#i only FINALLY decided what i would do my PowerPoint (we’re presenting tomorrow) NOW but. i can Not get myself to actually make it now

[chipjrwibignaturals]

imagine me standing at the head of a long board table with various middle aged executives in expensive looking suits shuffling self consciously and i pinch my nose bridge and do a really heavy sigh and they awkwardly cough because they sure as fuck are NOT functioning

[theladyofdeath]

Tempting the Fates {Chapter 4}

Summary: It’s the final semester of Aelin Galathynius’ collegiate career and she is so beyond ready to be done. Her schedule is packed full of nursing classes and labs designed to test her knowledge and hone her skills for the real world and her “big girl” job. However, she needs one last elective to graduate, so she decides to study a subject she’s always been fascinated by: Mythology. Who would have thought that a class about gods and goddesses living complicated lives would end up complicating her own in such an unexpected way?

Word Count: 2550

Chapters will be posted every Wednesday.

Tempting the Fates Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Apollo

– God of light, prophecy, inspiration, poetry, the sun, music and arts, medicine and healing

Aelin tried to convince herself that she got up and got ready two hours early for class because of her busy schedule. She kept telling herself it was for the meeting she had with her advisor, about a possible internship at the end of the semester.

She knew that both reasons, while extremely important, were full of shit. She knew she’d showered, blow dried and curled her hair for Rowan. It wasn’t that she was trying to impress him. She’d already done that and the chance she had to be with him had come and gone.

No, now it was about proving to him that even though this class may be a gen ed, she was taking it seriously.

Dropping the class had crossed her mind. She really didn’t need to take it, she could still find a different one to pick up. But she didn’t want to think about the sort of impression it would leave about her.

If there was anything to know about Aelin Galathynius, it was that she was not a quitter, nor did she run from her problems.

Or heartaches.

With one last look in the mirror, and a whistle from Lysandra, Aelin was out the door and hurrying across campus. She grabbed a coffee on the way, but avoided her usual place, knowing full well that Rowan enjoyed the same famous cafe that she did.

He wasn’t there yet when she got to the hall, but she took the same seat she had the class before.

She wondered if Rowan would be looking for her this time.

She quickly shook the thought away.

With her hot coffee on the corner of her fold up desk, she was pulling out her notebook and a pen, waiting anxiously for class to begin.

For him to walk through the door.

Apparently he liked to be right on the dot, though, because students continued to wander in, but he did not.

She was tapping her pen against her notebook, doing her best not to stare at the clock. She was just anxious for her day to start. It wasn’t that she wanted to see Rowan.

Professor Whitethorn, she amended in her head. She had to quit thinking of him as Rowan. She couldn’t think of him like that anymore, his body pressing into hers, lips on her neck, as he—

Shaking her head, Aelin sighed and suddenly realized that the rest of the class had hushed. She was so focused on reprimanding herself for her highly inappropriate thoughts that she hadn’t noticed him come through the door and begin setting up for class. When she dared to glance towards the front, she found his eyes on her. He quickly looked away, going back to his laptop and setting up the PowerPoint on screen.

Maybe he hadn’t been looking at her.

Maybe it had all been in her mind.

But she didn’t think it had been.

He had been watching her.

“Happy Thursday, class,” he began, as the title page of his presentation flashed onto the board. “Glad to see you all showed up again. Must mean my first class didn’t suck.” Quiet laughter thrummed through the room. Aelin couldn’t muster a laugh, though. “On Tuesday, we covered the basics. So, today… Sorry, we’re doing that again.”

More laughter, especially from the pretty, flirty girls up front.

Aelin couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

Which, when she settled her eyes back on Rowan, he definitely saw.

Come on, get your shit together, she chastised herself. With her back straightened, she gave him her full attention.

She took dutiful notes, but his slides didn’t hold much in the way of information. They were mostly headers, with a few bullet points. Most of the important information, information she knew would be critical for homework or exams, came straight from Rowan’s mouth.

It was clear that he loved mythology, that it wasn’t just a class his aunt had tossed his way and told him to figure it out. He was a trove of knowledge and she noticed he had a habit of going on slight tangents when he got going on a topic he was clearly interested in.

After a student asked him to clarify what he meant about Hercules not being Zeus’ only son, he ended up talking for nearly twenty minutes about what the beloved Disney movie had gotten wrong. Aelin had stopped taking notes and was watching him go on and on about how Hades, while god of the underworld, was not necessarily a villain. He just had a job to do. A job that had rules that must be followed, or the consequences could damn not only him, but others involved. His eyes found hers again and the amused smile on her face fell as she made the correlation between their own situation and the story.

They held each other’s gazes for far longer than was appropriate, and Rowan cleared his throat, going back to the PowerPoint, and the  predetermined lesson plans he’d made, which didn’t include children’s movie breakdowns.

She watched him.

She listened.

And she found it all fascinating. 

Rowan peeked at the clock after going on and on, and stilled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I guess I’ll end there. There is an assignment due by tomorrow evening. You can find and submit it online. It’s an opinion piece. I want a little insight as to why you were so interested to take this class, or what you’ve found fascinating so far.” He sat on his desk, his legs hanging over the side, his feet nearly touching the ground as he leaned back on his palms. Aelin found it charming. “You’re going to write a short essay telling me of your favorite deity. It could be one I’ve talked about so far, or one I haven’t. It’s your choice. But, tell me why they are your favorite. Give me a little depth. And, remember, this is a college course. Grammar counts.”

The clock struck nine-thirty and everyone began packing up. Aelin had been so captivated by his voice that she had to snap herself back to reality.

She quickly packed up her bag, alongside the other students around her. She noticed then how young they all were, and she was willing to bet that she may be the only senior on the roster. As she was descending the stairs, she found Rowan’s eyes on her again, but he looked away as his attention was taken, thanks to the group of girls who’d been sitting in the front row. She heard vague questions of whether they could all write about Aphrodite, since they all related to her.

The scoff Aelin thought she’d kept to herself had apparently been out loud, since not only Rowan looked at her as she passed, but so did the three girls. With his attention on her again, she decided to give him a little wave.

“See you later, Professor Whitethorn.”

If there was some extra sway to her hips, it wasn’t on purpose.

At least that’s what she told herself.

Two and a half hours later, Aelin was starving. She’d just gotten out of an extremely complicated lab and she could barely focus over the growling of her stomach. Twice, the instructor had looked over at her, half expecting to find a dog stashed under the table she was working at.

So when the class let out, she was hurrying toward the cafeteria ready to get a salad from the salad bar and a big ass slice of pizza.

It was all about balance. 

As she was waiting in line to fill her plate with salad, she heard a voice behind her.

“Are you actually getting lettuce or just filling your plate with ham, cheese, and croutons?” 

Aelin looked over her shoulder to find Chaol, her ex, suppressing a smile.

Aelin chuckled. “If it’s the same price, you may as well pile up on the good stuff.” 

Chaol gave her a small smile. “Fair enough. It’s good to see you, Aelin. You look good.”

Things hadn’t ended the best between her and Chaol, but that had been just after freshman year. At least now when they ran into one another, they could have nice little conversations like this one.

No hard feelings.

“You too,” she said, and he did. He’d been in an accident the year before. They weren’t sure he was going to walk again. In all honesty, it was just good to see him on his feet.

“How long until your class?” He asked, sliding his tray along behind hers.

She glanced down at her watch. “About forty five minutes. You?”

“This is my long break,” he sighed. “I’ve got an hour and a half, but didn’t feel like leaving campus. Want to have lunch with me?”

“Sure.” Her smile wasn’t forced, it was easy and she was glad they could even do this, when three years again, they could barely be in the same room.

“I assume you’re getting a piece of pizza after this,” Chaol said with a smirk, nodding towards her plate. “So I’ll grab us a table while you get the rest of your lunch.”

She scoffed but nodded, and went off to get a slice of pizza. When she ordered her pizza, she also got a slice of cheesecake. It was his favorite, something she hadn’t forgotten, but it didn’t hurt that she liked it, too.

Finding him in the cafeteria, she sat down at the table across from him. “How’s Yrene doing?”

He blushed, and Aelin had to admit it was adorable. After his accident, he’d fallen for his physical therapist, and she was just as smitten with him. It must have been all the one-on-one sessions, because Chaol had never been one to let someone in. Aelin had met Yrene early in her med classes, but Yrene had specialized in PT and graduated in less than three years, taking as many classes as she could manage and even studying through the summers as well.

“It’s going good,” he said, at last. “We, uh, just moved in together, actually.”

Aelin lifted a brow. “That was fast.”

Chaol shot her a look.

Aelin laughed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, good for you. I like Yrene. A lot. You two are good together.”

Chaol cleared his throat before taking a bite of his salad. “Thanks.” 

Aelin chuckled, taking a bite of her pizza.

Chaol blinked. “What?”

“You get so uncomfortable when it comes to feelings,” she said. “Always have.”

His eyes narrowed at her. “That’s not true.”

Aelin stopped mid-chew and raised a brow.

Even Chaol couldn’t help but chuckle at the expression. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. What about you? Seeing anyone?”

Aelin hesitated, then said, “No.”

A slow grin appeared on Chaol’s mouth. “Didn’t sound so sure about what one.”

Aelin shrugged. “Better be nice or I’m not sharing this magnificent cheesecake with you.”

Holding up his hands in placation, Chaol went back to his salad. Rowan was a dangerous topic, one she wouldn’t share with anyone but Lysandra, so she summed it up quickly. “Met someone I thought I hit it off with. Turns out we didn’t work.”

He slowly nodded. Aelin knew he’d had a couple failed relationships between her and Yrene. “I get it, I’m sorry. Still sucks.”

Shrugging again, she turned to her salad. “It happens. Not a big deal. So if you’re living with Yrene, does that mean you and Dorian broke up? Or is he playing house with you, too?”

Chaol leveled her with a look. Chaol and Dorian had been best friends long before they came to the University of Orynth. They were both from Adarlan, both trying to get away from overbearing fathers, and decided college across the country was the way to do it. They’d been roommates every year and Aelin couldn’t even imagine Chaol living with anyone except Dorian. But now he was. “He moved into an apartment with Manon this semester when I moved in with Yrene.”

Aelin blinked. “Blackbeak? He moved in with Manon Blackbeak?”

Nodding, Chaol went on. “Apparently, they’ve been dating for about a year, without anyone noticing.”

Something in the way he said it told Aelin that he had noticed, but when Dorian had his mind set on something, there was no stopping him. And apparently, he’d decided to date one of the most terrifying women on campus.

Aelin’s response was eloquent. “Wow.”

Chaol grinned. “I like it when you’re caught off guard. It’s satisfying.”

With a scoffed she nudged his leg with the toe of her sneaker. “Well, I don’t. Dorian will be getting a very angry phone call this afternoon.”

“I’ll be sure to give him a warning,” Chaol promised.

Aelin chuckled, taking the last bite of her pizza. “It’s good to see you all happy, though. Really.”

Chaol’s eyes softened. “Thanks, Aelin.”

She nodded. “Even if I am terrified that Dorian will get eaten alive.”

Chaol laughed, and she had forgotten how nice Chaol’s rare, hearty laugh was.

She meant it. She was so happy for them, both of them. It was interesting how things changed over the course of a few short years.

Their conversation continued, as did the laughs, and before she knew it, Aelin glanced down at her watch. She had less than fifteen minutes to haul ass back to the nursing building for her next class. Chaol, who had much longer to sit with nothing to do, assured her that he could handle her trash and told her to get to class. With a hug, and a promise that they’d have dinner soon, all of them, even Manon, Aelin was hurrying out of the cafeteria building.

Somehow, the entire time she’d been having lunch with Chaol, she hadn’t noticed the set of pine green eyes watching her.

Rowan’s own break had been at the same time as hers, but the gen ed building was much closer than wherever she was having to run off to, so he had longer to sit and— there was no denying it— brood. They were halfway across the room, so he couldn’t hear any of their conversation. He had no clue who the tall man was she smiled at so often, but clearly they were very familiar with each other with how easily they talked. And he made her laugh. A lot.

Rowan wasn’t sure why that was what grated on his nerves the most, but it unsettled him.

Seeing Aelin with someone else, someone clearly her own age, it all unsettled him. He didn’t like it. Almost as much as her parting words in class had.

See you later, Professor Whitethorn.

It’s like she was mocking him, yet at the same time, she clearly wasn’t. She was doing exactly as he’d asked of her, seeing him as her professor, not as her boyfriend.

No, he reprimanded himself. Not boyfriend. Hookup.

They’d had sex one time, that didn’t give either of them any claim over the other. It was a hookup and nothing more. And she was his gods-damned student.

She was off limits, in every way possible.

Yet he couldn’t figure out why seeing her with someone else, someone she should clearly be interested in instead of him, had him seeing red.

[puckinghell]

Acts Of Service | Elias Pettersson

Summary: When people have different love languages, sometimes it’s hard to understand what the other is trying to say. 4 times Elias shows you he loves you, and the 1 time you tell him.  Words: 7.5k (whoops) Note: This concept was very interesting to explore. Also yes, this entire thing was written because of that one picture of Elias in that blue sweater stepping out of the car like a fucking GQ model. 

----

(Some time ago)

“Didn’t you say there’s an apartment free in your building?” Brock asked as soon as you answered the phone, forgoing the “hello”.

“Hello, Brock, my very good friend, how nice to talk to you! How are you doing?” you deadpanned.

At least he had the decency to sound ashamed. “Ah, yes, hi. Sorry. I’m just in a hurry and it’s important.”

You frowned. “Why? Are you looking to move?”

“No.” Brock laughed. “Stetch would kill me. No, it’s about the rookie. Petey? I told you about him. Swedish, quiet, best fucking hands in the league.”

Yes. Brock had told you about the rookie, although you still thought it dumb to call him that. Brock was basically still a rookie himself.

“What does that have to do with my apartment building?”

“He said no to having a billet family but everyone on the team thinks it’d be good for him to have someone to kinda look out for him a bit. He’s never been to Canada before this, you know, and he’s never lived on his own either. His English isn’t that great and everything is new for him. And since you’re such a caring, loving person, we thought…”

“You thought I could babysit him?” you finished for Brock.

“It’s not babysitting. Just, being friendly if he needs anything. Obviously we’re there for that too, but it’d be nice to have you so close by.”

Close by would be an understatement: the free apartment was across the hall from yours.

You weren’t sure if this sounded like something that you would necessarily want to do, but you did feel a bit sorry for Elias: you’d met him at a team thing earlier that week and he’d looked completely lost in the midst of all the Canadian hockey slang that you barely managed to follow, even after having been friends with Brock for years. He mostly kept to Eagle, spoke in Swedish, and his eyes flickered nervously across the room whenever anyone else approached him.

“Fine,” you sighed, “I’ll talk to my landlord. But you owe me, Blondie.”

Brock was happy enough that he didn’t even call you out on the nickname.

1. 

“Have I told you lately how much of a lifesaver you are?” You lean across your desk, resting your chin in your hands. Elias looks mildly amused as he hands you the papers.

“Nearly every day,” he says, “but then I save your life every day, so that seems fair.”

You grab the papers from his hands.

“You’re a lifesaver and the love of my life, Petey.”

You think back to when Elias just moved into your apartment building, only because Brock thought he needed someone to look after him. You could laugh, now, thinking about how wrong he’d been.

Elias is the most self-sufficient, independent person you know. You don’t think he’s ever needed anything from anyone. Like in hockey, where he can make the play and score the goal all at the same time, Elias has his life together.

Unlike you.

Despite the fact that Elias hadn’t needed much help from you, you had become very fast friends. His quick witted sarcasm always managed to make you laugh and he liked how upfront and honest you were with him about things. It was easy, too, to spend time together. With him living just across the hall, you found yourself wandering to his apartment whenever you were bored, and he showed up at yours often when he didn’t feel like cooking.

Just because he could cook, didn’t mean he always wanted to.

And ever since the two of you had become friends, Elias had your back. When you needed someone to water your plants, or feed your cat Puck – Brock had named him – or, apparently, bring you the important work papers that you forgot at home after having worked on them all weekend.

You groan as you flick through the papers. “I thought I was going to die. Without these I can’t finish my presentation.”

“When is it?” Elias asks, eyes searching behind you. You know he’s looking out for your asshole of a boss, who will use any excuse to yell at you, especially the unannounced visit of a friend.

“Tomorrow. I got all the content in these papers here, but I still have to make the PowerPoint.” You sigh. “It’s still so much work.”

“Oh.” Elias’ face lights up. “Almost forgot. Brought you this.” Triumphantly, he reaches down and comes up with a paper bag from your favorite coffee shop.

The words fall off your lips in a gasp. “You didn’t!”

“Strawberry scone and a large caramel macchiato with soy milk.” Elias grins. “I also got you a chocolate chip cookie for later.”

“Marry me,” you proclaim, as you make grabby hands for the bag. The coffee is precisely what you need and your mouth is already watering at the idea of the food.

“Get me a ring, then,” Elias jokes, as he starts getting up from the chair.

Something tightens in your stomach, so you quickly take a bite of the scone: anything to push those feelings to the side. It works a little, and at the very least it tastes amazing.

You’re just friends. If you were gonna be anything more, Elias would’ve made a move already. Or, if you’d been brave enough, you would’ve: but he’s never said anything to make you think he’s interested and quite frankly, you’re not that brave.

“Thank you,” you say, mouth still full of scone, and Elias wrinkles his nose at that as you knew he would.

“I’m going to the store now,” he says, “anything you want me to pick up for you?”

“Wine?” you ask, hopeful. “I’m gonna need it after today.”

Elias rolls his eyes at you, but when you come home after the most grueling day at work there’s a bottle of rosé sitting in your fridge, next to a bag full of your favorite Thai take out food.

Love you, you quickly text Elias, even though you know he can’t answer because the game is about to start.

You take some time showering and putting on comfortable clothes, then situate yourself on the couch and put on the game. It has already begun, and you know it’s not gonna be an easy one, against the Bruins.

It’s not until the first intermission, when you check your phone, that you see there’s a reply from Elias waiting for you.

It’s just a simple heart emoji, but it makes your heart race anyway.

2.

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I can barely hear you.” Fiona’s tone is disapproving, and you pull your mouth away from where you’d pressed it into your arm to scream.

“I said, this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me!”

She laughs. “It’s just a car, Y/N.”

You don’t necessarily like your job, but Fiona is one of the reasons you’re still putting up with it. She’s not just a colleague anymore, slowly turning into a friend and someone you confide into about everything – even about your Elias problem – and you love her, but sometimes you could murder her.

“It’s not just a car,” you bite. “It’s my only mode of transportation, because you know how much I hate taking the bus, and it’s broken, and I probably can’t even afford to get it fixed. And now I have to walk home, and it’s raining.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Fiona admits.

After a long day at work, you couldn’t wait to get home and watch The Bachelor until you fell asleep, your cat in your lap. However, when you finally got away from the office and stepped into your car, it was clear the universe had different plans.

It didn’t start.

After trying approximately 15 times, you’d screamed, nearly cried, hit the steering wheel, and then went back inside to scream and cry a little more at Fiona’s desk.

“I just wanna go home, Fi.” You know you sound miserable, but you honestly can’t help it. Taking the bus always heightens your anxiety, so you avoid it at all costs: however, walking home in this pouring rain doesn’t seem like much fun either.

And Fiona can’t even bring you home, because she takes the bus to work like a normal person.

“There’s a simple solution to this, you know,” Fiona says. She starts to organize the papers on her desk, a clear sign that she’s getting ready to leave the office as well. “You could just call…”

“No,” you interrupt her, knowing exactly where she’s going with this. “I can’t call Elias. He’s got the boys over today and I won’t interrupt his fun with my misery. Besides, he does too much for me already, I can’t ask him for more.”

“Right,” Fiona drawls, “but when he hears that you were stuck here and didn’t call him…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t have to.

Elias would be furious.

One time, you were on a night out when you got a little too tipsy and didn’t realize your phone had died. By the time you noticed, all your friends had already jumped in their respective Ubers, but you had been too busy chatting with some girl you didn’t know to order yours, and now you couldn’t because you didn’t have a phone. 

You knew you could’ve asked any random person to order you an Uber, or at least to borrow their phone to call Elias – it’s not like you didn’t know his number by heart – but that felt like too much. It had been 3 am and he had a game the next day, so you decided to walk home.

When he found out the next day, he got so mad he didn’t talk to you for 4 days. Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore and just sat on his couch pouting at him until he spoke to you again.

“Something could’ve happened,” he’d muttered, explaining to you why he got mad in the first place. “And I’m your best friend, and you should know me enough to know that I would much rather you wake me up than you walk home alone.”

You did know that, and he was your best friend, and you’d promised him you’d never do it again.

It’s only that promise, that causes you to reach for your phone.

“I’m texting him, but if he’s busy, I’m walking,” you tell Fiona stubbornly. She ignores you, which is probably fair enough.

Hey, you busy right now? Are the guys still there?

The answer comes right away. What’s wrong?

Damn, he knows you too well. You quickly explain the situation and before you know it, Elias is on his way to come get you, and Fiona is bidding you goodbye after you promise her you’re fine on your own for the twenty minutes it’s gonna take Elias to get there.

You’re just checking your email on your phone when you hear the bell at the front door.

“I’m coming!” you call out. You hurry to grab your bags and then walk quickly to the door, where Elias is standing with his car keys between his fingers.

“So Bella finally gave up, huh?” he asks, a sly little smirk on his face. He always teases you with the fact that you named your car.

“Yes, and I know you told me,” you sigh, and it’s clear that he immediately – and correctly – reads your mood.

Without a word, he opens his arms, and you gratefully fall into them, hugging him tightly to your body. There’s very little in the world that brings you more comfort than one of Elias’ hugs: although being on Elias’ couch wearing one of his old hoodies watching some stupid reality show might come close.

“Let’s go home,” Elias finally mumbles, and he holds out an umbrella when he lets you go.

It’s raining really hard, and you know he has to park his car a little bit away because there’s no parking in front of your office, so you take it.

“You could’ve just called, I would’ve ran out,” you tell him sternly, but he shrugs.

“But then how would you have gotten the umbrella?”

You would tell him you’re not made of sugar, but as soon as you step outside the rain clatters loudly against the fabric of the umbrella and you realize you would’ve really, really hated to not have it, so you stay quiet.

Instead, you walk after him as he runs to his car and opens the passenger door for you. It’s still running, and the heater is on: only then do you realize you’re quite cold.

This morning they said it would be nice outside, so you didn’t bother to take a coat.

It’s quiet in the car for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the silence that only comes when two people understand each other, and combined with the soft music that is playing on the radio it lulls you into a false sense of comfort.

Until you realize something.

“Oh God,” you groan, “I’m gonna have to call someone to tow Bella to a mechanic.”

Elias raises an eyebrow. “Well, you could just leave her there.”

Normally you would’ve at least playfully punched his arm for the sarcastic tone in his voice, but right now you’re too busy freaking out.

“And how am I gonna get to work tomorrow? Don’t you dare say you’ll bring me cause I know you’ve got morning practice and it’s super out of your way. Fuck, why did this have to happen to me?”

You let your head fall against the window. The glass is cold against your cheek and it’s enough to stop the spiraling in your brain at least for a second.

“Hey.” Elias’ voice has lost all sarcastic edge. It’s gentle now, and he’s speaking low as if not to startle you. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll call the tow truck and the mechanic and get your car fixed. And Brock lives close enough that he can take me to and from practice and you can just take my car to work.”

It’s… a reasonable solution, but once again something that Elias has to go out of his way for, even just a little bit, and you feel something warm bloom inside your chest.

“Okay,” you answer, the stress already ebbing away. “Thank you. You’re the best.” You reach out and place your hand on his knee, squeezing slightly. “Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Elias mumbles something incoherent. You think you see some color on his cheeks, but surely that’s just because the heater is on, because there’s no way he’s blushing over something you said.

You turn off the heater, and let your thoughts wander as Elias drives you home.

3. 

Traveling is fun, but traveling for work is instantly a lot less fun. You really don’t know how Elias does it.

You’re feeling run down and jetlagged when you come back from your work trip, which is ridiculous cause you flew to Toronto, not to freaking Europe. But it’s late at night and the three days you were away were so busy you can barely remember sleeping at all.

Fiona slept on the plane, so she looks a little more alive than you when your feet touch the ground at Vancouver airport.

“Is Elias coming to pick you up?” Fiona asks, as you’re both walking through the gate.

You shake your head. “I’m sure he would’ve insisted if he could, but he’s in California right now. They played the Kings tonight and they’re playing the Sharks the day after tomorrow.”

“I wish I was in California,” Fiona says wistfully. It’s cold and wet in Vancouver and it wasn’t much better in Toronto. The tiredness doesn’t help: it feels as if the cold of the night is slowly creeping into your bones.

“Come on then, I’ll drop you off.” You thank Fiona and follow her to her car. Normally you wouldn’t have minded taking an Uber, but right now you just wanna get to bed as soon as possible.

“If I fall asleep, just let me sleep here,” you mumble, resting your head back against the head rest. Fiona laughs as she starts the car.

“No way, you’ll freeze to death.” She squints outside. “Do you think it’s gonna rain?”

“It always rains,” you say, despite the fact that it’s not raining at the moment.

Fiona turns onto the highway. “So, are you finally gonna put up that bookcase you bought?”

Involuntarily, you groan. “Stop, don’t remind me.”

Your old bookcase is big and ugly, and it has been a thorn in your eye ever since you moved in. The person that lived there before you left it there, and you only kept it because you couldn’t really afford not to.

Four weeks ago, you finally allowed yourself to buy a new, prettier bookcase.

But…

“It’s just so big,” you whine, repeating the excuses you’ve been giving Elias every single time he raises a judgmental eyebrow at the old bookcase still standing in your living room. “It’s gonna take forever to take it apart and then it’s gonna take me even longer to somehow get it all downstairs and get rid of it.”

“And then you have to build the new one,” Fiona nods understandingly. “And you’re not good with furniture.”

“Hey,” you protest, but it’s weak. You’re not good with furniture, which was proven when you tried to help Fiona move in and didn’t manage to help her put together anything at all. Instead she ended up with a table with three legs. 

You even tried to read the manual, but it’s just not your forte.

“I’ll do it,” you add, “I promise you I will. Just, maybe not this weekend…”

Fiona laughs, but she doesn’t call you out on the fact that it probably won’t happen during the week either.

Finally, you arrive at your building. You can’t wait to go to bed, and you thank Fiona multiple times before dragging your luggage upstairs. When you open the door to your apartment, Puck comes running up to you, meowing and weaving between your legs.

“Don’t be dramatic,” you tell the cat sternly. “Petey sent me many pictures of you sleeping in his lap and I know he feeds you chicken when he thinks I won’t notice, so you got spoiled this week.”

You lovingly scratch Puck’s ears, before flicking on the light and kicking the door behind you in the lock.

Instantly, you notice the difference.

Your apartment isn’t big: real estate in Vancouver isn’t cheap and your job isn’t great. You got this place mostly for the location, and you like the big windows in the apartment and how it manages to get in light even during the darkest of winter days.

One corner of your living room, however, was always darker than the others. The bookcase took away the entirety of the white wall, and it created a dim lit, sad looking corner.

Now, it’s open and bright, as your new bookcase stands proudly in its place.

There’s only one person who would’ve done that.

The phone rings a few times, but you know the Kings game ended a while ago so you let it ring. After a while, Elias picks up.

“Sorry for the background noise,” is the first thing he says. “We’re on the plane. Taking off in a few minutes, probably.”

In the background, you hear some yelling. Probably Jake.

“You put up my bookcase,” you blurt out, ignoring Elias’ statement. “You put it up and all the books are in it and the other one is gone.”

Elias sounds a little smug when he answers. “Well, it’s not like you were ever gonna do it.”

“Thank you.” To your own horror, you can feel tears burning behind your eyes. “Elias, seriously…”

“It’s nothing.” You can hear Elias’ smile even over the phone: you know everyone always makes fun of his deadpan tone when he talks to media but with his friends, his voice always betrays everything he’s feeling. “I know you were worried about it, and I know how much you hated that old one.” He laughs. “I get why now, by the way. It took me and Brock like four hours to get that thing out.”

“Brock helped too?”

“He did.” Elias is silent for a while, but in the background you hear another voice. “Brock says to tell you that I forced him. But that’s not entirely true.”

Entirely. You know Elias definitely did force him.

“Tell him thank you too.”

“He says you’re welcome,” Elias says, quick enough that it makes you think Brock didn’t say that at all. “We’re about to take off so I have to put my phone on airplane mode. But call me tomorrow okay? I wanna hear about your work trip.”

“Okay.” For some reason, you can still feel the lump in your throat. You didn’t notice it momentarily, while you were focused on Elias’ and Brock’s bickering, but now it’s back, and with a vengeance.

Fuck. You just…

“I miss you.” You blurt it out before you can stop yourself and if anyone would ask, you would blame the exhaustion and the fact that Elias can’t see how wet your eyes are over the phone.

“I’ll be back soon,” he answers softly, and his voice is gentle in a way that makes you think he knows about the tears, anyway. “And when I am, we’re gonna take a whole night to eat food and stare at that bookcase, because it needs to be appreciated after the effort I had to put in to build it.”

You laugh before quietly saying goodbye to Elias and hanging up the phone.

In the kitchen, Puck sits in front of the fridge. When you open it there’s a pan with chicken.

For Puck the note next to it says, and you send Elias a picture of Puck with his chicken.

“He spoils you,” you tell your cat. You decide to ignore the fact that he kinda spoils you, too.

4. 

When you open the door to your apartment, you’re met with the smell of garlic.

After yet another shitty day at work, you can already feel the lump in your throat building again. You didn’t even tell him, this time. In fact, you carefully avoided his texts because you knew he’d clock that something was wrong.

Fuck. That’s probably where you went wrong in the first place; usually you never ignored Elias’ texts.

“Hello?” you call out into your own apartment.

There’s soft music playing and there’s light coming from the living room, but the amazing smell that tickles your senses is clearly coming from the kitchen, so that’s where you go.

Elias is standing at your kitchen counter, chopping a carrot.

“Hey,” he greets, smiling your way. “I’m making dinner.”

It’s almost too much, how domestic it looks. And how right: like he belongs there in your space, waiting for you to come home.

Suddenly there’s the overwhelming urge to go towards him, so you do. His arm immediately lifts, creating space for you in the crook of his body, and you slip under his arm easily.

“How did you know?” you mumble into the fabric of his worn Canucks hoodie. It smells like him, a scent that reminds you of home as much as your mother’s signature dish.

“You didn’t answer my texts,” Elias hums. His arm tightens around your body. “So I figured you could use some good food and a bath.” His head motions towards the general direction of the bathroom. “I’m running it as we speak.”

God. You love him.

It hits you, then. You knew you had a crush on him, knew you wanted to kiss him and hold his hand and feel his hands on you. But it’s more than that, now.

It’s the realization that you want to share everything with him. The ups and the downs. The bad nights and the bright mornings. You want him in your kitchen, but more than that, you want it to be his kitchen, too.

Fuck. You’re so royally screwed.

Because he does this, and he does so much for you, but he’s never said anything, anything at all, to indicate that he wants that. Or has even considered it, thought about it.

Maybe it’s never even crossed his mind. Maybe he takes care of you like he would take care of a sister.

“Hey.” Elias’ voice is gentle as it pulls you out of your thoughts, back down to earth. “You’re shaking. Go take a bath, and I’ll finish dinner, and then we’ll watch How I Met Your Mother. I wanted to watch the next episode but I waited for you.” His grin is a little lopsided. “Isn’t that chivalrous of me?”

It is, and normally you would tease him for it, but you can’t really think or speak, so you just nod.

“There’s wine in the fridge, if you want a glass,” Elias says. He holds out a wine glass, already waiting for you on the counter.

And who cares that it’s only a Tuesday: you deserve it, damn it, so you open the fridge to find the wine.

You’re met with more than just that.

“You bought groceries?” you ask, your eyes traveling through your fridge. You hadn’t gone grocery shopping in like a week, and when you left for work this morning the fridge was basically empty. Now it’s so full you wonder how you’re gonna close the door.

“How else was I gonna cook anything? You only had cat food left,” Elias tuts. You’re not surprised to find Puck at Elias’ feet, waiting for him to inevitably slip him some human food.

“Did you get…”

“Your coconut yoghurt? Yes.”

He did, and he got basically all your staples, and nothing you wouldn’t buy yourself.

“Honestly,” you say, as you finally reach for the bottle and pull your head out of the fridge. “I don’t know what to say, Petey. Thank you. I had such a sucky day and now it’s already endlessly better.”

This time you know you’re not imagining the flush on Elias’ cheeks.

“It’s fine,” he says. “You should go take that bath before it goes cold.”

You want to say more: to tell him time and time again how amazing he is, how much he means to you, how thankful you are. But you know once you start, you can’t be trusted to not say the one thing you don’t think he wants to hear.

So you say nothing, and simply go to take your bath.

+1

But you think about it.

You think about it all throughout Christmas, where you don’t see Elias at all. You think about it during NYE, when you get a drunk SnapChat from Elias with his brother, right at midnight.

At least, you figure, he’s not kissing any girls.

You’re not kissing any boys, either. You’re at a NYE party with Fiona and it’s fun, it is, but it’s not the same as it would be if Elias wasn’t all the way in Sweden.

You miss him like a limb, and you know it’s not fair because he rarely gets time to go home to Sweden and he deserves that time with his family, but you can’t say you didn’t wish his time off ended already.

When it finally does, it’s not Elias you see first. Troy is throwing a late New Years party, just to welcome everyone back to Vancouver as they get ready to start the season back up, and when you arrive at his house it’s early enough in the evening that there’s only a handful of people there.

“Y/N!” Brock calls out, opening his arms to give you a big hug as you enter. “Missed you!”

You laugh. “Get off of me, you giant. I’m gonna drop the wine.”

“Not the wine,” Troy says dramatically, tearing it out of your hands. His eyes are sparkling when he thanks and hugs you, and then Brock is ushering you into the living room, where Jake is talking with Quinn.

Or talking at Quinn. To be honest, you never really know when Quinn is paying attention.

“Y/N!” Jake exclaims, much like Brock had. “I’m glad you’re here, we need your input on something.”

“Okay?” you ask, curiosity instantly taking over. Whenever Jake and Brock get together, it promises to be an interesting evening.

“We’re trying to decide Brock’s love language.”

It’s sudden enough that you laugh. “His what?”

“Love language,” Jake explains. “Like, how he shows people he loves them. He says it’s quality time, but I think it could be physical touch. He’s always touching people.”

“Jake is deflecting because his love language is physical touch,” Brock scowls. “I think I know my own love language, Tuna.”

“Hold on.” Unfortunately, you have to press the pause button on their discussion. “What options do we have?”

You’ve got no idea where they got this from, but it doesn’t really matter. You’re always down to share your opinion on stupid stuff with your favorite boys.

“There’s gifts, quality time, physical touch, words of affirmation, and…” Brock pauses, and you can nearly see the wheels in his head turning.

“Acts of service,” Quinn offers, which proves that he was actually paying attention.

“Mine is physical touch,” Jake says determinedly. “When I care about someone, I always wanna be touching them, and when I’m in love with someone that’s like twenty times worse.”

“Poor girl,” Quinn mutters, and the conversation gets paused in order for Jake to put Quinn in a headlock.

“I think yours is quality time, actually,” you tell Brock when Jake is done murdering the rookie. “Your ex was always on her phone during your date nights and I remember it drove you crazy.”

“See,” Brock says proudly. “Quality time baby. If I’m there I’m there.”

“What about yours, Huggy?” Jake asks. “Physical touch would make sense, since you’re called Huggy.”

“I’m not called Huggy,” Quinn deadpans. His face is devoid of any emotion, but you know him well enough to recognize the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He reminds you of Elias, when he does that. “And if we were going by nicknames your love language would be fishing.”

Everyone cracks up on that, and then the doorbell rings and Bo arrives.

The topic gets put on hold, then, because Bo is instantly talking about Gunnar’s first Christmas and Brock is talking about becoming an uncle again and you feel warm and happy on the couch with your wine, squeezed between Brock and Troy.

Until, a little later, you realize someone is missing.

“Where’s Petey?” you ask Troy. “Isn’t he coming?”

Troy shrugs. “Should do. But you never know with Pete.”

It’s not entirely true: if Elias promises he’ll be there, he will be there. But, to be fair, he usually doesn’t promise that to anyone but you, and you hadn’t asked him to come, this time.

You figured he just would.

“What about Petey’s love language?” Brock asks idly, not knowing he’s opening Pandora’s box for you. “Definitely not words of affirmation, huh.”

Troy laughs.

“Nah, Petey’s an acts of service guy. He’s always doing shit for Y/N.”

You would protest if you trusted your voice not to shake. As it is, you stay quiet and hope the flush on your cheeks gets mistaken for a wine flush, and not an Elias flush.

Brock brightens. “Oh, yeah! Getting her car fixed, making dinner, building her stupid bookshelf, feeding her cat… He is a typical acts of service guy.” He bumps against your shoulder playfully. “I hope you appreciate his showing of love, Y/N. He rarely does that shit for me.”

Troy snorts. “That’s cause he’s not in love with you, Boes.”

“He’s not in love with me either!” you squeak, unable to stay quiet any longer. You know if you don’t derail this trail of thought very soon, it’s gonna end badly for you.

Both Troy and Brock look unimpressed, at that statement.

“Yes, he is,” Brock says slowly, as if explaining something to an unruly child. “He drops whatever he has going on to do small things that make your life easier. That’s literally the same as him screaming I’m in love with you from the highest rooftop in Vancouver.”

“He’s not like you,” Troy continues, a little more gentle. “When people have different love languages, they don’t always understand what the other is trying to say. Your love language is words of affirmation. You’re always telling Petey how amazing he is. But he doesn’t see that as a declaration of love, or whatever. He thinks you tell everyone that they’re amazing.”

You do, to be fair, but not as often as you tell Elias. Because he’s…

Well. Amazing would be an understatement, actually. He’s everything to you.  

Things are starting to make sense, like puzzle pieces fitting into place. Suddenly, you start wondering if there’s more to his acts of service than plain friendship, or him being a good guy.

It’s not like he does stuff like that for all his friends. He helps them out, sure, but he always goes above and beyond for you, usually not even needing to be asked.

But he’s not in love with you, surely? He hasn’t said anything…

But maybe words aren’t his thing. Not like they are yours: the way you can’t stop yourself from gushing into Elias’ ear even when you know you should stop.

What if Brock and Troy are right?

You don’t get much time to think it through, because that’s when Elias finally appears in Troy’s living room, looking endlessly cool in his blue sweater, wearing his glasses. He’s sending death glares at Jake, who wolf whistles from the corner, but then his eyes meet yours and they soften.

“Hi there,” he smiles, reaching out to you. You immediately jump up and launch yourself at him, any previous conversation about the two of you momentarily forgotten as you curl your body into his, his arms tightening around your waist.

“Missed you,” you hum into his shoulder, and you’re rewarded with a grin you can feel against the skin of your neck.

“Are you sure hers isn’t physical touch?” you hear Brock ponder, and you would flip him off if you could be bothered.

You can’t. All you can be bothered doing is plastering yourself to Elias’ side and not leaving him alone even for a second, the rest of the night.

It works at least for a while, until he asks: “Do you want another drink?”

“I’ll go with you,” you say, not willing to part with him yet, and you ignore the knowing look Brock shoots you as the two of you find your way to the kitchen.

Elias immediately goes for the wine, because he knows you better than anyone else.

“I asked my dad about the job,” Elias mentions casually, as if it’s not a big deal at all. “He thinks he can get you an interview.”

“Wait, what?”

Suddenly your heart is ticking in your throat. Before he left for Sweden, Elias had mentioned that his dad knows a guy who works for a similar company as you’re working for now: apart from the shitty boss you have or the ridiculous low salary you get paid. It’s your job, but better, and Elias promised you he’d get his dad to ask if there were any open positions.

There were. And you sent in your application not thinking there was gonna come much from it, but now…

Something warm washes through your chest, like your heart grew three sizes. Of course he asked, of course he made it happen. Looking out for you, always and at any time, from any distance.

“It’s not a done deal,” Elias warns, oblivious to your mental breakdown. “But he said he thinks they’ll like you and he’ll put in a good word for you.”

You squeal and throw yourself in his direction once again. Elias laughs as he catches you, fingers curling in your hair where your face is pressed against his chest.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

“It’s about time you get rid of that dumb job.” You can hear the frown in Elias’ voice. “They don’t take good care of you at all, it’s not good for you.” The distaste is obvious and it’s adorable. You pull away.

“I don’t need them to,” you say, carefully. You can still hear Brock’s words in your voice, and you figure it’s worth a try, probably. “Because you’re always there to take care of me.”

Elias’ cheeks darken substantially.

“I mean it when I say I don’t know what I’d do without you, Elias.”

“You’d be fine,” Elias waves away the compliment as you figured he would. But this time you’re not backing down.

“Maybe I would be. But I wouldn’t be as happy.”

They say when you really love a person, you’ve got to show them. But you’ve never really known how to do that, instead you always use your words to tell them. But it seems like Elias isn’t believing you, not even now.

And you’ve got to fix that.

It’s not until you’re in Elias’ car on the way back home that you bring it up again. The party wasn’t really the time and place, but the conversation with Brock and the guys has been nagging in the back of your mind since it happened.

If you didn’t realize Elias’ acts of service meant something, maybe he doesn’t realize your words of affirmation mean something. And even if it doesn’t mean he’s in love with you – you’re really not that sure about that – you need him to at least know how much you appreciate him.

“You know I’m always there for you, right?” you start, carefully breaking the silence in the car. Elias shoots you a glance from behind the steering wheel.

“What?”

“Like, even if I’m maybe not as good as you are at realizing what you need me to do, if there’s ever anything I can do to help make your life a little easier or better I wanna do it. I’d do anything for you.”

It’s too honest, probably, and too much all at the same time. But Elias doesn’t look that surprised. In fact, there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You make my life better by just being you, Y/N. You don’t have to do anything for me.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach and you wonder how you’re gonna get through this conversation. But it’s one that needs to be held, so you press on.

“What is your love language, Elias?”

Now he frowns. “Have you been talking to Brock?”

Of course Brock talked to Elias before he talked to you. The traitor.

You decide to ignore that, for now. You’ll talk to Brock later.

“You know my love language is words of affirmation, right?”

Elias shrugs. “Brock did say that, but I didn’t know what you thought it was.”

“And yours is acts of service,” you hazard a guess. You keep your eyes firmly on Elias’ face, which is the only reason you catch the slight change in his expression.

Like a wall, crossing over his features. He’s trying to protect himself, although you have no idea why. Does he not get where you’re going with this?

“I can tune it down if you want me to,” he says, a little grumpily. He’s staring straight ahead at the road, stubbornly refusing to look your way.

And oh God, he’s truly not getting it, and this is going the exact opposite way you want it to go.

Troy did say that when people’s love languages don’t match, they don’t understand what the other is trying to say. But you honestly don’t know how you can make it any more clear to Elias.

Well, except…

“I love you,” you blurt out. “Like, in love with you love you.”

The words ring loudly in the quiet car. For a second, nothing about Elias’ expression, almost like he didn’t hear you. You can almost feel your heart sink into your stomach.

Then, he pulls over the car.

It comes to a stop at the side of the road, two wheels on the pavement and two still on the road. It is, objectively, not super safe, but it’s also 3am and there’s no other cars to be seen. Very carefully, without looking at you still, Elias turns on the hazard lights.

And then finally, finally, he turns to you and kisses you.

You weren’t expecting it but it doesn’t really matter: it’s like your heart and head both light on fire, and everything outside of the car simply disappears. It’s just you and Elias, and his lips on yours and his hands on your body.

It feels right. Like it was always meant to end up like this.

After what feels like ages, he pulls away. He’s smiling, and his eyes are bright blue in the dark car.

“I thought you said those kinda things to everyone,” he admits, quietly. His thumb is rubbing your side, his eyes fixed on that spot. Almost as if he can’t really believe he’s allowed to do that.

You don’t want him to ever do anything else.

“I thought you did those kinda things for everyone,” you shoot back.

Elias raises one eyebrow. “That bookcase weighed at least 300 pounds.”

You can’t help it: giggles are escaping your lips and suddenly you’re both laughing. The tension in the car dissipates instantly, and suddenly it’s just Elias again, your best friend.

Your best friend that you’re now allowed to kiss. So you lean in and press your lips against his again.

After all, kissing is a love language you think everyone understands.

(+2)

“I’m home!” Elias’ voice sounds through the empty apartment, and you immediately leave your spot behind the kitchen counter to run into the hallway.

With a squeal, you fly towards him, and he catches you easily as you knew he would.

“Hey, babe,” he laughs quietly, pressing a kiss into your hair before returning the hug fully. “Is that my sweater?”

“Maybe,” you admit, as Elias’ hands make their way under his own blue sweater, that you definitely steal from him most evenings. ��Missed you. And I’m very proud of you.”

“I missed you too,” he answers. “Watched the game?”

“Obviously.” You roll your eyes, even though you know he can’t see it with your face still buried in his shoulder. “A hat trick, huh? I think that needs to be celebrated.”

“Oh?” Elias pulls away then, one eyebrow raised and a cheeky twinkle in his eyes.

“Not like that,” you scold him, lightly punching his arm. “Or, maybe like that. But first, I made Kalops.”

At the mention of his favorite Swedish food, Elias’ face lights up. A while ago, you asked his mom for her recipe and it’s one of the only Swedish dishes you can make, but you make it well.

“Also,” you continue, as you take his hand and start leading him towards the kitchen, so he can sit at the counter while you cook as he always does, “I called the electrician so the TV is already fixed. I know you could have done it, but I decided I’d much rather use that time to hang out with you. I took Puck to get his shots at the vet and I also used my free afternoon to take your car through the car wash.”

When you reach the kitchen, you twirl around towards Elias and his arms immediately circle around your waist.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” he mutters, taking the opportunity to kiss you once more. “But thank you. I love that you took the time to take care of that for me. And I love you.”

“Look at us,” you tease, lightly tugging at the ends of Elias’ hair. “Speaking each other’s love language like that.”

“Perfect couple,” Elias agrees, and you smile back at him.

Somehow, you and Elias managed to create a language of your own: one that you could speak with nobody else. But luckily, you don’t have to.

Cause he came home to your shared apartment like he always does, and well. That’s the biggest act of service he could do for you.  

[retrievablememories]

the assistant | doyoung (m)

title: the assistant pairing: sub!doyoung x black!reader genre: smut request: “Sub Doyoung that works under a (Black) woc as an assistant. He gets turned on when she bosses him around and ends up in a situation where he can’t hide his feelings anymore. Hopefully it’s a smut.” word count: 4.5k warnings: oral (female receiving), handjob, dirty talk, public masturbation/sexual activities, humiliation kink *without insulting names*, dom!female/sub!male a/n: this came out a bit longer than i expected. the title’s a bit generic but the other one i had felt corny. i hope i didn’t make the reader too mean here lol

Taking a job as your assistant over a year and a half ago was both an easy and hard decision—though mostly easy.

Doyoung needed the money, so he wasn’t going to turn down the offer. And he had the skills for it, which he wasn’t going to let go to waste. But he wasn’t sure how he was going to handle the prospect of being sexually attracted to his boss.

It wasn’t just your looks, although they certainly helped. It was your air of authority and the way you knew how to get people to like you or do whatever you requested of them. There was practically no one you were afraid to call out if necessary, regardless if they were a lower-level employee or a fellow boss at the firm. You liked things to be done a certain way, and you wasted little time with hesitating like many others on the job did when they needed a task completed. 

He could tell your demeanor from that first interview, and it made him sweat. It pleased him and compelled him to achieve whatever he could during the hiring process to get close to you. Doyoung found it hard to get you off his mind, thinking about you from the time he left that interview to the hour before he fell asleep that night. He was undeniably pleased when he got the job, but even more happy that he’d be getting to work for someone like you.

Doyoung is a smart man, and he takes pride in a job well done. However...he’s not above making the occasional mistake just to hear you reprimand him. Nothing big enough to seriously impact your business, and never too often, or you’d probably have him kicked out. But every once in a while, he lets something “slip” his careful eye so he can hear your irritated voice or see your pretty eyes roll.

Sometimes he thinks he might be one of the strangest men on Earth to get enjoyment from things that would normally make others feel embarrassed and upset, but he doesn’t mind it too much. He knows what he likes, which is at least more than many others can say.

He’s not sure what he’d do if you knew about his secret, or about how he feels things specifically for you that an employee should never feel towards their boss. But he’ll continue to indulge as long as he can keep it to himself.

“I hope you’re ready for the presentation today.” You tell Doyoung this as you both take the elevator to your department floor. The only practical answer you expect is a yes, and he knows this. Thankfully for him, he’s not one to disappoint. “You’ve organized all the data I sent over to you and added it to the presentation, right?”

“Of course. Have I ever failed you?” 

You sigh, raising your eyebrows. “Those errors on your reports say otherwise, no matter how small they are. Don’t get too cocky about your track record yet, everyone messes up sooner or later.”

“Sounds like you don’t have any faith in me.” Doyoung laughs.

“Doyoung. If I didn’t have any faith in you, I wouldn’t have hired you.” You pat his shoulder good-naturedly, and he relishes that touch for a moment. “But I also know how humans work.” You both walk off the elevator when it finally stops, and Doyoung acknowledges a few people who pass by, though his eyes are always subtly drawn back to you. 

The conference room is almost full with the other bosses and higher-ups who have gathered for today’s meeting. It’s a panel, so there will be a few more people who go before and after you.

When it’s your turn to go up, you take the USB Doyoung’s given you with the presentation on it. 

The first few slides look as they should, which you pretty much expected, but you’re still glad to see that Doyoung got everything right.

You flip to the next slide of the presentation for the data and start going through it, but you quickly realize that something is wrong. None of the numbers match what you remember reviewing for this year’s report. You stop and blink for a few moments, trying to register what you’re seeing. Doyoung sits up in his chair, and his body goes stiff as he realizes his mistake. He knows for sure he imported the data into the PowerPoint, but he must not have been paying enough attention to which data he was using; all of this information is from last year.

There are a few disgruntled sounds from the meeting attendees, some born from secondhand embarrassment, others confusion, and some others annoyance. You clasp your hands together, putting on a fake smile as you regard the other members of the room. “Well...looks like there’s been a mistake.”

The meeting organizer speaks up. “We can continue on with the others and schedule your segment for another day. We’re all on a tight schedule right now, so I’m afraid there isn’t enough time to do this over today.” He gives you a regretful look, and you nod in response. You just hope you don’t get reprimanded for it too badly later.

Doyoung is sweating bullets when you return to your seat next to him. He glances over at you, though he can’t look you directly in the eye. You don’t even give him a glance back, instead keeping your eyes straight ahead on the next person’s presentation. He doesn’t need you to look at him, though; he already knows from your posture and energy that you’re pissed.

The rest of the meeting goes by fast. Maybe too fast. Everyone starts talking among themselves and packing up their things to leave, and you go to the organizer to set another date for your presentation. Doyoung waits until you’re finished with the other man before daring to approach you.

He stumbles over his words as he tries to speak. “Y/N, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

You give him a look and brush him off as neutrally as you can without drawing the attention of the others filing out of the room.“Let’s talk in my office.”

The walk to your office seems to last forever, though it’s only a minute or two in actuality. Doyoung doesn’t know what to think—will you decide to get rid of him? This is the first major mistake he’s made, but he is not so confident that you’ll be very forgiving with the past errors he’s made.

“Close the door behind you,” you say when you finally get in the office. Doyoung does as instructed and only sits down after you gesture for him to take the chair in front of your desk. After you’re both settled, you sigh and put your head in your hands.

You keep that position for a while, which makes him nervous. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to speak first, so he keeps quiet and waits to see what you’ll do.

Possibly the weirdest part of all this is the thread of excitement that still pulses through him. He’s anxious to know what you’ll say to him, whether good or bad. He’s not ecstatic at the thought of losing his job, no, but he also can’t deny that he likes hearing you raise your voice at him.

You lift your head to look at him, and he feels immobilized underneath your gaze. “I should have you fired, you know that?” He tenses at that. “After making such a huge mistake in front of the upper management, and having to reschedule the damn meeting…everyone spent their precious time coming out here today, pulling themselves away from their own busy schedules...”

Your words make Doyoung panic a bit on the inside, yet they also stoke the fires of his attraction to you. He curses himself in his head. He’s usually better than this at keeping himself under control, but something about your pointed anger today is speaking directly to a deep part of him.

“Whenever I tell you to do something related to the job, you should do it.”

“I know, o-of course. It was a mistake, but—”

“But? Did you really not realize the information you had was from last year?” 

“I-it slipped my attention.” Doyoung can feel heat creeping up his neck, but also rushing farther down below the belt. He’s only seen you this upset before on a few other occasions, and none of them were directed at him. He’s a little ashamed to say that it’s still turning him on, though he also realizes the gravity of his mistake. “I know I can’t make up for what’s already happened, but I’ll do better.”

“You definitely will do better, because you’re staying overtime to fix it.” He figured that much. “There’s not enough time to deal with this mess now.” You sit back in your desk chair, crossing your arms. “Don’t look so anxious about it. I’m still pissed at you, obviously, but I’m not letting you go. There are a lot of fools around here, and I don’t need any of them trying to become my assistant if you leave.”

Doyoung’s shoulders deflate a little from the relief he feels at that, with some of the built-up tension leaving his body. There is still another uncomfortable problem left, though—the bulge in his pants. His face turns redder with the knowledge that he’s gotten hard in front of you, with the only thing to hide it being the folder of documents he’s holding.

You lean over the desk a little, examining your assistant closely. “Doyoung, you’re turning beet red. The hell? Are you getting sick or something?” 

“N-no! I’m not sick, really.” His hands tighten around the folder as he says this, and he tries to look at you as nonchalantly as he can manage, though the eye contact still sends his pulse throbbing.

You stare at him for a few more seconds, trying to read him and getting nothing but more nervousness. “You know what…” You shake your head. “Just go home early and do your overtime tomorrow. You clearly need a break to pull yourself together.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I don’t need you messing up any more of my work if you’re this flustered. Go on, go.”

Doyoung nods, wondering how he’s going to get out of the chair without making it too obvious that he’s sprung a hard-on from your reprimands. You sigh and press your fingers to your temples for a long moment, and he takes this opportunity to stand up and try to zip out of the room before you can open your eyes again.

“Wait. Give me the folder.”

He freezes with his back to you.

“The-the folder?”

“Yes, Doyoung, that folder you’re holding right there.” You roll your eyes. “Come on. Don’t you need to be getting home?”

“Right, yes…” Doyoung hesitates for a moment longer before passing the folder to you, then he quickly covers himself by crossing his hands in front of his crotch. The movement isn’t as natural as he’d like it to be. You raise an eyebrow at his stiff demeanor, but you don’t say anything immediately. He takes that as his cue to escape, and he goes to the door as calmly as possible.

“Remember your overtime tomorrow,” you call out as he opens the door to your office. He turns his head to look back at you, nodding in response. He can’t read the expression on your face, and he doesn’t stick around much longer to find out what you could possibly be thinking.

Once Doyoung gathers his things, he sneaks off to the men’s bathroom. His hands shake a little as he unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants, pulling his hard cock out and gripping his shaft tightly. A tiny moan slips out, though he quickly silences his voice as he begins stroking himself.

All your words from earlier circle around in his head as he gets himself off, his breaths labored and echoing slightly around the walls of the bathroom stall. He imagines that you’re the one pleasuring him, your fingers wrapping around his dick as you laugh at how hard and desperate he is for you. Maybe if he’s good, you’ll let him cum in your mouth.

He’s learned how to get himself off quickly and quietly in the work bathrooms by now, so it only takes a few more minutes before he’s spilling over his fingers, the sound of your name passing through his lips almost inaudibly. After he cleans himself up and flushes the toilet, he spends a few more minutes in the stall to calm his mind and take some deep breaths.

“Ugh…fuck,” he mumbles to himself. The thought of doing overtime doesn’t thrill him, and he still feels shitty about making such a big mistake, but there’s nothing left to do except fix his errors.

Friday goes like any other workday, and Doyoung doesn’t notice anything unusual from you that would’ve indicated you knew what his “problem” was yesterday. He’s a little relieved about that, but he’s still not reassured enough to disregard the incident.

The day passes by more quickly than Doyoung would like, and soon it’s already time for regular office hours to end��and his extra work to begin. He seats himself at his desk, nodding goodbye to the last few coworkers who straggle out of the room. He didn’t see you leave your office, but he figures you must already be gone because the room is dark.

For a few minutes, it’s just Doyoung working by himself. He’s barely gotten started with the bulk of the document fixes when he hears rustling and a door opening. He wonders if it’s someone else doing overtime or somebody who forgot their belongings. What he doesn’t expect to see is you walking towards his desk.

“I thought you were going home?” Doyoung asks, looking up at you curiously. His hands pause over the keys.

“I am; don’t think I want to stay here all night. But I need to talk to you about something first.” You cross your arms, looking at Doyoung from behind his computer monitor.

A cold sweat breaks out on his skin, though he tries to keep his face neutral. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Your behavior after the presentation yesterday. In my office.”

As he thought, there was no way he could’ve hidden it or gotten away with it. He hangs his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “Y/N, please. Forgive—”

“Wait. Let me finish first.”

Doyoung stops talking immediately. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and watches you carefully to see what you’ll do.

“I have enough sense to figure out that you were far from sick, but I sent you away to save us both the embarrassment of you nutting in your pants.” His fingers twitch at your words, but he remains silent as he wearily waits for you to continue speaking. At this point, he’s unsure which direction this will go in; will you decide to go ahead and fire him after you said you wouldn’t? Will you scold him and then pretend like none of it ever happened? “You’re crazy as hell, you know that?”

He can’t meet your eyes anymore and instead looks at where his hands still rest on the desk. He stays quiet, mostly because he’s unsure how to respond in any justifiable way.

“You’re acting like a scared puppy now, but you were pretty damn shameless yesterday. Getting hard in front of your boss, really?” You reach out to him. He doesn’t know what your intention is, but he surely doesn’t anticipate you grabbing his tie. You’re not even trying to pull him closer; you simply hold the fabric in your hand, passing your thumb over its patterns. “Do you think any of that was appropriate?” you ask, your voice calm.

“N-no, it’s not.”

“Don’t think I didn’t see you practically sprinting to the bathroom, too. Are you gonna tell me what you did in there, or do I have to guess?”

Doyoung’s cheeks are blazing again, and he can hardly believe that you’re questioning him like this, or that he’s actually about to admit to it.

“I...I, um. I...jerked off.”

“Jerked off to the thought of me. Right?” He can only nod, keeping his eyes firmly on your hand—which is still holding his tie—instead of your face. “And do you think that’s appropriate?” He shakes his head no.

“Good answer. But you’ve also forgotten that I can do what I want, too. Do you think it’s fair that you’re the only one around here who gets to have any fun?” Now you pull him closer, and you lean forward to meet him halfway. The implications of your words have him risking a glance up at you, surprised that this is your answer.

“Fun?”

Any other thought he might have promptly disappears when you kiss him. He’s taken entirely off guard by your actions, and with his walls down, he lets a particularly needy moan slip out. He likes the feel of your lipstick smearing slightly against his mouth, and most of all, your lips themselves.

Doyoung is embarrassed to be getting hard from a single kiss, but whenever it comes to you, he’s gotten it up for much less. Now that he’s had this one taste of contact, he wants you to touch him more, wherever you see fit. It doesn’t much matter as long as your hands are on him in some way. He leans forward minutely, kissing you a little deeper and wanting to push his tongue into your warm mouth.

You part from him as soon as you feel him push closer, though you still keep a grip on his tie. “This is gonna go my way. Got it? If you don’t want this, say it now and I’ll leave.”

“No, I—stay, please. I want this.” His voice comes out more pleadingly than he meant for it to, but he realizes he’s not really concerned about that as long as you understand how much he really does want this.

You move away from Doyoung and he’s momentarily alarmed that you’re going to leave anyway, but you only shrug your coat off and step out of your heels, leaving them strewn on the office floor. You push him away from the desk in his rolling chair so there’s enough space for you to enter his cubicle and sit comfortably on his desk.

Doyoung’s eyes drop to your legs, which are shiny and smooth under your skirt and most likely just as soft as they look. “Get out of the chair and on your knees,” you tell him. He does so, and you kick the rolling chair away so it’s just you and Doyoung, you sitting on his desk and him kneeling in front of you.

“If you want to make up to me for that embarrassment yesterday, you’ll have to do a lot more than fixing a presentation.” You spread your legs a bit, your skirt riding up as you do, and Doyoung’s eyes hyperfocus on the gift that’s waiting between your thighs. His mouth waters a bit at the thought of finally getting to taste you. “So, don’t keep me waiting. Like I said, I’m not staying here all night.”

Doyoung nods and brings his hands up to the sides of your thighs, feeling buzzed at how he’s touching you in a place he’s never been before. He’d like to take his time peeling off your blouse and skirt, exposing your nude form to his mouth and hands and cock that would like to do nothing but worship you, but he hasn’t been given that much permission. So he keeps within his boundaries and hikes your skirt up more so he can reach your underwear to pull it off.

Your underwear, to his surprise, already has a considerable wet spot on it. It makes his dick throb to know you’re as eager for this as he is, even if you don’t necessarily express it. When you notice him staring at your panties, you grab the hand that’s holding your garments and push it into his face, making him smell your scent. “If you like it so much…”

The smell of you appeals to him on a visceral, primal level. His hands return to your thighs with renewed enthusiasm, gripping your body and pulling you closer to his wanting mouth.

The first stroke of his tongue between your lips makes you shudder, and it makes Doyoung moan out loud. He pushes his tongue into you as his nose nudges your clit, wanting to have more of you as you leak onto him. You grab his hair, though not hard enough to hurt, as you push his face closer into you and arch your hips up.

He responds to your actions by bringing his mouth back up to your clit, enveloping it and sucking it fervently. He doesn’t think to bring his fingers into the mix, as consumed as he is with simply tasting you right now, and your body’s reaction says you are more than content with letting him work his mouth on you.

“Doyoung…” The way you speak his name is surprisingly gentle, much unlike he’s heard anyone else say it before—even previous lovers. Maybe he believes it to be so because of how wrapped up he is in you. He tries not to read into it and get his hopes up, instead focusing on pleasuring you.

His cock strains uncomfortably against his pants, though he ignores it to keep licking into you. There seems to be no limit to how much wetness he can coax out of you. The small cubicle, and the office itself, is quiet except for the subdued hum of computer machinery and Doyoung’s mouth sucking your pussy.

The muscles in your legs flex underneath his fingertips as you get closer to releasing. Your hand slips to the back of his neck, caressing the heated skin there as Doyoung pushes you higher and higher until you’re cumming in his mouth. Your legs tense and try to close around his head as you moan softly, and Doyoung accepts the sensation of being caged in by you. Everything down here is hot and wet and delicious.

You are satisfied and properly spent after your climax, but Doyoung is still hard and you’re not quite done playing with him yet. “Stand up.”

He does so and watches with bated breath as you undo his pants and bring his dick out. It’s already dripping precum and flushed with arousal, but you decide that isn’t enough lubrication and carefully spit on his member to make your strokes smoother. His knees almost give way at seeing your pretty mouth so close to his dick, and he has to grab onto the cubicle wall to steady himself.

“Y/N…” His voice shakes as he speaks your name. Your hand moving across his shaft seems too good to be true, and he wants so much for you to take him into your mouth or even let him press in between your legs. But he certainly can’t deny that being touched this way is ridiculously good, too. You only concentrate on his dick for a little while, but your eyes soon venture up to his face, with his bangs sticking to his forehead from sweat.

“Do you like that?”

“I-I do. So much.”

“So easily satisfied, aren’t you…” you murmur, not really caring if he replies or not. You grip him a little more tightly, and he can hardly stop the whimper that results from it. “What do you do when you’re at home? Nevermind—I bet you hug your pillow and jack yourself off thinking it’s me. How embarrassing, Doyoung.”

You continue on, stroking him faster all the while. “Seriously, when’s the last time you had a warm body? You’re so sensitive.” You slide your thumb over the slit of his cock, and he reacts by pushing his hips closer to you and moaning loudly. There’s no one left on this floor but you two, so he isn’t too afraid of being vocal here. “Don’t tell me you’ve been holding out for me. Maybe I‘ll let you fuck me someday, though...you seem like the kind of man who knows what to do with a wet pussy, don’t you?”

You can guess when he’s about to come from his increasingly loud moans and how he has to hold your shoulder to keep himself upright. When Doyoung finally climaxes, you angle his dick so his cum splashes all over his shirt and suit jacket. You don’t stop stroking him until he whines out loud and nudges your hand away from his overstimulated cock. Some of his cum has dripped on your hand, too, and you wipe that on his pants. Lucky for you—and not so lucky for him—he‘s wearing light gray today.

It takes him a minute to recover from his orgasm, and you watch him with a devious smile as he regains his senses. You’re even more delighted when he looks down and sees the mess he’s made of himself.

“Y/N, my clothes…” You’re already standing up from the desk and pulling your underwear back on, along with your coat and shoes.

“That’s too bad, isn’t it? Gonna stain, too. You’ll have to walk out of here like that, and let’s not forget how you always take the subway on Fridays to save gas money.” Once you’ve tidied yourself back up, you give him another pitiful look. “Well, see you at work on Monday, okay?”

Doyoung can only watch your retreating figure as you walk to the elevator and get on, giving him one last amused wave before disappearing to the ground floor.

Perhaps the wildest part of it all, despite his soiled clothes and the night of work still ahead of him, is that he’d do it all over again if you asked.

[benedictsvestcollection]

Ever Ever After- A Whiskey x reader Modern Cinderella Fic

Rating: T for now!

Warnings: Ummmm.... Some swearing. Whiskey being a sweetheart. 

Word count: 1.7k 

A/N: Basically I love Cinderella and Whiskey so here we are. Secret Agent Whiskey is investigating your stepmom’s company and there’s a spark there. This will be a multi chapter fic so more to come!

Chapter 1

Whiskey looked up from his large, oak desk in his Manhattan high rise office. “Well hello Ginger, to what do I owe the pleasure of an in person visit?” He grinned at her. 

“Champ sent me to help on this next mission. Wanted you to have an extra pair of hands.” She smiled back at him and sat in one of the empty chairs across from his desk. 

“He didn’t say anythin’ about a mission to me.” He frowned at this news, not that he minded Ginger briefing him. He was simply surprised. 

“Yes well, he thought it would save time if I just debriefed you myself when I got here.” She explained as she pulled out a tablet and pulled up what she needed. 

Whiskey nodded at her. “Fair enough.” He gestured for her to go ahead. 

“This is Miranda Cox. She’s the CEO of UrbanEdge. An environmental company that specializes in making environmentally friendly clothing, houseware, you name it… They make it.”

“I’ve heard of it. A lot of controversy surrounding their company in the news lately.” He mused with a nod of his head as he waited for Ginger to continue. 

“Yes. Shareholders recently accused her company of not being as environmentally friendly. But that’s not the worst of their problems it seems. Once the shareholders brought that up, we suspected Ms. Cox of insider trading that was linked to everything from oil spills and forest fires. That her and her company only seemed to benefit from.” 

Whiskey snorted at that. “Of course. The rich get richer at the expense of others.” 

She shook her head at that. “Yup. Anyhow, the company used to belong to her husband but when he died, control went to her. Despite the biological daughter who couldn’t afford to contest the company passing over her in court.” 

“How is that relevant?” He asked her, curious. 

“Our sources say that she treats the step daughter like shit. She’s basically a personal assistant-slave to her evil step mom and her step sisters. Champ thinks she might be a possible asset for you once you get in the company.” 

“Good to know.” He nodded. “What’s my in here?” 

“Potential hands-on investor in the company. Despite the money she has, her company is bleeding money and will need an investor. You can bargain for more of a say to get an inside track and information we need.” 

“Other than gatherin’ information, is there another goal here?” He asked her. 

“As of now, no. Unless we feel she might be a dangerous threat. We’re just going to gather information and bring it to Champ. And he’ll deal with contacting the necessary authorities. I’ll be here to help you sift through any tech or emails. And if you need another person undercover.” She explained. 

“Perfect. I have a feelin’ I’ll need another face on this mission at some point.” He admitted. 

“We’re keeping you as you on this mission. The premise being that Statesman Reserve is environmentally friendly and wants to expand its partners.” Ginger told him. “And you, CEO and the face of the company… Wants to invest in UrbanEdge.” 

Jack loved when Ginger worked on missions with him, she was efficient and always thought ahead. “I take it, you already called and made an appointment for me?” He smirked at her. 

Ginger smirked back. “Tomorrow morning. Miranda was very interested in meeting you and potentially investing with her company. You’ll get a full company tour and meet with the shareholders as well so they can pitch to you.”

“Perfect. Guess I’ll need a suit for this. And an assistant. Wanna go?” He asked her. “You can hack into their systems easier if you’re in the building.”

“Sure thing, partner.” She told him with a grin. 

~~~~~~~~~~

“Ugh.” You moaned as soon as you shut the door to your loft apartment. Compared to your stepmom and sisters who lived on Fifth Avenue, your apartment was a shithole. But it was your home and you loved it. 

Today had been a long day. Your stepmother had you prepping all day for a potential investor coming in the next day. And you had put together a powerpoint presentation, made copies of all the numbers from finance and put all of those in folders. And that was just for work. You then spent the day helping your stepmother deciding what to wear to impress this CEO, followed by your sisters who were simply hoping to ‘land a husband’ and meet him. They didn’t know jackshit about the company, or care about like you always had. 

You missed your father dearly and wished the company had passed to you. You strongly suspected your stepmother was doing some shady shit with his beloved company. But you had no proof unfortunately. So, you were stuck watching her destroy the company and your spirit at the same time.

Kicking off your heels and setting your purse down, you now had just enough time to shower, eat a quick meal and crash for bed. Tomorrow was yet another long day of pretty much doing all the work and your stepmother taking all the credit. Not to mention her and your step sisters talking shit about you, directly to your face. It was exhausting. 

You awoke early the next morning. You had to get to the office early to prep for Jack Daniels, CEO of Statemsan Distillery to arrive and his tour. You arrived at the office in a high waisted gray tweed skirt, a blue sweater and black suede Mary Jane pumps. Once there, you made sure the breakfast spread was being set up. Bagels, croissants, fruits, coffee and juice. Your stepmother was certainly making a big deal out of this CEO’s arrival. 

After making sure the cars were on the way to pick up your stepmother and stepsisters, you finally sat at your desk to respond to some emails until everyone started to arrive at the office. With the exception of the one person she doesn’t read emails from, Miranda didn’t allow you to read emails from her investor for whatever reason. But you just shrugged that off. 

You were so absorbed in your emails you didn’t hear the elevator doors open to announce your step mother and sisters arrival. 

“You weren’t downstairs to meet us, so now your sisters are soaking wet.” Miranda announced and you looked up from your laptop on your desk. Blinking at your step sisters who looked bone dry. 

“I… Don’t understand.” You sighed out. 

“My makeup to meet Jack Daniels is ruined!” Madison screeched out. “He’s New York’s most eligible bachelor.” She told you, as if you were an idiot who didn’t know anything about the man. “And I’m going to marry him.” She added confidently. 

“You both look fine. I was busy getting work done for today.” You told them calmly as you rose to take all their coats and hang them up. 

“See that it doesn’t happen again.” Miranda warned you as you hung up their coats and sighed. 

“Yes ma’am.” You told her quietly as your desk phone rang. “Yes?” You spoke into it. “Thank you. Send them up.” She hung up and looked at them “They’re here.” 

Your step sisters squealed. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m about to meet my future husband!” 

“Girls. This is a business meeting first and foremost.” Your stepmother warned them. “Husband hunting is for after hours.” She winked at them and then looked at you. “Not for you. Jack Daniels is not for your eyes.” 

You internally rolled your eyes. “Yes ma’am.” 

“Like Jack Daniels would want to date her. She’s an assistant.” Madison sneered at you.

Soon, the elevator doors opened and revealed the CEO of Statesman and who, you could only assume was his assistant. “Ladies, it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you.” He drawled out as he stepped into the office and took his time greeting each one of them charmingly. 

“Oh, Mr. Daniels. I’m absolutely thrilled that you are interested in investing with our company.” Your stepmother told him. “These are my daughters, Madison and Jade.” She gestured to your stepsisters. 

Jack nodded to both of them and then turned to you. “And who, may I ask, is this charming creature?” He asked, studying you intently with a soft smile on his lips. 

“Her?” Madison asked with a laugh. “She’s unimportant.” 

“That’s no one. Just my stepdaughter.” Your stepmother waved at you dismissively. “Go get everyone coffee and be useful for once.” She told you. Completely missing the looks Jack and his assistant shared as you blushed and walked away silently. 

“I’ll help you.” Jack’s assistant chimed up as she hustled to your side. “I’m Ginger.” She told you with a smile. 

You introduced yourself and smiled back at her. “Thank you.” 

“So… Working for your stepmother. That seems… Interesting.” Ginger told her as they prepped all the coffees. 

You snorted. “If by interesting, you mean hell… Then sure.” You told her. 

“She does seem like a bitch.” She smirked at you. 

You smiled at her and chuckled. “That’s putting it nicely.” 

“Your boss seems to at least not treat you like shit in front of other people.” 

“Jack? Oh, he’s the best boss. Kind and treats the whole company with respect.” Ginger nodded. 

You blushed at the way you remembered Jack complimenting you. “He seems very sweet.” 

Ginger didn’t miss the way you blushed, but chose not to say anything. 

You brought out the coffee and nearly collided with none other than Jack Daniels himself. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” You told him, frantically looking around for your stepmother or sisters so they didn’t yell at you. “I-I was distracted. Did I get any coffee on you?” 

“Hey darlin’... It’s alright.” He soothed you, large hands coming to your arms to steady you. “I got you. And no, not a drop of coffee on me.” He reassured you.

You shivered at his hands on your arm, despite the sweater. “I-Thank you.” You stammered at him. 

“I’m not gonna get you in trouble with your family. I promise. You deserve better than that.” He murmured in your ear before promptly going to Ginger where she held his coffee and then entered the conference room for the presentation. 

Leaving you to contemplate what he meant by that as you quietly brought in the coffees and sat down. Very much aware of Jack Daniels’ gaze almost always drifting to you when there was a lull in conversation.

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[voiceless-terror]

Proficient in PowerPoint (The Magnus Archives)

Summary:

“Why are there so many animations?” Jon tapped his foot impatiently through the unnecessarily arduous process of getting to the next page. “I’m not a child. This is for Elias, not a primary school.”

“I thought they looked nice…” Martin said softly, shuffling his feet. “I can take them out, if you’d like-”

“They’re wonderful Martin, don’t listen to him."

Jon has to make a presentation for Elias. Sasha, Tim, and Martin help, with dubious results.

“It’s standard procedure, Jon. Every new department head does a presentation.”   “But I-” Jon left off with a sigh. Being called up to his boss’s office at the beginning of the day to be informed that he would be making a presentation to all of his intimidating colleagues (and superiors, if he were being honest) was not the way Jon wanted to start his Monday. Besides, what was he going to say? How could he explain this mess of an Archive that was currently under his command? That he didn’t really know what an Archivist did, and that when he googled the position it didn’t seem anything like what Elias had described? He might as well get in front of the room, announce his resignation and go home. Somedays this felt like the best course of action.

 He’d heard the whispers following the email announcing his promotion to Head Archivist.  “Him?”  was said more than once. A few scoffs, a few appraising eyes from the other department heads who were all at least a decade older than him. Even Sasha and Tim had given him a sort of silent treatment, only speaking to him in short sentences and one-word answers in the weeks that immediately followed.

Elias seemed to sense his unease. “It doesn’t have to be long. Just a rundown, a simple assessment of the Archives as they are and what you plan on implementing during your tenure. Perhaps a little about you and your team. Introduce yourself. Everyone’s eager to learn a bit more about you.” Jon very much doubted that.

 “Well the Archives, in my “assessment,” are currently a mess.” His candor was not appreciated. Elias was not amused.

 “A mess that you’re going to fix,” Elias gave him a withering glance. “I assumed you could handle this, but if that’s not the case-”

 “No, I-” He sighed again, the only sound he was capable of making. “Al-Alright. You said it was this Friday, correct?”

 “Yes!” Elias gave him a brief smile and ushered him out of the door with a hand on his shoulder, signaling the conversation was over. “Let me know if you have any issues. Not that you will, of course.”  Of course.

 The door shut behind him and Rosie gave him a sympathetic look from her seat. “You hang in there, alright? You’ll do just fine.” Either Jon looked that pathetic, or Rosie truly did eavesdrop on every conversation.

 Perhaps a bit of both.

 __________

 It was Wednesday evening and Jon was staring at a blank screen.

 Everyone else was packing up for the day while he sat in his chair, stewing over what words to write. He should be recording statements like Elias  wanted, not putting together some bureaucratic nonsense so the others could ‘get to know him and his plans.’ He didn’t really have a plan for the Archives besides digitization, and even that was going disastrously. Should he even mention the tapes? He’d likely be met with scorn and laughter. Elias may find them promising, but anyone who took one look at their equipment said otherwise. Google told him that he should share fun facts about the team but that seemed highly unprofessional. Who cared that he liked to watch documentaries in what little spare time he had? Instead, he’d written a very bare-bones outline of what he’d like to say but for some reason typing it out was impossible. The only thing he’d managed to get was a layout and font in neutral, unobtrusive colors. This was very important to him. 

 “Still stuck on the presentation, Jon?”

 Sasha was leaning against the doorway with a gentle smile on her face. She knew how hard it was for Jon to get his thoughts together sometimes and was always a sympathetic ear when it got particularly bad. She seemed to have finally settled into her role (whatever that may be) and was talking to him more and more. Though no one in the department had any experience in archiving, Sasha at least had more concrete ideas.

 “Yes, I’m just-” he sighed, taking his glasses off and rubbing his temples to ward off the approaching headache. “I’ve got no idea what he wants. What is a ‘rundown’ and how can I have one with the Archives like...this?” He gestured to his mess of an office, currently drowning in paper and cardboard boxes.

 “Well, what do you have so far?” Jon grimaced and handed over his notebook, filled with messy scribbles and half-finished ideas. Sasha skimmed it and made a few promising noises; Jon hated the part of himself that sought her approval. She finished and looked up with a grin. “How about you let me have a go at it? You know I love this sort of thing, and then you’ll have some time to record that statement tomorrow, hm?”

 “I-really? Would that be okay? I don’t want you to have to- I mean, it’s my job.”

 “I’m your assistant, Jon,” she interrupted with a placating hand. “So let me assist you!” Her offer seemed very genuine. Jon was loath to ask for help or admit to trouble even in the best of cases, but Sasha had a way of wearing him down with one well-placed smile. He decided to take the hand offered. 

 “Thank you, Sasha. Really.” He leaned back in his chair and gave her a grateful smile, glad for any progress made on the project.

 “And it’s no problem. Really.” She tucked his notebook into her bag and gave a cheerful nod.  “I’ll show you what we come up with!”

  ______

Jon yawned into his fist for the fourth time in an hour. The Amy Patel statement wouldn’t record on the computer so unfortunately he brought out the tape recorder. For some reason every time he recorded to tape he came away exhausted and anxious, unsettled by the words he spoke. Luckily he managed to get to the follow up recorded without too many interruptions- usually one of his assistants would come banging on the door and he’d be forced to start over for the sake of professionalism. 

 “Knock knock!” 

  Speak of the devil.  Tim grinned at him from the doorway, Martin standing close behind him.

 “Yes?” he asked shortly, straightening the files on his desk. “Do you need something?”

 “Your presentation, as requested!” Tim bestowed upon him a flash drive with much pomp and circumstance. “You’re welcome.”

 “Oh! Er, I thought I gave that to Sasha?” He looked in surprise at the device before him. He wasn’t expecting them to actually finish everything- he also wasn’t expecting anyone but Sasha to help him out. If Tim and Martin helped out as well... “I’ll uh, check it out in a few moments, thank you.

 “But I want to show you now, boss!” Tim’s voice reached the whiny pitch that he knew Jon loathed. He sighed however, and plugged it in. After a few moments a window popped open, with a file labeled  Jonny’s First Work Presentation.  He rolled his eyes while Tim snickered.  I’ll need to change that before the meeting…

 The file looked...hellish, to say the least. Jon spied on the first few slides a strange and ugly gradient background that faded from bright green to black, along with garish rainbow WordArt. He was almost afraid to click on anything, lest it blind him or inspire a seizure.

 “It’s really best viewed in slideshow mode,” Tim nudged Jon’s hand out of the way and made it so, the full screen now proudly showing the title page-  Jonathan Sims’ New and Improved Archives!!   Martin and Tim leaned in over his shoulder, the latter clearly excited to showcase his work.  That’s never good.

 “That’s far too many exclamation points, Tim.”

 “There are never enough exclamation points, Jon.”

 The next slide came in with a sort of shutter effect that did nothing to minimize the horrendous resizing done on the Magnus Institute logo, which had been stretched to fit almost the entire page and was unrecognizable due to pixilation. Jon gritted his teeth. “This is unnecessary.”

 “Wow, everyone’s a critic,” Tim rolled his eyes.

 “I-I can probably find a logo with better resolution,” Martin offered timidly. Jon had almost forgotten he was in the room. 

 The next pages were not much better- the Oxford English Dictionary’s definition of ‘archive,’ the audio pronunciation for it had a page to itself. There were several collages of books and artifacts (these looked handmade, as if someone had copy and pasted several finds from google images). Jon felt his anger grow with each laborious click. Was this someone’s idea of a joke? Where was Sasha? “Is there anything of actual substance in this?” he asked, huffing as the current slide disintegrated out of view in a dramatic fashion.

 “God, so impatient! We’re building up to it.” A few more clicks. They got to a page covered with cartoon ghosts and nothing else. “Watch this!” With a click the ghosts all flew away, a clunky piece of animation that revealed  Jonathan Sims’ Plan of ATTACK!!

 “I did that one,” Martin announced in his ear with not a little pride.

 The ‘plan of attack’ included bullet points (which were also little ghosts) regarding the new digitization and accessibility project in clear, cogent prose which must have been the work of Sasha. The rest, however- random paragraphs about ‘synergy’ and ‘dynamic team players’- was clearly unsalvageable and designed to make him the laughing stock of the institute. 

 “I can’t...this is unusable, Tim!”

 “Keep reading! There’s good content there. God, there’s no accounting for taste these days, is there Martin?” Martin did not answer. What could Martin have said? Each page was worse than the last- the current slide had only a picture of what looked to be an ancient Egyptian scroll and nothing else.

 “This is the definition of unusable.”

 “No it’s not!” Tim argued though he was on the verge of laughter. He was smiling, clearly enjoying the entire scenario. “Look, I even put a ‘Meet the Team’ section-” He clicked through the slides, each piece of text gliding across the screen in an obnoxious star pattern. 

 “Why are there so many animations?” Jon tapped his foot impatiently through the unnecessarily arduous process of getting to the next page. “I’m not a child. This is for Elias, not a primary school.”

 “I thought they looked nice…” Martin said softly, shuffling his feet. “I can take them out, if you’d like-”

 “They’re wonderful Martin, don’t listen to him,” Tim had finally reached the first slide of his ‘Meet the Team’ section. Instead of starting with Jon it began with an incredibly large photo of Tim, smiling and winking at the camera.  Naturally.

 “Tim Stoker: A Gentleman and a Scholar,” Jon read aloud. “I’m not saying that. And shouldn’t we be starting with me? I ask for one thing-”

 “I saved the best for last, of course! Martin, you’ll  love this,” Tim began frantically clicking through animations, taking a full minute to get to Jon’s slide. “Ta-da!”

  Jonathan Sims: The Man, the Myth, the Legendary Archivist

 It was a picture of Jon from a happy hour years ago, smiling broadly with half-lidded eyes and sprawled across the bar in a state of disarray. He had a vague memory of Sasha snapping the photo before he fell to the ground and vomited everything he drank.  No no no no  - he attempted to slam down the laptop screen before Martin could see but the damage was done. The man was red and stuttering, clearly embarrassed for Jon. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm down. He contemplated his options- double homicide or self-immolation. Both seemed equally appealing in the moment. 

 “Please leave,” he fumed, his own face a tomato red as he stared at the floor. “Now.”

 “Aw boss, don’t be like that-”

  “Now!”  Two sets of footsteps scurried from the room as Jon threw his head into his hands.

 He had quite a bit of work to do.

 _____________

 Of course he scrapped almost all of it, keeping only the informative parts that Sasha had written.  This is why you should do things yourself. ‘Assist’ my ass. 

 Jon had kept the door closed for the rest of the afternoon, ignoring both the plaintive apologies from Tim and Martin and Sasha’s insistent knocking. He wanted to blame her for letting the other two get involved, wanted to yell and stamp and maybe throw a thing or two. But it was  his  job. He shouldn’t have left it all to them.  Lazy, incompetent, his mind raged but the words were aimed at himself. Perhaps that’s why they sabotaged the slideshow, to tell him they weren’t going to do his dirty work. Hazing the new boss.  Did they realize how important this was to him? Did they even care? He already looked like a fool- why not double down on it?

 He took the ‘Meet the Team’ page down, his fingers angrily punched the ‘delete’ key for every picture and turned it into one slide with only their names and positions.  That’s all they need to know, really.  He managed to throw together a few slides on a new organizational system and something about research follow up, but it all rang false and hollow- any academic would see right through this bullshit attempt. Even the digitization slides seemed trite- why was this his first order of business?  What the hell are you doing?

 It was late into the night when he finally finished, though the presentation was nowhere near what he wanted it to be. The clock informed him it was only ten though, so he still had some time before the last train. He was just going to rest his eyes for a minute and then he’d get up and go.  Just a minute...

  ____________

And then it was tomorrow.

 Fuck.  Fuck! 

 Jon woke up with his head pillowed in his arms and his back almost completely immobile. He squinted at the clock-  7:00 AM. He tripped down the hallway and into the bathroom to freshen up, splashing cold water on his face and cursing under his breath. How embarrassing to be caught in yesterday’s clothes- if he switched out his sweater vest for a blazer, they might not notice. His wardrobe was nothing if not consistent and boring. His hair tamed into some semblance of neatness, Jon went on to his next stop, the break room for a cup of coffee and then finally, back to his office to survey the finished product and perhaps do a few run-throughs.

 He settled in his seat and pressed the power button to coax his laptop out of sleep. The clock on the wall ticked a steady, droning rhythm that somewhat calmed his racing heart and he took a sip of coffee, savoring the bitter flavor. His eyes flickered down to the screen- still black. He pressed it again. Nothing. He looked to the side of the computer, noticing the lack of power cord.  Oh, it’s not plugged in. That’ll do it. He solved that problem quickly and tried again.  

 Again, nothing. He pushed it harder, hurting his finger with the intensity behind it. The screen remained black.

 It was then that Jonathan Sims screamed.

 _____________

It was nine in the morning and he still had no idea what to do. No amount of coaxing, either through nice words or obscenities had managed to wake it up. He removed the battery and put it back in. He prayed to several gods, none of which he believed in. He kicked the desk and promptly fell to the ground, screaming in pain. IT didn’t come in until ten, and his meeting was at nine-thirty. He was well and truly fucked.

 But then he heard footsteps coming down the hall and he dashed to meet them, hoping it was the person he needed. And it was.

 “Sasha!” he panted, taking in heaving, gulping breaths. “Help!”

 “Oh God Jon, is this one of your asthma attacks? Do you have your inhaler?” Her eyes widened and her hands fluttered nervously. ‘I’ve told you-”

 “No,” he grabbed her by the shoulders, feeling more unhinged by the moment. “I-I lost it. The PowerPoint. My laptop won’t turn on, and-”

 “Breathe, Jon! That’s no trouble at all. I can get into your drive, no worries!” she said, pushing him into a chair and booting up her laptop. Jon put a hand to his chest, attempting to follow her advice.  See, it’s fine!  “Where did you save it? On your ShareDrive or on the general Archives one? I’ll need your credentials if it’s the former.”

 His heart dropped.  No no no no. He’d done the one thing Sasha had always warned him against.  “I-I saved it to the desktop…”

 “Oh Jon.”

 And that's when he spiraled. He was going to have to walk into that meeting, hands empty, and face the firing squad. Elias will know he should have never hired him and everyone there will nod and agree that the stupid boy who couldn’t do one simple task does not belong at the table with the rest of him and Jon will be sent on his way, back to research if he’s lucky or fired if he’s not and he can’t do one fucking thing right-

 “Jon. Jon!”  Sasha had a hand on his shoulder, firm and grounding. “Fucking  breathe. It’s fine, you’re fine! Here.” She slipped the flash drive from yesterday into his hand and he groaned, attempting to pass it back

 “I can’t use that one, you know I can’t-”

 “No, this one’s different, I promise,” She grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. “I tried to tell you yesterday- I’m sorry about all of that. It wasn’t funny. We fixed it.” She seemed honest, sincere. But Jon was still hesitant, taking in shaking breaths.

 “This isn’t a joke?”

 “I swear. Here, use my laptop.” She passed it over and Jon paused, considering his options, which were few.

 So Jon took the flash drive and laptop and left, ignoring Martin’s greetings as he brushed by him on his way up to the conference room.  Here goes.

 _____________

 “Erm, h-hello,” Jon coughed, clearing his throat. “I’m Jonathan Sims, the new Head Archivist, as Elias...already said, I guess.” He let out a nervous laugh which no one returned. Elias nodded, urging him to go on.

 Jon had made his way to the room with fifteen minutes to spare, giving him some time to boot up the computer and load the presentation. A quick, nervous glance let him know that it was much changed- at least the first few slides. He shook hands with each department head as they came in, trying to see which of their smiles and congratulations were sincere. The answer? Very few. This was not comforting. 

 His hands shook as he clicked his way to the first slide, his heart pounded in his chest to reveal-

  Bringing the Archives into the 21st Century- A Plan for Updating and Digitizing the Institute's Statements

  Well that’s not bad at all.

 He began to speak, his voice gaining clarity and confidence with every sentence. The presentation was lovely- incorporating his preferred neutral color scheme, a great improvement on the nauseating colors of before. The animations were minimal and sleek, making the transitions meld seamlessly from slide to slide. There was a bit introducing Gertrude’s past work and a dig at her filing system that earned him a laugh. There were new slides regarding the preservation of documents, a new organizational structure, the introduction of a database. All ideas they’d briefly spoken about before committing themselves fully to the digitization process as Elias instructed. Everything was written in his favored academic tone- so natural that Jon found himself speaking extemporaneously on the slides he felt more comfortable with. It was all met with approving nods and a studious gaze from Elias that Jon couldn’t parse. There was also no mention of the tapes.

 The dreaded ‘Meet the Team’ section had been heavily reworked- each one of them had the headshot from their IDs (poor Martin had his eyes closed) and a mention of which department they’d transferred from, along with their credentials. It was professional and informative, everything Jon had wanted it to be. Sasha had outdone herself.  Sasha should be the one making this presentation. 

 He tried to ignore the guilt settling in his chest, even as he smiled back at the approval from the academics he so desperately craved. He clicked to the last slide, which had their contact information and-  oh. It was a picture taken from his birthday a few weeks back, where they all looked fairly presentable and were smiling, no idea of the task ahead of them. Elias was there too; Rosie had taken the picture at Tim’s insistence. His audience tittered, though it seemed to be in good humor rather than mocking.

 “Ah, yes. Th-Thank you for your time.” He quickly turned it off and stared at the ground, his face warm with both embarrassment and a creeping sense of belonging that he didn’t know what to do with. He was startled when a small round of applause began and he looked up with wide eyes to find a smiling audience. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elias nod and smile as well and he finally felt the sense of accomplishment he’d longed for since the start of his promotion.  

 The room cleared rather quickly (no one really wanted to be in a Friday meeting, after all) but Jon was stopped by a tall, smiling woman he had only seen in passing. “Sonya from Artefact Storage,” she reminded him, shaking his hand again and giving him a warm smile. “I’m looking forward to talking to you more about that database. I was always telling Gertrude she needed one, but of course she never listened to me. Stubborn to the end!” He could only stutter, too overwhelmed to formulate a proper response. A hand reached out to his shoulder.

 “That was nicely done, Archivist.” For some reason the title made Jon feel odd, like he was having an honor bestowed that he had not yet earned. Elias wasn’t that much taller than him, but he always seemed to loom over Jon. “Quite the presentation. Lots of...ideas. But I must stress the importance of getting the statements-”

 “On tape, yes, yes,” Jon said, quick to agree. “I just thought, er- I should let them know some of our other objectives, as well?”  Seems like Sasha wanted to, at least.

 “As long as you don’t forget yours,” A pointed glance. Jon gulped nervously, shoving a hand in his pocket. “Still, a good job all around. That Sasha of yours seems like a good asset. Enjoy your weekend.”

 Jon froze in the doorway. Did he know?  Of course not, don’t be silly.  He shook his head and left the room. Well, at least that’s over with.

 ____________

 “Did it go alright?” Sasha asked immediately upon his entrance. He managed a self-deprecating smile. 

 “Surprisingly, yes. That was-  thank you, I guess.”

 “No trouble at all,” Tim jumped out from the break room, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Always knew you had it in you. A consummate performer, I was telling our Martin-”

  “Tim!”  He scowled and tried in vain to shove him away, still irritated by his presence.

 “Seriously, though. Sorry about all of that before. Just trying to lighten the mood, I swear we wouldn’t have actually left you with that-”

 “It’s- It’s fine,” Jon sighed, reluctantly giving in to Tim’s insistent affection. “Well, not really, but it turned out alright in the end.” Sasha gave an encouraging grin.

 “Did you like the photo?” Martin asked anxiously, hovering in the corner of the room. Jon paused. He considered telling him no, that he would have never put it in there himself and considered it rather unprofessional on the whole, but one look at Martin’s face told him that was the wrong move.

 “Yes, Martin,” he said, summoning up the equivalent of a smile. “I liked the photo.”

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27142390

[artificialqueens]

sincerity is scary, chapter I (shalaska + pearlet) - ageofyvie

A/N: very loosely inspired by the tv show skam. mainly shalaska and eventual pearlet with some other pairings thrown into the mix since ‘the course of true love never did run smooth’. feedback is highly appreciated and feel free to come and say hi to my blog @ageofyvie !!!

1

Alaska closed her eyes and leaned in for another kiss, smiling as Sharon’s lips softly pecked hers. “Why are you in such a good mood today?” She asked once they had pulled apart a little, her girlfriend’s arms still possessively wrapped around her middle. “Nothing, really. I was just thinking that I’m really lucky. You’re so pretty, baby”. Alaska couldn’t help but whine at the other’s words and buried her face in Sharon’s neck to hide the blush she knew had appeared on her cheeks. “Shut up” She mumbled “You’re one to talk”. She felt Sharon kissing the top of her head and sighed in content at the gesture, silently thanking the universe for giving her such an amazing girlfriend. “Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about” Alaska rolled her eyes and chuckled, looking up at Sharon as she waited for her to continue. “Jinkx’s mom has been acting crazy lately and I was thinking-” “Morning lovebirds!” Alaska almost jumped at the interruption and didn’t even bother telling Sharon off as her girlfriend cursed out loud. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you” The redhead apologized “So, Shaz, can I come?” She then added, her tone going from sheepish to excited in a matter of seconds. “I was just about to ask” replied Sharon “Before someone decided to interrupt. Baby” She continued, addressing Alaska instead “Do you mind if Jinkx tags along this weekend?” Alaska had to bit down on her bottom lip to stop a rude reply on the tip of her tongue. “I.. I thought it was going to be just the two of us” “Nevermind then” Jinkx butted in, awkwardly shuffling the weight from one feet to the other before shooting her best friend a nervous smile “I don’t want to intrude or anything” “Nonsense” replied Sharon “The house is mine and I decide who to invite” Alaska lowered her gaze. She didn’t want to argue and cause a scene but she really had been looking forward to the weekend alone with her girlfriend at her lake house, and as much as she liked Jinkx and considered her a friend, she couldn’t help but feeling disappointed. “Alright then” She eventually replied “I better get going now. See you at lunch break!” Alaska shot the other two a forced smile and scurried off to class without even kissing Sharon on the cheek.

When Alaska entered the classroom the teacher was already there, so she quickly sat down on the first available seat. After she took out pens and papers from her bag she noticed that the girl sitting next to her seemed to be frantically looking for something. “Uh, do you need to borrow a pen?” “да! I mean, yes. спасибо” Alaska raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging on her lips. Only then she realized that she had no idea who the other girl was - had she always been around? Was she a new student? “My name’s Alaska, what’s yours?” She whispered, taking advantage of the fact that the teacher was still busy setting up the Powerpoint presentation for the day. “My name’s Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova, but you can call me Katya. I just moved here from Boston, but my family is from Russia” “That’s cool” Before Alaska could say anything else, the teacher clapped her hands and started talking, so the girls had no other choice but to pay attention. “Good morning, class. I’m Miss Michaels and I’ll be your History teacher for this semester”. Despite being old-fashioned, Miss Michaels turned out to be a pretty good teacher who seemed to know exactly how to hold the students’ attention. When the bell rang, Alaska was honestly surprised that time had gone by so fast. “Do you wanna sit together at lunch?” She asked Katya as they were packing their bags.“My girlfriend’s gonna be there, and our friend Jinkx too. They’re really nice” “Sorry! I kinda already promised my neighbour I would sit with her today. Maybe another time?” “Sure, no problem” Alaska shrugged “See you around then!” She waved Katya goodbye and headed off to the next class, a small smile on her face.

A couple of hours later, Alaska walked into the cafeteria, her eyes wandering around the big room as she tried to spot Sharon and Jinkx. Her gaze fell on the table they usually sat down at, but the seats were all taken by what looked like a group of juniors. An unpleasant feeling began to settle in the pit of Alaska’s stomach. In an effort to calm herself down, she checked her phone - perhaps they were simply late. But no texts from her girlfriend showed up on the screen. No texts from Jinkx either. Alaska was almost about to turn around and walk out of the room when she heard someone calling out for her. “Alaska! Here!” Smiling brightly, Katya motioned for her to come closer. “Privet” She greeted her once she had reached the table. “This is my neighbour, Violet. And these are Max and Trixie. подруги, this is Alaska, from History class” Alaska felt her cheeks reddening as everyone stared at her, but she forced herself to relax. “Hiiii, it’s nice to meet you” “Where’s your girlfriend?” asked Katya. “Actually I- I don’t know” the blonde girl admitted, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice. Without missing a beat, Katya pulled back the chair next to her and gestured for Alaska to sit down. “You can sit with us then” Alaska smiled gratefully at the other girl and hesitantly sat down. In a matter of minutes, all her discomfort had vanished and she found herself laughing along with the rest of the girls. Trixie and Katya never run out of jokes to tell and Violet’s dry remarks were actually pretty funny. Max was more of the silent type, but she offered Alaska some of her strawberries. “So, we’re all going to the party tomorrow night, right?” Everyone nodded at Trixie’s question except for Alaska, who had no idea there was even a party in the first place. Trixie caught the other’s expression and quickly offered an explanation. “Adore’s mom is out of town so she’s throwing a party at her house tomorrow night. You should totally come!” “I- I don’t know” Alaska couldn’t remember the last time she had been out dancing with some friends and part of her really wanted to go, but she didn’t want to intrude. “Come on, it’ll be fun!” added Katya “You can bring your girlfriend if you want” “Alright” gave in Alaska “I’ll be there”. Her reply was met with a cheer by Trixie and Max, and Violet offered to add her to the group chat. Alaska’s eyes accidentally landed on a group of girls sitting a couple of tables behind them, laughing at something one of them was showing on her phone. She could have recognized those laughs anywhere. Alaska sighed as she stared at Detox and Roxxxy, the girls she used to refer to as her best friends. The last time they had spoken to each other was during the argument which ended their friendship. Alaska often missed her two best friends and the good times they had together. She had tried to make up for the loneliness she felt by spending as much time as possible with Sharon, but she knew that relying almost completely on her girlfriend for affection was not the right thing to do. After spending time with Katya and her friends though, she felt hopeful that perhaps things were finally going to change for the better.

[readmoreof-me-blog]

Do You Hear What I Hear?

They will not shut up. Everyone, in every lecture hall, never gets quiet. No matter how many times I “hush!” everyone, it’s completely useless. It wasn’t always this way though. I remember the beginning of this year in college. I was so nervous and excited to begin. But as the stresses of college started piling on---exams, projects, and what not--- everyone began to get loud. I suppose it’s understandable, when overwhelmed, for a person to talk a lot with other people, but this is downright ridiculous. Not even during TESTS do these people stop. Not even when the professor, Mr. Barnes, is giving instructions about our final presentations. You’d think these students would care at least a little about their grades. It’s not just in this class though. Everyone is so loud no matter where I go. I’ve been going to the library a lot recently to prepare myself for the required inner-ear presentation I have to give, but I don’t ever get much done there. I can't concentrate with all the noise. Aren't libraries supposed to be quiet? Even my dorm is loud at night. I can hear them through the walls---the voices---and it's like no one is concentrating on their final presentations and exams. They're only focusing on partying and having the great “college experience”. Today is the day that I'm scheduled to present. I've worked so hard on this. Probably harder than necessary due to all of the noise wherever I go. I feel my exhaustion dragging my feet behind me as I throw all of my weight into footstep after footstep. I climb down each descending step of the lecture hall seats. It's evident that I'm slowly deteriorating by how pale I've gotten and the deep purple circles that have formed under my eyes. I trudge another step and another step up to Mr. Barnes’ desk. He's writing my name and a few other things that I can't quite read on a rubric, then he looks up and asks for the flash drive containing my presentation. He glances over my face as I hand the flash drive to him and his brows furrow in concern. “Are you sure you're ready to give this presentation, Eric? We can wait until tomorrow if you'd lik---” “No no no,” I cut him off. “There's no need for that. I'm more than ready.” “Well, alright then.” I watch him push back his chair with a sigh and speak out to the class, “Okay, everyone. Please give Mr. Grant all of your attention.” I feel all eyes on me and in that moment, I feel at peace. No noise. None at all. Complete silence. Professor Barnes pushes my flash drive into his motum and I watch him click on my PowerPoint file and take a remote, aim it at the overhead projector, and turn it on. “Whenever you're ready, Eric.” I turn toward the projector screen as I pick up a clicker off of Professor Barnes’ desk. “My name is Eric Grant, and today I am going to be teaching you about the several parts of the inner-ear, and their functions together.” I click the button to move to the next slide. “Now first, I’d like to start by introducing the various parts of the main canal of the inner-ear. Now, as you can see, I have a diagram showing everyth---” I turn around and find the screen completely blank. I keep clicking and clicking and clicking through all of my slides, but everything in every slide is gone. I begin to hear the noise---that godawful familiar cluster of voices. But this time, they're growing louder. Dear God, they're yelling! I whip around to the class feeling my pale flesh fade crimson from the embarrassment and anger that I'm feeling. “SHUT UP!!!” I'm screaming and I'm shaking. I can feel my legs wobbling so I buckle my knees. I'm clenching my fists as I grind my teeth and my eyes dart around the room. Everyone’s eyes are huge, but why? Do they not expect me to be angry with them?! Everyone is getting louder and louder. They're yelling and screaming at me and I'm yelling and screaming back in an effort for them to stop and take me seriously but now they're laughing. They're laughing and yelling at me and I can't take it. It's been weeks since I've gotten rest and this is what I get?! My presentation flopped and now I face torment??! I don't feel my throat burning raw or my lungs gasping from the screams I'm uttering or my face dripping with tears from my anger. I stop screaming at them. It's no use. All I can feel are my feet tingling from how hard my stomps are as I go up to the professor’s desk. I grab the first thing I see---scissors---and decide the only way to silence the uproar is to prevent myself from being able to hear it. I hold the scissors up to my right ear and look out into the crowd. It seems to just get louder. “SHUT UP!!!” I'm screaming and I feel the cool metal jam into my ear and then I'm opening and closing my hand and I'm slicing everything in my ear and I feel such immense pain that it brings me to my knees. I can feel myself screeching in agony but its muffled. Everything on the right side of myself is gone. There's nothing. I look up and people are hysterical. Some are running around, some are crying. One guy is throwing up. But I still hear them from the left. I've gotta keep going. I switch hands. I'm not as coordinated with my left hand because I'm right-side dominant, but shredding the innards of my left ear with my right hand is too awkward of an angle to slice what I need to. I'm opening and closing my left hand now, but I'm not as smooth with my movements as my right hand. My left hand stutters and I can feel my eardrum get caught in my scissors. You know how your preschool and kindergarten teachers would always assign crafts with construction paper to you? And you were always given the small child-sized scissors that were never sharp enough to cut through folded construction paper, so that whenever you would close the scissors, the blades wouldn't slice the paper, but would scrape and overlap the paper? The scissors in my hand operated just like that with my clumsy left hand, pinching my ear drum in between the blades. I felt my neck snap back and rolled my eyes into the back of my head at the intense wave of pain that came from my left ear. I rip out my ear drum and the organs attached to try and stop the agony. I throw the blood-slicked scissors on the ground, my gore still pinched inbetween the blades. It's done. I'm waiting. I listen. I hear nothing. Tears are still running down my face, but the cause behind them is different now. I am free. For the first time in I don't know how long, I hear silence. I slowly get up off of my knees and look out at the room around me. It's completely empty. Everyone must've run out of the room. “Eric.” I hear a whisper. How is this possible? “What?” I feel my answer vibrate through my throat, it I can't hear it. I'm hearing them again---the voices. But they're the loudest they've ever been. They're not talking. They're screaming and shrieking. But no one is in this classroom except me. How is this happening?! All of the parts I need to be able to hear are on the floor, shredded and damaged. “‘How is this happening,’ you ask? My dear Eric, it's because we're inside your head.” I don't understand. Why are you here now of all times? “We've always been here, but we've never had a way to get out. Luckily though, your college stresses put just enough pressure on you to snap the wall that was holding us back. “We’re finally home. And we’re never going away.”

[gaiatheorist]

“...Once Christmas is out of the way.”

Christmas Eve, apparently. I’ll be reminded of the date when I log into the Universal Credit online system later, to add my mostly-pointless two hours of Open University freebie course, as evidence that I’m ‘preparing for work in the future.’. I’m having a totally ridiculous preemptive rage, in case the system is ‘shut’ tomorrow, when I’m planning to do the same thing, that wouldn’t be very inclusive of non-Christians, would it? It’s an automated online system, though, Ebeneezer DWP doesn’t have to ‘do’ anything. Much like I don’t have to ‘do’ Christmas. 

Well-meaning individuals are likely to make further token-gestures towards getting me to ‘do something’ for Christmas. I already have plans, though, I’m going to sort out my tins-and-jars cupboard, which is so rammed-full of hoarded non-perishable food that it’s more of an extreme sport than a storage unit. 

I’ve managed to avoid the “Are you ready for Christmas?” question, I came close in Aldi a couple of weeks ago, but managed to cut across it. “Are you OK?” from the lady on the checkout, “I am now, that’s it done.” That was after the Mental Health death-by-PowerPoint thing, where the facilitators had tried to engage us by asking “Is everyone excited for Christmas?” we’re on a mid-level Mental Health intervention, love, we don’t do ‘excited’. The consensus was that we mostly ‘just wanted it out of the way.’, we would, wouldn’t we, we were mostly female. Massive generalisation, I know, but, in my personal experience, ‘the men’ tend to expect the whole Christmas thing to happen around them, elves, or something do it all. (That oft-repeated joke about the “From Mum and Dad” presents generating as much surprise from ‘Dad’ as the recipient, you could tell which presents my ex had bought, they were the ones wrapped in carrier-bags and Gaffa tape.) Not all men, I know, I’m sure some-men won’t be milling around the supermarkets like obstructive zombies, wondering if tea-towels make a good present. 

I’ve read a few news articles recently about the expectation-angle, the ‘perfect Christmas’ and such, and I might well sarcasm-tweet photos of the progress of my can-cupboard, just so people know that however crap their Christmas is, it could be worse. (Or I might not, anyone who doesn’t have a stockpile of food might think me insensitive.) I choose-not-to do Christmas, it’s probably about five years since I’ve ‘had to’ sit at the in-laws’ table, wedged between racists and imbeciles, trying very hard not to stab people who chew with their mouths open. I never ‘had to’, it was always just the emotional blackmail from the ex, that his parents wanted ‘everyone’ together at Christmas. It was acceptable for the various husbands to slope off to the pub and avoid it, but unthinkable for a wife to behave that way.

I dislike Christmas enormously. Even before my brain injuries, the lights, and the tinsel, and the crowded places, the noise, and the compulsion to over-eat were difficult before, they’re impossible now. Christmas can get in the bin, I’m not counting down ‘sleeps’ until the 25th, I’m counting down to my neighbours taking down those bloody horrible flashing fairy lights on the outside of their house, I’ve pretty much had a migraine for a month. 

My mother knows to leave me alone, she’ll probably send a token text, reminding me that I’m invited to her ‘Boozy Buffet’ on the 28th. I considered it last year, for the free food, but this year I have food of my own. (Also, once I start drinking, I tend not to stop, I’m a liability.) I’m not going, it will be a gathering of ‘that racist uncle’ people, complete with hyperactive children. Brain damage is a really great excuse for not-doing-stuff. 

My father turned up unannounced at the weekend, with a box of gin, he also knows to leave me alone, but he’s still an emotionally coercive creature, so he phoned my brother to ‘check in on me.’ Comedy of errors, there, because my brother phoned just as my ex and the kid turned up to replace a broken fence-panel. In the dark. With no tools. It was a slightly more homicidal version of The Chuckle Brothers, because the ex thinks people can read his mind, or understand monkey-grunts instead of human-word directions. “We can’t do it like this! We need a ladder!” “I don’t have a ladder, why would I have a ladder?” (’A ladder’ would have been useless, to do the job properly, they would have needed two step-ladders, with a batten between them, for stability at both ends of the heavy-awkward panel they needed to lift. What they ended up with was a wet garden bench, that the kid lost his footing on, and refused to step back onto. Brain-damaged female, passing a really heavy, and very wet bench through a gap in a fence. Did I mention that only one of my hands works properly?) The ex decided I’d bought the wrong size panel, because if anything goes wrong, it’s automatically my fault. The panel is the right size, it’s just that they couldn’t lift it into position in the dark, standing on a wet bench in the alley behind my garden. He was supposed to be coming back yesterday to finish the job, I waited until it was dark, and he still hadn’t turned up.

I’m invited to my brother’s this evening, and they can ‘make room’ for me tomorrow. I’ve declined both invitations, and the one for New Year’s Eve, as well, I played the brain damage card, which is a valid move in this game, nobody knows quite what to do to counter it. My brother and I are no-nonsense Yorkshire pragmatics. “Did Dad tell you to check in on me?” “Yeah, he phoned, I know we don’t talk much...” “We don’t need to, I’m not going to phone you to tell you what colour my sofa is, we don’t ‘have to’ talk just for the sake of it.” “I know, anyway, we were thinking, we’re having (single bloke) (single bloke) and a few friends over on Christmas Eve, and for Christmas Day.” “Your collection of waifs and strays, and you wondered if the spinster aunt would be sitting at home alone eating cat-food if you didn’t invite her?” “Pretty much that, yeah.” “Thank you, but no, I’m not great with lights, and noises, and people.” (I’m also an anxiety-drinker, and become chaotic very quickly, nobody wants ‘Auntie Knobhead’ falling into the Christmas tree.) 

It’s a me-issue, not a them-issue, I resent the forced-frivolity, and fake-friendship elements of Christmas, I’d far rather people were decent human beings all year round, not just ‘for Christmas’. (Now I’m suppressing giggles at the Fascinating Aida ‘Try not to be a c*nt at Christmas’ song.)  I’ll be glad when Christmas is over, but I’m not sure when that is, I can’t be guided by the neighbours’ fairy lights, they went up in November. Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Boxing Day, that ought to be it, but then there’s the string-of-Sundays between Boxing Day and New Year. Nobody knows what day it really is, and there’s too much food and booze. (Guilty as charged on that, too, I ‘stocked up’ for the kid coming back from uni, despite the house already being heaving with food.) There’s food and booze and MESS everywhere, and I still have another three weeks until the kid goes back to uni, he’s a brilliant human being, but he doesn’t half cock up my routines. (His next uni break has his 21st birthday in it, too, so extended family will have expectations, urgh.) 

Right, final push, over the top, boys. Dulce et Decorum est on weaving that one in, me. The next few days will have noise, and flashing lights, and mud in them, because the ex is apparently bringing the man he lives with to help re-repair the fence. Uninvited men, trailing mud all through my house, brilliant. 

However you ‘do’ Christmas, enjoy it your way, make time for yourself, and know that it will soon be over for another year, and that other people’s ‘perfect’ Christmas social media posts are an edited version of reality. They won’t show the bickering, the sulking, or the suspicious sticky substance on various surfaces. (Maybe that’s just me?)     

[dropofthoughts-blog]

The Group-mates ( 13/11 )

(I will not be using the actual names of the people in my rant )

My course in college is Event Management, i took this course cause family and friends see that i have the skill to handle events and whatnot. But most of this course requires group projects more than solo projects. Now, im not really a social butterfly nor a peoples person, although i do try to converse with them. I am 1/3 of the ethnic minorities in the class, the other 2 being Nepali. One of them, let’s call her Nicki, is my tutorial group while the other one isnt.

My first project was my Western Art presentation. i grouped up with someone i’ve met last year during my foundation course and his friend. Nicki and I would just call them “ the couples “ because they’re always together, they treat each other how a couple would but they have their own partner. Sketch. They were really nice to me, so they agreed to be my friends, since Nicki and i werent too close at the beginning of the school term and also i was pretty lonely in school. 

After several projects, and switching of groups later, i’m having my 2nd IEM ( Intro to Event Management ) presentation. Mind you, i’m never up to date with the tutors because i almost never go to my IEM prof’s lectures ( i’ll get to that in another rant in the future ;) ) I’m left alone. But theres this guy, we’ll call him Davis ( He’s important later ). Davis invited me to join his group so i did. By that time, we’d only have 3 days to prepare. He did most of the powerpoint slides and i made him a script. Normally, i’d stick to a cue card and write bullet points on them but i guess local chinese students prefer having a script on hand.

A week or so later, we have another project. It’s a video project for IPS ( Interpersonal Skills ). Originally it was only Nicki and I. But because “unfortunately” Davis didnt have a group, so his friend asked us, and we agreed. The next day, i sat next to Nicki and one of her groupmate, lets call her Suzie. She asked me how working with Davis was, and so i told her he was okay. She continued to tell me that he was a free loader because he didnt show up for their WA presentation and that he would keep ditching us last minute because he would always skip group meetings. So far, he skipped out once for our IPS video. What annoyed me is that he keeps mentioning that his friend studies Creative Media so he is taught how to shoot videos, angles, lighting, editing, whatnot. So Nicki and I just went whatever with it. Until it really pissed us off telling us that his friend wasnt free whenever we were, his friend is really unnecessary... But ugh anyway. We decided to shoot the damn video tomorrow so i can edit it. To Davis’ friend, i’m not that sorry that we dont need you because we’re not in the same course, nor do i doubt that we’re in the same school so please leave us alone. You will not be doing our project. lmao.

ANOTHER project is our final IEM presentation. I’m still in the chat group for the couples and their friends. Theres a special girl, we’ll call her Josie. I was in their group in the last presentation, and they were awful, not the couples but their friends. Josie PMed me letting me know that she linked me to the powerpoint on the google drive, so i told her that i’d check it out in a few. She screenshot our conversation to the group i was in and wrote in Cantonese about me finally replying or finally being useful or something. i replied the group with a straight “ lol. “ she proceeded to reply with the laugh-cry emoji several times then PMed me that she didnt mean to do that. wtf haha. Today, one of The Couples messaged me asking if i was gonna join their group or join Nicki’s group instead, i asked Nicki and talked to her about it and messaged my professor requesting to switch groups. he sent me a question mark because i didnt reply so i replied him telling him i was asking Nicki. He was still online BUT he messaged the group saying how i just left him on read. The group decided to talk shit about me how they keep forgetting i was in the group, saying how i dont do anything in the group. Moments later, they delete their messages. So im really hoping to be in Nicki’s group instead of Josie’s. I’m so angry with them its so stupid. 

School never lets me forget how much i hate everyone and group projects.

Goodnight, hope you guys had a good read. 

Until the next drop of thought!

[inmed]

Obsgyn Hell in Pati

Would you fly in an airplane if you were told the pilots have been forced to work 32 hour non-stop shifts? No. You wouldn’t. Even a child can tell you that we need 8 hours of sleep in every 24 hour period. Common sense: skipping sleep immediately becomes evident as the senses dull, memory gets hazy, mood gets irritable, and decision-making ability goes down the hole. Do these symptoms sound familiar? Yeah, the same thing happens to people drunk on alcohol. A sleep-deprived pilot is no better than a drunk pilot. And nobody will be at ease in an airplane knowing the guy in the cockpit is drunk or sleep-deprived.

If we wouldn’t trust a sleep-deprived pilot, why do we trust sleep-deprived doctors? We can’t blame the passengers and we can’t blame the patients. They probably have no clue and they blindly place their trust in the hands of the professionals.

Sadly, the people who made the decisions to have doctors work 32-hour shifts are doctors themselves: the experts of human physiology! These are the very same professionals who prescribe rest more than any other medicine! Isn’t that ironic and amazingly stupid?

Well, whoever that decided that koas have to pull 32-hour shifts must have the IQ of a ping-pong ball who has failed at understanding the most basic physiological aspect of humans other than the need to breathe: the need to sleep. Not only should this person be stripped of their medical license, they should also be jailed for putting patient’s lives at risk. If I was the chief of an airline company and I demanded that my pilots shall work 32-hour shifts without sleep, and people found out: I would deserve to be jailed. Why should this practice be accepted in the hospital?

Okay, now that I’ve made my four paragraph preamble to set the mood for what’s to come, let me start my diary-like blog entry:

Obsgyn is my first big station. I had Forensic before this. Forensic was basically a load of paperwork and waiting 24/7 for the inevitable: a dead body in the hospital requiring an autopsy ASAP so the family can bury it in the morning. So even though there were just around 10 autopsies during the four week period, the constant stress was irritating: sleeping with the ringtone volume on max. There’s not much else to say about Forensics: it was stinky, we didn’t do much other than get strained wrists from writing endless reports. 

Ok, back to Obsgyn. It is 10 weeks long. That’s two and a half times as long as a small department (such as ENT, Neurology, Forensics, etc.) The first couple of weeks we were in Sardjito. The following three weeks were spent in RSUD Sleman, my favorite hospital so far. Those three weeks were alright despite the 32-hour shifts thanks to the many opportunities to sleep in the comfortable koas room or just quietly escape the hospital. Still, 32 hours are 32 hours and it is absolutely exhausting.  I would say “daily” but a day only has 24 hours. Our 32 hour shifts were “daily” in the sense that when one ended (at around 2pm), we’d go home and then be back the very next morning at 6am for the next 32-hour shift. There is no such thing as “weekends” or “holidays”. Let me give you a run-down of what one shift looks like:

5 am: wake up. shower. call a GoCar by 5:30. 6 am: arrive at RSUD Sleman. Go up to the 3rd floor where the Obsgyn stuff is. Start going through all the patient’s medical records in both the ward and the “VK” (birthing room) and noting down the “SOAP” along with some other important info in my notebook. 7 am: the doctor arrives for a “visit”. Basically a walk through the ward and VK to see all his patients for up to a couple minutes each. We scuttle behind him and try to mumble out the patient’s information that we jotted down earlier. The doctor ignores most of this and asks us simple questions about the patient: “when was the last time hemoglobin was checked? how much is it?” - and usually we wouldn’t know the answer. 8 am: the doctor sits at the nurse station to write stuff in the medical records and the koas stand there waiting for questions. These questions tend to be more about theory and are quite difficult. 9 am: the doctor goes to the poly-clinic. Two of the koas who started their shift the day before follow him. I remain in the ward with one other koas. 10 am: we chat with the nurses and midwives about random things. 11 am: we walk down to the cafeteria and eat something. I buy some bottles of water. 12 noon: we try to nap in the koas room. there are two beds and it’s airconditioned.  1 pm: unable to sleep, I walk into the VK. I notice two women in labor. I sit down at the mini nurse station there and start chatting with the midwives. 1:30 pm: the midwives order me to do “DJJ” (fetal heart rate monitor) on all the patients. Now there’s four suddenly. 2 pm: Finished with the DJJ, I sit back down only for the resident doctor to walk in and ask me to set up the USG and wheel the patient in. 3 pm: My koas partner wakes up and walks into the VK. We sit together with the midwives, talking. 4 pm: One patient seems to be going into the active phase. The midwife orders me to do more DJJ. We start wondering who will assist with the delivery. 5 pm: Another patient is brought in. Suddenly the VK is full. 6 pm: Hungry. The cafeteria is way past closed. What to eat? I start flipping through the GoFood options when suddenly I hear loud noises from behind one of the separator curtains in the VK. I peer in and see that the midwife is already in position to help the patient deliver the baby. She looks at me and asks if I’m going to join or not. Of course I say yes and put gloves and apron on. I feel useless because the midwife is capable of doing everything herself and I’m just standing there watching. 7 pm: The baby is out and I take my gloves off. The gloves never really touched the baby. Instead, I was left to pull the placenta out. Boring. It’s all boring. And I’m quite hungry by now. Back to GoFood options. We walk to the ward’s large nurse station and sit down there, chatting with the midwives. It gets boring quickly. 8 pm: Food is on the way still. And we walk back to the VK. The midwife there tells us that a woman had already delivered while we were absent. We act surprised at how quick it was. A new patient is wheeled in. “God damn it, why do women have to give birth so much?” is written all over my face. I get told to do DJJ and take blood pressure. The GoFood has arrived at the lobby. I run down to get it. 9 pm: We finish eating in the koas room. I waste time on my laptop and my partner sleeps again. I wish I was good at falling asleep, but I’m not. 11 pm: I put my laptop away. I walk to the VK. 12 midnight: another woman starts giving birth. 1 am: the same lady is still giving birth. We all keep glancing at the clock because we know that the baby is stuck. The resident is woken up. I’m drowsy and want to sleep but of course, I can’t. I’m watching the midwives and the resident doctor try to encourage the woman. They start discussing the medications given to the woman. 2 am: the resident finally gives up and decides he will operate for SC (cesarean section). I’m ordered to follow the resident. 3 am: the operation finally begins. I get to help out a bit by holding the suction and passing some instruments to the doctor. I don’t feel sleepy but the core of my bones feel sore. 4 am: the operation ends. the resident is annoyed it took so long. there was bleeding. Small chat with the resident ensues and we walk back to the VK. 5 am: I lay down on the bed in the koas room. Exhausted. 6 am: My alarm rings and I walk over to the ward to go through the medical records again. 7 am: the doctor arrives for a “visit”. I’m wearing the same clothes as I did the last time (yesterday) when he came. He’s wearing fresh new clothes, hair still wet from his shower. 8 am: the doctor asks questions. 9 am: the two of us follow the doctor to the poly-clinic where we do anamnesis and watch how the doctor handles each patient. What was a sort of dull headache becomes a full fledged one: I’m trying to figure out if it’s due to low blood sugar levels or dehydration or because I only got like an hour of sleep. 12 Noon: the patients finally finish. The nurse makes small talk for a bit. We then walk upstairs towards the koas room. The midwives there make more small talk. 1 pm: My GoCar arrives. I feel lucky that the poly-clinic ended earlier than I hoped. 10 minutes later I arrive at home. I finally shower, shave, brush, and then eat (my maid’s cooking). 2 pm: My head touches the pillow and I fall asleep. 9 pm: I wake up. Most restaurants are closed. I can’t go out at this point. I guess I have to call GoFood again to order something from somewhere that’s open late. 10 pm: I eat and then wonder what to do. I can’t sleep again because I just woke up.  I try to work on the PowerPoint to present for my Refkas (case reflection) tomorrow. 2 am: I fall asleep anyways. 5 am: Wake up. And the whole process repeats again.

So, this happened for a total of three weeks in RSUD Sleman. Then, about two weeks ago, I was sent here to RSUD Pati for a total of four weeks. The shift is the same length but the content of the shift is different. Here in Pati, we can’t just relax that much. We’re expected to do a lot more deliveries (by mostly ourselves), suturing episiotomies and ruptures, filling in medical records, doing loads of little tasks such as taking blood, installing IVs, installing IV pumps, and of course studying. After Pati, RSUD Sleman looks like a holiday. 

It is midnight now. Tomorrow morning I have to be at the hospital for another day in hell. So I’m going to leave it there.

Hopefully I get time again to discuss Pati. It’s an interesting place with interesting hospital and I have a lot to say about it.