the play continued. 

"Y/N!" One of the coaches shouted for you, but you were already pushing past and waiting beside the door to the ice. 

"He's fine," Mo said, sounding as though he was trying to reassure himself more than anything. You bit down on your lip just as the ref blew his whistle. As the play stopped, Auston got up but you could see just how painful that hit was for him. With his arms on his knees, and Jake right behind him, he skated to the bench and you opened the door for him. 

"I'm fine," Auston said. 

"Check him out," Babcock instructed from where he stood. You nodded and lead the way down the tunnel. Auston looked more upset over the fact we were cutting into his ice time than anything. But you were just doing your job. 

Once you got into the back hallway you found a lone chair and pulled it up for him to take a seat. Auston's face twisted up as he took a seat. As a physical therapist, you were racking your mind for what could have happened to his knee, but as the girl who blushed any time Auston flirts with you, you were worried. You bent down beside him, his large broad body made you seem so small, as you got him to extend his leg. 

"I'm fine," Auston said through clenched teeth. 

"Just work with me, please," you said. Auston nodded and leaned his head back as you moved around his leg. He only hissed through the pain when you got him to bend it again. 

Suddenly you two heard the arena start to cheer, then came some booing. Auston's eyebrows were pulled together, his eyes focused on the hallway back to the bench. You sighed and stood back up. 

"Stand," you instructed. 

Auston got up on his skates again, his body only mere inches away from yours as he towered over you. You looked up at him and his eyes stayed on you. His lips curled up into a smug look, one you've become familiar with by now. As he stood you could tell the weight on his knee was bothering him, causing you to glance back down at the knee. You, like every Leafs fan right now, were just praying it was a minor injury that didn't take him out of the game. 

"You ready to go back out there?" You asked, arms crossed at your chest now. 

“Am I cleared to go?" Auston questioned, eyebrow raised. You chuckled and smiled at him. 

"Yes, you are," you nodded, "but we'll be looking at this later," 

"If it means I get to spend more time with you then I'm all for it," Auston exclaimed. You felt your cheeks heat up at his words, these past few weeks Auston had been more straight forward with his flirting. And you really didn't mind one bit. 

"Go score us another goal," you said while bringing your hand up to his arm, giving him a light push. Auston mirrored your smile before fixing his helmet and putting his gloves back on. He lead the way back to the bench this time, taking a seat beside Mitch as his line mates seemed to be out on the ice. 

"He's alright?" An assistant coach asked while walking up to you. 

"For now," you answered. "I'll need him to come by after the game, get a better look without all his gear and such,"

"Alright," 

And with that everyone was back focused on the game. They needed this win. The team was on a streak of some sorts, winning the last 7 out of 10 of their games, more than half of them being on the road too. The confidence was building in the group, and you loved it so freaking much. Besides when one of them got hurt, which made their confidence drop of course, but it was your job to get them back to normal. 

There was only about one minute left on the clock when JVR got his own rebound and past Craig Anderson. The arena blew up, cheering their heads off, till the clock ran out and the leafs won yet another game. While the team all went out onto the ice to celebrate, you left the bench and walked back up till you got to the back hall, walking past their dressing room and down the hall to your office. 

You knew you had some time before Auston made his way to you. So you opened up your laptop and sat at the desk you had. You went through some current reports, knowing that Anderson should be in here soon for some really minor back issues, and Mitch had a check up on his shoulder too. Deciding to get ahead of yourself, you began the file on Auston's knee too. 

You were yawning as the door opened, behind it came Auston, dressed in a pair of shorts and a Leafs tee. He gave you a smile and you stood from your desk, putting down your phone that you had been playing games on. It had gotten boring while waiting around. 

"Sorry I took long," Auston said. 

"It's alright," you responded before tapping one of the four patted tables that lined up on one side of your office. "Sit," you instructed with a smile. 

"It's a little bruised," Auston noted while getting himself onto the table. You looked at his knee, taking notice of how it was a shade of dark purple on one side of his knee. Knee-to-knee contact can be very dangerous, in fact you were a little surprised there wasn't an penalty called. But just by looking at Auston's knee you knew it wasn't too bad. 

"Get yourself relaxed, I'll go grab some oil and be right back," you said. 

Auston nodded and leaned back against the triangle mat that was rested against the wall on the table. You turned on your heels and walked over to the cabinet, which was filled with all sorts of stuff to help you give these guys the treatment they needed. From acupuncture needles to Advil, you had all you needed. After grabbing the bottle of oil and a few towels, you walked over to the fridge and grabbed yourself a water bottle, then you made your way back to where Auston waited. 

"This might hurt a little," you warned him while putting oil on your hands. Auston lifted up his good knee, letting his other lay flat against the towel you had set down on the table. Once he was all settled, you got to work. 

“Fuck," Auston hissed while you put pressure on the bruise. 

"Sorry," you muttered but kept focus on what you were doing. 

So far, massages were the boy's favourite part of physical therapy, for obvious reasons. Getting to sit there and get a massage was better than you poking them with needles or getting them to do some exercises. And you were so used to giving massages by now, the physical contact didn't even phase you one bit. Well, except with Auston, there was this little piece of you that got nervous when you stared at you while you massages his knee. 

"So," Auston began, "thought about your answer yet?" He asked. You were well aware of what he was referring to, you were just sort of hoping that he would drop it by now. 

About a week ago now, Auston asked you out on a date. Of course you wanted to say yes. But you had to take a step back and think about this in a professional point of view. Going on a date with Auston wouldn't exactly be a smart move, but also you couldn't help that fact that he made your stomach twist up with nerves or your cheek heat up while blushing. He was cute and nice and funny and sweet - but you worked for the Leafs and didn't want to look bad by dating one of the Leafs. 

"I have," you responded. 

Grabbing one of the other towels, you wiped off your hands and then started to wipe off Auston's knee. As you brought the towel over his olive skin, you could feel his eyes still glued on you. You took a deep breath and then threw the towel into the bin to your left. 

"And?" Auston said. You sighed, looking up at where he sat. A piece of your hair fell into your face, which you pushed back behind your ear while shrugging your shoulders. 

"I-I'm still thinking," you said shyly. 

"It's just a date, Y/N," Auston spoke in a soft voice, "dinner, maybe a walk in the park, ice cream if you're feeling it," he listed off the ideal date. The boy really wasn't helping that professional part of your brain that was telling you to say no. 

"I just don't know, Auston," you shrugged and opened your water bottle. After taking a sip you turned away from the table where he sat and walked to your desk. 

"Look," he started up again, "if it goes wrong then I'll make sure it never gets brought up again. Things will go right back to normal," 

They wouldn't. But also you wanted to go on this date, so freaking badly. You liked Auston. What if you didn't take this chance? You'd probably beat yourself up about it and regret not going on this stupid little date anyways. Just take a chance, you thought to yourself while grabbing ahold of the jacket you had hanging off your chair. 

"Okay," you breathed out. 

"Okay?" Auston questioned. You grabbed your purse after slipping on your jacket, finally looked up to see Auston was walking towards your desk now. 

"I'll go on a date with you. Dinner, a walk in the park, and I'm definitely going to need ice cream too," 

"Okay," Auston smiled. "How about tomorrow night?" 

"I'll be out of here by five hopefully, have to work with Freddie on some stuff," you stated. Auston nodded and placed his hands on the back of one of the two chairs that sat on the other side of your desk. Once you were all settled to leave, you rounded the desk and stepped up beside where Auston stood. 

"Alright, how about I pick you up at seven then?" 

"Sounds good," you smiled but then pointed down to his knee, "and as for that, you'll have to come see me before your morning skate tomorrow. I can't have you going out there and pushing it, or else Toronto will have my head," 

"Yes ma'am," Auston smirked and stood up straight now. 

"What are you smirking about?" You questioned, eyebrows pulled together and lips curled up slightly. 

Auston shrugged, "no reason," 

"Alright," you didn't buy it but instead you lead the way to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow," you smiled while holding the door for Auston. 

"Tomorrow, I'll be reminding you about that date," 

"Didn't think you'd let me back out anyways, Matthews," you teased before turning on your heels and walking away with a smile plastered on your face. You were either actually really looking forward to this stupid date. But what you weren't looking forward to was all the teasing and taunting for the team, that was for sure.

[dw-writes]

anonymous asked: Hello!! Could you please write something with Worick meeting his s/o for the first time? Maybe as a client?

Nonnie!! I am so sorry that the ask got deleted >~< But I did write for it!!! And I was so happy to!! This was so much fun and I would love to expand on it!!!

Anyway~ I hope you enjoy reading it at much as I did writing it!!!

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

Worick carefully dropped the phone onto the cradle, settling against the edge of the desk. A sticky note dangled between his fingers with the information for his newest client. Smoke curled up from the cigarette between his lips and he sighed. He couldn’t tell what he was tired from: the day, or the knowledge that he would once again have to cater to someone that couldn’t give a shit about their significant other.

He took a long drag.

Nicolas dropped a bag full of glass Perrier bottles onto the desk made him jump. Alex peered around the deaf man who was way too amused at Worick’s reaction.

“I think you’re going deaf in your old age, Worick,” Alex teased, “Nico’s bottles could’ve woken the dead with their clanging.”

Worick tapped the ash off his cigarette into the tray on his desk and folded the sticky note into his palm. “I was just so consumed with thoughts of that bangin’ body of yours I must not have heard it,” he cooed. Alex reached into the bag hanging off her arm and shoved the top of an unopened box of cigarettes against Worick’s cheek with a gentle rude comment. He grinned at her. “Just thinking, Ally.”

‘That’s new,’ Nicolas signed back at him. Worick stretched his legs out to catch the Tag’s ankle with maximum success. Nicolas fell face first into the couch, releasing a loud string of groans and swearing sounds. Worick rounded the desk with a grin and pressed the creased sticky note onto his calendar.

Alex leaned over the desk to read it. “You have a new client?” she asked.

He nodded as he put his cigarette out in the ash tray. “Yup, I do,” he sighed, “I meet ‘em tomorrow. They live just up the street, believe it or not. Why they’d wanna live here is beyond me.”

“You live here,” Alex pointed out.

Worick snatched a bottle from the bag and leaned over the back of the couch to press its cold glass against Nico’s neck. The man responded with a louder string of muffled swearing. “Yeah, but I have to live here,” Worick responded. He swung the bottle over so it could carefully slide down the side of the couch and onto the floor by Nico’s hand.

Nico turned his head enough to watch Worick’s arm disappear from view. Lifting his hand, he flashed a very rude sign at him before picking up the glass bottle.

“Hey, I just handed you a water, you could be grateful,” Worick pouted.

Nicolas paused in opening the bottle to once again flash the words, ‘You fuck’, at his roommate. He took a long, smug drink.

“So you go tomorrow then?” Ally stated more than asked. She had walked around the desk by then, twisting the cap off a bottle she had grabbed for herself. She mouthed the words as she read them to herself, a smile creeping onto her lips. “Do you get this much information for all of your new clients?” she asked.

Worick scratched the back of his neck. “If they’re first timers, yeah. Better than goin’ in blind, ya know?”

There was a shift in Alex’s stance as she took a sip of her water. Worick dropped his arm. “Look, I gotta go grab some things for this and food for dinner. Wanna come with? We can leave Nico to party hard all by himself for a few hours.”

Nico grunted as if he could actually hear him before pushing himself into a sitting position. Alex smiled. “That would be nice, Worick. Thank you.”

The trip was a welcome distraction, as was making dinner after, and the half bottle of whiskey that he drank while reading a thick novel after that. When he woke in the late morning with a slight pressure behind his eyes, Worick was hit with the knowledge that he had a new client. He checked the time and climbed out of bed.

You paced. The floorboards by your door creaked as you turned. They squealed and released a sound that was more crack than groan by the couch as you passed it. And whispered as you turned again at the radiator. You were so nervous. You couldn’t even do your make up right because you were so nervous. So much so you had just given up on it. Why do make up, right? Especially if you were gonna become a sweaty, panting mess over the next few hours. Would it be a few hours? Your roommate had teased you about it being a few hours when she left for work that morning, giving you shit about playing hookie with the hooker.

“He’s not a hooker!” you had protested to her retreating back.

“Just get fucked and tell me all about it when I come back, okay?” she sang to you as she shut the door. “I want details,” she shouted through the door after a moment’s pause.

You felt a blush creep into your cheeks at the memory of her words. You checked the clock on the wall, finding the minute hand so close to the time you had asked for. You spun around on your heel. Was everything clean? Yes. No clothes strewn about? No. You even peeked under the dining table just to make sure that there wasn’t a bra there. You had seen your under things wind up in the strangest of places. One almost caught fire on the radiator. You never put it there. You swung your bedroom door open to double check that it was also clean when someone knocked on your door. You squeaked and spun around.

“Just a moment!” you called.

“Take your time,” the man on the other side sang, “I got all day just for you.”

A nervous giggle bubbled up in your throat. You smoothed your hair down and opened the door a little too quickly, surprising the man on the other side. He grinned at you.

“Hey,” he said. There was just enough of a teasing lilt to the word that you blushed.

“Hi, Worick,” you managed to stutter.

His cheeks turned the lightest shade of pink.

You stepped back, catching the toe of your sock under your foot as you did so, and held onto the door for support. “Come in!”

His hand brushed against your elbow as he stepped in to help you regain your balance. “Relax,” he hummed in your ear, the laughter heavy in the word, “Just relax.”

“I’m relaxed!” you protested as you pushed the door shut.

His hands drifted easily to your waist and he grinned. “If you’re relaxed, I’m the Pope.”

“Well I’m sure you’ve got the worship part down,” you found yourself saying. Worick released a surprised laugh. You smiled. It faltered after a moment. “So um, how do we—”

Worick gently tutted you. “We worry about semantics like payment later,” he cooed. His hands slid over your waist and down until they settled low on your back, pulling you closer to him. You moved your hands up and over his shoulders, lacing your fingers together loosely at the base of his neck. Your arms trembled. He gently knocked his forehead against yours. “Just relax, okay? I’m here to make you feel good, okay?”

The radiator popped in the silenced that followed. You stared up at him, nose just barely brushing against his. “But it’s not just about me,” you said softly. His fingers pressed into your back. “I wanted a good time and that means we’re both gonna enjoy it, right?” His eye widened just a tad. He didn’t answer. You puffed your cheeks at him and knocked your forehead against his. “Right?” you probed.

“Right, yeah,” he managed to say. Worick’s hands balled the fabric of your shirt to hide a shake in them. He turned you and backed you up until you bumped against the table. “Just a coupla kids hookin’ up.” His hands found your hips and gave them a squeeze, prompting you to jump. You did, and let him guide you onto the edge of the table. His palms were warm and slick as they slid under your shirt.

Your cold fingers traced the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders as you pulled him towards you. Goosebumps formed under your touch. “Right,” you whispered. You both leaned in for a crushing kiss.

He never thought it would be like this.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Least I Can Do (Part 3)

Summary: Jensen takes the reader on their second date where she experiences her first con...

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Word Count: 3,100ish

Warnings: language

A/N: They just keep getting longer somehow...

“Morning sunshine,” said Jensen when you opened your door, a small carry on by his feet.

“Morning,” you said, waving him in. “There’s coffee if you want some.”

“Already made some,” he said, holding up a thermos. “You ready to go?”

“You texted me like three minutes ago saying to pack some clothes and whatever stuff I wanted,” you said, walking past your couch and into your bedroom where your empty backpack sat on the unmade bed.

“Was that not enough time?” he teased. 

“Do I need a dress? Nice shoes? A parka? I need to know what this con weekend thing is. Or where it even is,” you said.

“Are you that obsessed with clothes?” he asked and you scowled. Oh, if there was one stereotype you hated as much as the sleeping around underwear model it was the superficial clothes and makeup obsessed thing. “Y/N, relax. It was a joke.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” you said. “We really don’t know much about each other and-”

“If you don’t want to go, then that’s fine. But please don’t change your mind because I tried to tease you and touched a nerve. I don’t think you care about name brands and crap like that really,” he said. 

“So,” you said giving him a smile. “Jeans and tees?”

“That’ll be fine. We’re going to a concert tonight too,” he said and you raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, give me ten minutes?” you asked and he smiled, pulling your door shut before you stopped him. “I’m not worried about you seeing my underwear drawer.”

“I don’t want to see my presents early,” he said with a smirk. 

“Oh don’t try this cocky flirting game with me Ackles. You’re gonna lose,” you said, watching him hold up his hands.

“I’ll behave for the foreseeable future,” he said. “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

“Alright. Oh and Jensen?” you asked, watching him whip his body around after heading into your living room. “How much do I owe you for the plane ticket and hotel and stuff?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I didn’t have to pay for it so don’t argue that you should have to.”

“Wait, this is a show thing?” you asked. He nodded as he sat down. “Awesome.”

“Awesome?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“I may or may not have binged like four episodes last night...” you said, walking back into your room to pack.

“So, are you a Sam or Dean girl?” he asked.

“What’s that?” you asked.

“Which one are you attracted to,” he said, a laugh in his words. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Oh, I like John,” you said. “He’s got that hot older guy thing going on.”

“You realize I’m currently older than he was when the show started, right?” asked Jensen.

“You’ve got that hot older guy thing going on ya know,” you said, popping your head out the door with a smirk. “Although you were an adorable baby boy back then. Your voice was so much higher.”

“Is this that flirty tease thing I’m getting now?” he asked. “I’ll give it right back sweetheart.”

“That’s a very Dean thing to say,” you said, walking into your closet and pulling on your airport outfit. A pair of leggings, the first tee in sight and a light hooded jacket. You slipped on your throw away shoes, the ten dollar sneakers that you didn’t give a crap about but held up amazingly well and threw your hair back in a ponytail. You tossed a pair of jeans, three shirts, pajama shorts, some underwear and your to go zip up with all your personal care crap in it. You quickly grabbed headphones, charger and a book before you were zipping it up.

“That was fast,” he said when you walked out after only a few minutes. “You sure you don’t want your laptop?”

“We’ll be busy probably,” you said. You glanced over to your dinner table covered with a few sheets of paper and your computer. 

“True. Okay. Everything off, and-”

“I have travelled before,” you said, walking over to your thermostat and turning it down.

“Thankfully it’s not across country today. Only a couple hours down to Arizona,” he said, stepping out before you so you could lock up behind you. 

“You still haven’t told me about what a con is Ackles,” you said, testing your door before walking with him.

“If you’re already binging the show, you’re going to have fun.”

“What?” you asked the front desk when you were checking into your hotel early that afternoon.

“We never received a request for a second room. Unfortunately we’re booked up,” they said and you sighed before heading over to where Jensen was talking to Jared in the lobby, waiting to go up to their rooms.

“Um, they don’t have a room for me,” you said, looking out the front doors. “I can try the hotel across the street.”

“Seriously?” said Jared. “They normally don’t screw up stuff like that.”

“I’ll bunk with Jared and you can have my room,” said Jensen, offering a smile. Jared seemed okay with that but you definitely weren’t.

“It’s your room, you should keep it,” you said. 

“I mean, you guys could share too. Not like you’re dating or anything...” said Jared, bumping his arm into Jensen.

“It hasn’t even been 24 hours,” said Jensen.

“I’m okay with sharing. We wanted to spend more time with each other. That’s the reason I came in the first place, right?” you asked. 

“If he annoys the crap out of you just kick him out and send him to my room,” said Jared, patting your on the back. “Want to meet up in a few hours and grab dinner?”

“Sounds good to me,” you said. “Apparently there’s a concert tonight he’s taking me to so we should be back in time for that.”

“Yeah. I’m sure that’ll be fun for you,” said Jared, sharing some sort of silent look with Jensen. “Later guys.”

“What was that about?” you asked. Jensen threw his arm over your shoulders and started leading you over to the elevators. For a moment you forgot all about the conversation were absolutely focused on all the warm muscle around you. 

“Y/N? Hello?” he asked, waving a hand in front of your face. Whoops. 

“Um, sorry, zoned out. What’d you say?” you asked, Jensen’s arm moving away to press your floor button and you wished he’d put it back.

“I may or may not be part of the concert tonight. I haven’t decided yet,” he said. You tilted your head up at him to see his green eyes staring back. 

“Yes you have you little flirt,” you said.

“I have to make you think I’m cooler than I actually am. I’ll use this to my advantage in any way possible,” he said, bumping into you playfully. 

“Right, because tall blonde and handsome isn’t cool,” you teased. Jensen was about to spout off something flirty back but a hand caught the closing doors and his arm quickly fell away. Two young women around your age stepped in, their eyes a little wide. He must not have wanted to draw any attention to you yet.

“Hi,” one of them said to Jensen. 

“Hi,” he said back. “You guys here for the con?”

“Yeah, it’s our first one,” said the other women. Jensen seemed genuinely happy as you realized they were both a little nervous to be near him.

“Y/N’s too,” he said, pointing at you. “What floor you guys on?”

“Fifth,” they said, Jensen hitting the button for them. 

“Are you going to sing at the concert tonight?” one asked as they got to their floor.

“I was planning on it. Have fun this weekend,” he said, returning the wave they gave him as they slipped out. 

“You handled that really well,” you said when you were alone. He shrugged.

“I’m used to it. Most people are super nice. We don’t really do bad stuff or get in trouble so no one bothers us on a day to day basis. No one follows me around or takes my picture. I’m boring. This is the most attention I get really,” he said.

“I like that about you. You’re normal,” you said.

“Let’s see how this weekend goes first and see if I’m worth keeping around.”

“Hey,” said Jensen, hopping backstage after finishing up a song, covered in a thin layer of sweat. “Having fun?”

“I wish you could have seen the exact moment her jaw dropped,” said Jared with a laugh.

“Oh my...you’re like fucking amazing,” you said, not sure where to look at him first. “You look like a rockstar and sound like one and play guitar, not to mention all the acting stuff and-”

“Told you I had to make myself seem cool,” he said, grabbing a drink of water.

“Mission accomplished,” you said, still in awe over him.

“I wonder how long that’ll last,” said Jared, Jensen whacking him with his bottle. “Hey, you got to tease the shit out of me when Gen and I got together. Payback’s a bitch.”

“I was totally in favor of you guys!” said Jensen. “I didn’t do it the second day you knew Gen.”

“I’m making up for lost time,” said Jared. “I mean, I don’t see you saying anything to Y/N for saying how cute your butt looks in those jeans.”

“Jared! You were sworn to secrecy,” you said, slapping his arm. 

“I need protection from you two,” he joked. “Besides, we don’t have secrets in this family.”

“He’s right. We don’t. Seriously though, you think I have a cute butt?” asked Jensen with a wink.

“Your cool guy factor is going down you realize,” you said, crossing your arms.

“Twenty seconds. That was longer than I thought,” said Jared, standing and stretching. 

“Shudyup,” said Jensen. You listened to a few more songs before the show ended and you stood up to head back to your room. “Woah, where do you think you’re going?” he asked, catching your arm.

“Bed?” you said back.

“If you want to we can. Or we can go out for a few hours,” he said. 

“I’m game. Not sure about an old timer like yourself,” you said, Jared raising his eyebrows as Jensen squinted.

“Oh, we’ll see about that.”

“Why is your alarm going off. We went to bed three hours ago,” you groaned.

“Sorry. Morning panel,” he said, his voice thick with sleep but willing himself to get up from the other side of the bed. “You can go back to bed if you want and just see the afternoon one.”

“No, I wanna,” you mumbled, stretching out and slumping back into bed. 

“Sure about that?” he asked, pulling off his shirt and walking to the bathroom. 

“I’m sure,” you said. You flashed open your eyes and quickly shut them before your eyes started wandering all over him. “Why are you so perfect?”

“I’m really not,” he said. “Something’s obviously not right.”

“Hm?” you asked, sitting up and opening your eyes.

“Forget it. I’ll shower quick then you can have it. Panel starts at 8,” he said.

“Jensen?” you asked. You watched him take a long sip from his coffee just before his and Jared’s panel was supposed to start.

“This one is only thirty minutes or so. Then we can grab breakfast,” he said, offering a smile.

“You just didn’t meet the right person,” you said, his smile falling away. “I don’t think you should feel bad about not having met that person yet.”

“I didn’t say any of that,” he said. 

“You didn’t need to,” you said.

“Hopefully I finally met her. Even if she thinks I’m old,” he said, Jared rolling his eyes behind him, mouthing ‘idiot’ at him. “What is Jared doing?” he asked, turning around in his seat to see Jared walking away.

“Oh, just being a good friend,” you said. “Come on, I want to see my first panel.”

“This one is smaller so it’s a good place to start I hope,” said Jensen, standing and holding out a hand for you. You followed until someone pointed out where you could go so you could sneak into the audience. You were surprised at how informal the whole process was, how a simple question led to a story and then another but somehow they always seemed to stay on track. You found yourself wanting more by the time it was over.

“You two are adorable,” you said to the guys when you saw them after they’d finished. “No wonder you play such good brothers.”

“We spend a lot of time together. As you can tell by how much Jared’s been hanging out on our second date,” said Jensen. Jared didn’t take offense and asked if you’d met any of the other people at the con yet. “We’ve been hanging out so not really.”

“Do it before we head home. Everyone’s interested in meeting your new girlfriend,” said Jared.

“I haven’t even asked that yet,” said Jensen, his face heating up the more Jared teased.

“Jared, can you give us a minute?” you asked. You waited for the two of you to be alone in the hall.

“Thanks,” he said. “I know this is probably overwhelming on it’s own and-”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” you asked, looking up at confused green eyes. “Yeah, I was talking to you.”

“This isn’t scary or weird to you?” he asked. 

“I like you. You like me. We’ll be going on more dates. I think we check off those criteria for boyfriend and girlfriend,” you said, reaching out and taking one of his large hands in yours.

“You’ve got a point,” he said. “I guess we’re together then.”

“I guess we are,” you said back.

“Can I go show you off to my friends now?” he asked with a smile.

“I’d love to.”

“This weekend was a lot of fun,” you said, yawning as you opened your door to your apartment that night. Jensen nodded and yawned in turn. 

“I’m really glad you came,” he said. “Maybe you can come to another one if you want.”

“Uh, duh. Those panels were awesome. I’ve definitely got some catching up to do,” you said, tossing your bag down and walking over to your phone on the wall showing a message.

“You are so going to be a Dean girl,” said Jensen, watching you tilt your head curiously. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said. “It’s just I haven’t given out this number in ages. The only people who have it is my modeling agency and even then they always call my cell or email, never this one.”

“Well now I’m intrigued. Let’s take a listen,” he said, walking inside and taking a seat on your kitchen counter.

“Let’s hope it’s fast. Walking Dead comes on in like ten minutes,” you said.

“Do you mind if I hang out and watch with you?” he asked, kicking his feet softly.

“No ya little cutie,” you said with a giggle. “Does someone like that show or something?”

“Yeah. Papa Winchester is on it now so of course I gotta watch,” he said.

“Now that’d be a hell of a crossover,” you said, remembering how to listen to your voicemail. It took a few tries before the message came through.

Hi Y/N. I don’t know if you remember me from Friday. I was the director in that orange baseball hat. I just wanted to say thanks for stepping in and helping us out at the last minute.

“That’s nice of him,” you said, turning to Jensen who looked skeptical.

We saw your resume from your agency and the producing team was wondering if you could stop down Monday at 10. We’re obviously doing this by the seat of our pants but if you could come in and read a few lines just to try for us we’d be forever grateful. Your agency said you just finished a contract and this might be a great opportunity for us all if you’re interested. I understand if you don’t want to, this is pretty far out of your normal realm of work. Thanks again.

“Oh,” you said, turning to look at Jensen.

“It’s your decision, not mine,” said Jensen. “Have you ever acted before?”

“The last acting I did was Girl #4 in my fifth grade play,” you said.

“Do you want to try this?” he asked, offering a soft smile. You had enjoyed the three seconds of doing it before. That really was getting to pretend to be someone else, kind of like when you modeled. But it was different. There was a story to it and you were lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to at least go and try in the morning. 

“Yeah, I do,” you said, nodding your head.

“We’ll watch zombies another night,” he said. “You’ve got other homework tonight,” he said, standing and moving over to your couch.

“What homework?” you asked, watching as he turned on your TV and quickly got into Netflix.

“Supernatural silly. If you’re going to read for Dean’s love interest, you should watch some more of the show,” he said, patting the spot next to him.

“Do you...want me to get this part?” you asked, walking over and joining him.

“I get to act that I’m falling for a girl while I’m actually falling for the girl that plays her? Why would I ever want that?” he teased.

“I guarantee I’m going to be awful at this tomorrow,” you said, feeling his arm wrap around your shoulders, pulling you into him.

“You won’t know if you don’t take a chance,” he said.

“When it comes to you and chances they’ve worked out so far. I guess we see what happens tomorrow,” you said. Jensen kissed the top of your head and your face began to hurt from the wide smile that had formed. At least until you started paying attention to the episode.

“Are those kids playing Bloody Mary? That scared the crap out of me as a kid,” you said, snuggling a little closer to Jensen.

“This one still creeps me out,” he said. “Obviously we should watch with the lights off.”

“If I get nightmares I blame you Ackles,” you said.

“If you get nightmares, just call me and I’ll pop down and sleep on your couch. Make sure nothing bad gets you,” he said, wrapping both arms around you and squeezing you gently.

“You can always just crash here just in case,” you said, letting him decide if he wanted to stay over.

“Good idea,” he said with a nod. “Now we should be quiet seeing as there’s a ridiculously good looking man on the screen,” he said.

“I’ll let Jared know you think so fondly of him,” you said.

“Shudyup and learn how cocky but good of a guy Dean Winchester can be.”

A/N: Read Part 4 here!

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[ilya-sorokins]

Prompt: Lucas and Maya had a baby at 16 & 18 and Maya's late again, causing Lucas to freak out

i loved this so much that i accidently wrote 1.5k words?? i’m not sure if it’s exactly what you were looking for, but it’s something all right. thanks for the prompt!! 

“I’m late,” Maya blurts out as they walk into Abigail Adams High School.

“Late?” Lucas muses. He glances at his watch to check the time, then says, “We’re not late. Actually, we’re early for once. I think this is the first day we’ve gotten Matthew to daycare on time in months. We have plenty of time.”

The blonde snorts at his reaction. “Not that type of late, Huckleberry,” she responds gently. “I’m late late.”

It takes a second for him to piece together what came out of her mouth. Then he stops in his tracks, nearly ripping off Maya’s hand that he’d been holding.

“Ouch! What the f–”

“Late?! Like, the bad late?” he whisper-yells, pulling her off to the side of the hallway.

Nodding meekly, Maya says, “Like the late I haven’t been since before I got pregnant with Matthew.”

“Fuck.” Lucas curses. “How can that happen? Aren’t you on the pill?”

She calmly says, “Yes, but remember when I had that sinus infection like a month ago, and the doctor put me on antibiotics?” He nods, slowly, unsure as to why it’s pertinent right now. “Apparently they can cancel out the birth control, make it less effective. And we definitely had sex that week. More than once. Also, we don’t have the best track record with condoms.”

“Hey!” he says, “That’s not nice.”

“I’m just stating the truth, Ranger Rick.”  

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Lucas sighs, “We do not need another baby right now.”

“We don’t,” Maya agrees. “We also don’t know if there is another baby. I still need to take a test.”

“Then take one right now.”

“Do I look like a carry around pregnancy tests?” she retorts.

“…No…”

“That would be correct,” she responds. “I’ll buy one after school while you pick up Matthew from daycare. We’ll find out this afternoon, okay?”

Lucas takes a deep breath, “Okay.”

She stands on her tiptoes in order to press her lips to his. “I’ll see you third period,” Maya tells him. She walks away, headed towards her AP Studio Art class.

“Wait,” he calls after her.

The blonde turns around, “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Maya beams. “I love you, too.”

Matthew James Friar was an accident.

An expired condom plus two clumsy, desperately to get off teenagers equals Maya and Lucas becoming parents during their sophomore year.

This came as a huge shock to their friends and family, especially since they’d only been dating a few months before Maya got pregnant. Luckily for the young couple, they had support from the start.

And it was a rough pregnancy from the very beginning. Maya had the worst morning sickness, causing her to be hospitalized for dehydration on a few occasions. She couldn’t keep anything down, and had to be put on medication for her heartburn. The school had to send her work home after month six and until she came back after giving birth.

But on a snowy night in January, just a week after Maya’s sixteenth birthday, Matthew was born, instantly becoming their entire world. Her difficult pregnancy ended with a smooth birth to a seven pound, blue-eyed baby boy. He may have had her eyes, but the rest of him was all Lucas. It’s like they cloned him.

Matthew stole their hearts, and his parents did everything they could to give him the best life.

Fast forward two years, and Maya’s late. The bad late.

“You really don’t think you’re pregnant again, do you?” asks Riley.

“I don’t know, Riles,” she answers her friend. “My period has always been like clockwork. The last time I was this late when I found out I was pregnant.”

“Yikes.”

“Tell me about it.”

Riley gets up to turn in their Government worksheets to her dad, and quickly comes back. “Well, what if you are, Maya? What are you all going to do?”

Shrugging, Maya responds, “Then we’ll have another baby. It’s not like we don’t want to have another one, we just don’t want one right now.”

“It wouldn’t be terrible, would it?” she asks. “I mean, it’s already April, so if you are pregnant you wouldn’t be due until what, November or December?”

She taps her fingers against the desk, thinking. She got that sinus infection about a month ago. “December,” she says, “And, it wouldn’t be horrible. We’ll be graduated by then.”

“And I know you want to give little man a sibling…” Riley adds.

Nodding in agreement, Maya says, “I do, just, not yet?” She says it like a question, then restates it firmly. “Not yet.”

The brunette puts a comforting hand on her shoulder, “You can’t worry until you take a test, Peaches. I’m sure you’re just late because of the stress of school and a toddler.”

“I hope so,” Maya responds longingly. “Can we change the subject? Did I tell you the new word Matthew learned? I’m pretty sure Zay taught him behind my back…”

“Mommy!” Little Matthew barrels into their apartment, followed closely by Lucas. The two year old throws himself into his mother’s arms, almost taking her to the floor.

“Oof,” she groans at the contact. “Hi baby. Did you have fun with Miss Ivy today?”

“Yes!” he answers enthusiastically, nodding his head up and now. “We paint picture. Look!” The little boy takes his backpack from his dad’s hands and pulls out a very colorful paper.

Maya takes it from him, oohing dramatically, “This is amazing!” Honestly, she has no idea what it’s supposed to be. There are lots of swirls, just in shades of blue. “I’m gonna put this on the fridge for everyone to see!”

He follows her to the kitchen and grins ear to ear when she hangs it up. “Yay!”

“It’s a masterpiece, dude,” Lucas tells him. Her snakes his arm around Maya’s waist, whispering in her ear, “Did you get one?”

She nods. “Not just one. Fifty dollars worth. We’re skipping date night this month.”

“Date night is the least of our concerns right now,” he responds. “Hey, Matthew?”

“Yes, Daddy?”

“Mommy and I need to do something real quick,” he says, stooping down to his son’s level. “Do you wanna play with your toys? We’ll play with you as soon as we’re done.”

“Hmm,” Matthew hums, thinking about the offer. “Okay. I like toys.”

Lucas ruffles the boy’s curls as he toddles off to his room. Maya hurriedly grabs the drugstore bag and says, “Time for the moment of truth.”

“Let’s get it over with.”

The young couple heads into their small bathroom. Lucas takes a seat on the edge of the tub while Maya opens all the boxes.

“Are you gonna be able to pee on all of those?” he asks awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I drank three bottles of water today so I’d be able to,” she answers.

A few minutes later, Maya successfully pees on all the sticks. She places them on the counter and sets a timer on her phone.

“Three minutes seems like forever when you have those in front of you,” Lucas says. She doesn’t say anything in response, so he grabs her hand and squeezes it tight. “Maya, it’s going to be okay.”

“What if I am pregnant again, Lucas?” she asks in a panic. Tears start to well in her eyes, “We can’t afford another baby right now! Between daycare, rent, groceries, we barely–”

“Breathe, babe, breathe,” he coaches, pulling her into his arms. Rubbing her back soothingly, he tells her, “If you’re pregnant, it will be fine. We are going to graduate soon, so we won’t have to worry about daycare. You know Mama will take him when we have to work. We already decided to take online classes for the first year of college. If we have another baby, it will be fine. Actually, it would amazing, because I love you and our son and any other children we’re going to have.”

Tears stream down Maya’s cheeks, but not because she’s sad or scared, but because of stupid Lucas Friar and how much they love each other it. “I love you and our son and our future children, too,” she cries against his chest.

For a moment they just stand there in the cramped bathroom, holding each other. Neither of them say anything. They just listen to each other’s breathing until the timer goes off.

Maya looks him in the eyes one last time, letting out a shaky breath.

As soon as she picks up the first pregnancy test, relief starts coursing through her body.

“This one is negative,” she smiles, showing Lucas.

He grabs the next one, “So is this one.”

Every test is negative. “I’m not pregnant.”

“You’re not pregnant.”

“Oh thank, god!” Maya cheers. “I’m not pregnant!” She throws her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his.

Lucas leans into the kiss, wrapping his arms around her. He pushes her up against the counter, eventually picking her up to sit her on it. They get lost in each other’s bodies. Maya’s shirt is long gone and his pants are unbuttoned when there’s a tiny voice at the door that cuts them off.

“Mommy? Daddy?” Matthew asks. “Play wif me yet?”

Maya leans her head against Lucas’ chest, trying to muffle her laughter.

“Yeah, buddy, just a sec,” he answers, then looks at her, serious. “We’ll finish this later.”

She grins, “Good thing I bought condoms and pregnancy tests.”

[meltingalphabet]

You don't know what you've got till it's gone

Would you describe yourself as spoiled?

My pencil glided over the paper, a smooth trail of graphite following. With a satisfying scratch, I circled “No.” The smell of fresh paper and pencil shavings took me back to high school. Before I was an adult. Before I knew how difficult life could get.

Would you describe your close friends as spoiled?

I hesitated.

First there was Meredith. Meredith, whose parents made damn sure she never endured hardship. Who paid for her Ivy League degree out of pocket and financed extended trips abroad in the name of their only child’s self discovery. Who owned the luxury apartment Meredith called her own. Who nested her in the comfort of unearned extravagance.

Meredith is an artist, they’d say. Meredith is a tortured soul who needs freedom to work on her novel without the hideous distraction of a 9 to 5. She is a creative who cannot be caged by the struggle of the common folk, but must sit and be and think and ponder and write and give a voice to the common folk and their struggle.

Then there was Erica. Erica, who glided by on her looks. Who didn’t have to work on her personality because she didn’t need one. Who could be rude without consequence. Her instincts unchecked, her id free to roam. Why would she think about you when everyone won’t stop thinking about her? It’s not inconsiderate if there’s nothing to consider. If she forgot who you were, you should’ve made yourself more memorable.

I circled “Yes.”

My eyes scanned the last question.

On a scale of 1-10 with 1 being the least, how appreciative are you of what you have?

What did I have? A shitty job, a tiny overpriced apartment. Jiggly upper arms, frizzy hair. My hand hovered over the 4. Robert’s warm smile. His soft kisses.

Sighing, I circled 8. I had a shelter, a stable relationship, a loving family. Life was good. Even if other people had it better than me.

Around me were 11 other people seated at small identical desks completing short identical surveys. Different shapes and sizes, ages and races. All completely forgettable.

A woman in her mid twenties sat at the front of the room poking at a tablet. She wore a neat expensive looking grey sweater. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun. The desk she sat at was modern but simple, the desktop empty but for a plain water bottle. Both the desk and woman looked like they were from an IKEA catalog. Generic but tidy, desirable but empty.

I walked towards her, my completed survey in hand. She looked up from her tablet with a small smile and gestured to the corner of the desk.

Her voice was smooth but neutral. “Thank you, Laurie.”

I placed my answers face down beside her, completing the nostalgic experience of taking a quiz.

“Please proceed to the waiting room. We will get you once it has been processed.”

Not wanting to make additional noise, I nodded and smiled at her, but she was already looking back at her screen.

An hour later I sat in front of another tasteful but bland desk. Dr. Howden scanned the tablet in front of him, his fingertips pressed together.

Finally, he looked up at me. “Thank you for participating in our study, Ms. Cartland. We here at the Galvin Institute depend on volunteers such as yourself.”

I smiled. $300 to come fill out a survey, yeah no problem mister.

“Of course.” I said politely.

“We’d like to invite you to continue as a participant. The study is 6 days and pays $900 a day, along with a $1,000 signing bonus.”

My mouth fell open. “Sorry, how much?”

Dr. Howden’s smile tightened. “At the completion of the study you will have been awarded $6,400.”

I quickly calculated the cost of my morals. Is it worth $6,400 to inject myself with something that would make me lose all my hair? I shrugged internally. It’ll grow back. Probably. There’s always wigs.

“Is the study risky?”

“Oh no, not at all. All we ask of you is to answer 3 simple questions every day.”

“You just want me to answer questions?”

Dr. Howden opened one of the desk drawers and placed a tablet in front of me. It was identical to both his and the woman from the study’s.

“The Galvin Institute will provide you with this tablet for the duration of the study. Every night at 6pm it will notify you to answer three simple questions. You will then have an hour to answer them. Once your answers are submitted, $900 will be directly deposited into your bank account.”

He looked at me over his wire frames. “Do you accept?”

My heart thudded in my chest. “What happens if I answer incorrectly?”

He smiled again. “The questions are subjective, so there is no wrong answer.”

I bit my lip, looking down at the desktop in front of me. There must be a catch. There’s always a catch. Hesitant to accept his insane offer without some sort of probing, I looked back up. “Can I opt out at any time?”

His smile faltered for a moment before he continued. “Of course, but you will forfeit all payment up to that point.”

I picked up the tablet and examined it. On the back was a subtle green logo with the initials “GI” in a pyramid.

Dr. Howden continued. “The focus of this study is appreciation and gratitude. The questions are designed to encourage self reflection.”

I nodded, “sounds easy.”

“It is!” He said, turning his own tablet towards me to reveal an electronic contract. He held out a thin stylus. “Oh, and please note that your tablet is programmed to only ask the questions and cannot be used for any other purpose.”

The drag of the stylus was smooth and frictionless as I signed my name.

“Thank you, Ms. Cartland. We look forward to working with you here at the Galvin Institute.”

“This has to be a scam.” Robert said, his beer hovering in front of his mouth as he eyed the tablet resting on the table beside us. We had both tried playing with it, but the screen would only illuminate to show a timer counting down to 6pm. No games, no other screens.

I shrugged. “The building was super nice and it all seemed on the up and up. I doubt they’re going to try and use my information to drain my bank account or something. Besides,” I rested my hand on his, “it’s for the wedding.”

He sighed. “You know, you’ve got to stop pushing that.”

I stuck my tongue out at him teasingly.

A loud electric jingle made me jump. The screen of the tablet was now bright white. Black font was neatly written across at the top.

I picked it up as Robert stood to look over my shoulder. On the screen was a question:

What was something bad that happened to you today?

Other than applying for the study my day had been pretty uneventful. I clicked my tongue thoughtfully before answering.

Nothing.

A circle appeared at the bottom right corner that read “submit.” I pressed it and the second question appeared:

What was something good that happened to you today?

I smiled.

Dinner with my boyfriend.

Robert kissed my head as I hit submit.

On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being the least, how appreciative are you of what you have?

The numbers 1 through 10 were beneath in small circles. I felt Robert’s warmth beside me and pressed “9.”

The tablet made a small chime as the words “Thank you!” jumped on screen. Little bits of blue and yellow confetti fell around it before the screen went black again.

My blood vibrated hot beneath my skin as I excitedly logged into my bank’s mobile app. My checking account was, indeed, two grand larger.

“Not a bad day’s work.” Robert said as he returned to his seat.

I woke up the next morning to the shrill sound of my phone ringing. I looked at the clock. 9:31am.

“Ugh, fuck you!” I groaned at the ceiling. I closed my eyes tightly before opening them again, my room slowly focusing around me. Without looking I reached over and yanked it from it’s charger. My phone’s screen was filled with the smiling face of Meredith. I groaned again as I answered.

“Dude, it’s Saturday. What...” A high pitched squeal interrupted me.

“Random House bought my book!!!”

I sat bolt upright. “Sorry, what?”

“Random House, Laurie. Fucking Random House!!”

The meaning of her words slowly dawned on me through the cloud of sleep.

“Random House the publisher bought your book?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yes!! Ah, we need to get coffee NOW!”

Thirty minutes later I sipped my latte while Meredith regaled me with the story.

“I thought it was really weird when they scheduled a meeting first thing Saturday morning, but you know? It’s Random House, so I couldn’t say no! Apparently one of their agents saw some of the chapters I published online and fell in love!! They’re offering me a $20,000 advance!”

I choked on the warm liquid running down my throat.

“I know, right!?” Meredith squealed.

“Twenty grand!?” The words came from my mouth violently as I tried to regain control of my breath. “Twenty grand for your first novel!?”

Meredith nodded, beaming.

“It’s not even done!”

“Oh, I know! I know! But you know what, I think this is really going to help motivate me to finish! My skin is tingling with creative juices!”

Your skin is tingling with $20,000. I bit back my tongue and gave her a weak smile.

“Congratulations Meredith. That’s awesome.”

Meredith and I met in college. We were both wannabe novelists, both women, both freshmen, and both living in Andrews Hall. We didn’t become friends because we connected artistically, we became friends because it was easy.

While I had thrived in school, Meredith had coasted. She graduated because she went to most of her classes and turned in most of her homework. Like our friendship, she succeeded because she didn’t fail.

After graduation I got a job in publishing as a lowly editorial assistant. I was paid the bare minimum to review encyclopedias written by retired middle school teachers. It sucked but it was a job. Without it, I’d be homeless.

Meredith was a trust fund kid. I was not.

I made a point of working on my novel for at least three hours every week. I was 60,000 words deep into a dramatic look at the repression of women in the early 19th century through the eyes of Charlotte, a lowly chambermaid working for a handsome but distant oil tycoon. Meredith, on the other hand, would write a few pages when the mood struck. Since graduating, we met monthly to discuss our progress and keep each other motivated, but more often than not the night would devolve into expensive drinks at bars filled with men with shirts inexplicably half unbuttoned. And while I woke up regretting all my decisions and trying not to vomit in my cubicle trash can, she’d remain untouched. She’d wake up at noon to order pizza and watch a marathon of shitty reality shows about overly dramatic rich people who also didn’t have any responsibilities.

Meredith’s novel, smartly titled A Rabbit Disturbed, was about an evil toy bunny that traumatizes a young boy. Imagine if Stephenie Meyer wrote a novel adaptation of The Velveteen Rabbit after watching the entire Chucky canon while on acid. Oh, and Miss Meyer also doesn’t know what a rabbit is.

The three chapters I read, the only three Meredith had bothered to write, were so bad that my main criticism was towards our college for giving her a degree in creative writing.

But maybe I was being pretentious. Maybe I just didn't understand Meredith's genius. I took another swallow of my latte as she planned out the evening’s celebratory activities as if planning a bachelorette party.

I was in a bar bathroom when the tablet chimed. I steadied myself against the sink before pulling it from my bag.

What was something bad that happened to you today?

It was early but my mind was already drenched in vodka. I definitely wasn’t happy. I had thought drinking would make me feel more euphoric, would let me get caught up in Meredith’s excitement, but instead I felt ineffectual and ignored. I thought of my novel and the stupid melodramatic character that I had poured all my creativity into for the past two years. I was miserable. Frustrated and defeated.

But what was I going to write? That one of my oldest friends had succeeded?

If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all. With my bare fingertip I rubbed my answer against the screen.

Nothing.

What was something good that happened to you today?

I gritted my teeth.

Nothing.

On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being the least, how appreciative are you of what you have?

I pressed “3” without much thought and dropped the tablet back into my bag as the bright “Thank you!” lit up the screen.

I woke up Sunday with a pounding headache. I looked at my phone to see several Facebook and Instagram notifications. All likes and comments on the many celebratory photos I was tagged in, all congratulating Meredith. I let my phone fall from my hand as I turned over, allowing myself to sleep in.

The chime of the Galvin Institute tablet rang out as I sat on my couch mindlessly watching tv.

What was something bad that happened to you today?

It was an innocent question. At least, it seemed innocent. And yet I felt a pang of frustration. Meredith was still riding the high of the best day of her life while I sat there very consciously not working on my novel. Robert was busy with his family all night, leaving me alone to wallow in my self-pity.

I wrote “hangover” before clicking submit.

What was something good that happened to you today?

I lifted the stylus, preparing to write “nothing,” but stopped short. This was a study of gratitude and here I was with absolutely none. I thought of Dr. Howden reading my responses. Judging them.

I got to sleep in.

On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being the least, how appreciative are you of what you have?

I pushed thoughts of Meredith out of my head as I surveyed my apartment. It was small and sparsely furnished, but the walls were lined with well read novels. I hugged my soft throw and took a sip of my tea, letting the worth flood down into my stomach. Ignoring the split second of burning at the back of my throat that told me it was still too hot to drink that fast. Feeling as if I had thoroughly experienced a moment of mindful appreciation, I pressed the tip of the stylus against the 7 with a sense of accomplishment. I was rising above my disappointment and struggle.

Dr. Howden would be proud.

My phone vibrated and I was surprised to see a text message from Robert’s mother.

Hi Laurie! Happy early birthday! Are you and Robbie free next weekend to come over for a birthday dinner?

I scrunched my eyebrows together. That’s odd. I guess Robert already went home.

Curious, I called him. He answered on the fourth ring.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Oh hey, is this a good time?”

“Sorry babe, I’m still at my parents. Can I call you back afterwards?”

Icy fingers clasped around my heart. I swallowed.

“Oh, sure. Um, do you want to come spend the night when you’re done? I miss you.”

There was a pause before he continued. “Sorry, Laurie. I can’t tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

The next morning I lay in bed feeling empty, worthless, and defeated.

I stared at my ceiling, trying to rationalize staying in the comfort and safety of my bed. What would happen if I just don’t go to work? I’m so unimportant. Would anyone even notice?

It was bagel Monday though. And I did like bagels.

Three hours later I sat at my desk regretting my decision. One of the other editorial assistants had called out sick and I was getting the brunt of my boss’ post-weekend wrath.

How fucking ironic, I thought as I scrolled past unread email after unread email. One email was three paragraphs of all caps red text berating me for the misspelling of Juan Ponce de León in an entry that was written and published five years before I was hired. I took a bite of my free bagel as I kept scrolling.

At lunch, Erica and I went to our favorite burger joint. Erica was an editor and close friend whose long blonde hair and curvy figure made her the center of attention more often than not. And she knew it. She could be narcissistic at times, but she could also be really sweet and what I needed that day was fried food and a friendly ear.

Her eyes lit up and she leaned in conspiratorially. “Maybe he’s ring shopping.” She whispered, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

I brought a french fry to my lips. I hadn’t thought of that. I put the fry back down on the plate untouched.

“You really think so?” I asked, butterflies fluttering low in my stomach.

She winked before taking a bite of her burger.

Returning to my cubicle, my high spirits were immediately dashed by an unread email marked important. The subject line was empty and only two words were written, all lowercase, in the body of the email: see me.

Harold Bradford sat behind his desk, the glow of his computer illuminating his glasses. He was a chubby man in his late fifties with wiry grey hair that wrapped around his head, leaving a round dome of perfectly hairless scalp in the middle.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes, please sit down Ms. Cartland.” He said, his eyes never leaving the screen. “This will only take a minute.”

I sat down as he continued to tap at his keyboard. I pulled the hem of my skirt mindlessly as my eyes scanned the shelves of books behind him.

Finally, he looked up.

“Ms. Cartland, I asked you here to discuss your recent work performance.”

My stomach sank.

“Your work has been…” He tilted his head back, eyeing me through his thin spectacles. “Slipping.”

A heavy silence fell between us.

“I-I-I’m sorry, Mr. Bradford.” I stammered.

“You seem to think this job is... beneath you.” He sniffed. “And while your BFA from Dartmouth is quite impressive, your work here lately is not.”

“I understand.” I nodded, cringing at the waiver in my voice.  “I promise to work harder in the future.”

“There is no future, Ms. Cartland.”

I stared at him, mouth agape.

He turned back towards his computer, “Mrs. Littleton will explain your severance package.”

My body and mind was numb as I left his office.

The warm water lapped at my skin as I sat in the bathtub. A glass of white wine stood at the side of the tub, the half empty bottle on the floor. Robert had suggested that I could use this time to work on my novel, but I knew that was misguided. I needed to immediately focus all my attention on finding a job. Once that severance ran out, I wouldn’t be able to pay my rent, let along my bills or student loans. Oh sure, there’s forbearance but that’s just an ugly band aid. The interest would gather like bacteria in an infection, following me for the rest of my life.

The smell of Robert’s spaghetti and meatballs permeated the steam of the bathroom and I felt comforted slightly.

What was something bad that happened to you today?

I was fired.

What was something good that happened to you today?

I brought the stylus down, thinking I’d write something like, “my soon-to-be fiance was there for me,” but I hesitated. I thought of the phone call last night. The uneasy feeling that came with it.

Instead I wrote, “Bagel Monday.”

On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being the least, how appreciative are you of what you have?

“Babe!”

The sound shook me and I jumped, cold water splashing around me.

“Babe, wake up!” I squinted to see Robert looking down at me.

“What happened?” I sat up and looked around. The wine glass had fallen from the tub, shattering on the tile floor.

“It’s okay, stay there.���

He left and I stood, grabbing my towel from the door and wrapping it around my shivering body. I must’ve been dreaming.

“What time is it?” I asked the empty room.

“Almost seven. You’ve been in there for almost two hours.”

Panic rose like an electric shot through my spine.  

“The tablet! Where’s the tablet!” I cried, jumping out of the bath. Glass cut into the bottom of my foot. “Ow, fuck!” I cried.

Robert appeared in the doorway holding a broom. “Laurie, stop! What are you doing?”

“The survey! The survey!” I pushed him out of the way, limping into the living room. “Where is it? Where’s my bag?”

Robert grabbed my arm. “Laurie you’re injured, stop!”

“$900!” I desperately pulled myself from his grasp, falling painfully to my knees. “$900!”

The alarm rang distantly from where my bag lay forgotten by the front door. I crawled towards it, shaking with sobs. I could hear Robert talking to me as I reached it, but his words were muffled and inconsequential. As I opened my bag my hands felt bloated and numb, as if I were wearing gloves. My fingers clasped around the hard familiar plastic and I pulled the tablet out.

4 seconds remained on the timer. Tears flooded my eyes as I poked desperately at the screen but it wouldn’t respond to my waterlogged touch.

“No, no, no.” The black digits counted down to 1 before dissolved into nothing.

A wave of despair crashed over me as I watched the numbers appear once again. 23:59:03. The seconds ticked down. Tiny insults adding to the bloody mess of my ego.

The next thing I remember was waking up late in the afternoon. My body was sore, my head foggy. A sharp pain radiated from my left foot and I wanted to cry, but there were no more tears.

There was a buzzing coming from my nightstand. I picked up my phone to see a new text message alert.

Hey babe

I stared at the words in confusion. Behind me I could hear the shower running. Robert hadn’t left. I saw the name at the top of the screen. “Erica.”

That’s odd. I opened the app to a chat I didn’t recognize. Messages I didn’t remember sending or receiving. I scrolled up to an image. It was a selfie of Erica, but she was wearing lingerie.

Realization hit like a cement brick. The phone in my hand wasn’t mine.

The shower stopped. My breaths grew short and ragged, catching in my throat in sharp gasps.

“Babe, are you okay?”

A shadow filled the door and approached me as my vision turned red.

I awoke on a hard, cold surface. I tried to move but my body screamed in pain. A bright light hurt my eyes as I slowly blinked them open. The room was grey and dingy. I sat up stiffly and looked in front of me at a wall of metal bars.

My head buzzed with questions, my eyes wide and seeing, no longer blinded or discomforted by the sudden light. Above me stood a police woman.

“Glad to see you finally awake, Ms. Cartland.”

“Wh-what happened? Where am I?” I tried to recall recent memories. The bath. My foot. Erica. Robert.

“We got a call about a domestic disturbance at your residence. You were found standing over your boyfriend's body, a pair of bloody scissors…”

The cop continued but the sound was eclipsed by a sharp ringing noise in my head. My brain buzzed with shock as I sat back against a wall, bringing my knees to my chest. The room began to spin and it felt like I was falling into the buzzing. Into the void of complete and utter surrender.

An electronic alarm echoed off the cement walls, shrill enough, and familiar enough, to burrow into my numb thoughts.

“It’s 6 o’clock, Ms. Cartland.”

I looked up to see the cop holding out the Galvin Institute’s tablet through the bars of the cell. I stared at it, uncomprehending.

“It’s time to take the survey.”

“What?” I looked at the cop, tears I didn’t think could exist forming at the corners of my eyes.

The cop cleared her throat and dropped her arm, the tablet hanging uselessly beside her.

“What was something bad that happened to you today?”

I looked at her with confusion and pain.

“What was something good that happened to you today?” The cop’s voice was flat and stiff. Robotic.

A sob broke out of my mouth violently. I clutched my hands to my ears, desperately trying to block out her voice.

“On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being the least, how appreciative are you of what you have?”

I opened my mouth, a scream pouring from my throat like vomit, filling the small room.

Reality snapped around me, as if a door opened in a vacuum. The world sucked past my body as I ascended painfully to the heavens.

My eyes were assaulted once again with a bright light, but this light was softer. Cleaner. Nicer. I was in a white room, a simple desk in front of me. Behind it sat Dr. Howden.

“Thank you, Ms. Cartland, for your participation in the study.” The corners of his eyes wrinkled with a warm smile.

My breaths came to me in gasps. I looked around at the innocuous room. It was just like it had been days before.

“I… I don’t understand.”

Dr. Howden gave me a tight smile. “Only a few hours have passed since you completed your survey. You have been under electronic hypnosis. Since signing the contract none of your actions, or the actions of your loved ones, actually occurred. It was all…” he twirled his finger, “in your head. I gave you a slight sedative before you awoke to help the transition along. You should be feeling more…” He smiled, “relaxed soon.”

I nodded dumbly. The numbness weighing my body down was no longer raw and uncomfortable but calming.

“Now,” he said, sliding a tablet across the desk. “If you’d please sign these release forms, you can be on your way.”

My hand shook slightly as I reached out and drew a simple line across the center of the page.

“Very good. You may now be excused. Your designated contact is waiting in the lobby.”

I stood uncertainty and began to leave the room before he added, “oh and as I explained before, since you opted out prematurely you forfeit all reimbursement.”

My stomach tightened as I saw Robert. His face set in bored concentration as he scrolled through his phone. Feeling my stare, he looked up and smiled warmly. “Babe!” He stood and walked towards me, arms outstretched. “How did it go?”

I clenched my jaw as he brought me to his chest, his body pressed against mine. My skin grew hot with anger and my stomach turned with disgust, but the tranquilizer slowly quelled my hatred.

He hadn’t really cheated on me, had he?

Robert took me home and made me spaghetti, just like he had last night. Except last night never happened.

The next day was a normal Saturday. I had coffee with Meredith as she told me about a new guy she met. On Sunday I had dinner with Robert and his parents. Monday I nodded at Mr. Bradford’s requests and listened to Erica complain about her yearly review. Friday Robert took me out for my birthday and proposed.

My life is meaningless now. Trivial and petty. These people I once loved no longer feel real. Their lives are stupid and useless, filled with made up milestones to give the illusion that life is moving forward. That they are making progress.

I could no longer pretend to enjoy it, so I left. I don’t have a destination, but instead I’m letting my short life roll over me like the waves of an ocean. Massive and unknowable. It doesn’t matter where I am or where I end up. It’s all so permeable. All so temporary. Why bother clinging to something when it’s not really yours to begin with. And yet the questions still run through my mind.

What was something bad that happened to you today?

Nothing. Nothing bad happens anymore. Nothing happens anymore. Life passes. I exist. I question reality and then find I’m too tired to care.

What was something good that happened to you today?

Nothing. Objectively, nothing good has ever happened to me. It’s all a farce. Life is just a series of signals that our mind misinterprets as something organized and purposeful. And yet we run forward with abandonment, counting the seconds until there are no seconds left to count.

Tonight I’ve found myself somewhere in Pennsylvania. The red numbers of the clock illuminated 6:00.

The sky is a beautiful amber above the mountain tops.

On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being the least, how appreciative are you of what you have?

No longer applicable.